Taris Airspace and Sith Base
BOOM!
The Defender-class corvette Sith starship Pegasus Javelin wobbled slightly as it exited the Hydian Way out into the airspace of Taris. Its pilots punched the controls and methodically entered its atmosphere.
Nothris granted Tinarandel liberation from the cockpit, as he'd done his part. The Apprentice took the ripe opportunity to rest amongst the beeping and glowing navigation machines. The Master meanwhile cruised through the Tarisian skies.
Much to Tinarandel's displeasure, right before they'd left the Burning Deck, Nothris visited Quanoe one final time and invited him to come along. The Zabrak, being the enthusiastic wanderer downright starved for knowledge, jumped at the invitation before Nothris even finished his first sentence. From the Master's perspective, Quanoe was a tentative guest. From Tinarandel's, he was nothing more than dead weight. Back in the Cantina, he'd earlier questioned his master as to this risky proposal. Ever the pragmatic realist, Nothris responded with his natural brutal honesty.
"The Zabrak is here because he is the only one who knows the treasure is on Korriban," He explained, throwing on his cloak and tossing Tinarandel's to him as they cleared out of the cantina. "None of the other Sith know except for us two now. Where exactly is still, for the time being, unknown, whether it lies in a tomb or a valley or a cave. His research in particular is critical. Korriban, as you know, holds countless incomprehensible secrets, all born of the essence of the Dark Side. Regardless of whether or not Quanoe is touched by the Force, we can at least hope that his familiarity with the system is reliable. If not, and he proves to be less knowledgeable and more fraudulent….Of course I give you permission to cauterize his esophagus. You don't need to tolerate him; for the time before us, simply focus on keeping him alive."
Begrudgingly, Tinarandel learned to tolerate the scholar's presence. Yet he was not without his doubts. He forcibly restrained himself from redrawing his lightsaber when the Zabrak made a foolhardy attempt to provoke him.
"Almost had me by the neck there, eh?" Quanoe teased in his usual mocking tone. He rubbed his lower back with one hand and massaged his aching shoulders with the other. "Heh, my spine's feeling better after you nearly snapped it. You can't keep a good Zabrak down, you know! My parents were soldiers, aye, in the Iridonian military. What are you?!"
Quanoe's resonant baritone voice rose until it nearly matched the rumbling droning din of the starship's engines. "A Squirrelan of Corellia crying out in the night for his siblings, dead in the war! What have you to say for yourself, huh? What have you indeed?!"
To his own surprise and irritation, Tinarandel seated himself in a small chair, eerily silent. Quanoe, driven by his bravado, stood in front of him, sneering. A couple awkward minutes passed, in which neither said nothing to the other. Nothris was too engrossed in navigating the appearing Taris cityscape emerging from the morning moderate fog.
Finally, Tinarandel looked Quanoe straight in the eyes, his voice a gravelly threatening growl and his cocoa brown eyes steadily darkening. "Would you like me to throw you against the wall again? Will being thrown even harder this time grant you some sense of thrill? You enjoy thrills, don't you? You and your insatiable thirst for materialism, and your never-ending quest to learn all the secrets of the Jedi and the Sith. Well, guess what? I meant what I said about not pressing your luck. You'd best be tempted to take my advice."
A faint look of convinced terror crossed Quanoe's face, reminiscent of the same upon his countenance when Tinarandel had tossed him across his cantina room. Resigned to his station as little beyond the visitor to the Sith Base on Taris, Quanoe relented and stumbled towards a chair parallel to Tinarandel. The Squirrelan exhaled and lay back in his seat, eventually falling asleep.
He awoke to Nothris gently prodding him out of his stupor, who then helped him out of the straps and to his feet. They made sure to wake Quanoe before descending the loading ramp onto a flat circular landing platform suspended in the sky. The Squirrelan and Zabrak hurriedly cleared the sleep from their eyes and took after him to the main gate. In their direct vision, the Sith Base rose up to meet the trio.
"I feel I'm due for a meditation session, Master." Tinarandel admitted as they approached the main doors, and waited while Nothris punched in a password on a number pad hanging on the wall. "I lost control of myself back there in the Cantina. The fault is partly Quanoe's and also mine. His provocations pushed me over the edge. For that I apologize, Master."
