Yarkar was much less of a relaxed man. His every waking moment felt like it was in service of a higher purpose. He woke up each day with the grueling task of proving himself. He was tasked with the burden of not yet having an action worthy of the spotlight, and this lack of faith had led him to be much less relaxed than the much calmer Kressara. However, he somehow figured that she wasn't out to get him this time. He wasn't sure why, but it simply seemed to be true. She didn't seem to care so much about his status, nor anything really. It was strange. She didn't command him, she didn't reprimand him, she didn't question what happened even. She simply... accepted him. He did not have to make some display to her, he didn't have to anything in particular other than shake a hand to promise not to kill this opportunity to once again join the fold of the Dark Side. It was alien to him, something from beyond what he had experienced. It irked him a little, it felt like he was back on that planet, surrounded by crystals, disarmed and bleeding as that Jedi had offered him a place among them. Yet, it was more than that. Maybe it was the lack of cuts, blood loss, and the howling of wolves soon after, but he felt like there was something deeper in what she offered with this simple interaction.
He listened intently about the new state of things. He feared not retribution, if they took it, he would either survive or deserve his fate for his weakness after all. He trusted the others to have some level of fear, he was new after all. Who knows what he could accomplish? Of course the full Sith wouldn't have fear, but he doubts he would cause enough problems for them to particularly care about his appearance. If they did care about his existence, it certainly wouldn't be as violent as she imagined, right? Her insistence on it made him worrisome, if she bothered with making a point of it, after making it a sort of point that she is fairly calm about things, there had to be some truth to the matter.
He felt sorry for her. It was a rare emotion, and he didn't really understand how quickly his mind had turned around. He had been worried to meet his rival, then felt victory, but now? Now he felt sorry. He wouldn't mention it, as that was how Sith got killed, but he felt it nonetheless. She had lost not one, but two masters. He knew how difficult it was to lose one himself, as he felt he was unworthy to return to Tormentous only to figure out the man was gone and unable to hear about his breakthrough with the Force. He had spent too much time proving himself that he now had no one to prove himself to. However, Kress had not just had that once, but twice. Yet, as quickly as she opened up, she got back to business. He marveled at her ability to do so, he would spiral into himself at the mere mention of such a thing. In fact he almost just did with simply the idea of empathy alone before her own snap back to reality brought him with it.
"Rejection is what rejection must be. I will gladly accept your kindness, but not out of fear of retribution. I accept out of my own good will to not reject what I have been given. To not take full advantage of an opportunity is the path to weakness." His voice may be stern, but his face can't manage to hide a slight smile at his statement. It felt nice to be working with the Sith again, to have purpose once more.
He pulls out his vibroblade, some parts simply nonfunctional while others were melted and damaged from his fight with the Jedi he found in that crystalline cavern. He shrugs, "It may need a little bit of work done to it. After all, it's best to have my arsenal in peak shape just in case. Always good when a lightsaber is a bit too flashy as well."
"In terms of questions, I do have a pertinent one. If Tormentous is gone, do we simply answer to Silas now? After all, we must answer to someone, yet it appears that no one has been designated in our master's stead. Silas may have taken the throne of our master, but who has taken the servitude of his apprentices?" Yarkar's mind worried about the implications of being masterless, after all he had structured his life around his service to Tormentous. How would he function without someone to point him in the right direction?
A Returning Passion
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Yarkar Edetar
- Registered Member
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- Joined: Sat Nov 20, 2021 6:41 pm
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Kressara Thryn
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Re: A Returning Passion
Kressara smirked over her shoulder at the acceptance of her offers. Rationalizing the reasons why he could be allowed to make a decision, whether he was allowing himself or adhering to the same code of mistrust and strife all sith obeyed, Kressara recognized in him a fear to simply allow a kindness to be given without reason. Makes sense. Usually someone wants something for their kindness around here, but not always. Accepting kindness does not make you weak, in fact it makes you gracious, which had gotten the masterless assassin through multiple power shifts. To be just as cruel as you could be kind, that was a true feat.
Nodding along with him, the meandering acolyte hummed, “That’s the spirit, Edetar. You know what else is a path to weakness? Needing justification. Just do what you will, man. Sometimes nothing need apply.” Maybe it was bad advice to give a sith, but it worked for her. Seldom does anyone surpass those above them by worrying over their own justification.
That vibroblade had seen better days. Kress snickered at the blade and motioned with her chin towards the box of damaged weaponry she carried. “I’d say it could use some work, yeah. Trust me, you always need your equipment to be in perfect functioning order. You don’t want to get caught with faulty weaponry. It’ll get you killed.” They turned the corner and descended a flight of stairs into the forge. Before approaching the stone counter where weapons and armor in need of work could be dropped off, she considered Yarkar’s blade. “Lightsaber damage?”
Behind the front counter stood a grizzled Bothan with mean, beady eyes that glared at Yarkar. His gaze shifted to Kressara with a look of annoyance when he spied the crate loaded with damaged items. Throwing up his hands, he hissed, “Do you wait until you have no more weapons in functioning condition before bringing them in all at once just to annoy me, Thryn? Do you really think I have the time to work all of these?” Kressara dropped the box onto the counter with a resounding metallic clatter and leaned in on her elbows to smile at the forgemaster. She snidely purred, “Sorry I break too many weapons while I’m out actually earning credits and getting missions done for the sith that no one else has the guts or skill to handle. Would you rather I stay in the temple more often? I could spend so much more time with you, Lestly boy~”
“Oh, go choke on sand.” Scoffed the Bothan, reluctantly taking the crate. Kress jerked her head in the direction of her companion and chimed, “Don’t forget his. I doubt our lord would approve of his chosen apprentice bumbling about with a busted blade, now would he?” Chosen apprentice? That was a lie. Silas likely didn’t even know Yarkar had arrived. Still, the nasty old Bothan took the blade with a sneer and waved the pair off. Kress blew him a kiss for good measure as they strode away and the forgemaster returned her sarcastic behavior with a choice word or two. Those curses faded into the temple behind them with every step.
“Technically it’s not a lie. You’re an apprentice, you’re technically his to deal with, and I chose to invite you back into the temple on his behalf.” Her expression was mischievous and clearly proud of herself as the two wandered back into the residential quarters.
Yarkar asked a good question. It was one that she really didn’t know herself, having been made masterless even before the Sovereign’s ascent. “We do in fact answer to Silas now. He’s taken the throne and an apprentice. While he doesn’t claim Tormentous’s old apprentice, Kita, he does command and offer some guidance, though it’s usually cruel. I have been playing peacekeeper between the two ever since I returned, so do me a favor and don’t add to my already hefty burden, yeah? I suspect Tormentous will one day return and if I didn’t stop them from murdering one another in his absence? I doubt he’d be grateful.” She paused in front of a room that sported an unmade bed, a small table, and an empty shelf. “Ah, this one is unused. I’d claim it if I were you. Just a few doors down from me! But uh, yeah...I suspect you will need to be introduced to Silas. He wouldn’t like it if I completely inducted you back into the order without his say so, but I’m sure we can avoid any unpleasantries if we go together. As for servitude, I don’t know and don’t care. I serve no one and I choose to be here. You want to stay alive here? Make friends. Friends don’t change their loyalties so easily when a new master comes along. Servants follow whoever they’re told to until they aren’t required.”
