Introduction: Rachel Roth
My name is Rachel Roth, daughter of Darth Trigon the Terrible and a former apprentice of Sith Lord Malchior. I was once the rising star among the apprentices, drawing the eye of every Sith around Korriban, and few could ever match my skill or power. I don't think of myself as egotistical or prideful, I choose to study hard and practice when I could, spending whatever time I could in the archives after training.
My diligence and devotion in my studies and training is where my formidable skill originates, where others chose to be revel in supposed feats, I refused to let myself falter or relent for even a moment. It was a harsh discipline to abide by, but it kept me from being punished for my failures. Darth Trigon didn't accept failure, not in me or any of my other brothers, and the punishment was always severe for even the slightest mistake.
Though I dominated the competition and won all of my duels, my reputation came purely from Darth Trigon, his ruthlessness and wickedness garnered him outright fear from even his colleagues at the same level. Anytime anyone hears of my connection to him they either immediately flee or bow and scrape for my favour, hoping to be chosen as Darth Trigon's apprentice.
Once I was old enough, I was sent on my first mission with my master Malchior, a man that I had thought of as my mentor and friend until he tried to take advantage of me when we were alone. It hurt to know that my own mentor didn't see me as anything more than the daughter of the hellish monster, hoping to take me as his wife to get closer to Darth Trigon. That hurt burned deeply, and when he came onto me, I tore him apart.
Malchior didn't stand a chance against me, his supposed skill was nothing more than lies and showmanship. As he laid before me, begging for his life and apologising for underestimating me, I found I couldn't bring myself to kill the vile creature. Rage and hatred had filled me, pushing me to destroy him for thinking that he was better than me, but when I came down to it, I couldn't land the killing blow.
I left him there as a crying mess, completing the mission singlehandedly before returning home to a punishment from Darth Trigon. How that failure of a Sith Lord managed to get himself home and lie so effortlessly to a Darth is beyond me, what I do know is that I took my punishment happily for the first time. I failed to kill that worm, and that was my mistake.
From then onwards, I pushed myself and took as many missions that I could get, hoping to rid myself of the weakness that I saw in myself. My inability to kill. Though the truth was that I could kill, taking out Jedi, Republic, pirates, or enemies to the Empire. When I think back to the one person that I couldn't kill, it confused me. Why couldn't I kill Malchior?
Every time I saw that worm, he shrunk away from me, afraid at my mere presence. It was a horrible feeling, both knowing that someone could be so afraid of me that they would literal shrivel up and skulk away, and that evil being was still alive because of me. I wish to one day be able to understand why, to know if it was a weakness or because I actually cared about Malchior.
That said, it did spark something me, something that I never thought I would have, a sense of morality. Before, I didn't exactly care about anyone else, or about those that I had killed, but the more I was haunted by Malchior, the more I thought about those that I had ignored before. It forced me to remember all those that I had slain, about who they were or about those around them.
With every mission I undertook, I questioned everything, pondering how my actions effect those in and around the mission. It made me realise that my affiliation with the Sith wasn't something I could continue, that their ways were too barbaric for me. I had briefly wondered if this made me a Jedi, a laughable idea as I could never be one of those uppity so-called peacekeepers, though it furthered my realisation that I couldn't be a Sith.
Even though I thought of myself as no longer a Sith, I didn't have any reason to leave. Within the Sith order, I have an extensive array of resources at my disposal and a vast library of information to peruse through, why would I leave?
That answer came during one of my missions to secure an outpost for the Empire, backed by the Imperial Army we stormed in and successfully took the outpost. Capturing it was easy, holding it proved otherwise as the Republic forces were backed up by a Jedi master. Setting out to tackle the enemy force user, I ran into the master's padawan, a runt that could barely hold their ground. The padawan dropped their lightsaber moments after deflecting my first strike, crawling away on the ground as they begged for their life.
As I stood over them, I didn't have it in me to lay the killing strike despite them being the mortal enemy of the Sith, and even if I didn't consider myself a Sith that didn't mean I couldn't stop being one. When I couldn't lay the killing blow, I thought that I was weak, that this was another Malchior incident that I would be left haunted by.
Though, as I was comparing the two together, I realised the truth behind not only the padawan before me but the worm as well. They were beyond weak, they were so far below that I had only contempt for them, that they were nothing to me and to expend the energy to kill them was pointless. I was born and raised as a warrior, to fight for everything and never relent until I was dead. This padawan and Malchior, they were no match for me, and that didn't sit well with me to kill someone that couldn't even defend themselves.
I withdrew my lightsaber and left the padawan in the dirt, I was feeling somewhat content about my revelation until the Jedi master realised that they had left their useless padawan alone, rushing back and attacking me without a second thought. The fight was difficult though not impossible, the Jedi having lost their composure and fighting recklessly gave me the advantage to control the fight. That was until the Jedi threw out an insult, using a name that I rarely hear, throwing me off my game.