"Falling so quickly into Jedi fallacies, my young apprentice?" Nothris once again ruffled his hair and stepped aside from the opening doors. "But, I agree, your anger was too ripe. Your apology is accepted. Nevertheless, in the future, I must ask that you contain your anger and hatred until the appropriate time comes for you to use it. When it does – and I swear to you, it will –, use those darkest emotions of yours without restraint. That, my boy, is the way of the Sith."
"I understand, Master." Tinarandel bowed his head respectfully and tailed the Ithorian inside the main lobby of the base. "May I also note that my lightsaber skills, too, have become seriously rusty. Perhaps it is a result of sitting for so long in that stupid cantina. I know you cannot tolerate such laziness."
Nothris shook his hammerhead face. They stopped dead center in the Atrium, nodding at Sith who passed by to welcome them home. He stared at Tinarandel grimly.
"No, I cannot tolerate it, though I greatly admire your self-awareness. We Sith must always be ready for battle of any and every kind, wherever and whenever it may appear. As for your unintended boredom in the cantina, the fault is entirely mine. If Quanoe had met me halfway for the issue at hand, you'd not have needed your lightsaber and I wouldn't have forced you to wait so long. So, I take the brunt of the blame, but you do not need to forgive me if you don't want to."
"Underestimatin' yer apprentice much, are ye, Trook?"
Behind them, a brown broad-chested muscular Rat strode towards Tinarandel, standing at approximately six feet, clad collarbone to toes in red and gray steel plate armor, and his black velvet cape smoothed from his shoulders down to his ankles. Towering over the apprentice, he walked up to and placed a firm paw on his shoulder. The other paw casually stroked the thin triangular beard that decorated his wrinkled brown round face down the lining of his jaw and chin, and then the thick mop of sleek black hair and bangs on his head.
He gave the pair a good-natured smirk and chuckled a bit. "Then again, constructive criticism is a powerful motivator, ain't it?"
Tinarandel found himself scowling yet bowed his head again. "Hello, Lord Baric." Nothris only nodded silently.
"Welcome back, ye two. I trust yer mission was successful?" Baric inquired, playfully squeezing Tinarandel's shoulders. Nothris snorted in annoyance and derision through his speech translator but did not transmit a word.
Tinarandel took up the duty instead, growling low in his throat at Baric shaking him lightly into his side. "Depends upon your definition of successful, my Lord. We found what we searched for, although it – or should I say, he – needed much convincing, involving my lightsaber at his throat."
"Oh, really?" Baric wondered in sarcastic but obvious genuine inquiry. "Aggressive means, hmm? My, I'm impressed!"
He became so absorbed in his postured laughter that he completely missed the looks of disgust and contempt exchanged between the duo. Tinarandel forcibly pulled himself free of Baric's grip and frantically wiped off the latter's filthy touch.
Suddenly, he remembered that Quanoe had been left outside. In one swift motion, he both excused himself and hurried back to the main doors, opening them back up to see the Zabrak standing cluelessly with a confused hand raised possibly to knock. Huffing irritably, Tinarandel seized him by the collar of his tunic and heaved him indoors.
Quanoe first blinked tiredly at the overhead lights, then snapped up the moment he understood his setting and began excitedly searching his tunic for his tools.
"Th-the Base! The Sith Base on Taris! By my ancestors, I'm-I'm really here! I've been wanting to visit this place for so many standard years! Where are my holopads, I must start taking notes! Where do I go first?! What do I do first -?!"
Tinarandel smothered Quanoe's mouth and dragged him to Nothris and Baric.
"Here's the guy my Master contacted," he explained to Baric. "Thank the Force, we almost forgot about our…extra weight here. His name is Quanoe. You two seem to be of a like troublesome mind."
The Apprentice couldn't help but smile at his own witty remark, and didn't bother shifting his demeanor even Nothris struggled to suppress a snicker in his hands or when Baric looked sideways in disapproval at him.
Baric then stared at Quanoe quizzically for a short moment, putting his hands protectively behind his back lest the awkward Zabrak offer to shake them. "Greetin's, Quanoe. I'm Baric, Dark Lord o' th' Sith. Ye already know where ye are. Tell me, what is yer occupation, an' why are ye 'ere on Taris?"