Nodding along with him, the meandering acolyte hummed, “That’s the spirit, Edetar. You know what else is a path to weakness? Needing justification. Just do what you will, man. Sometimes nothing need apply.” Maybe it was bad advice to give a sith, but it worked for her. Seldom does anyone surpass those above them by worrying over their own justification.
That vibroblade had seen better days. Kress snickered at the blade and motioned with her chin towards the box of damaged weaponry she carried. “I’d say it could use some work, yeah. Trust me, you always need your equipment to be in perfect functioning order. You don’t want to get caught with faulty weaponry. It’ll get you killed.” They turned the corner and descended a flight of stairs into the forge. Before approaching the stone counter where weapons and armor in need of work could be dropped off, she considered Yarkar’s blade. “Lightsaber damage?”
Behind the front counter stood a grizzled Bothan with mean, beady eyes that glared at Yarkar. His gaze shifted to Kressara with a look of annoyance when he spied the crate loaded with damaged items. Throwing up his hands, he hissed, “Do you wait until you have no more weapons in functioning condition before bringing them in all at once just to annoy me, Thryn? Do you really think I have the time to work all of these?” Kressara dropped the box onto the counter with a resounding metallic clatter and leaned in on her elbows to smile at the forgemaster. She snidely purred, “Sorry I break too many weapons while I’m out actually earning credits and getting missions done for the sith that no one else has the guts or skill to handle. Would you rather I stay in the temple more often? I could spend so much more time with you, Lestly boy~”
“Oh, go choke on sand.” Scoffed the Bothan, reluctantly taking the crate. Kress jerked her head in the direction of her companion and chimed, “Don’t forget his. I doubt our lord would approve of his chosen apprentice bumbling about with a busted blade, now would he?” Chosen apprentice? That was a lie. Silas likely didn’t even know Yarkar had arrived. Still, the nasty old Bothan took the blade with a sneer and waved the pair off. Kress blew him a kiss for good measure as they strode away and the forgemaster returned her sarcastic behavior with a choice word or two. Those curses faded into the temple behind them with every step.
“Technically it’s not a lie. You’re an apprentice, you’re technically his to deal with, and I chose to invite you back into the temple on his behalf.” Her expression was mischievous and clearly proud of herself as the two wandered back into the residential quarters.
Yarkar asked a good question. It was one that she really didn’t know herself, having been made masterless even before the Sovereign’s ascent. “We do in fact answer to Silas now. He’s taken the throne and an apprentice. While he doesn’t claim Tormentous’s old apprentice, Kita, he does command and offer some guidance, though it’s usually cruel. I have been playing peacekeeper between the two ever since I returned, so do me a favor and don’t add to my already hefty burden, yeah? I suspect Tormentous will one day return and if I didn’t stop them from murdering one another in his absence? I doubt he’d be grateful.” She paused in front of a room that sported an unmade bed, a small table, and an empty shelf. “Ah, this one is unused. I’d claim it if I were you. Just a few doors down from me! But uh, yeah...I suspect you will need to be introduced to Silas. He wouldn’t like it if I completely inducted you back into the order without his say so, but I’m sure we can avoid any unpleasantries if we go together. As for servitude, I don’t know and don’t care. I serve no one and I choose to be here. You want to stay alive here? Make friends. Friends don’t change their loyalties so easily when a new master comes along. Servants follow whoever they’re told to until they aren’t required.”
There is a place that hurts the most, but will I go there? I cannot climb, it's far below. I have to fall there.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
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Yarkar Edetar
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- Joined: Sat Nov 20, 2021 6:41 pm
Re: A Returning Passion
"Justification is what separates a mindless brute smashing skulls and me. I need the reason why that skull in particular is taken, out of all that can be. Justification is the difference between being aimless and having success. To live without purpose is to accomplish nothing with what you do." He could see where Kressara was coming from, it just felt flat. He needed a reason to do what he did, even if her advice at large had been to relax. He cannot relax without reason, the only reason that muscles need to recover is because they come back stronger. From the amount of times he'd been beaten down he knows all about that. He'd spent too much of his career as a Sith getting over injuries from various fights gone wrong. He rubs his palm, still seeing the scar where a hole once was, remembering how his own blade was driven through it by a bounty hunter. That was when he learned, the scar a permanent reminder that you have to accept that sometimes you're outclassed.
Speaking of outclassed, Kress had mentioned the lightsaber damage. He grumbled. "Had a bad encounter with a Verpine Jedi in a cavern. It was what made me disappear, I'm surprised I survived my wounds and the wildlife long enough to get offworld." He left out a few key details that he felt she didn't need to know. No one had to know, it was between him and that carapace-covered warrior now, if he even remembered the fledgling Sith.
When she introduces him as something he's not to the blacksmith, Yarkar scowls. He taps a foot to show his discomfort, but he didn't speak up since he didn't know the exact intention of the words and what they hid. As they were waved away, he turned to her as if to wordlessly say "What in the world was that for?" She responded in turn, although her explanation made his eyes roll. "You really are a piece of work Kressara. Words may make up titles, but not all words can be made into any list of titles." His walk was slightly off kilter, like he was used to having that familiar weight of the vibroblade on his hip to the point where he almost didn't know how to walk without it anymore. It took him almost all the way to the residential quarters to get his balance back as he had visible discomfort knowing that his sidearm was away.
He listens keenly on her description of the current state of the rulership of the Sith. He nods solemnly at him needing to at the very least not add fuel to the fire. "I have never been one to cause conflicts with my superiors, and superiors they are. If they are at each other's throats, I will wait for you before doing anything in an attempt to remedy the situation, but know now if it comes to a fight I will likely not take the losing side." He tried his best to make it clear what side he saw as more likely to prevail with his tone. It is hard to imagine another of Tormentous' apprentices would take out the Dark Lord without being a Lord herself.
As she pointed out the lodgings, his eyes did light up slightly. "I will accept any lodgings at this point, a dark and cramped room in a spaceship gets very boring after awhile. It will be nice to have some space to walk for once." He almost takes offense at her speaking down about servants, but keeps his temper in check for once in his life. It's not worth making a scene. "However, while I do believe friends are important, those that change their loyalties at the tip of a hat are not servants. They are cowards. Cowards follow whomever speaks the loudest, servants serve their masters as is commanded of them. I am a servant indeed, and a servant I shall stay. To whom, we both know, yet I dare not speak of said loyalty above all in a place where there may be ears. Loyalty may be moot to the Sith, but I feel there is still much to be gained by its use at this time."
"But yes, I suppose I may have to speak with Silas. What comes of me after will be the deciding factor of the rest of my career, I suppose."
Speaking of outclassed, Kress had mentioned the lightsaber damage. He grumbled. "Had a bad encounter with a Verpine Jedi in a cavern. It was what made me disappear, I'm surprised I survived my wounds and the wildlife long enough to get offworld." He left out a few key details that he felt she didn't need to know. No one had to know, it was between him and that carapace-covered warrior now, if he even remembered the fledgling Sith.
