SLotH4's Note: This Addenda will be a bit less formal and more conversational than the others. The others center around intelligence reports and whatnot, but Xabiar took a different approach with the Sith. And at my suggestion, he included a short story to accompany the piece and tie the chapters together. Now, dear reader, you get to learn of the Sith through the eyes of one taking their first steps into the darkness.
Be sure to leave a review and give Xabiar some love. That boy deserves a lot of praise.
SotP Addenda - Sith Collective, of Shadow and Darkness
Prologue : Arrival to Sadow
The blue-white streaks of hyperspace disappeared as the hyperdrive disengaged and brought him into the system. Six planets orbited a sun glowing an icy blue, most of them uninhabitable and boiling. The ones on the outer reaches were little more than frozen chunks of rock. Indeed, even the planet he was heading to was only slightly better than Hoth, from what little information had been provided.
He'd attempted to research the planet of course, and found nothing. The man who had approached him had only given him a name and coordinates.
Sadow.
The Sith didn't take chances on making their base difficult to get to. The route the VI had plotted had warned him that there were no known fueling stations in that sector of the galaxy and the location was a one-way trip. Out of curiosity he'd ordered a different route be plotted, this time taking advantage of known fueling stations. An impossibility, as he'd found out.
The route was a one-way trip. The only possible way back was on Sadow itself. Clever. And that wasn't considering that all the routes involved traversing nebulae, asteroid belts, ion storms, or skirting black holes. Depending on the route taken, some of these celestial dangers could be avoided, but not all of them.
The Sith obviously meant for this to be a filter of sorts. More tests. The Sith loved their tests, and he didn't fault them. He could respect only accepting a certain quality of recruit. One reason he'd found it more intriguing than alarming when he'd learned the truth. So much about the Sith was lost, twisted, ignored, or outright fabricated that initially, he'd wondered if it was a front for something else.
After all, the Sith were gone, or at best, barely scraping by.
Clearly not the case.
R2-C8 warbled apprehensively. He smiled to himself. While for certain the Force had been useful in navigating the dangers of space, the astromech also had played an important role in making sure they had both arrived safely. Outdated the R2 models may be at this point, but there was a reason the model was still being used hundreds of years later.
With a few upgrades he'd added on.
"Hard part's over," he said to the droid, flipping a few switches and gripping the helmstick, "Any readings from the planet?"
The ship began moving toward their destination and the VI calculated that it would be a few hours yet before they touched down. R2 beeped a negative.
He raised an eyebrow. "None at all?"
Slightly surprising. It meant either that any instruments were cloaked or intentionally obscured – or that there really wasn't anything at all. And R2 would be able to pick up if anything was masked. Lips pursed in a thin line, he considered options. He'd anticipated that once he'd arrived, he'd be able to land at the locator beacon at the Sith Academy.
His mistake, he realized, was assuming that the Sith would actually make it that easy for him.
"Well then," he said to himself, "Here we go."
The rest of the flight was silent and uneventful. The ice planet loomed in the distance, and R2 reported that the planet was undergoing perpetual snowstorms of various – and unnatural – intensity. The entire planet was literally an ongoing snowstorm, which he wondered if it was something induced by the Sith themselves.
It wouldn't be unprecedented.
No easy landings here. So, he did what came naturally. He leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and opened himself to the Force. Once difficult, he felt the calm and serene comfort descend over him in what felt like seconds but in reality, was a quarter of an hour.
People often believed that those who were deeply within the Force were granted precognition. This was untrue in his experience. It wasn't so much precognition as it was when he opened his eyes, the world around him simply moved slower than he could think. He could sense everything around him and see in an inhuman clarity.
With deft and sure hands, he guided the ship through the snowstorm, being able to sense the currents and blasts, and turned the ship appropriately to accommodate them. He eased on the accelerator as he heard the whine and smelled the acrid stench of the overworked engines. With a hand he dissipated the snow which had built up around the ship, and through all of this, he extended his presence to the seemingly lifeless planet below.
Ah, there.
Once found, it was impossible to ignore. There was a convergence in the Force, an area which resonated power. It was saturated in the dark side, yet he sensed no strong emotions associated with the power. There was simply a stark coldness and foreboding which filled him. Unease which crept over him like thousands of tiny insects.
Well, he'd found the Sith.
He knew where it was now and could have severed the connection. But he refrained. He would need to get used to it eventually, and if he couldn't handle the passive aura of so many concentrated practitioners of the dark side… well, he wasn't going to last long. And indeed, perhaps they could stand to be balanced out a bit.