Quanoe, nervous in the presence of not one but two Sith Lords now, shuffled his feet nervously, shifting his weight from one to the other. It was all Tinarandel and Nothris could do to keep themselves from laughing out loud at his foolish awkwardness. It didn't take him long to step up. He steeled his resolve and summoned his brave Zabrak attitude.
"The honor to meet you, Lord Baric, is mine. I, Quanoe of Iridonia, am a freelance scholar of the Sith. I have sought out, researched, and hunted for artifacts of the Force to build a personal collection for several standard years now. Everything from ancient texts to precious heirlooms, to enchanted treasures and the darkest of Sith weaponry; even Holocrons have been the objects of my pursuits. Unfortunately, I have not succeeded in obtaining any of the last. I roam the Galaxy regardless as a nomad driven by my thirst for knowledge. Nar Shaddaa was no different. That…did not go well, to say the least."
"It's your own fault, Quanoe. You brought your adversity on yourself." Tinarandel jabbed through gritted teeth. Nothris smirked, agreeing. Quanoe glared hard at Tinarandel, and felt slightly offended when he did not retaliate.
"I'm only here on Taris because your compatriots brought me along, at Nothris' invitation." He concluded. "Again, it's an honor, my Lord. I wish to learn more about the Sith history, lifestyle, and nature of the Dark Side from you and the others. My desire to learn has become no less ravenous by my lack of the Force."
"Ravenous it shall remain," Nothris criticized under the warble of his translator. Only Tinarandel noticed it and nodded his accord.
Baric surveyed the wisdom-starved Quanoe for a tense minute. Then he relaxed his pose and brought his paws forward again, letting them swing relaxed by his sides. He glanced over his shoulders and pointed a rat claw in the opposite direction, disappearing into the corridors of the Base.
"Well, th' Archives are thataway. I'll escort ye. Though I'm certain a Zabrak has but t' follow th' scents o' books an' scrolls, an' parchment, vellum, an' papyrus, eh? Shouldn't be too hard! Scholars like yerself are naturally drawn t' sources o' mysticism an' arcane truth!"
Tinarandel and Nothris detected the clear hints of contempt and sarcasm in his voice, and now both found themselves stuck in the most difficult position to contain their budding laughter. The Apprentice released Quanoe, who hopped instantly to the ignorant Baric's side, bouncing excitedly on his Zabrak toes. The latter once again pointed in the direction of the Sith Archives, and Quanoe took a few steps forward before stopping to wait for his guide. His face shone in anxious anticipation for the wonders he would soon behold.
Baric genuflected to Nothris and Tinarandel. "I'll be back t' check on ye two later, after I've secured an' rid myself o' this…over-energetic moron in his madness o' hoardin' an' wastin' our precious knowledge. Good day."
The Rat swirled his cloak dramatically behind himself before he whirled on his heels, took Quanoe by the arm, and escorted him away. At last glad to be rid of both, the Master and Apprentice rejoined each other.
"Oh, dear, I pray he doesn't lose his heart and soul in whatever he finds." Nothris pretended to confess with mixed manufactured concern and natural cynicism.
"What does it matter?" Tinarandel politely countered, grinning from ear to Squirrelan ear. "He's already lost his brain!"
The two nearly bowled over in their laughter, leaning on each other as their legs shook and guts ached to bursting. Around them, their random hilarity drew looks of cluelessness, disapproval, and joint lightheartedness. After they recovered, Nothris gestured a palm towards a large elevator.
"I'm not sure about you, but I am famished. Let's reward ourselves for our efforts on Nar Shaddaa with our Tarisian cuisine, shall we?"
They boarded the elevator that separated the landing zone from the Base proper, enduring both warm welcomes from fellow Sith, who cheerfully shook their shoulders or bowed humbly; and bitter derisions from jealous competitive Apprentices who shot them hating glances or spat at their feet. As the box started its ascent, Nothris rapidly employed a mild form of Force Stasis to halt the flying saliva in their trajectories. In his peripheral vision, he noticed Tinarandel balling his fists, his furry face blank with indecisive reactions.
"They are jealous of you, my young Apprentice." Nothris counseled him as they exited the box out into the crowded Barracks. "They envy that you are in my Apprenticeship and not them. They fear your power at present, and what power you will obtain in the future, whether under my teachings or those other Masters and Lords. You must remain passionate in your stance, Tinarandel. Remember, we Sith are driven by passion."
