I am late with the sequel, and I apologize. Real life has a way of doing that to you. But here's the next part, told from Faing's perspective. In my game where he's an NPC I've had him come off as a guy with a dry sense of humor and with a practical approach to issues. Several times my players described him as 'slightly unhinged' and 'does things for seemingly no reason, until you find out way later he had this elaborate scheme the whole time.' Hopefully I can convey that in my writing gradually. Please read and review, and I'm currently working on getting my beta reader. Hopefully she'll be able to start within the week. *Crosses fingers*

You would never know how much you could appreciate a bed until you don't have one. You would also never understand the torture of knowing this appreciation, having a bed available for you, but being barred from using it.

That is how the majority of his time at the academy had been. The look his dorm mate had given him when he walked in the door. It had to have been a mixture of disbelief, disgust, and flat out refusal. Needless to say, Faing did not sleep in his assigned dorm that night.

Kicking your room mate out was actually something that happened often. It was an acceptable form of power play that the over seers considered a way to weed out weakness. Fine then. Wouldn't be the first time he'd slept on the floor.

Other acolytes had evicted their dorm mates from their rooms, and these individuals did not hesitate to band together, so long as their arm bands were different colors. It wouldn't do to be allied with a competitor for the same spot. But he didn't have an arm band. Or decent clothing.

Rejected by rejects. Life could be such a vile twat some times.

His old Master hadn't been too keen on the whole giving thing. Or the feeding thing.

Heinous bitch...

Faing's mind wondered back to where he was now.

He shouldn't be in this room. No where was safe, not even here. But there were too many people coming and going for him to take up his usual corner. He was too tired to deal with the harassment. Just trying to stand up made him dizzy. The combat training and research work over the last week, coupled with a mission into the jungle had finally chipped down his endurance to nothing. He HAD to sleep. If the medical droid was right, it wouldn't be long before he was hallucinating.

This was a room with only one occupant, and the evening classes were still going on. This was his chance to get a solid hour in.

His instincts would wake him before anyone returned. They were something he could rely on. Usually...

Faing's first intention upon waking was to mutter 'piss off' and quickly dodge left or right away from who ever would inevitably be lashing out to strike him. It was almost a reflex at this point. But his vocal chords and his limbs refused to respond and remained in a foggy confusion like the rest of him.

It really had been too long since he'd had a good sleep on an actual bed.

"I said, what are you doing in here?"

His eyes finally focused. A large, powerfully built red figure was standing over him, arms crossed, and asking questions with obvious answers.

Faing slapped his hand down over his eyes and muttered, "Walking my Akk dog. What does it look like?"

He promptly slapped his other hand over his mouth and silently cursed his brain for going straight to sarcasm.

Dammit!

The room he had snuck into housed the only acolyte in the academy that didn't think using his face as a punching bag was entertaining. It wasn't exactly smart to get disrespectful with the guy while you were in wrong to start with.

Aegir's brow rose, and Faing hoped it was in amusement or annoyance. Hoped. He had a nagging suspicion the force ripple he was feeling was barely suppressed rage. The Sith born didn't have a large variety of facial expressions, and the one he was wearing right now looked like all the others. Pissed off.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "And thats my que to disappear. Won't happen again." He made to swing his legs around and exit the smallish room as quickly as possible. Getting ripped apart for something stupid done out of near-desperation wasn't high on his priority list.

He only made it as far as sitting up before the giant pureblood held up a hand to stop him.

"Do what ever you like. I have no use for the extra bed."

Now Faings eyebrow twitched. "What happened to it's owner?" Are you fucking slow, or just have a death wish?

Aegir turned away from him to pick up a data pad. "I killed him in the jungle our first week here."

Ah. Well that would explain it. Sleeping in a dead man's bed? Could be worse.

The room went quiet. It was the kind of quiet that made you feel uncomfortable or thought that you were forgetting something. The Sith was ignoring him and looking something up on the data pad, and Faing was still in that awkward position of half siting up, half rolling off the bunk. His eyes were narrowed and mouth ajar in a very uncouth way that resonated suspicious confusion.

Without even looking at him, the Sith dropped the data pad on the desk and said, "Touch anything while you are in here and I will use your innards as a garland."

The door shut behind him, and Faing let out a breath. The urge to say something asinine like- you do interior decorating? - had been almost overwhelming. The big red guy was probably right, he really needed to control his mouth before it got him killed.

But with the room now empty, another hour or two of sleep was too much to pass up.

Faing using the spare bunk in the pure bloods room went from once, to twice, to several times, until the former slave was sleeping in there regularly.

The Sith made no complaints, and their conversational interactions had died down to nothing.