The Jedi had taught him well in at least one aspect. The Force rested over him like a calming shroud, and with his will he kept the worst of the darkness away from him. He would not allow such taint, not here and not yet. He continued traveling for many more minutes, until he saw the destination before him.
A massive temple – built in similar design as the massassi temples of Yavin 4 – stood in the raging snowstorm, although unlike the ruins, this one was whole and towering. Gray stone covered in white snow nonetheless stood out on the barren landscape, echoing the mountains which surrounded it.
It had not been as easy as anticipated, but he'd arrived at the Sith Academy of Sadow.
The whipping ice pelted him and R2 as they walked toward the front of the temple. Snow crunched under his boots, leaving tracks that were covered up moments later. The astromech was having a more difficult time traversing the snow, but managed, even if he had to slow down to allow it to catch up.
The fine cloak he wore insulated him well enough for the most part, even if the biting cold could not be fully ignored. But the physical cold was nothing compared to the icy hollowness that grew stronger with every step he took toward the temple. It was the dark side for certain, yet it was not drowning in malice and hate.
Only cold indifference which slowed his heart and chilled his blood.
The Force did not waver here; the Jedi would assume otherwise, of course. They would consider it corrupted, but he'd learned enough to believe that this was… misguided. It was not to say that the dark side simply did not exist, as that was an outright falsehood. All that was provable was that the Force here was… changed.
The Force reflected the people who used it.
It didn't tell him that there were Sith here.
It told him the Sith who resided here were cold and emotionless.
Quite different from the Sith of legend.
He stopped and stood for a moment in the whirling snowstorm.
Why am I allowing this?
Accepting the elements was something a Jedi would do. 'Acceptance is the key to all difficulties,' so the platitude went. Even now, all these years later, he still had trouble breaking away from the standard Jedi mindset. He didn't need to accept something if there was a solution right in front of him.
He drew upon the Force, that which froze his throat as happened in this warped place and twisted a gloved wrist and the ice which pelted him suddenly whipped around him and R2. With the wind barrier in place, he proceeded walking with as much ease as if it were a sunny day. R2 chirped appreciatively. He merely smiled to himself.
Much better.
Ahead of him he spotted a lone figure waiting for him. Standing at attention, with hands clasped behind his back as he approached. He wore light armor colored black and silver, lacking any kind of marking or emblem. There were no visible weapons on him, nor did he wear a helmet. While he initially took the figure for human, the silver hair, pale skin, and striking facial markings indicated it was a sarkhai instead. Near-human, true, but with some obvious physical differences.
Namely their physical characteristics, including gray eyes, and the fact that they were almost never Force-sensitive. Curious that one was here now. Out of curiosity he reached out to see if this was an exception and confirmed that the Force could not be felt by this man.
Interesting.
Instead of a greeting, the man extended a hand to the temple door which was open. With a nod he walked through with the man following behind him as the stone doors shut behind him with a grinding clang. Dusting some of the snow off R2 as the figure appraised them.
"I trust that you found your way here without issue."
"None that I could not have anticipated," he answered, straightening up and looking at the silver-eyed man more directly, "It is… difficult to hide if you know what to look for."
"So I have heard," he was struck by how calm and bland that voice of the man was, which immediately made him raise his guard, "Many here doubted you would come. I trust you understand such expectations are… high?"
As they had always been. "Of course."
"Good. Follow me." They began walking down the dimmed stone corridors, all of which were devoid of life. "Do you have a preference for how I address you?"
"Just 'Alexander.' "
"Understood."
As they continued, he was fairly sure he could hear something in the distance. He expected to hear the sounds of lightsabers, of exertion; battle cries and shouts. Perhaps the harsh commands of instructors. He did hear all those things, but there was another that caught his ears, and he more deeply felt in the Force.
Screams, and several individuals in unfathomable agony so painful it scarred the Force around them. It seemed to him to be the center of this temple, and he wondered what could be there, for the Force would not be so warped had this only been a single occurrence. He debated asking his guide about it, but he was blind to the Force. He could not feel it.
He decided on another topic. "What do I address you as? Are you Sith?"
"Not like you will be," he answered neutrally, not looking back, "I am the Hand of Darth Timoris. Her will, weapon, and spymaster. She is Sith, I am merely a favored instrument of her power."