"What if my passion is not sufficient to surpass the others?" Tinarandel questioned, sincerely troubled and becoming faintly despondent in both voice and countenance. "What if I am not good enough for you and the other Lords?"
Nothris stopped in his tracks and placed his assuring Ithorian hands on the Squirrelan's shoulders, looking determinedly into his cocoa brown eyes. "Trust not in what you have been, Tinarandel. Trust only in what you are, and will eventually become."
A fondness decorated the Ithorian's large pupils, and an affectionate lightness sewed itself into his voice emanating from the translator. "As for your passion, you will always be good enough for me. What matters is whether or not you are enough for yourself. Think on that, Tinarandel. Meditate on it. Your answers shall come in time; either you'll find them, or they'll find you first."
Tinarandel felt a hopeful smile pull at his lips and a confident shine burn in his eyes. He nodded at Nothris in appreciation and followed him down the passage. As they started in the direction of the Dining Halls, they slowed down at the sight of an orange-brown Vixen running towards them. Elegant sleeveless purple robes patterned with red dots over a black blouse and a violet skirt formed her slender and smooth body; and she wore soft leather shoes and black fingerless gloves on her creature feet and paws.
Nothris nodded cordially at the approaching Vixen. "Good noon, Antellia!"
Antellia, a Sith Apprentice, returned the nod to Nothris and curtsied low to Tinarandel. "Good noon, you two!" She greeted in her classic Coruscant posh accent. "I'd heard tell from the others that you'd returned from Nar Shaddaa; and so, I thought I would come and see for me curious self."
"Your concern is much appreciated, Antellia." Nothris assured her. "We were on our way to lunch. Would you like to accompany us?"
Antellia hopped on her toes in excitement. "One of Taris' most underrated Sith Masters and his fledgling Squirrelan Apprentice? Of course I would like to accompany you! Come!" She swirled her ankle-length purple cloak while turning back around.
"We haven't seen each other much lately, Tinarandel." Antellia observed to the Squirrelan as they took off to the Dining Hall. "Both of us have been busy of late."
"Frankly, I'd appreciate it if you could mind your own business." Tinarandel requested in the politest tone he was able to muster, scarcely bothering to make eye contact.
Antellia leaned lightly on Tinarandel's side and placed one alluring thin smooth Vixen arm on his shoulder. She flirtatiously stroked the edges of his collarbone with her claws. "Your business is my business, Tinarandel." She spoke his name with an undeniable seductiveness. "I wondered every day what strange Sith endeavors you were up to on Nar Shaddaa."
She suddenly stumbled backwards, removed completely by a Force Push that Tinarandel had summoned – and without even lifting a finger. The Vixen scoffed, as if offended, and hurried to realign her pace with him and Nothris.
"I know you, Tinarandel." Antellia shamelessly observed, staring deep into his eyes. "I have known you ever since your joining of the Sith Empire. You know me, too: my gift of precognition." Her smooth silky voice melted almost into a seductive breath as she stared at him from the side.
"You know I dream of us together someday, when the Galaxy is at peace and the Sith rule over all. When we will have our chance to be together, and our passion grows beyond our control. We will have – take – each other in love. Don't deny you haven't seen the truth as well, Tinarandel, as I always have."
Tinarandel stepped in front, blocking her stride. Antellia nearly jumped in shock at his normal cocoa brown eyes barely growing golden-yellow. His voice came forth in contained aggression.
"I know your ilk, Vixen." His eyes bored into hers with an intolerant impatience. "I know your inborn precognition, characteristic of your race and enhanced by the Force. Don't test my tolerance. My passion and my destiny are mine to forge, and I will not have them restrained by anyone, least of all, you." He uttered the final word through gritted teeth, his voice guttural and heavy in his throat.
"You'll either stand with me, or stand aside."
Not bothering to wait for an answer, Tinarandel moved to continue walking before Antellia stopped him, her paw again on his shoulder and gripping rather tightly.
"Such absolutes, coming from you, a former Jedi. You and your lack of insight will benefit you nothing." She raised her voice from a whisper of awe to a shouting criticism.
What came next surprised even herself.
"You shall never become a Sith!"
Tinarandel stopped in place, his mind blanked. At the other end of the corridor, halted at the door to the Dining Hall, Nothris gasped through his translator. Tinarandel took a moment to consider his next words before facing Antellia again.
