A/N: "I'm really gay for zash" turned into "my inquisitor is really gay for zash" which has now turned into fic. this one's going to be fairly short, just a handful of one shots to cover korriban up to khem/zash's final companion quest. I've only got four total planned atm, but may add a couple more.
Korriban, 9 ATC
Reiyaxa is certain that the continued use of Force lightning is going to leave her fingertips permanently numb.
She's not used to the sensation, and isn't particularly fond of it, but the results — oh the results. Still-sparking corpses and charred flesh and the stench of ozone and the rush of power, and it's all hers, hers to call upon and to command. She's well aware that her skill with the Force is clumsy at best, but it's still all so new and foreign to her that she almost doesn't mind the derisive comments from the others.
It's better than the names they call her, at least. Those she can't stand. She broke three of an apprentice's fingers the first day she arrived, simply because he refused to call her anything other than Rattataki.
They taught her quickly that such displays of competition are, technically, frowned upon — at least, while on Academy grounds. Once she'd been given a task outside the Academy, she tracked down that apprentice and went for his other seven fingers.
Then she'd killed him. It is allowed in the tombs, after all.
In the weeks since, she's learned a great deal about the Sith. In the absence of a good education and a strong bloodline, Reiyaxa has a cocky attitude and sharp wit and an insatiable drive for power and knowledge. No matter how certain Harkun is that he's already found the perfect apprentice for Lord Zash, Reiyaxa is doubly certain she's going to be the one to survive the trials.
And, she's fairly sure the galaxy agrees with her. How else could she explain an impossible to retrieve holocron practically leaping into her waiting, lightning-numbed hands?
The galaxy — or the Force, or whatever's in charge — has decided to repay her for forcing her to spend the first nineteen years of her life in slavery.
Not that she's eager to test the theory. As she plods back through the warm Korriban sand to the Academy, Reiyaxa cradles the impossible holocron to her chest in a white-knuckled grip, refusing to let go or to even consider letting go. She's halfway to Harkun's office when she spots Ffon — her mind supplies a long list of expletives in every language she knows whenever she sees the pureblood acolyte — making his way down one of the winding staircases, datapad tucked in one arm.
She glares at him. It's ridiculous, she knows, standing in the center of the Academy in her ill-fitting robes, hunched over a holocron and nearly baring her teeth at anyone who comes near.
But she has no choice — it's every Sith for themselves at the Academy, even moreso for Reiyaxa.No one is touching her holocron.
Her possessiveness serves her well until she realizes she has to surrender the holocron to Harkun. But she gives in, and he practically tears the artifact from her hands. Reiyaxa allows herself a moment to envision killing Harkun with his own lightsaber; it's enough of an incentive to carry on and attend to the next meaningless errand he's sending her on.
She's barely out of the office when she hears footsteps. "You there — slave."
Reiyaxa has had plenty of practice already quashing the instinct to immediately turn and give a meek answer, but it's still her ingrained response. She grits her teeth to keep from speaking, but before she's even turned to face the speaker, she's already correcting herself.
"No, wait. You're an acolyte." The woman is relatively young but clearly not an apprentice, with short blonde hair and sharp features and a warm, rich voice.
Reiyaxa doesn't need to ask who she is. "Yes, Lord Zash." She'd already seen the Sith from afar, and had seen holos and heard stories, but it's the first time Reiyaxa has seen her up close. She's beautiful, for a human, and her voice is more inviting than intimidating. Everything about her says Sith, but in a way that's far more elegant and reserved than Reiyaxa had seen since arriving at the Academy. And she'd corrected herself, called Reiyaxa an acolyte instead of slave. It's rare enough that anyone actually calls her acolyte, but to correct themselves after mistakenly calling her slave?
Lord Zash is halfway through her next comment before Reiyaxa realizes she was asking about the holocron. "Yes, Lord Zash," she says again, giving an eager bob of her head. "I'm the one who found the holocron. Harkun took it from me."
To her surprise, Zash's expression lights up with delight. "Wonderful. Acolyte, I have to know — how did you do it? That holocron has stumped many Sith lords, and yet you were able to retrieve it."
"I shot lightening at it," she answers honestly, not bothering to account for the hour she spent desperately trying other solutions.
"That's it?" Zash seems no less enthusiastic about the revelation. "Perhaps… could we have simply put too much thought into it? Could it— Oh, nevermind. Good work, acolyte." She steps past Reiyaxa and out into the the main hall, and Reiyaxa watches her until she's entirely out of sight.