When she introduces him as something he's not to the blacksmith, Yarkar scowls. He taps a foot to show his discomfort, but he didn't speak up since he didn't know the exact intention of the words and what they hid. As they were waved away, he turned to her as if to wordlessly say "What in the world was that for?" She responded in turn, although her explanation made his eyes roll. "You really are a piece of work Kressara. Words may make up titles, but not all words can be made into any list of titles." His walk was slightly off kilter, like he was used to having that familiar weight of the vibroblade on his hip to the point where he almost didn't know how to walk without it anymore. It took him almost all the way to the residential quarters to get his balance back as he had visible discomfort knowing that his sidearm was away.
He listens keenly on her description of the current state of the rulership of the Sith. He nods solemnly at him needing to at the very least not add fuel to the fire. "I have never been one to cause conflicts with my superiors, and superiors they are. If they are at each other's throats, I will wait for you before doing anything in an attempt to remedy the situation, but know now if it comes to a fight I will likely not take the losing side." He tried his best to make it clear what side he saw as more likely to prevail with his tone. It is hard to imagine another of Tormentous' apprentices would take out the Dark Lord without being a Lord herself.
As she pointed out the lodgings, his eyes did light up slightly. "I will accept any lodgings at this point, a dark and cramped room in a spaceship gets very boring after awhile. It will be nice to have some space to walk for once." He almost takes offense at her speaking down about servants, but keeps his temper in check for once in his life. It's not worth making a scene. "However, while I do believe friends are important, those that change their loyalties at the tip of a hat are not servants. They are cowards. Cowards follow whomever speaks the loudest, servants serve their masters as is commanded of them. I am a servant indeed, and a servant I shall stay. To whom, we both know, yet I dare not speak of said loyalty above all in a place where there may be ears. Loyalty may be moot to the Sith, but I feel there is still much to be gained by its use at this time."
"But yes, I suppose I may have to speak with Silas. What comes of me after will be the deciding factor of the rest of my career, I suppose."
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Kressara Thryn
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Re: A Returning Passion
“You sound like all the other recruits. I get where you’re coming from, man. I really do. There’s wisdom to acting through justification...but make sure you don’t find yourself held back from the small things because of it. You’ll start living by excuses that way and it’s not healthy. Sometimes what you want is what you want, and that in itself is passion. You know what we sith say about passion?” Golden hazels shimmering in the dimly lit corridors, thick with glitterstim deposits thanks to her habitual use, cut through to Yarkar. If one sith principal could define Kressara, perhaps passion was best suited to her lifestyle and personality.
“Verpine Jedi huh? I’ll make note of that. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot a Jedi of that species.” Kress didn’t have any intention of finding him, but she’d always wanted to make contact with the Jedi for her own personal reasons. Knowing what one might look like should she encounter such a lightsider could help her either avoid trouble, or seek it out in the future. “Ah, how I aspire to be a piece of work!” Her laughter chimed through the halls. It didn’t matter to the glitbiter sith if anyone heard or saw her laughing. “There is truth where I make truth. You’re not his chosen acolyte yet ,but I could talk you up. Speak of your hard won survival against a Jedi and how you continued your training alone even when you were marooned. It would be easy to speak highly of you and make my reconstruction of the truth more accurate. Don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as manifesting.”
On the subject of winning sides, Kressara’s expression sharpened. Her smile, once warm, took on a more purposefully coy, sly edge. Something devious twinkled from behind her appraising gaze. “I’ve ingratiated myself to every side this temple may have to offer. If it comes down to a fight, I’ll win regardless of who loses.”
They looked over the room together and after it was approved for its spaciousness, the blonde let softness return to her grin. “I don’t do well in cramped spaces either. You have my sympathy.” and when the conversation had turned to the meaning of servitude, she merely sighed and headed down the corridor towards the center of the temple where Silas might be found if he was in. “We once saw eye to eye on this matter. I served my master and those of the sith blindly, without question, with adoration and devotion. I gave everything. It didn’t get me very far.”
There was a lingering bitterness behind those words, one that filled Kressara with the temptation to regret her past mistakes.
“Yeah, he’ll be the one to decide that in the end. Play your cards right though, and you’ll be fine.”
Kress hoped so at least.
“Verpine Jedi huh? I’ll make note of that. Shouldn’t be too hard to spot a Jedi of that species.” Kress didn’t have any intention of finding him, but she’d always wanted to make contact with the Jedi for her own personal reasons. Knowing what one might look like should she encounter such a lightsider could help her either avoid trouble, or seek it out in the future. “Ah, how I aspire to be a piece of work!” Her laughter chimed through the halls. It didn’t matter to the glitbiter sith if anyone heard or saw her laughing. “There is truth where I make truth. You’re not his chosen acolyte yet ,but I could talk you up. Speak of your hard won survival against a Jedi and how you continued your training alone even when you were marooned. It would be easy to speak highly of you and make my reconstruction of the truth more accurate. Don’t think of it as lying. Think of it as manifesting.”
On the subject of winning sides, Kressara’s expression sharpened. Her smile, once warm, took on a more purposefully coy, sly edge. Something devious twinkled from behind her appraising gaze. “I’ve ingratiated myself to every side this temple may have to offer. If it comes down to a fight, I’ll win regardless of who loses.”
They looked over the room together and after it was approved for its spaciousness, the blonde let softness return to her grin. “I don’t do well in cramped spaces either. You have my sympathy.” and when the conversation had turned to the meaning of servitude, she merely sighed and headed down the corridor towards the center of the temple where Silas might be found if he was in. “We once saw eye to eye on this matter. I served my master and those of the sith blindly, without question, with adoration and devotion. I gave everything. It didn’t get me very far.”
There was a lingering bitterness behind those words, one that filled Kressara with the temptation to regret her past mistakes.
“Yeah, he’ll be the one to decide that in the end. Play your cards right though, and you’ll be fine.”
Kress hoped so at least.
There is a place that hurts the most, but will I go there? I cannot climb, it's far below. I have to fall there.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
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Yarkar Edetar
- Registered Member
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Sat Nov 20, 2021 6:41 pm
Re: A Returning Passion
"You seem to have gotten far enough, in my eyes. You have gotten to where you are now, after all, and we are not mere pawns anymore. There is a threat to seeing us, and more so to bothering us. There may be things in our path further on, but there is nothing that will stop us forever. We will continue to climb, with loyalty as friends being what drives us forward. I will just have loyalty beyond that to a person yet unnamed." He felt the bitterness in her voice, trying to get her mind off of it. His own experiences with out of control emotions made him much more willing to help others reign in theirs. There is nothing to be gained in such expressions, to not use your emotions for something is to simply waste the energy of feeling them, in his eyes.