But he wasn't stupid. He made sure that no one saw him, or had any reason to believe Aegir wouldn't stomp his cranium in at first chance just for existing. That illusion was probably biggest break he'd had since coming to the academy.

He made it a point to ensure the room appeared to have only one occupant in every way conceivable. The less anyone knew, the better.

Things had gone along smoothly for the last couple of weeks. A secure place to sleep had made all the difference. This was evident when his opponents repeatedly left the combat mat with bloodied lips and blacked eyes. His academic endeavors soon sky rocketed.

The other acolytes had become wary of him, likening the 'slave' to a ticking time bomb. The match with Rhagon had shattered more than a few perceptions. The change of pace was allowing him to focus better. He had to make it. Becoming Sith was the only way to be free.

The practice blade arched up to block the training droids attack. He swept it down to stop the second one. This same basic combination was getting repeated in variations, testing his responsiveness and improvisational skills.

The droid came at him again in a flanking pattern, and this time a hit made it through. His left calf muscle lit up with a sharp stinging sensation and he could smell burnt cotton.

Had it been a lightsaber or vibro blade, the leg would be lost or permanently damaged.

No room for failure. No room for failure.

"Pause exercise."

The droid backed off immediately, and Faing meandered around the practice floor. Something needed to change. He'd run these drills too many times to count. It wasn't his technique. Maybe if he was faster, but that wouldn't help short term. Speed was developed over time.

He paused and looked down at the blade in his hand. It only took a moments contemplation before he considered the length. If it had been longer, he might have blocked the droids attack, but then left his torso open for another...

No, it had to be speed. He was stuck with the weapon he had.

For now.

The walk back to the dorm room was quiet. The only others in the halls were service droids and the occasional commando on guard duty.

No one paid the former slave any mind and he was glad for it. He was looking forward to curling up and leaving behind his issues for several hours of respite.

The red and black corridor was draped in shadows, but Faing knew the way by heart. He carefully rolled his feet to muffle his steps, biting back the eagerness to rush.

The door was there. He could see it.

And it was slightly open. The big red jerk must be back.

He walked a few paces closer before pausing.

The door was slightly open.

Not closed completely.

He darted to an adjacent corner and flattened himself against the wall, peering at the dormitory entrance.

That Sith was so rigid in everything he did, Faing had briefly entertained the idea of moving things out of place just to see the ensuing conniption. He'd quickly decided that it was a bad idea.

So there was no good reason why he would enter his own room after a multiple day trial in the jungle and leave the door ajar. No reason in all the dammed Empire.

The scrawny acolyte exhaled to settle his nerves. It wasn't his business. It wasn't his room. Everyone was on their own here. Alliance and partnerships were made while attending the academy but only a fool failed to realize that everyone was on their own.

But there was that nagging feeling at the base of his skull again. The same one that had made him warn the pureblood about the ambush in the tombs. The same one that had him warn the Sith about the kill team outside the mess hall. It was going to pick and nag at his brain incessantly.

Aegir had allowed him to use the spare bunk. The Sith had kept his secrets about the training droids and sneaking around.

His conscience was going to get him killed.

One more deep breath, and he concentrated on focusing his mind. The force lightning on Rhagon was the first ability he'd shown aptitude for. But this? This was how he'd discovered the force and stayed alive since.

The dim lights in the hall still gave off enough illumination for someone to find their way. The former slave could see his shadow stretch across the floor, and watched as it disappeared.

The door was still cracked, and he could see a shadow moving against the soft glow of the rooms desk lamp. Faing moved silently, careful to remain utterly quiet but keeping his hand on the hilt of the practice blade. When close enough he leaned forward carefully and lined his eye up with the narrow opening.

Instincts it seemed, could be quite the bitch.

Inside was another acolyte. Huge and built like a tank. Zabrak and wearing a red armband. The red stood out against the grey tunic when the alien moved.

He was holding some kind of glass cylinder. Something squirmed inside of it. Lots of legs and a long body. Oh shit.

Faing felt the breath leave his mouth before he could stop it. He heard the more than audible huff and felt the pit of his stomach drop out.

Velocislug larva. Highly aggressive and highly venomous. The Empire had made it illegal to be in possession of them. He'd seen them only once before and what they did to their victims was unpleasant.

The big guy in the room clearly wanted Aegir dead. When he started to open the cylinder, the zabrak paused and looked back at the door.

He'd heard the exhale.

As Faing quickly stepped back the door slid open and the light from the room spilled into the hall.

The Zabrak stood in the entry way and gazed into the corridor.

Faing could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He'd seen this one before. He'd seen him fight and kill. This was not a man to trifle with.

But the red eyes merely blinked, and looked right through the former slave. He saw no one standing there. The big guy stepped back and started to slid the door shut.

