Chapter Three – The Path of the Legacy of a Dynasty of Nasties

It was at the end of a long, deep, silent meditation that young Darth Flagetus opened his eyes and spoke. He was almost surprised by what he saw: nothing but a dim, sparse room and the image of his master crosslegged and solemn. In his thoughts he had become so accustomed to the deep palpatations of the dark side, tremors of the Force around his senses, that he expected to see them in some way. His eyes, he realised, now deceived him. Mere light was a child's grasp of vision. Cool, he thought, deciding to write that last bit down later for future use. Child's grasp of vision. He cleared his throat.

"Master?" he asked.

Darth Perniteus stirred. "What is on your mind, apprentice?"

Flagetus blinked, making a show of acclimatising himself with the room while he phrased his question. "I was wondering: who was your master? Who taught you the ways of the dark side, and... and..."

"And when did I destroy him?"

"Yes."

Perniteus curved the corners of his mouth beneath his ears, in an almost cruel expression as if hinting at some joke the young Ortolan was not a part of. "Yessssss," he growled. "Yes, indeed. Such questions must always be answered by the master, when the time is right." He stretched out his long, leather fingers and bent his tall neck as he spoke.

"My master was a powerful Ewok warlord known as Da–"

"Ewok?!" Flagetus interrupted, sputtering the word.

"Yes, they are a sentient race of bears from th–"

"Oh, I know what they are, I just... uh... never mind."

"He was a powerful Ewok... warlord... named Darth Nefaarius. His master before him was the terrible and feared Darth Villanaus. And his master in turn... the legendary Darth Esaurus."

Flagetus visibly shuddered. "Darth Esaurus the Chronicler? He who revitalised the Sith's naming conventions?"

"Yessa, the same. My master was much like the others who have come and gone, albeit shorter and without the ability to speak Basic. He had a sort of... system of grunts and purrs, that... well, he taught me as well as he could."

"Of course."

"Yes. He was mighty indeed. During his tenure as the ruler of our secret line, he successfully kept us so well-hidden that the Sith became more than a legend... a sort of joke, in fact, among the Jedi. Some of them even forgot who we were completely, due to his deceptions and his general appearance. He also once successfully stole a Jedi's wallet, which had like fifty credits in it. Of course she cancelled all the cards and such, but those credits were on a chit. We dined well that day. He also came up with the idea of waterproofing our black robes and meeting on Saturdays instead of Sundays."

"Gosh."

"Indeeeeeed. A worthy leader. But eventually, he had to be disposed of."

A deep and biting cold seemed to fall on Flagetus' shoulders. He wondered for a moment if it was only his nerves, or some other power, perhaps even one commanded by his master.

Perniteus held the young learner's gaze without fully opening his own eyes. "Nefaarius met his end," he finally said, "ten standard years ago. By my hand, of course. It is always the way of the Sith. The apprentice must become the master by defeating the one who taught him."

Flagetus nodded. "And how did it happen?"

Again that grim, hard, self-absorbed parody of a smile turned-up the Gungan's thick lips. "We were visiting the volatile, volcano-ridden surface of the planet Mustafar," he said from behind sharp teeth. "I seized an opportunity when I pretended to trip down the landing ramp, and then pretended to fall off a ledge, over a pit of lava, and pretended to scream a great deal. Nefaarius pulled me up, and I pretended to fall again and knock him into the lava with my behind. Feigning the stereotype of Gungan clumsiness, you know. If you've never seen an Ewok over an open flame... well, believe me, youssa don't want to."

"Impressive, my Lord..."

"Unfortunately he had all of our existing archives on his person – our collection of scrolls and ancient Sith holocrons from the old masters. We were going to upload them all to the new system on Mustafar. Which is... one of the reasons I have so little material to teach you with now..."

"Then why didn't you wait until later, before... pretending to trip? Or why not secure these texts before pushing him?"

The cold grew in the room and seemed to sit heavy on Flagetus' shoulders. Eventually Perniteus muttered, "You will understand in time," and made a face.

"Thank you, Master."

"Yes, right, so that was the end of him, and indeed most of our resources. Some sacrifices have to be made, and so on. No more questions. Clear your mind of whatever you're thinking right now."

Flagetus did as he was told and found his focus returning to him.

"One day," the master instructed, "you must destroy me also, and take on a learner of your own. And so we will continue the great Circle of Life."

"The... Rule of Two, my Lord?"

"That's the one, yes. The Rule of Two, as established by the great architect of our purpose, the almighty Darth Bane."

The meditation looked as though it was about to resume for a while, but then Flagetus spoke again. "Tell me of Darth Bane. Many times now you have spoken of his greatness and the reverence that all Sith acolytes have held for him over the long generations of five hundred years..."

"Indeed. He was our great regenerator, and history's most magnificent strategist."