He caught his breath, slowing it down for a while. His heart beat rapidly at the idea of seeing Silas. Especially since by Kressara's admission he was not keen on the idea of his predecessor's apprentices still being around. He ran a hand along the hilt of his lightsaber, pulling his cloak over it to hide it in hopes of not seeming too eager to pull it out. He definitely couldn't best a Lord of the Sith in combat with his own measly skill with a saber anyways so its use would be minimal at best. He takes one last deep breath before letting it out, coming back to the world from his flurry of thoughts much calmer than before as the storm of his mind finally slows its gales of fear.<br/>
He turns to Kressara after fixing up his hair with his hand so he at least looks like he had been back in society for a little while, he wasn't unkempt, but he definitely could look a little better. "I believe that it must be time then. If it takes a meeting with this Silas to once again join the ranks, than a meeting with Silas I shall have. I assume you're wishing to come with me, judging by your insistence on talking me up." His eyes were cold, a sudden change of demeanor from the calm and slightly playful Yarkar moments prior. He felt like he did when he was preparing to train, his mind sharp and his gaze sharper. His mouth a straight line across his face showing nothing but professionalism. He had perfected such a visage with his parents, they taught him business, and this was business. After all, he was about to sell the most important thing of his life, his worthiness to keep living it despite his disappearance.
His body stiffens a little, standing upright and acting as proper as possible with the placement of his hands and feet. Fear flowed through his veins like blood as he reached out into the Force, attempting to heighten his Danger Sense as much as possible in hopes of seeing an attack before it arrives. His mind swirled with emotions as he touched the Force, a familiar feeling as he was surrounded by different halls and very few familiar faces.
He caught his breath, slowing it down for a while. His heart beat rapidly at the idea of seeing Silas. Especially since by Kressara's admission he was not keen on the idea of his predecessor's apprentices still being around. He ran a hand along the hilt of his lightsaber, pulling his cloak over it to hide it in hopes of not seeming too eager to pull it out. He definitely couldn't best a Lord of the Sith in combat with his own measly skill with a saber anyways so its use would be minimal at best. He takes one last deep breath before letting it out, coming back to the world from his flurry of thoughts much calmer than before as the storm of his mind finally slows its gales of fear.<br/>
He turns to Kressara after fixing up his hair with his hand so he at least looks like he had been back in society for a little while, he wasn't unkempt, but he definitely could look a little better. "I believe that it must be time then. If it takes a meeting with this Silas to once again join the ranks, than a meeting with Silas I shall have. I assume you're wishing to come with me, judging by your insistence on talking me up." His eyes were cold, a sudden change of demeanor from the calm and slightly playful Yarkar moments prior. He felt like he did when he was preparing to train, his mind sharp and his gaze sharper. His mouth a straight line across his face showing nothing but professionalism. He had perfected such a visage with his parents, they taught him business, and this was business. After all, he was about to sell the most important thing of his life, his worthiness to keep living it despite his disappearance.
His body stiffens a little, standing upright and acting as proper as possible with the placement of his hands and feet. Fear flowed through his veins like blood as he reached out into the Force, attempting to heighten his Danger Sense as much as possible in hopes of seeing an attack before it arrives. His mind swirled with emotions as he touched the Force, a familiar feeling as he was surrounded by different halls and very few familiar faces.
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Kressara Thryn
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Re: A Returning Passion
“If you think we aren’t pawns, you’re wrong. Anyone who ISN’T at the top IS, and if you’re allowing yourself to be used, you’re allowing yourself to be. a. pawn.” Noticing his fear and apprehension about meeting the newest lord of the sith who could end his life on a whim, Kressara narrowed her eyes and halted their path. Bangles jingled around her wrists as a hand lifted to catch her fellow acolyte by the shoulder. Turning him to her, fierce golds that’d seen far too much for one lifetime burned holes through him. “And DON’T let yourself fear ANYONE.”
They were alone in the hallway, or else Kressara might have thought to lower her voice, but she could sense a lack of presence around them. These words were just between them.
“The man we’re about to see? He’s just a man. He’s got the same timer on his heart that we all have. He’s got knowledge and power that you can benefit from, but if he decides he’s going to use that to end you? Kill him. Don’t ever let me catch you with that resigned look in your eyes again. When a bigger enemy wants you dead, take every chance you get to outlive them. No one is immortal. Not even Tormentous himself.”
Footsteps approached as a group of acolytes traveled through the halls towards them. At this, Kressara silenced herself and continued walking. When the students came into view, Yarkar’s guide bumped shoulders with one of the acolytes who stumbled away in a storm of curses. She didn’t notice that Kressara had stolen the vibro dagger from her robes. The sith assassin slid the dagger into a strap on her thigh beneath her skirt. “Never be afraid to die in battle. Be afraid of dying before you make your opponent sorry they ever had the gaul to look your way. You’ll live longer that way and the big players in the sith like to see that spunk. They sense fear. Give them something they aren’t expecting instead.”
Descending stairs towards ancient double doors that would lead into the throne room, the flaxen sith turned to Yarkar with an almost playful glint in her eyes when her smile returned. “Loyalty is one part of the equation that solves all your problems in the sith. It’s gotten you a friend in me, so you’re not walking into this alone. Dignity is the other half. Follow my lead, keep that fear of yours in check, and exude what dignifies you. You’ll be breathing tomorrow.” Hazels winked before Kressara pushed against the doors with the flats of her palms.
Double doors swung wide, entering Kressara Thryn with an unfamiliar acolyte in tow. Of course the unorthodox assassin wasn’t in sith robes, or armor, but instead she wore a floor length black skirt, layered gold belts, bangles on her wrists and ankles to match. She sported a black crop top, leaving her midsection and arms exposed to show off her multitude of scars like trophies. Black feathers were tied here and there in her lengthy white gold locks. Her refusal to adhere to a general unwritten dresscode earned scowls from the guards which she wholly ignored while striding into the court with a bounce in her step, jingling all the way. That. That right there was the attitude she tried to share with Yarkar. Strutting into a serpent’s den like you’re impervious to its fangs. Nearing the throne, Silas’s most unconventional sith took a bow and offered him a venomous, high voltage smile.
“My lord, I have come to introduce someone~” Straightening, the black bird of the sith motioned towards the acolyte mere steps behind her. “This is Yarkar Edetar, a forgotten apprentice of Tormentous who’s survival would surely impress and surprise him, were he here. Yarkar was marooned for some time and has finally found his way back to us. He says he fought off a verpine Jedi in his misadventures and that he’s been training alone until the day he could return. I believe he’s got potential, even if he is a bit serious.” Kressara crossed her arms and leaned all of her weight onto one foot, taking a relaxed stance.
“A bit rough around the edges, but I see something in him that’s actually alive. His loyalties are yet to be decided as well, unlike Tormentous’s other apprentice. I’d put some effort into this one’s training, if I were you. The kid’s got nice manners. He’ll surpass me in no time!” She said it so nonchalantly, like admitting someone could surpass you with ease wasn’t a death sentence among the sith. Really, Kress did it for a rise. She enjoyed her superiors rolling eyes and scorning her for lacking the same apparent attitude of the rest, yet harboring something truly indomitable inside. Everything said was spoken with a lack of fear. It made the difference between an unconfident admission, and a threateningly snarky quip.
“I like him at least. Reminds me of someone. Can’t place it though.”
They were alone in the hallway, or else Kressara might have thought to lower her voice, but she could sense a lack of presence around them. These words were just between them.