It felt like someone snapped fingers inside his head. Faing used the opportunity to step inside the room while the noise from the door covered his movement.

The Zabrak went back to unscrewing the top of the cylinder before tossing it on Aegirs bed.

Faings heart continued to thump in his chest. The velocislug was crawling across the bed cover. He had to kill it. He slept in here too!

Atleast I had a good run he thought grimly, certain of his impending death.

His grip tightened on the hilt of the practice blade before he swung it up to connect with the Zabraks throat. The acolyte made a choked off noise of surprise, but Faing focused instead on the larvae moving across the bunk.

Lightning crackled in his hand before arcing across the room to it's target. Slimy flesh audibly sizzled and blackened. Only when it's guts popped in a vile burnt splash across the bed was he sure it was dead.

It was also when the large fist connected with his left eye, and again with his ribcage.

The breath left his lungs. The lightning stopped. Hell, he'd become visible the moment he attacked the Zabrak. The subsequent beating was unavoidable.

The force of the blows knocked Faing backwards into the door. His head cracked against the hard surface and his vision swam.

MOVE you idiot!

Seconds before the fist connected with his face again he dove to the floor and rolled past his larger opponent. Once upright and crouching on the floor he swept his leg out for a trip maneuver.

The big guy lost his footing and came crashing down between the two beds. There was the opening.

Run run run RUN! He couldn't win this fight. He had to duck out.

Faing leapt over the body and reached for the door, only to feel the crackle of force energy before being thrown into the opposite wall. Pain bloomed along the side of his head and he could taste blood. When a hand gripped his ankle, the former slave gathered the force and sent the lightning straight into the Zabrak. The big man blocked the door and as he stepped back against the brunt of the smaller acolyte's attack he retaliated.

The drawer of the desk flew from it's spot, and Faing barely slipped to the side into time to avoid it. He wasn't so lucky with the second one. Hitting his left side again made massive black spots in his vision. He lost the focus to maintain the lightning and had to hold back the urge to retch up dinner.

Hands closed around his throat as his back was slammed into the cold mental floor.

Rage was all the Zabraks eyes reflected. Pure, murderous rage. He asked no questions and offered no explanation. The utmost focus was poured into suffocating the smaller man.

Faing was aware that he had scant moments before death. The pressure of the giants hands at his throat was beginning to crush his trachea.

Look for something, anything!

In his peripheral was the metal desk drawer and it's contents scattered about the floor. It was on it's side. A glimpse of grey material and a blacked decorative handle jumped out at him.

Is that a blade?

It was halfway out of a false bottom, hidden in case of thieves or snoops. He reached for it, but came up short by more than a little.

You're going to die, you idiot. Happy?

The world around him was losing focus. Sounds became muffled. His eyes went out of focus.

You made it through all of that, all of those years of torture, just to be killed by someone who wasn't even after you?

Pain. No oxygen. The weight of someone twice his size keeping him pinned.

Weak and pathetic.

Then there was anger. Boiling over and hotter than any inferno.

No. I'm not dying here.

In his mind, he found the handle. He willed it to his grasp.

Fingers closed around cool metal. Time was almost up.

DO IT!

The blade was buried up to the hilt in the Zabraks side. He howled his pain and loosened his grip on Faing. The smaller fighter did not loose his hold of the dagger. He pulled it free of the bigger man, and pushed him back with the force.

The Zabrak struggled to get up and a dark stain was growing on his flank.

Faing gasped for air while clumsily finding his feet.

FINISH IT!

Moving closer, he lashed out with the small blade. It connected with his opponents cheek, sliding all the way in. Then summoning his last ounce of strength, he ripped it to the side- extending the morbid false grin nearly ear to ear. Then he jammed it into the aliens eye before pulling back again.

The bigger man screamed and fell to the ground. Faing backed up, still dizzy from oxygen loss. Equilibrium was almost chattered. It was too much and he took a knee.

He waited for a retaliation.

It never happened. Something was wrong. The would-be murderer was beginning to contort in an unnatural way. His eyes were rolling and tongue starting to swell. Animal-like grunts and gurgles replaced any coherent speech. He was foaming at the mouth, blood staining the spittle red. The low light of the room cast deep shadows serving only to enhance the gruesome scene.

Faing looked down at the blade. It was coated in blood, but right near the hilt were traces of a pinkish substance. It certainly wasn't blood. So Aegir had a poisoned knife?

Huh

He'd have to think about it later. Everything was hazy. He could feel warm liquid dripping from his temple and down his neck.

At that moment the floor was looking incredibly cozy and inviting.

Huh, that was longer than I intended. Hope you enjoyed it. I'm already working on the next chapter.