Alexander raised an eyebrow. Times certainly had changed for the Sith if they considered non-Force-users so valuable. Or perhaps this was considered an insult, sending such a person to greet him instead of a full Sith. Perhaps that was a right he had to earn. But for now, he would go with the assumption that the Sith had dropped the worst of their prejudice for those who could not feel the Force.
"Impressive title," he said, "but do you have a name?"
A notable hesitation as the Hand considered his answer, or if he should give one. "Lehon Sethun."
Well, it was a good start from what he could tell. "A pleasure to meet you," he nodded, even knowing that the man wouldn't see it. Force of habit. "So, I suppose you're my… guide?"
"No," the answer was curt, "You will have Sith instructors."
"Ah," he understood, "You're to take me to my quarters?"
"Not yet," the Hand seemed to allow just the barest hint of amusement color his voice, "Your situation is unique, given your history. Most who come here… their training begins immediately, and I do as you believe. But you, Alexander… I am taking you to my Master now. Darth Timoris herself wishes to evaluate you."
The name was unfamiliar, but he knew it was certainly an important Sith. He couldn't blame her for wanting to be sure, but he couldn't say he was thrilled with the idea of a one-on-one conversation with someone he had no idea of who she was. She could very well be the administrator for the Academy.
Probably a Sith Lord.
He supposed now he would know just how truthful Cailan had been when he'd brought him into his little secret. If he'd been telling the truth… this was likely not going to be pleasant, but he'd do fine. It he'd been lying… well, then he was probably not going to come out of this meeting alive.
Alexander did not scare easily. He did not become easily disturbed. His previous work with the worst of the galaxy from the lowest scum on Coruscant to the ghouls which infested the Senate had seen to that. There was little that could shake or stun him anymore.
Yet the moment he crossed some invisible threshold, something changed.
It began slowly, softly. A feeling that he only absentmindedly noticed as they approached the chambers of Darth Timoris. His hands felt warm, an odd sensation in the frigid temple, and he stripped the gloves off to see hands slick with sweat. While not exposed to the elements, the temple was still possessed of a cold, leeching off the stones.
He placed a hand to his forehead and inexplicably felt the skin slick as the sweat chilled moments after it appeared. His hands were clammy and the closer they got, the warmer he became, to the point that it was uncomfortable and he was considering discarding some of his garments. His normally calm heart was beating with thuds that thundered in his ears, drowning out the outside world.
The Hand of Timoris said something Alexander only barely understood and uttered an immediately forgotten reply. But he knew that something was very, very wrong. Now, standing in the presence of the Dark Lord herself, he was wishing that sweaty hands and uncomfortable warmth was all it was.
He felt like he was going to die.
His vision kept blurring as tears welled up in his eyes, not out of pain or emotion, but because his body was reacting to the Sith standing before him. There was no other explanation. His heart sounded louder and louder, yet instead of a racing heartbeat, it was ever so slightly growing slower and his breath became short and shaky as he could swear there were invisible bands around his chest, squeezing the breath from his body.
Slight tremors wracked his body, shaking his normally steady hands; shivering not from the cold, but from a deep and primal terror that gripped his heart that he rationally knew he shouldn't feel. Every single corpse, abused slave, science experiment gone wrong leapt to the front of his mind in vicious, gory detail. Everything he had wanted to forget was called into his mind making him want to scream.
But he couldn't. Not here.
His stomach churned and threatened to revolt. He had not eaten prior to coming here, which was likely a fortunate decision, yet his throat still clenched, and he wanted nothing more than to keel over and empty the bile festering in his stomach, and even now, had to concentrate to keep it from coming up.
The Force, so long an ally he could call upon was impossible to grasp now. Not because it was gone, but because his power was nowhere near that which emanated from the woman who so effortlessly warped the Force around her, twisting it into what he was feeling with every aspect of his being.
And the more he tried to fight it, the stronger the feeling became, as it perverted his feeble attempts to strengthen himself and doubled the agony he was feeling with a coldly malevolent presence. The Force within the vicinity of Darth Timoris served her, and only her. Anything else would be purged or tainted.
Such power. There was one lesson from the Jedi which he should have always kept in the back of his mind, because it was one of the few that were universally true.
Size matters not.
The woman who was a Dark Lord of the Sith was small, petite even. She stood a full head shorter than himself and wore a simple black tunic with matching robes over it. Her hands were encased in simple black gloves, and she wore basic boots and leggings. Only two aspects stood out about her – the lightsaber at her waist, and the helm that obscured her face.