“The man we’re about to see? He’s just a man. He’s got the same timer on his heart that we all have. He’s got knowledge and power that you can benefit from, but if he decides he’s going to use that to end you? Kill him. Don’t ever let me catch you with that resigned look in your eyes again. When a bigger enemy wants you dead, take every chance you get to outlive them. No one is immortal. Not even Tormentous himself.”
Footsteps approached as a group of acolytes traveled through the halls towards them. At this, Kressara silenced herself and continued walking. When the students came into view, Yarkar’s guide bumped shoulders with one of the acolytes who stumbled away in a storm of curses. She didn’t notice that Kressara had stolen the vibro dagger from her robes. The sith assassin slid the dagger into a strap on her thigh beneath her skirt. “Never be afraid to die in battle. Be afraid of dying before you make your opponent sorry they ever had the gaul to look your way. You’ll live longer that way and the big players in the sith like to see that spunk. They sense fear. Give them something they aren’t expecting instead.”
Descending stairs towards ancient double doors that would lead into the throne room, the flaxen sith turned to Yarkar with an almost playful glint in her eyes when her smile returned. “Loyalty is one part of the equation that solves all your problems in the sith. It’s gotten you a friend in me, so you’re not walking into this alone. Dignity is the other half. Follow my lead, keep that fear of yours in check, and exude what dignifies you. You’ll be breathing tomorrow.” Hazels winked before Kressara pushed against the doors with the flats of her palms.
Double doors swung wide, entering Kressara Thryn with an unfamiliar acolyte in tow. Of course the unorthodox assassin wasn’t in sith robes, or armor, but instead she wore a floor length black skirt, layered gold belts, bangles on her wrists and ankles to match. She sported a black crop top, leaving her midsection and arms exposed to show off her multitude of scars like trophies. Black feathers were tied here and there in her lengthy white gold locks. Her refusal to adhere to a general unwritten dresscode earned scowls from the guards which she wholly ignored while striding into the court with a bounce in her step, jingling all the way. That. That right there was the attitude she tried to share with Yarkar. Strutting into a serpent’s den like you’re impervious to its fangs. Nearing the throne, Silas’s most unconventional sith took a bow and offered him a venomous, high voltage smile.
“My lord, I have come to introduce someone~” Straightening, the black bird of the sith motioned towards the acolyte mere steps behind her. “This is Yarkar Edetar, a forgotten apprentice of Tormentous who’s survival would surely impress and surprise him, were he here. Yarkar was marooned for some time and has finally found his way back to us. He says he fought off a verpine Jedi in his misadventures and that he’s been training alone until the day he could return. I believe he’s got potential, even if he is a bit serious.” Kressara crossed her arms and leaned all of her weight onto one foot, taking a relaxed stance.
“A bit rough around the edges, but I see something in him that’s actually alive. His loyalties are yet to be decided as well, unlike Tormentous’s other apprentice. I’d put some effort into this one’s training, if I were you. The kid’s got nice manners. He’ll surpass me in no time!” She said it so nonchalantly, like admitting someone could surpass you with ease wasn’t a death sentence among the sith. Really, Kress did it for a rise. She enjoyed her superiors rolling eyes and scorning her for lacking the same apparent attitude of the rest, yet harboring something truly indomitable inside. Everything said was spoken with a lack of fear. It made the difference between an unconfident admission, and a threateningly snarky quip.
“I like him at least. Reminds me of someone. Can’t place it though.”
There is a place that hurts the most, but will I go there? I cannot climb, it's far below. I have to fall there.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
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Yarkar Edetar
- Registered Member
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Sat Nov 20, 2021 6:41 pm
Re: A Returning Passion
Yarkar slowly recognizes the Kressara he knew, she had been acting like a stranger this whole time, but this was the one that he had met. This is the one who spurred on his vitriol and had made him so bitter. Every word she said cut at him as she questioned truths that had gotten him here to begin with. If he didn't feel the call to return to Tormentous, even if he wasn't here, he wouldn't have returned to the Sith. Pawn or not, the Sith were all he had. The idea of not being the ideal acolyte was horrifying to him, to be cast aside would be worse than death. She didn't know his fear wasn't being cut down, but living through that. He didn't know anyone in the galaxy anymore: he didn't remember the name, just a vague idea of the face of the bounty hunter who saved him, his parents would simply lead him into another life of isolation, and Tormentous had simply disappeared. Kressara was the only familiar face he had left, and that was once again part of the Sith. His entire life was within the walls of temples now, even his dreams were laced with the wishes of the Dark Side. If the Sith and service of them wasn't his truth, then what was he? A child with poor judgement who ran away for nothing? A prisoner kept in chains by a lack of knowing what it's like without the weight of shackles? His face didn't budge, trying to hide this inner turmoil from her. He couldn't let her see weakness in him, not now, not ever.
He takes her pep talk before going in, trying to be as conspicuous in the Force as possible. It was, after all, his main selling point. His improvement in the Force was what made him interesting at this moment in time, alongside his survival. He altered the flow of the Force towards himself in a mad bid to seem powerful as he stood tall. He gave up on his plan to seem nonthreatening, pulling back his cloak as he entered to proudly display his saber. Despite his attempts to seem intimidating, he was still who he was. His ghostly pale skin hadn't really tanned in his absence due to most of it being spent in caves or on a ship, so his burn scars were as obvious as ever. His black cloak was wrinkled and torn, his black pants and white shirt being about the same. He was not well dressed per se, but he had done his best with only having one outfit for an incredibly long time. At least he'd bathed in his time away from society, so there wasn't much of a smell, simply tatters to show what he had gone through.
As Yarkar came to Silas' throne, he bowed. He felt the tension in the halls palpably, the room seemed like it was steeped in it. Not only from the scene within, but like the room itself was built to invoke such tension and urgency to any action done within it. He was entirely unfamiliar with the architecture, it felt so grand. As he lifted himself from his bow he did his best to keep eye contact with the Lord to which Kressara appealed to. He didn't wish to show weakness, not now. As opposed to Kressara's relaxed stance, Yarkar stood straight. His back lost its usual tired slouch, and his hands were positioned holding each other.
"Putting effort into my training, however, would only be in addition to what I put into my own. I have and will continue to put power above all. In my exile the Force taught me one thing that I shall never forget. That improvement is not greatness, improvement is the status quo. If you don't keep up, then you will fall behind. Anything additional will simply allow me to move beyond that ever increasing standard." He wasn't sure if he should speak after Kressara, but he wasn't about to allow her to be his mouthpiece. She can say what she will, but he will not let himself only be what she hypes him to be. He wanted to prove that he wasn't just a silent easel to have a history painted onto his canvas.
He takes her pep talk before going in, trying to be as conspicuous in the Force as possible. It was, after all, his main selling point. His improvement in the Force was what made him interesting at this moment in time, alongside his survival. He altered the flow of the Force towards himself in a mad bid to seem powerful as he stood tall. He gave up on his plan to seem nonthreatening, pulling back his cloak as he entered to proudly display his saber. Despite his attempts to seem intimidating, he was still who he was. His ghostly pale skin hadn't really tanned in his absence due to most of it being spent in caves or on a ship, so his burn scars were as obvious as ever. His black cloak was wrinkled and torn, his black pants and white shirt being about the same. He was not well dressed per se, but he had done his best with only having one outfit for an incredibly long time. At least he'd bathed in his time away from society, so there wasn't much of a smell, simply tatters to show what he had gone through.