"You're right, I'll never be a Sith. But damned I'd be if I'm not trying my best. We'll see in the end which one of us triumphs over the other. Now stand aside. I'll not tell you a third time."
Antellia dared not say a word in retaliation, so Tinarandel hurried back to Nothris, who pushed the cafeteria doors open to pass through. Tinarandel, in his tense fury, followed.
Nothris broke fearlessly broke through the fog of anger clouding his Apprentice's mind. "Quite a show of attitude you put on there. While I am impressed, you could've at least shown Antellia more…respect."
"Respect?" Tinarandel repeated, no doubt disgusted at the word. "And why should I give her any respect, when she has shown me virtually none ever since I first joined the Empire?"
Finding no statements to argue against a logically sound point, Nothris fidgeted with the translator on his neck, and at length, replied. "I cannot properly discern Antellia's feelings for you, but my theory is that they are – and at the same time, are not – those of the positive or constructive kind. Her desire and longing for you seem…uninhibited, to say the least."
Tinarandel fell in line with the other Sith Warriors by a winding lengthy conveyer belt of various mouth-watering meat and vegetable dishes. Before he let his appetite get the better of him, he stated to Nothris with a tone of authoritative assertion, "I have justified reason to turn her away. My passion of the flesh is not of equivalent measure to hers. My interest in her is practically nonexistent."
"Because of her."
Tinarandel extended a paw to take a plate of a well-done steak garnished with cilantro and spinach from the belt, when Nothris uttered the pronoun. He knew that the Ithorian sensed him fuming, but did not meet his alien eyes.
"Now is not the time to discuss this, Master." He protested through clenched teeth.
Nothris came abreast of Tinarandel, pressing into him unceasingly. "I remember the day you told me everything of what happened on Dxun. You confessed to me of your forbidden love for your fellow Jedi Knight, and the night you two revealed them to each other on Dantooine. You trusted me to keep secret those two truths between the two of us, and I have done exactly that for the past two standard years. Has your confidence in me not diminished, Tinarandel? I know you feel nothing towards Antellia because your heart still belongs to that young Jedi."
When the Squirrelan made no reply, Nothris levitated the chosen platter and placed it carefully into his furry paws. He was about to elaborate further on his points when the former spoke up, reading and speaking the exact words in his mind, no doubt done through the essence of their Force Bond.
"I know you will not force me to do anything, Master. My feelings and emotions are my own. I still feel my romantic love towards that girl who was almost mine to love, so I have the freedom to do so. Love is love.
You think I don't still remember the Battle of Dxun. I remember every ounce of my anger, rage, despair, fear and grief that tortured me from the loss of my siblings. I know the ways of the Sith. These passions empower me, motivate me, drive my actions as an agent of the Dark Side.
I chose this path of vengeance. Thus, the duty falls to me to remain consistent on that straight and narrow way. While I am not yet Sith, as Antellia said, my status as a Dark Jedi is only the beginning, my first stepping stone on this unimaginable path. Furthermore, rest assured, Master: my confidence in you has not and will never diminish."
Nothris caught himself impressed by his student's proactive discourse. Uninterested in creating any counterargument, he and Tinarandel left the conveyer belts with their meals. Then they took a table and feasted like starved Gundarks.
In his peripheral vision, Tinarandel noticed Antellia picking up her lunch and seating herself in a chair parallel to him. But no matter how hard Nothris pushed them, neither would speak directly to each other. The trio so resorted to dining in an awkward and fragile silence.
They returned to the Atrium equally without a single word spoken between them. Antellia, newly confident in her feelings for Tinarandel, encouraged herself by conversing with some of her fellow female Sith, who walked off in excited gossiping spirits into the corridors leading to the other parts of the Base. The Master and Apprentice were left alone.
Nothris widened his eyes in realization. "At the very least, someone ought to go check on the Zabrak."
Tinarandel nodded indifferently. "I was just about to suggest that. My instincts are telling me to go find him. I hope Baric hasn't cut him to pieces already."
"That, or he's gone and buried his nose and horns deep in a book, or damaged our sacred scrolls with the oil from his filthy hands. If he's done both or either, you may cut him to pieces yourself. Good luck, my Apprentice, pulling him out of the area."
Nothris patted Tinarandel heartily on the back and aligned his own cloak. "I will remain here. There are other Sith Lords whom I'd have words with. Keep your comlink online, I may contact you later."