"But who was he? Were his tales destroyed on Mustafar when you tr–"

"When I assassinated my master by seizing the moment and using the will of the Force to my ends? No, they were not. For the legend of Bane is one passed down orally – on nights such as this, from one Lord to another. Above all else – above the stories of Exar and Revan, above the mighty Emperor and his outer kingdom invasion, above the founding of our people on Korriban, above whatever else was in those scrolls and holos that fell into the lava and I never got to hear... the tale of Bane is the one which we hold most deeply in our memories."

A new sensation fell upon Flagetus now: something insidious and unnatural that he had never felt before. Something that defied all the mundane sensations that his skin and muscle were accustomed to. Something that made him feel weak and helpless before the sheer weight and effortlessness of what he truly served. Perniteus did not react, but appeared deep in thought.

When he was ready, and the strange feeling had engulfed his student completely, Perniteus spoke. The story of Darth Bane did not relieve the pervasive sensation, but it did distract from it. Flegelus was rapt.

"Lord Bane," Perniteus began slowly, "was born on a small, inhospitable world called Apatros, during the Sith Empire's seventy-third Great Civil War against the Republic. We weren't exactly winning, but we really were trying harder. The only work to be had on Apatros was mining, using dangerous pneumatic drills to retrieve cortosis, since although the people of Apatros had mastered space travel and knew the value of cortosis, they were yet to understand basic mining lasers, or indeed any form of excavation beyond having large men wield enormous pneumatic drills which riddled them with illness and weakness of the bones. But this extraordinary oversight on his managers' part, along with the fact that he was routinely beaten by everyone around him, made him strong."

"He was routinely...?"

"Yes, the other miners and his father abused him terribly, as did most people he met later in life. He earned the name Bane as he was considered a burden. However, one night he accidentally got into a bar fight, hid in a packing crate and ended up being indoctrinated into the Sith's ranks."

"Within Lord Kaan's Brotherhood of Shadow, Bane learned mighty secrets of the dark, such as how to fight with sticks. Of course, he usually lost the stick fights and spent most of his time recovering from his injuries... and generally he came last in all his studies. A girl also deliberately toyed with his emotions and used him for her own promotion, which worked out pretty well for her. But – again – it made him strong. Eventually, after being thrown out... uh, after... after realising that he was too great to be a part of the pathetic Brotherhood, he fled to a cave, nearly dying from the journey, and discovered an ancient Master's wisdom as he recovered from his injuries. This taught him the powerful 'thought bomb' technique, which ended the Battle of Ruusan in a single stroke, destroying every member of the Sith but himself, and at least three Jedi knights, immediately."

"He... destroyed... all...?" Flagetus was confused but chose his words carefully.

"Yes. Some Sith have difficulty understanding the wisdom of this manoeuvre, but trust me on this. It's complicated. Anyway, the Jedi foolishly assumed they had 'won', since the Sith's entire force has been wiped out by one of their own men, and Bane went off to recover from his injuries, as per usual, while the enemy returned to their temple and laughed their heads off. After a few years, as the Republic and Jedi went from strength to strength, Bane trained Darth Zannah and sent her out on secret missions whilst he accidentally crashed a ship, failed to recover anything from the tomb of Freedon Nadd, and then got attacked by parasitic beetles which covered his entire body and then remained attached for some years to come."

There was a slight pause. Perniteus looked at the floor.

"He then... spent a few more years trying to get the beetles off of him and... ah... not succeeding... and then devoted himself to creating a Sith holocron of his own. This extremely delicate and intricate process requires the most honed, the most deadly, pinpoint, expert oneness with the dark side of the Force – only a true, worthy master of the dark is ever able to create such a powerful and precious artefact..."

"And did Lord Bane succeed in creating one?"

"Well... no. He failed twice, accidentally smashing them into pieces, and then he trashed his camp and stormed off. And went to recover from his injuries, of course.

"After this... was over... he eventually got the parasitic beetles off his body and went on to rebuild the Sith Order from the ground up..."

Flagetus interrupted. "Having destroyed it?"

"Yes, exactly... and he eventually attempted to train a second apprentice to supplant his rebellious first, whom he challenged to a duel to the death!"

"Of course he won?"

"No."

At this point in the conversation, all sense of strange powers and dark pulses in the room had peetered-out somewhat. Flagetus was painfully aware of the sounds of the neighbours downstairs arguing about their heating bills. His heavy blue cheeks flushed purple a little in embarrassment.

Perniteus went to get a cup of stimcaff.

Upon his return, the master made an apologetic face, and admitted, "To be honest, the legend of Darth Bane sounded a lot better in my head."

"Yes, master."

"I mean, I'm sure I'm forgetting the good parts, you know what I mean?"

"Of course."

"Like, I'm sure there was a very good reason why he killed all of the Sith on the eve of a final battle with the Jedi, and then fled. And crashed his starship. And got covered with beetles."

"As you say, my Lord."

"I mean, he was the master strategist, you see. He said so!"

"Yeah."

The rest of the evening passed quietly enough and with a renewed sense of peace. The meditation resumed in earnest after they had both stretched their legs and let out a long, long held sigh. When Flagetus left, Darth Perniteus fell into a deep, comfortable sleep while watching his soaps.