As Yarkar came to Silas' throne, he bowed. He felt the tension in the halls palpably, the room seemed like it was steeped in it. Not only from the scene within, but like the room itself was built to invoke such tension and urgency to any action done within it. He was entirely unfamiliar with the architecture, it felt so grand. As he lifted himself from his bow he did his best to keep eye contact with the Lord to which Kressara appealed to. He didn't wish to show weakness, not now. As opposed to Kressara's relaxed stance, Yarkar stood straight. His back lost its usual tired slouch, and his hands were positioned holding each other.
"Putting effort into my training, however, would only be in addition to what I put into my own. I have and will continue to put power above all. In my exile the Force taught me one thing that I shall never forget. That improvement is not greatness, improvement is the status quo. If you don't keep up, then you will fall behind. Anything additional will simply allow me to move beyond that ever increasing standard." He wasn't sure if he should speak after Kressara, but he wasn't about to allow her to be his mouthpiece. She can say what she will, but he will not let himself only be what she hypes him to be. He wanted to prove that he wasn't just a silent easel to have a history painted onto his canvas.
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Silas Karn
- Full Member
- Posts: 302
- Joined: Wed Oct 11, 2017 1:15 pm
Re: A Returning Passion
The man that greeted Yarkar was truly a sight to behold. Standing at two meters in height with resplendent platinum silver hair finely trimmed just above his shoulders crowned the head of the pale skinned Echani. Encased in form fitting obsidian black armor etched with ancient sith script. The armor was adorned by a black cape flowing from his waist and terminating just above the heels of his greaves.
The inside of the cape was a majestic silver matching the platinum armor weave that linked the obsidian plating of Silas’s armor. At his left side was sheathed a majestic silver hilt belonging to the Irus’s Mirtis the foul sword he himself had forged. Strikingly the Echani lacked the faintest sign of dark side degradation to his skin even his eyes remained a pure sapphire in hue. While Kressara didn’t believe in true immortality, this man possessed its secrets and in at least one aspect held an eternal gift.
“A cast away, one of many. Yet, I can sense a great depth of training in this one. However, perhaps a fault of the lackadaisical nature of the former lord’s rule I do not detect the stain of the dark upon this one’s soul.” Silas had oft wondered how stalwart Tormentous’s will had been to continually train and guide so many only for the lion’s share of his work fading into the ether. With a slight movement of his eyes the Sovereign honed in on the flighty acolyte that had welcomed this new arrival into his halls.
“I am curious as to by what misadventures allowed your paths to cross. I’ve always been impressed by your migrations.” Intrigued by the possibilities of bolstering the ranks the Dark Lord looked back to Yarkar. Listening to him speak of training Silas allowed a vile grin upon his countenance. “Excellent intuition. However all the effort in the world will not avail you, you must have a goal. If it is merely to improve there’d be little need to meet me directly.” A pause was granted as the Sovereign gauged the new arrival. “What would you say your goal is? Have you set your sights beyond the limitations of a mere acolyte? Titles, land, slaves, underlings, a citadel, a tower, a throne, what is it that drives you?”
The inside of the cape was a majestic silver matching the platinum armor weave that linked the obsidian plating of Silas’s armor. At his left side was sheathed a majestic silver hilt belonging to the Irus’s Mirtis the foul sword he himself had forged. Strikingly the Echani lacked the faintest sign of dark side degradation to his skin even his eyes remained a pure sapphire in hue. While Kressara didn’t believe in true immortality, this man possessed its secrets and in at least one aspect held an eternal gift.
“A cast away, one of many. Yet, I can sense a great depth of training in this one. However, perhaps a fault of the lackadaisical nature of the former lord’s rule I do not detect the stain of the dark upon this one’s soul.” Silas had oft wondered how stalwart Tormentous’s will had been to continually train and guide so many only for the lion’s share of his work fading into the ether. With a slight movement of his eyes the Sovereign honed in on the flighty acolyte that had welcomed this new arrival into his halls.
“I am curious as to by what misadventures allowed your paths to cross. I’ve always been impressed by your migrations.” Intrigued by the possibilities of bolstering the ranks the Dark Lord looked back to Yarkar. Listening to him speak of training Silas allowed a vile grin upon his countenance. “Excellent intuition. However all the effort in the world will not avail you, you must have a goal. If it is merely to improve there’d be little need to meet me directly.” A pause was granted as the Sovereign gauged the new arrival. “What would you say your goal is? Have you set your sights beyond the limitations of a mere acolyte? Titles, land, slaves, underlings, a citadel, a tower, a throne, what is it that drives you?”
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Kressara Thryn
- Full Member
- Posts: 336
- Joined: Wed Feb 28, 2018 3:28 am
Re: A Returning Passion
As per usual, Silas was dressed head to toe in his fanciful sithy attire. Kress was beginning to wonder if anything on him cost less than the worth of her head on the bounty boards in Euphornis. She could probably trade a stolen boot for enough credits to replace her ship’s engine. The snob. His remarks about lacking a darksider’s stained soul brought a snicker up from the depths of her lungs. She herself lacked any touch of the darkside, and it wasn’t for lack of trying from time to time in her life. For some reason, something held her back from it every time. Surrounding herself in it, screaming into the void that was the darkness, she’d walk out just the same as ever, wondering why it avoided her like oil refusing to mix with water.
Shrugging it off, Kressara noted, “And that’s a bad thing? Why resume work on a blade that’s already been half forged? Why attempt to start the process all over again at all if someone just left it there? Yarkar’s aura might be squeaky clean, but he’s practically unforged. He’s just untrained enough to be useful, without having to undo all the mistakes of a previous, less experienced master. I’d say that’s a plus.” Of course, she didn’t really think Tormentous was less experienced. In fact, she might have argued that he knew what he was doing, but she knew Silas had a penchant for praise. Most lords did. Tell them they’re doing better than all the others and their ego remembers the sense of feel good chemicals such support supplies the next time tensions rise. He might not have been addicted to spice, or death sticks, but the mind supplied its own chemicals. Just so happened, kindness, smiles, and adrenaline were chems Kress dealt in expertly.
“Oh? Us? We apparently met years ago, though…” Playful golden irises cut over to the young apprentice with a coy curve of her lips, teeth on full display. “...I don’t actually recall his face from way back when. Must not have left a very noticeable impression, though he certainly does now! Just look at that glare? So serious. I think one of his goals might actually be to murder me in my sleep!” Her tone was lightly mocking, digging at Yarkar to purposefully goad his anger. The boy actually had some fire in him and it seemed to shine best when he was competing. She dropped it though, not wanting to push him too far before a musical laugh filled the throne room. Wiping a single tear from her eye, Kress sighed, “So scary.”
With that she took on a more straight backed stance and came to stand beside the dark lord. She held more interest in the situation than she let on, genuinely wanting the best for the kid. However, she’d dispose of him from the planet if Silas said the word.