"Understood, Master." Tinarandel agreed, and the two parted.
When Tinarandel arrived, he marveled greatly at the vast assortment of wooden and rock shelves standing enormous and inviting across a 10-feet rectangular stone room. Archaic papyrus scrolls, obscure tablet rubbings, history books scrawled in a cryptic language, and much more. All were collected over standard decades from the darkest corners of the Galaxy, and carefully preserved on Taris for the Sith of the future to study and learn from of the ways of the Dark Side.
He himself often spent much of his free time in these Archives, when not traveling around Taris or the Outer Rim, training with his lightsaber, or performing whatever tasks Nothris required of him. Numerous times, the Ithorian had found him late at night, his head resting on the table surrounded by open tomes and unrolled scrolls. He always looked like a schoolboy tuckered out from extensive homework. Rather than scolding his apt student for his lack of judgement after the Archives had closed for the night, every single time, Nothris instead made sure to gently wake and escort him to his personal dormitory on the other side of the Base. Thank the Darkness for elevators and cable cars.
Tinarandel now stretched out with the Force and searched for the Zabrak guest (although he loathed to use that word, given that Quanoe was basically anything buta guest). Detecting the presence to his left, he began to search for the scholar within the maze of shelves.
He finally located him sitting at a long table of solid mixed granite and concrete, the materials fused together by extraordinary Sith sorcery. Predictably, his face was buried between the pages of a leather-bound maroon history book.
Quanoe stopped short of turning a page and turned over his shoulder to see the Squirrelan standing there, and snorted aloud.
"I began to wonder when one of you madmen would come to check on me."
Tinarandel didn't flinch, much to Quanoe's disappointment. "Consider it a professional courtesy rather than a personal favor." He explained flatly, and began to move to Quanoe's side. "You're not a scholar here; you're barely a guest. Strangely fortunate that you're even allowed to be in here. What is that you're reading?"
Quanoe hesitated to show the book, but then relented and lifted the cover. "You ever read this one? Most mind-opening beauty I've ever laid my eyes on."
Tinarandel read the title, and smirked. "'Grandest Names and Grander Evil Accomplishments of the Ancient Sith'. That one? I don't believe so. What's in it?"
Quanoe snickered as he set it down on the table. "As the budding Dark Jedi, I'd hoped you'd tell me."
The Squirrelan telekinetically pulled a chair to the Zabrak's left side and sat down in it. "Well, fess up or I start biting." He ordered with a tone harder than the rocks surrounding them. "What's going on?"
Unintimidated, Quanoe pointed to the page he'd just finished reading. "Look there, in the middle. Do you know that name?"
Tinarandel leaned over and read the name. "'Nagrig Deathblade'? Who in the Galaxy is he?"
Quanoe contorted his face into mock disbelief and offense. "You don't know? You're the Sith wannabe, the eager pupil of Trook Nothris himself, deserter of the Jedi, learner of the Dark Side, and you don't know? Shame upon you, Squirrelan!"
Tinarandel threw his paws up in clueless disbelief, using the Force to keep his voice down. "What is so special about Nagrig Deathblade?!"
Quanoe all of a sudden laughed uproariously, mocking the Squirrelan's skepticism. But he quickly ceased when the other Sith in the Archives turned in their chairs and glared furiously at him. He verbally apologized and leaned in close to Tinarandel's face until they were nose-to-nose.
"Everything, young Apprentice. After all, it's HIS treasure you're chasing."
"Deathblade?" Tinarandel scratched his furry head in absolute confusion. "But…none of the other books in the Archives have ever mentioned this particular Sith. I used to study in here for hours over days and weeks on end, reading and studying and learning, and not once have I ever come across such a name as his."
Quanoe pulled his nose away from the Squirrelan's and shook his head in disappointment. "Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself," he muttered accusingly, and passed him another book, and orange one, from a stack standing on his right side. "Here, see if you can cross-reference anything."
"Since when do I take orders from you?" Tinarandel challenged, his tough-as-nails defiant voice stabbing Quanoe.
Quanoe scarcely reacted, only letting his trademark smirk redecorate his features. "Since I showed you the very creature you've been looking for. Now get to cross-referencing!"
Tinarandel carefully turned the manuscript pages, growing more fretful and puzzled as the pages appeared void of the name Nagrig Deathblade. He looked up at Quanoe, scowling darkly.