The lightsaber was little more than a silver cylinder at first glance, though he somehow noticed through watery eyes that there was writing on the hilt. Not aurebesh, but some other kind of writing not in any language he knew – not Huttese, Cheunh, or even old Sithese. Maybe it wasn't writing at all, but just symbols. It likely didn't matter.
He wondered how much of his uncertainty and fear he was feeling was evoked from the helm she wore. A silver mask, it covered her face completely, with solid metal where eyes should be, as well as no mouth. The mesh on the lower cheeks may have been used for respiration, but he heard no sound coming from them.
He had no idea who could be behind the mask. It could be human or alien, beautiful or horrifying; it was unknowable and set his mind furiously racing, encouraged by the tainted aura around her. Ironically though, it was the mask which he latched onto as his focal point, to keep him focused.
"Sit." She motioned to a long black table with empty chairs; the only piece of furniture in the room itself. A Sith holocron sat in the middle, glowing malevolently with red power.
He complied, moving slowly and carefully so as not to accidentally throw up on her. He sat down, not exactly with grace, but he didn't trip over himself even as he clasped his clammy hands together to keep them from shaking. He kept trying to obscure the tremors affecting his body.
She waited some long moments, looking down on him and he dared not look up to her. A few seconds later she sat down across from him, resting her hands on the table. "Do you know where you are?"
Her voice was like the rest of this planet, cold and calm – reinforced by the slight mechanical rasp of her helmet – yet with something lurking underneath the cordiality. Were it not belonging to this woman, and with how he was feeling, he would have even described it as pleasant, though she had no identifiable accent.
"Sadow." He swallowed, trying to make sure his voice didn't crack from the dryness that infected it. "That was the name given to me. The Sith Academy of Sadow."
A slight nod of the helmet. "And they told you nothing else?"
"No, my Lord."
She turned a hand over and the lightsaber on his belt flew to hover over her palm. It ignited with a blade the color of the sky, humming in the silence, though Timoris never grasped the hilt itself. Instead, she appeared more interested in the lightsaber's construction rather than the quality of its blade. "I'm told you are not a Jedi, yet you carry a lightsaber all the same. Curious."
"Not a Jedi anymore, my Lord," he quickly corrected, "I was at one point."
"The Jedi do not let their own go easily," she noted, "Especially not you."
He clamped his mouth shut to keep it from chattering and gave a firm nod. "They were more interested in it not becoming a scandal."
"And you agreed."
"Out of necessity, my Lord," he answered, still feeling some shame at how he had… well… let the Jedi intimidate him so easily, "I am certain the Jedi would have ensured I be silenced had I not."
"You were a Padawan who saw the wrong thing at the wrong time," Timoris's words were emotionless and firm, "It is irrelevant. Your actions alone are not what I desire to know. I want to know why." The lightsaber shut off and rested on the table before him, as she laced her gloved fingers together. "I want to know what has led Alexander Solo to the Sith. Tell me your story, we have time."
In truth, it didn't matter how much or little time was permitted, he knew she was going to want his life story and clearing his throat and pushing down the bile once more, he began to talk, trying to ignore the ever-slowing heartbeat that thudded in his ears.
He talked for what felt like hours, and over time… the aura which permeated the air became more bearable. With something to focus on, particularly the silver helmet of Timoris, the worst of his symptoms could be forcefully ignored. He stumbled over his words a few times; talking in halting sentences and having to stop when he became lightheaded from his constricting chest, but those eventually faded into the background.
Timoris just sat and listened. She only asked questions when he reached the end of part of his story, mostly prodding his rationalizations or thought processes, which were more difficult to process given his overstimulated brain, but he nonetheless wracked his brain to give answers. At no point could he determine what the Sith Lord was thinking or feeling.
But he was acutely aware of the fact that she was prodding his own brain. Telepathy was a usage of the Force that only a few could reliably tap into, but she did so effortlessly and the cold weight of her own mind against his – capturing every stray thought and emotion – proved almost to be more of a help than something he was apprehensive of.
Any sense of stability was better than none at all.
Eventually, he finished – and waited.
He didn't quite know what to expect, or even what he should be wanting from her. Was he being analyzed for potential weaknesses? Was his history an issue? Was she merely curious? He realized that he really should be asking the question as to why Timoris had scoured his soul – and had he been thinking with any degree of clarity, he probably would have.