Shrugging it off, Kressara noted, “And that’s a bad thing? Why resume work on a blade that’s already been half forged? Why attempt to start the process all over again at all if someone just left it there? Yarkar’s aura might be squeaky clean, but he’s practically unforged. He’s just untrained enough to be useful, without having to undo all the mistakes of a previous, less experienced master. I’d say that’s a plus.” Of course, she didn’t really think Tormentous was less experienced. In fact, she might have argued that he knew what he was doing, but she knew Silas had a penchant for praise. Most lords did. Tell them they’re doing better than all the others and their ego remembers the sense of feel good chemicals such support supplies the next time tensions rise. He might not have been addicted to spice, or death sticks, but the mind supplied its own chemicals. Just so happened, kindness, smiles, and adrenaline were chems Kress dealt in expertly.
“Oh? Us? We apparently met years ago, though…” Playful golden irises cut over to the young apprentice with a coy curve of her lips, teeth on full display. “...I don’t actually recall his face from way back when. Must not have left a very noticeable impression, though he certainly does now! Just look at that glare? So serious. I think one of his goals might actually be to murder me in my sleep!” Her tone was lightly mocking, digging at Yarkar to purposefully goad his anger. The boy actually had some fire in him and it seemed to shine best when he was competing. She dropped it though, not wanting to push him too far before a musical laugh filled the throne room. Wiping a single tear from her eye, Kress sighed, “So scary.”
With that she took on a more straight backed stance and came to stand beside the dark lord. She held more interest in the situation than she let on, genuinely wanting the best for the kid. However, she’d dispose of him from the planet if Silas said the word.
There is a place that hurts the most, but will I go there? I cannot climb, it's far below. I have to fall there.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
Just another anarchist sith assassin wishing she'd grown crops instead.
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Yarkar Edetar
- Registered Member
- Posts: 90
- Joined: Sat Nov 20, 2021 6:41 pm
Re: A Returning Passion
Yarkar was enamored by the power that Silas visibly gave. He was more than just a presence in the Force, he was a presence in the room as well. Everything about his appearance seemed to give way to something greater, something more powerful than what he could see or sense. Every syllable crashed into him like a wave, judgement from the tempest of strength that held the position of his former master. Who knew what the great abyss that stood before him held in his grasp, he only knew it would be his end should Silas choose to wield it. Yet, he stood before Silas despite it all. He smiled, but there wasn't wickedness in it. He could sense almost an air of acceptance in how he was spoken of. He couldn't tell what exactly it was, but it reminded him of his old master. A sharp and correcting hand, but the presence of said hand merely proved there was someone interested in where he went when cornered.
Then Kress spoke. Fire indeed the boy had, as hot as the lava of his home planet of Sullust. And like someone piercing the crust of magma, he erupted. His teeth clenched as he turned to Kressara, that golden twinkle in her eye meaning nothing to dull the perceived treachery. To think that he'd trusted her, that she'd put aside their differences, and yet here she was trying to make a fool of him when she had promised otherwise. This was only compounded by her remarks about his former master, his anger seething as he felt the dark side come over him like a storm. A rage rained down upon a million words he could say. His eyes felt like they turned into daggers, like his gaze was trying to burn a hole in between Kressara's eyes.
To the onlookers, it was but a moment, but to Yarkar it felt like years as his mind warped and his vision curdled. It was like Kressara was bathed in a dark shadow, eyes glowing red as a glinting white smile was punctuated by sparks of glitter. He could feel it, his senses keyed him into the true nature of it. It was much heavier in the Force than she felt, it clung to his anger like the very thought of words crossing his tongue leaked energy into this vile artifact. It moved away from Kress as his sense of life from it left, leaving him to know it couldn't be real. And yet he could see it. Yarkar's gaze softened as he felt it, it was like anger incarnate. A spirit of what he had felt, that fateful day. Eventually the spirit morphed into a dark avatar of that Verpine, the avatar of the hatred and pitiful fear that still reeked in his mind of the day he ran away from the Sith.
A cavern full of crystal, yet instead of light coming out of the blade and reflecting off the crystalline structures it was pulled in like a vortex. The Jedi had gone easy on him, he felt the pain of his old wounds flare as he could not come to terms with just how he had survived the encounter. This was the part he spoke to no one, the part he could barely remember himself. His mind refused to remember it happened. In his memory he reached for the vibroblade as the old version of him had struggled to stand up. Howls. So many howls. The Jedi offered the fledgling Sith a place by his side, somehow it seemed to hold the same amount of condescension. As he stood, his hatred-spirit turned upon him. He saw the wolves begin to come inwards. Dark blade and psychic fang surrounded him as he was closed in upon from all sides.
This wasn't how the memory ended! It couldn't have been! Yet, here he was, he had to deal with this sickening aura. He could not let his anger get the better of him! He was not an impetuous child anymore! He was not here to whine and grovel! He felt his tongue stay, but his rage was still boiling over as his sight returned to him. His sight was filled with hazel and gold as his pseudo memory shattered like glass, the pretender to the throne of his mind emotionless as his mouth opened. The dark haze of his own vision turned to nothing more than wisps of smoke as he took in a breath.
"If you believe that I am unforged than you must be raw ore. Trust me, my parents worked in the business of foundries and ore, I am no stranger to seeing something with no edge. To kill you in your sleep would be a shame, such that I never take a lump of rock and make it into a weapon worth wielding."
He turned to Silas once more, his eyes sharper than ever and his mind steeped in the fury of his memory. Old thoughts came to bear that he wished not to see, and thus they sank below the surface like a lake where one could never see the bottom. Deep into nothing those old wounds went, but he could be seen messing with the scar left in his hand. It had been bothering him as of late.
"The lack of the stain of the Dark Side is because I do not see it as a stain. My anger is still my weapon, I am no Jedi, that much is for sure, but the Dark Side is a tool more than anything. A tool to get what I want, a blade to cut down my foes, but a whisper in the back of my mind. I am tenuous to dive into the Dark Side for one simple reason, I know my mind is yet too weak. I am not too prideful to admit that I feel it clawing as I sink deeper into what I do best, but I want to hold it back until I know I can dive into it with a clear mind. I'm not the kind to go berserk, my power is more important than to be wasted like that. The Dark Side must stay a tool, and as I slowly sink into the abyss that holds it, I must prepare myself for what lies before me. Whispers shall tell me secrets, not command me. My commands are from the Sith, not from the thing I wield in the name of our grand order."
With every word Yarkar felt his pride swell in his chest. His mind swirled as he stood before to not just make a case, but to fight a war. He felt like he was justifying his own hold out against that swelling desire to lose control. He could feel the Dark Side often, tugging at his mind, especially on planets where he could taste the strength of the Dark Side and feel it guide him to certain ideas on how to use it. Yet, Silas commented on it, so he spoke. It was like a battle with the Lord of the Sith. Silas made a point, Yarkar countered. Whether he would succeed he could not possibly know, but he knew that he would fling his metaphorical blade in the direction anyways.