Korriban, 9 ATC
Rage builds white-hot within Reiyaxa's chest,flaring as Harkun wrestles the map from her grip. She's had it clutched to her chest all the way back to the Academy, just as she had the holocron days before; now, though, the Deshade at her side is more than enough to keep curious acolytes far away from her.
But Harkun — Harkun isn't deterred, and now he's taken Reiyaxa's single chance at making it out of the Academy alive.
She crosses her arms tightly across her chest, breathing out slowly and leveling her voice before she speaks. "Devour them both, Khem," she orders, earning looks of doubt and derision from both Ffon and Harkun.
Khem agrees, loudly and enthusiastically — Reiyaxa is now even more pleased to be holding his metaphorical leash — but before he can do more than step forward, loud footsteps announce Lord Zash's arrival. "Acolyte, please," she quips as she walks into Harkun's office, "restrain the Deshade." She sweeps into the room, paying no attention as she brushes past Reiyaxa. "I trust you have my map, Ffon?"
The pureblood, despite having done little more than sneer at everything from Harkun to the trials to the occasional death of a fellow acolyte, is now practically shaking in fear. "I— Um, I…" He stammers out a clumsy explanation before awkwardly holding out the map that Harkun had confiscated from Reiyaxa only moments ago. "I have the map right here, Lord Zash."
The anger that's been bubbling up in Reiyaxa overflows, and she lunges for Ffon. She can focus on only one thing — on killing the acolyte with her bare hands, wringing life from him herself.
She's going to start by tearing off those chin tendrils.
Ffon slams backwards into Harkun's desk, barely avoiding Reiyaxa's initial swing. She grabs for him, hands digging into the fabric of his robes and lightning already sparking at her fingertips when Zash intervenes. "Control yourself, acolyte," she snaps, and Reiyaxa finds herself suddenly incapable of movement. It's some sort of Force trick, and she would be intrigued if not for the rage still coursing through her.
"He's lying! I was—"
"Silence!"
The disapproval and anger in Zash's tone is enough to bring Reiyaxa to her senses. She relents, slinking back to stand beside Khem as soon as she's able to move again. She wants so badly to impress Zash, and she's failed, and all she can do is hope to not make the situation worse.
"Now," Zash begins again, calmly addressing Ffon once more. "My map. You found it, did you? You traveled to the center of Naga Sadow's tomb to retrieve this map?"
"Uh—" Ffon wrings his hands, mouth moving though no sound comes out. "N—No, Lord Zash, I'm sorry. I didn't, and I'm sorry, and… no."
Zash's anger is then turned on Harkun, and Reiyaxa watches with no small amount of pleasure as Ffon is killed and Harkun lectured. It isn't until Zash turns to her that she begins to worry. "All things considered, I'm pleased with your work so far, apprentice."
Reiyaxa takes a moment to absorb the praise, not used to people being pleased with her and even less used to being told. "You're welcome, my lord," she offers, not certain how to respond.
"Come." Zash beckons for her to follow, leading the way out of the office. "We can speak in the chambers I have here at the Academy," she explains. "I hear your skill in combat is impressive, but there's much more to being Sith than your physical capabilities. I have important work planned for you, apprentice, and I need to know how much your training has suffered."
As they walk up the stairs, Zash inquires about Reiyaxa's past, and she gives the quickest version she possibly can — sold into slavery as a child, worked first on an Imperial luxury cruiser then in a large estate, and at fourteen was introduced to the gladiator sport — first all over Hutt space, then on Rattatak, and most recently on Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't a past she was interested in dwelling on.
But Zash was interested in anything that could pass as education — what did she know?
"I…" Reiyaxa now stands in front of Zash's desk, hands folded awkwardly in front of her. "I speak a handful of different languages," she offers slowly. "And I understand Cheunh and the Republic standard sign language. I… I can't really read." A half-truth — she can recognize certain words, collections of letters that have held meaning for her in the past. Beyond that, and a rudimentary knowledge of Rattataki culture, there's little she feels she could offer.
Lord Zash simply watches her for a moment, hands folded delicately on her desk as she contemplates. "I don't have time to make up for missing nearly fifteen years of Imperial education," she finally admits, "but neither can I have an apprentice who can't read. The work I have planned takes us to Dromund Kaas, anyway. While we're there, I can arrange for a tutor to assist you when you aren't helping me. I have far more important things to teach you, beginning with how to navigate Sith politics."
Dull though the prospect of a tutor may sound, Reiyaxa can't help but be a bit excited; learning to read might not be too thrilling, but being able to walk into the towering libraries of the Sith Academy and pick something out and read it is enough to make her giddy. "Yes, my lord, of course. Anything."