Then again, what was he going to do? Say 'no'?
"Your reliability is not in question," Timoris finally said, "You would not have been permitted here otherwise. You would not have learned the Sith survive and thrive. No. I am speaking to you now because of suspicions I had when my agents were watching you."
The revelation was not surprising to him at all. In retrospect, he wondered how long they had been shadowing him. "Suspicions as to what?"
"To your place here," she rested her hands flat against the table, "We can determine with a high degree of accuracy what Order one will fit into best in the Sith. There are many, each espousing and following the teachings of Sith of legend and history. Individuals are drawn to particular Orders based upon a variety of psychological factors and histories. I specialize in this, as do many of my people. We rarely make mistakes."
She ever so slightly turned her head. "Yet you… you do not so easily fit into the molds which exist. Our conversation has affirmed this, and I have confirmation of your strength and potential – and that your training is indeed unfinished."
He just blinked in some disbelief. How anyone could think he had strength and potential when he struggled merely to recount his life was questionable – though he also got the sense that Timoris did not give empty compliments to make people feel better. "Thank you, my Lord."
Timoris appraised him for a few moments, and stood quietly, removing one glove revealing flawless pale skin – likely a human then – as she walked around the end of the table until she was looking down on him. With her exposed hand she lightly pinched his sweat-slicked face with two ice-cold fingers and turned his head to look up at her. "Look at me."
Not having any other choice, he simply complied.
"I am not ignorant as to your feelings now, much as you attempt to hide it. It is natural, as your body reacts to the dark side and I who command it. The dark side does not tolerate those who cannot handle the power. It destroys them. It does not cast them out or ignore them. Those who cannot endure the power will be purged. The rest will be tainted."
Had the mask had eyes, he would be looking up at them now. "One week ago, a Jedi Scout was brought before me, one who wandered too close to us and whose disappearance could be easily explained. A Jedi whose mind was weak and susceptible. She endured one day before me, her body failing as she coughed blood and bile in her cell, and her mind raced with apparitions and hallucinations of terrors only she could comprehend."
Her voice held him in a trance as she continued. "She soon begged and pleaded to end her life, swearing to tell me anything if only the horrors she saw and felt were gone. And so, I gave her what she wanted. I removed her eyes and ears, and all that was left was her tongue, and until she finally expired hours later she screamed everything she knew; everything that came to mind in between her pleas for mercy even as her heart slowed, and blood boiled. No…"
She trailed off briefly, and let go of his chin. "You possess an innate will, otherwise you would have died as we spoke. Your command of the Force, while clumsy and unrefined, shows potential remaining from your training." The glove she left on the table returned to her hand and she covered it up once more.
"There is precedent for those like you, who do not notably fit in the framework which currently exists," she continued, walking to a shelf which contained old physical books, scrolls, and tablets, "I suspect that reading this will clarify the path you wish to take. Read it and begin your training."
She returned to him with a small tome, with black binding and no title. He took it carefully and stood. "Thank you, my Lord."
She motioned to something behind him. "My Hand will show you to your quarters. I believe we will speak again."
Behind him, Lehon stepped forward as Alexander blinked. Had he been there the whole time? Obviously, and he didn't know how he was able to endure the aura of Timoris so calmly – in fact, it didn't look like the man was even remotely affected.
"This way, Alexander," he said, motioning to the door and he walked toward it, allowing a sigh of relief that this was almost over. Every step taken away from the Sith Lord was one where he could physically feel his body returning to normal.
Lehon said nothing as they walked. Thoroughly drained, Alexander had no desire for conversations or talking – later he might seek out the Hand and ask some questions. But not yet; not until he had recovered to an acceptable degree. He eventually arrived at his quarters, which were small and plain, with only a bed, small wardrobe, and bookshelf.
"Refreshers are down the hallway," Lehon said, stepping back, "Are there any questions?"
"No," Alexander shook his head, not now, "Actually – yes. When am I expected tomorrow?"
"Training grounds at 0900," Lehon answered immediately, "The center of the Academy. You will find your way easily enough. The Instructors will provide you with what you need."
"Then that's all." He nodded. "Thank you."
"Sleep well," was all Lehon said, "You'll need it for tomorrow."
At that he closed the door, and Alexander walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. He would prepare to rest later, but for now, a curiosity about the tome in his hands captured his attention. He would rest in time, but for now, he would learn more about the Order he was set to join.
So, he opened the tome, and began to read.