"In terms of what I wish, I feel that thrones are dull. A seat may be mighty beautiful when it's first made, but even with constant care it will still lose its luster due to its purpose. After a certain amount of repairs and resurfacing, does the seat still mean the same thing that it did at its creation? It does not. I care not for the pettiness of politics nor will I ever. I had my chance at that, and in rejecting it I found the Sith. The true target is my parents. They have wronged me since the moment they knew I was powerful. Every ounce of my being sings in delight at the idea of taking them hostage. I want them to know the boy they raised as a vessel for their inheritance cares for it not, and I want them to see it fall into ruin. I don't want to see a single scrap left behind of the horrid place, and when the fires upon Sullust finally give out, I want to make them live horrendously. I want to see how long it takes for them to go mad when they're locked in a windowless cage as I was. How fast they give up because their mind is not as sharp as mine and they can't figure an escape. How desperate their pleas become as I feast upon their agony. Finally, I will snuff them out like candles nearing the bottom of the wick, too short to bother relighting. Finally rid the galaxy of their pitiful cries. After that I will see, for my song is not yet finished, all I know is I wish not a crown. Slaves are dull, once again I've dealt with servants before and droids do the same thing but better. Perhaps I will set my sights higher than meaningless scum. Perhaps the Jedi will fall next, I have the feeling they won't be very happy at my so-subtle revolutionary change to a planet. I would have improved it a bit, the barren rock needed a tourist attraction anyways, but they won't see it like that. In other words my legacy will not be plated in gold like that of a king, Lord Silas. My legacy? It will be a long trail of ash."
Then Kress spoke. Fire indeed the boy had, as hot as the lava of his home planet of Sullust. And like someone piercing the crust of magma, he erupted. His teeth clenched as he turned to Kressara, that golden twinkle in her eye meaning nothing to dull the perceived treachery. To think that he'd trusted her, that she'd put aside their differences, and yet here she was trying to make a fool of him when she had promised otherwise. This was only compounded by her remarks about his former master, his anger seething as he felt the dark side come over him like a storm. A rage rained down upon a million words he could say. His eyes felt like they turned into daggers, like his gaze was trying to burn a hole in between Kressara's eyes.
To the onlookers, it was but a moment, but to Yarkar it felt like years as his mind warped and his vision curdled. It was like Kressara was bathed in a dark shadow, eyes glowing red as a glinting white smile was punctuated by sparks of glitter. He could feel it, his senses keyed him into the true nature of it. It was much heavier in the Force than she felt, it clung to his anger like the very thought of words crossing his tongue leaked energy into this vile artifact. It moved away from Kress as his sense of life from it left, leaving him to know it couldn't be real. And yet he could see it. Yarkar's gaze softened as he felt it, it was like anger incarnate. A spirit of what he had felt, that fateful day. Eventually the spirit morphed into a dark avatar of that Verpine, the avatar of the hatred and pitiful fear that still reeked in his mind of the day he ran away from the Sith.
A cavern full of crystal, yet instead of light coming out of the blade and reflecting off the crystalline structures it was pulled in like a vortex. The Jedi had gone easy on him, he felt the pain of his old wounds flare as he could not come to terms with just how he had survived the encounter. This was the part he spoke to no one, the part he could barely remember himself. His mind refused to remember it happened. In his memory he reached for the vibroblade as the old version of him had struggled to stand up. Howls. So many howls. The Jedi offered the fledgling Sith a place by his side, somehow it seemed to hold the same amount of condescension. As he stood, his hatred-spirit turned upon him. He saw the wolves begin to come inwards. Dark blade and psychic fang surrounded him as he was closed in upon from all sides.
This wasn't how the memory ended! It couldn't have been! Yet, here he was, he had to deal with this sickening aura. He could not let his anger get the better of him! He was not an impetuous child anymore! He was not here to whine and grovel! He felt his tongue stay, but his rage was still boiling over as his sight returned to him. His sight was filled with hazel and gold as his pseudo memory shattered like glass, the pretender to the throne of his mind emotionless as his mouth opened. The dark haze of his own vision turned to nothing more than wisps of smoke as he took in a breath.
"If you believe that I am unforged than you must be raw ore. Trust me, my parents worked in the business of foundries and ore, I am no stranger to seeing something with no edge. To kill you in your sleep would be a shame, such that I never take a lump of rock and make it into a weapon worth wielding."
He turned to Silas once more, his eyes sharper than ever and his mind steeped in the fury of his memory. Old thoughts came to bear that he wished not to see, and thus they sank below the surface like a lake where one could never see the bottom. Deep into nothing those old wounds went, but he could be seen messing with the scar left in his hand. It had been bothering him as of late.
"The lack of the stain of the Dark Side is because I do not see it as a stain. My anger is still my weapon, I am no Jedi, that much is for sure, but the Dark Side is a tool more than anything. A tool to get what I want, a blade to cut down my foes, but a whisper in the back of my mind. I am tenuous to dive into the Dark Side for one simple reason, I know my mind is yet too weak. I am not too prideful to admit that I feel it clawing as I sink deeper into what I do best, but I want to hold it back until I know I can dive into it with a clear mind. I'm not the kind to go berserk, my power is more important than to be wasted like that. The Dark Side must stay a tool, and as I slowly sink into the abyss that holds it, I must prepare myself for what lies before me. Whispers shall tell me secrets, not command me. My commands are from the Sith, not from the thing I wield in the name of our grand order."
With every word Yarkar felt his pride swell in his chest. His mind swirled as he stood before to not just make a case, but to fight a war. He felt like he was justifying his own hold out against that swelling desire to lose control. He could feel the Dark Side often, tugging at his mind, especially on planets where he could taste the strength of the Dark Side and feel it guide him to certain ideas on how to use it. Yet, Silas commented on it, so he spoke. It was like a battle with the Lord of the Sith. Silas made a point, Yarkar countered. Whether he would succeed he could not possibly know, but he knew that he would fling his metaphorical blade in the direction anyways.
"In terms of what I wish, I feel that thrones are dull. A seat may be mighty beautiful when it's first made, but even with constant care it will still lose its luster due to its purpose. After a certain amount of repairs and resurfacing, does the seat still mean the same thing that it did at its creation? It does not. I care not for the pettiness of politics nor will I ever. I had my chance at that, and in rejecting it I found the Sith. The true target is my parents. They have wronged me since the moment they knew I was powerful. Every ounce of my being sings in delight at the idea of taking them hostage. I want them to know the boy they raised as a vessel for their inheritance cares for it not, and I want them to see it fall into ruin. I don't want to see a single scrap left behind of the horrid place, and when the fires upon Sullust finally give out, I want to make them live horrendously. I want to see how long it takes for them to go mad when they're locked in a windowless cage as I was. How fast they give up because their mind is not as sharp as mine and they can't figure an escape. How desperate their pleas become as I feast upon their agony. Finally, I will snuff them out like candles nearing the bottom of the wick, too short to bother relighting. Finally rid the galaxy of their pitiful cries. After that I will see, for my song is not yet finished, all I know is I wish not a crown. Slaves are dull, once again I've dealt with servants before and droids do the same thing but better. Perhaps I will set my sights higher than meaningless scum. Perhaps the Jedi will fall next, I have the feeling they won't be very happy at my so-subtle revolutionary change to a planet. I would have improved it a bit, the barren rock needed a tourist attraction anyways, but they won't see it like that. In other words my legacy will not be plated in gold like that of a king, Lord Silas. My legacy? It will be a long trail of ash."