"Good. Now, come here."
Reiyaxa takes another step towards Zash's desk.
She lowers her voice, as if she's about to admit to some grand scheme or secret. "You can't blunder your way through the Sith," Zash reveals. "Attacking a fellow acolyte is bad enough — openly attacking a fellow Sith lord will be even worse." She no longer sounds angry. "That… display with Ffon makes me hopeful, at least, that you could be incredibly powerful if you can keep control of that passion. Don't let it control you."
She isn't sure she understands, but she nods dutifully all the same. "Of course, my lord."
Dromund Kaas, 10 ATC
"Concentrate, apprentice."
Reiyaxa squeezes her eyes shut even harder, reaching out once again with the Force. There's Khem — odd and dark and ancient — and there's Zash — regal and proud and… something else — and beyond that, everything muddles together. Everyone outside of Zash's office is just one single living mass. Still she searches, and it's several minutes later before she finally admits defeat. "I can't do it, Lord Zash."
Using the Force in combat has come easily to her; Reiyaxa has plenty of rage and passion to fuel her, and after so many years spent in the fighting pits, the physical side of it is second nature. The more delicate points of the Force still elude her, however. Her time in Dromund Kaas, largely spent learning and studying with Zash, has seen little improvement.
She still doesn't quite see the point, either; why should she bother learning to read people or determine emotions or whatever else Zash has planned, when she has — or will have, soon enough — all the power of a Sith? That's what being Sith is all about, after all — taking and doing what she wants, when she wants, how she wants.
Subtlety doesn't seem to have a place here.
But Reiyaxa keeps these thoughts to herself. She can't bring herself to argue with Zash; even if she thought she could be successful, she wouldn't want to, not with how patient and understanding Zash seems to be. She's a strict master, certainly, but Reiyaxa has found that her anger is never undeserved, that she rewards success and punishes failure more fairly than could be expected of a Sith.
No matter. I have a more important task for you today, anyway.
Reiyaxa sighs at Zash's words, not wanting to run around Kaas City on any more errands; she's pulled herself to her feet before she realizes her master hadn't spoken out loud. She knows Zash expects her to respond similarly, and squeezes her eyes closed as she concentrates again. It isn't difficult for Reiyaxa to find Zash as she reaches out through the Force — she's familiar, warm and bright and her presence is like a beacon to Reiyaxa.
Of course, my lord.
"Excellent! You're doing very well, apprentice." Zash beams down at her, and Reiyaxa wonders if she's imagining the pride and care in her eyes. "I've told you about Darth Skotia? Certain plans are beginning to fall into place, and I need you, apprentice, to acquire an artifact of great importance. It'll be very heavily guarded, but I trust that won't bother you."
"Of course." She adds a hasty my lord, more than eager to handle the situation. Meditation and translation are far beyond her capabilities, but fighting is simple. Reiyaxa can fight. She knows that if that's all Zash needs her to do, she'll easily be successful — and that's all she wants. Since earning her place as Lord Zash's apprentice, all Reiyaxa has wanted is to impress her new master, to prove to her that she can be as clever and as hardworking and as valuable as the other acolytes.
"Good." Zash leans down, rummaging around in her desk. "And I can't send you out by yourself with one of the Academy's warblades, can I? It's tradition to craft your own, or retrieve it through some great hardship so it means something, but I think you've more than earned this." She holds up a lightsaber, handing it to Reiyaxa with a warm smile. "This was my lightsaber, back when I was just an apprentice."
Taking the lightsaber, Reiyaxa turns it over in her hands to inspect it, hardly able to comprehend what Zash is doing. The hilt of the lightsaber is plain, simple and golden and bearing no designs; she ignites it and it glows a brilliant crimson. "For me?"
"I can hardly think of anyone better suited to wield it now."
She barely has any personal belongings, even now; besides the clothes she's wearing, everything Reiyaxa owns can fit in a small bag with plenty of room left over. Life in the Academy and after it have given her the opportunity to collect a few things of her own, but Zash's lightsaber is the first she finds herself truly caring about. She considers declining, giving the lightsaber back — after all, it's such a precious thing and she certainly doesn't deserve it — but she can't bring herself to do more than stare down at it. The lightsaber belongs — belonged — to Lord Zash, and Reiyaxa can't imagine ever giving it up now.
"Thank you, Lord Zash."
"Like I said, you've earned this. Now — how much do you know about Trandoshans?"