"What am I missing?"
"Well, just like all the great Dark Lords before him, Nagrig Deathblade is rumored to be buried on Korriban." Quanoe chuckled teasingly, as if hiding some obscure secret. Tinarandel bit his lip to keep from ordering him to stop.
The Zabrak continued his thought, grinning a Cheshire grin and baring his teeth. "But then again, no one knows exactly where his tomb lies. Whatever standard age he lived in, whether or not he ever knew or came into physical contact with all the great ancient Sith are mysteries lost to the ages. Nobody really knows. So, good luck finding Deathblade! You're going to need it!"
Tinarandel stomped to his feet, slamming down the orange book and laying his palms flat on the parchment-covered table. "Where did you get this information? How came you by the knowledge that Deathblade's tomb is on Korriban? What proof is there that he ever created a treasure?"
Quanoe smothered his snickering into his palms and seized a moment to compose himself. "Of course, you're not thinking hard enough. I'm not talking about a treasure in the nature of gold and silver. By the Force, no! I'm speaking in terms of something much more…supernatural in nature. Something only the Force can create. I told you the truth, didn't I? All the clues point to Korriban."
He snorted a final time in conclusion. "I'll leave it to your so-called educated mind to figure that out. And as for how I came by my information, let's just say that persistence and perseverance have their benefits, and I have been on the hunt for these truths for many, many standard years now. That's why I jumped at Nothris' opportunity to accompany you to Taris. I figured it'd be the best chance to see your Archives, and I'd heard the stories of a Sith Base on the system. My assumptions have now been proven true. Now, the treasure will be all mine once it's found. What kind of scholar would I be if I didn't claim what rewards was looking for?"
Tinarandel was about to counter the question using another scathing and snarky retort, when his comlink beeped on his utility belt.
"I'm here, Master." He promptly answered.
"Tinarandel?" Nothris' voice crackled clearly through the communicator. "I hope I've not interrupted anything."
"Nothing, Master, we just finished." Tinarandel explained bluntly. "Is everything all right?"
"Yes, everything is all right – for the moment." Nothris reassured, though Tinarandel discerned a hint of light stress in the Ithorian's voice. "Return to the Atrium as soon as you can. Lord Baric has a…request…for you."
"I'll head there straightaway, Master." The Apprentice obeyed, continuing in his bluntness. "Wait for me." Tinarandel switched off the comlink and stuffed it gently in the leather pouch on his belt.
"Someone's in trouble!" Quanoe jived in a sadistic sing-song voice.
Tinarandel flipped his middle fingers in Quanoe's direction, causing the last word to nearly choke in the Zabrak's throat. Grumbling, Quanoe helped him return the books to their proper shelves, and then hurried out the electronic double doors after the Dark Jedi.
Totally ignoring his company, the Squirrelan increased his pace at the very nanosecond the Archives sealed itself behind them. Quanoe shuffled his hard leather Iridonian shoes to keep up.
They found Nothris and Baric standing in the center of the Atrium, where they'd met earlier that morning. Nothris looked nervous and unsure of the situation, shuffling his feet and trying to hold back argumentative words. Baric showed his usual cynical smirk painted across his Rat face, grinning wickedly. Tinarandel did not hesitate to approach them.
"There you are," Nothris exhaled in relief. "I informed Lord Baric about your fear of your lightsaber skills becoming rusty over the past week, and -,"
"Please, Trook, leave th' explanations t' those who proposed 'em!" Baric interrupted rudely. He clapped his gloved paws on Tinarandel's shoulders, causing the Squirrelan to shudder slightly under the unwanted physical pressure.
"What I want, boy, is a chance t' cure yer lightsaber ailments. 'Eard from Trook ya were 'fraid yar skills 'ave gotten rusty because ya 'ave been travelin' all over tha Galaxy, eh? Well, 'ave no fear! I, Lord Baric o' th' Sith, am 'ere t' 'elp ya get whipped back inta shape! Let's go t' th' Dojo! Shall we?"
Tinarandel stared in confusion to Nothris, who shrugged nonchalantly and gestured to follow Baric. Feeling a tad defeatist and suspicious, Tinarandel reluctantly locked himself into the Rat's overconfident strides, Nothris hot on his heels.
