The Sith are never kind; they are never loving, and never nurturing. Korriban became their home: a desert of haunted tombs littered with the bodies of both ancient Sith and young acolytes. Korriban's Academy was the epitome of the Empire and the Sith: built on the backs of slaves, it was harsh and unforgiving. Failure led to death, but success created enemies. The Empire was simultaneously breaking itself apart and putting itself back together: power plays allowed the Sith to cut out the weak to strengthen themselves as a whole. Anyone who could not handle the sense of terror within the Empire would be eliminated in due time, one way or another.
A lonely shuttle landed on the Sith home at twilight. A rigid, staunch figure waited impatiently as passengers sluggishly exited, accompanied by armed soldiers with their weapons drawn. It would not take long to notice, amidst the orange of the rising star, that the grim passengers were merely a new shipment of slaves. A guard roughly pulled one slave aside by her short black hair, "Not that way, scum. Overseer Harkun wants to see you." She was led aside toward the snobbish Imperial, who clearly perceived his importance in the Academy in an unrealistic manner. The man cleared his throat, looking at the soldier as he spoke authoritatively, "Is this the force-sensitive I was informed about?" The soldier nodded, and Harkun waved him off, "I will take it from here." Harkun turned on his heel, leading the young girl, who was only just waking up and trailing behind him, toward an administrative building. At the entrance, he turned to face the young girl.
"I wasn't told you were one of those freakish horned drudges, but no matter. Your failure is only more certain."
The red-skinned Dathomirian, whose skin almost glowed in the light of the rising sun, protested, "I'm not a freak—"
Harken slapped her with such force that she fell to the metallic floor with a thud; however, considering she was little more than skin and bones, it was mostly effortless. "You will learn respect. You are worthless until I say otherwise." The Overseer continued as the Dathomirian, pushing her unruly short hair out of her eyes again and stubbornly quiet, regained her footing: "As I was saying, you will be tested in a group of other acolytes; whichever of you succeeds, which it is plain you won't, will become Darth Melandrisa's newest apprentice." His Imperial accent was becoming exceedingly irritating to the Zabrak, but she could only listen and obey. "After processing, your first task is to retrieve any and all artifacts of importance you find in the Tomb of Ludo Kressh." Harken added sarcastically, "Impress me, worm."
At last the Overseer was through with her, and he beckoned to a soldier to step forward, "Process her, and leave her in the Valley of the Dark Lords when you're through." "Yes, my Lord." The Imperial soldier took her by the arm roughly, leading her into the administrative building. The girl was cleaned up and given fresh clothes; she was then given the choice between a longer bladed staff or a training saber. She chose the staff, which was nearly a head over her height. Next thing she knew, she found herself in the dusty, desolate valley surrounded by nothing but rocks and bugs and only a map in hand. The map indicated she was to head north to reach the tomb, so north she went.
An hour passed, but she only seemed to be getting more lost and the land was only more barren. The girl began to question if she was even heading in the right direction, when suddenly a slug nearly half her size emerged from a hole in the ground at her left. It was pinkish and blind, but, unfortunately for the child, it could smell her and knew exactly where she was. The Dathomirian readied her weapon, jabbing at the slug in a frantic manner; it was evident to anyone watching that she had never been trained in combat. She somehow fended it off, but it merely frightened her that the slug was the least of her worries. After another hour passed, the Zabrak arrived at the ruined temple that housed the tomb; unfortunately, the entire landing before it was covered in the freakish slugs, and many were twice her size if not larger. The hot sun blazed at its peak in the sky, and she felt at a loss of what to do. She could not even defeat one half her size, let alone a family of those thrice her size. Perhaps she was doomed to die here, before she had even begun, swallowed up by the sands of time. But destiny had a different plan for her and sent a guide her way.
The sound of an approaching speeder scared the child, who was reminded of a time long past on her home world. Her weapon was drawn when a hooded figure in black approached on a speeder, apparently slowing down. How the creature aboard was not dying of heatstroke the acolyte did not consider, mainly concerned with whether or not the figure had malicious intent. The driver parked its speeder, pulling off its cloak to reveal a green Twi'lek dressed in a awkwardly tight dark silver outfit. It became clear that she was a Sith when the acolyte saw a lightsaber at her side. The Twi'lek woman approached her and said something, but the girl didn't process it, replying, "Sorry, what?"
"I said, are you stuck?" The tall, thin Sith pointed to the slugs, "Pelko bugs. They're attracted to Force-sensitives, and I'm betting you were going to wait till dark, weren't you?" The acolyte nodded, her staff still drawn. "Don't. They stalk and swarm their prey in the darkness, and from the looks of it you haven't had any combat training." The Twi'lek smirked, disarming the acolyte and knocking her to the ground with ease, "Your stance, in particular, lacks taste." There was something particularly intriguing about the woman which the girl simply could not pinpoint. Perhaps it was the confident stride with which she walked, the poised technique of her training, or her assertive tone of voice. The fascinating woman offered a hand to the girl to help her up, "I'm Taillara, Darth Xerus's apprentice." She accepted the hand, "Azmarna. Acolyte."
Taillara handed Azmarna her staff, "And I'm guessing the elitist Overseer Harken sent you off without training to retrieve some artifact for your future master." The Dathomirian looked at the Twi'lek in confusion, "Well, yes, but I didn't think acolytes received any combat training prior to their first task." The apprentice leaned to the side, crossing her arms and sighing at the acolyte, "Only if Harken wants them to fail." She smirked, "But lucky for you, I'm not going to let that bastard get what he wants ever again." There seemed to be more to Taillara's statement that she alluded to, but the acolyte did not wish to be impertinent. Azmarna took a moment to look Taillara over, and felt reminded of her sister. The Twi'lek looked around 18, dwarfing Azmarna by nearly a foot in height and five years in age. Her light green eyes showed a darkness that the acolyte had never seen before, but different from Harken's: as if Taillara had been through hell and back, yet her poise and confidence did not show it. The apprentice beckoned to the acolyte, approaching one of the smaller Pelko bugs, "Let's start with your footwork."
― ― ―
The sun crossed the sky and their shadows grew as the two spent the next couple hours training. The acolyte acquired some footwork and staff technique. She still had far to go, but the acolyte would have to make do. Taillara had explained the theory behind force lightning, but the untrained girl simply neither understood nor felt capable. To perform true Sith lightning, one had to take command of the energy within themselves as to satisfy an incredible thirst for power; the Dathomirian had only just begun to understand the meaning of being force-sensitive, let alone the meaning of being a Sith of the Empire. "Perhaps in time," she told the apprentice, "I will feel this lust for power, but, right now, I am content with utilizing that which I understand." When Taillara left the acolyte to her task, she left with an impression that Azmarna was more than she seemed, and more important than either knew. There was something controlling in the acolyte's stride toward the tombs, something intimidating. At the very least, the Dathomirian would become a valuable ally during the years to come.