With all my achievements and accomplishments, I earned a nickname that I never cared for, one that was given to me by Darth Trigon himself. The Darkling Star. An apt name for a rising star among the Sith order. Since I never cared much about it, I ignored everything regarding that name, something I shouldn't have done.
The Darkling Star to others was a vile monster second to only to Darth Trigon himself, a fiend of hellish origins that slaughters all in their path without discrimination. To find this out by a Jedi who was recklessly flailing their lightsaber in a vague attempt of fighting destroyed any form of concentration I had, forcing me to break free of the fight and order a retreat to all forces.
I spent so long searching through all the records of my nickname, dreadfully drinking in every painful detail that entailed my supposed exploits. And that what they were, my supposed exploits, as they were not mine. The missions I preformed flawlessly with little casualties on both sides, were turned into horror fests, painting me out to be a monster of epic proportions. Appalled, I searched for those missions, hoping it was exaggeration only to be dismayed as it turned out to be true.
Someone had appeared after I had left, and wreaked havoc on my perfect mission. Tearing down my name and turning it into one of a typical Sith monster, it hurt to know that nothing I had ever done was actually mine, that my victories were tarnished in favour of making me into a evil creature.
As my mind reeled from this, it brought back my question of my allegiance, and forced me to realise that despite the resources available to me, the cost now was my soul. Become the heartless fiend that was the Darkling Star, or free myself to become whatever or whoever I was meant to be. To find out who I am, that was something I found myself needing more and more, how could I be called Rachel Roth when I even doubted that to be who I was.
My resolve desired to escape, to leave the Sith order and never come back. A feat that would have otherwise been impossible had I not had the reputation they endowed upon me, a useful tool that gave me free reign around Korriban, and to execute my plan perfectly. To escape the Sith, I had to ensure they would never follow me or look for me, I had to fake my own death.
With my free reign, I managed to organise for a dissident group to strike at the Sith temple without leaving a trace of myself orchestrating it, and it allowed me to acquire a mass of explosives. My plan was to prove myself in fighting off the dissidents and rush into a hanger where they were supposedly located, and just before aid could arrive the hanger would explode leaving behind bodies and my charred lightsaber. It would be enough for them to believe it, they weren't exactly the type to investigate a heroic feat performed by an aspiring star among them, opting to just commemorate their sacrifice.
Hiding the dead bodies of slaves was difficult, no Sith would ever bother to waste time searching for their dead bodies as usually a Darth would come around and steal a few for some experiment or other, but the smell would soon expose them if I didn't act quickly. Scaring my lightsaber hurt deeply, a weapon I had created on my own that would now be vital to my plan as if it wasn't found then everything would fall apart.
Luck appeared to be in my favour as my plan was pulled off flawlessly, ditching my lightsaber in the hanger and smuggling myself onto a smuggler's ship leaving Korriban, feeling the shockwaves of the explosion almost from orbit. Leaving behind my life and everything I knew to explore, not only myself, but the vast universe and numerous planets as well.
And that was how I found myself on this massive sand ball of a planet, hoping that the stories of force users finding inner peace in the sands of Tatooine was true. That hope turned out to be foolish as I found nothing more than caves full of monsters and bandits covered in rags, neither of which was what I wanted to find.
Trudging through the sands, I tried to remember the nickname that my mother gave me, the one I am using as my new cover identity. Raven. A majestic dark bird that flies free in the skies, never held back by fear or inability. She named me this after I was born with a rare skin deformity that as a Sith pureblood meant my skin was a light purple rather than the bold red, a colour closely related to the Raven.
It saddens me that I never had more time with my mother, she was a wonderful woman who never let anything get her down, not even being forcibly taken as Darth Trigon's concubine. That fact had been kept from me for as long as my mother could hide it, though not long enough as some upstart Republic spy killed her to stop her from revealing their identity. I had wanted to find that individual and kill them, but that wasn't what my mother would want for me to do.
Taking her nickname for me is the only way I have to honour her memory, to become the free bird she wanted me to be. I just hope she approves of my decision, that I she would be watching me from some place in the afterlife.
My trek through the lifeless sands of Tatooine punished my resolve, questioning my decision to leave and praying that my mother was really watching over me as my sanity was pushed to its limits. I had spied a town in the distance and forced myself to carry onwards, reaching it as exhaustion washed over me. Thirsty and tired, I wanted to get myself something to drink and to rest only to realise that all my credits were spent getting me to this sandy hell.
I had once thought about just threatening a local into giving me what I want, much like in the way I had to back in the Sith order, barely stopping myself as this wasn't what I wanted to be. If I was going to find myself, I had to stop being the one thing that I choose to stray from.