Quanoe also come up on Baric's left, bouncing on his feet as usual. "Am I truly about to witness an up-close and personal Sith vs. Sith lightsaber duel? Is this really happening? This sounds so exciting!
Neither the two middle-aged Sith Lords nor the younger Dark Jedi bothered to entertain the notion of answering him.
As they with the Zabrak in tow approached the Dojo, they stopped to scan their palms on the electronic locks that sealed it. Nothris thrust Quanoe through beside him. Before Tinarandel entered, he looked behind to see Antellia and her friends coming his way. He said nothing and swiftly rushed after the others.
They headed down another short dimly-lit passage before passing through another pair of automatic double doors, and at last emerging into an enormous hexagonal stone steel arena. Fifty feet high and twenty omnidirectional feet wide, it resembled something akin to a cage. Giant buzzing blood-red electric barriers loomed up to the black raftered ceiling and encompassed the central combat area, disconnected from surrounding rows and flights of seats for spectators. Slim rectangular overhead lights dotting the ceiling hummed noisily in constant monotonous low droning. The wide floor of thick gray steel enhanced the sounds of clashing crackling lightsabers; and the compressed hexagonal shape and their six-foot bifurcated stone walls housing the barriers demanded strategic and creative application for tactical battles.
Tinarandel, unlike his Masters, had spent little time in the Dojo over the past few weeks before his trip to Nar Shaddaa. His studies in the Archives kept his attention so consumed that he'd practically all but abandoned his lightsaber skills. But being given this opportunity to take on Lord Baric himself brought a freshness to his drive. He'd use this battle as a chance to sharpen his abilities in order to keep them from atrophying.
A couple other Sith opened the electric barriers and showed Quanoe and Antellia to their seats, while Nothris, Baric, and Tinarandel retreated into deep trenches built beneath the arena.
"Well, this is exciting, isn't it?" Nothris asked Tinarandel while they stretched, not bothering hide his sarcasm. "Two on one may not seem fair, but Baric possesses unique strength in the Force. I'd be vigilant for his tricks if I were you, Apprentice."
Tinarandel leaned his paw on the wall and pulled at his shoes and ankles. "Exciting isn't the word I'd use, Master. I must confess I enter the challenge in trepidation."
"For that I judge you not, my boy." Nothris unclipped his lightsaber from his belt and laid it flat in his Ithorian palms. Although iodized like his Apprentice's, it differed in color, featuring alternating gold and silver rings above and under an iron grip, and a magenta finish straight from the activator to the flat pommel stone. He stared at it contemplatively, lost in thought.
"But you know the conditions under which these duels operate. The Jedi do not understand, and thus are more passive than us. They accept their mistakes but learn nothing from them; taking defeat as is and not working to become any better than they are. In short, they take failure and defeat in stride, and remain blind to drive and ambition. We, on the other hand, do learn from our errors. We are more direct in our thinking, working to become stronger, smarter, sharper, and more powerful than our competitors. Whether we seek the praise and acclaim of others, or are solely out for our own gain is a matter of preference. It's either that…or suffer a destructive downthrow and its permanent consequences. Mistakes are their own forms of weakness and must be overcome and eliminated. What did I once tell you, Tinarandel, after the very first time we sparred together, in this very place a standard year ago?"
"'Triumph, and be forever praised." Tinarandel pushed himself upright and began to methodically flex his arm and paw muscles as he recited their mantra. "'Fail, and be forever humiliated.'"
"The philosophy of the Sith, in ten simple words." Nothris summarized. He stared Tinarandel in the face in hard determination. "Passion and strength, nothing less."
"And if we lose?" Tinarandel matched his determined stare, yet a mild nervousness lay behind the whites of his eyes.
Nothris raised a finger, pulled the Squirrelan's lightsaber from his belt, and firmly placed it lengthwise in his left paw. "Then I will be nonetheless proud of you for trying your hardest, regardless of win or loss. That being said, we must win, Tinarandel. Failure cannot be an option. Together, using our combined strength, we shall emerge the victors of this duel. That is the end goal. We can strive for no less."
"I am a Dark Jedi, Master Nothris. I am a pseudo-Sith." Tinarandel stated in a furious attitude and fierce promise, more to himself than to his Master, while gripping his lightsaber tight and resting his thumb on the activator button.
"I have never allowed myself to settle for less."