630 BBY; 2 years later…
'Almost there!' Vrehk thought, panting from effort.
The twelve year-old sprinted through the caves, weaving between sharpened rocks and towering stalagmites. The area was bathed in soft yellow light from the colonies of bioluminescent fungi clinging to the rocks overhead. He stumbled while running up an incline, ramming his shoulder into the hard ground. It hurt, but Vrehk did his best to ignore the pain and got back to his feet. In his right hand he held a round piece of rock, taken from one of the lower caverns.
He didn't have much time left. 'Stupid, stupid!' Vrehk berated himself. If only he hadn't been so cautious climbing into that crevice. Now he might be too late returning.
Darth Perdition brought him here only three hours ago. "These caverns have been here since my ancestors founded our house," he'd told Vrehk at the entrance in the catacombs. "They were used as a convenient place to 'disappear' political rivals and enemies. Sometimes as a refuge in the event of an attack on the estate."
"What's my test?" Vrehk asked, eying the dark space beyond the door.
"You will venture deep into the lower caverns and retrieve a geode. They can only be found in the cracks and crevices which border geothermal vents. Bring one to me before the sun sets."
"And if I can't?"
His question had been met with silence.
And so, Vrehk had done as told. He'd spent hours wandering through the endless maze of tunnels and caves. His skin still bled from dozens of small cuts from the rock when he climbed into the crevice that held the geodes. Now, he used every last bit of energy running back to the entrance. It was almost sunset. If he didn't bring the geode back in time, the entrance would probably be sealed and he'd have to stay here all night with no food or water.
His master had once told him, "You will not live in luxury like some pampered Alderaanian fop. While you may venture into the estate's main levels, that will only be at my discretion. These catacombs will be your home. You will have to earn every blanket, every scrap of food, every drop of water. If you fail a task I give you, these things will be taken away. The Mandalorians have a saying: "Pressure makes gems, ease makes decay." As your master, it is my responsibility to sharpen your mind and body into a weapon, a tool for the Dark Side. True understanding comes through suffering."
Vrehk remembered his early lessons, in the months after Darth Perdition took him as an apprentice. One time he was forced to kneel in an empty room for an entire day with a bowl of water in front of him. If he drank from it, Perdition would make him kneel for another day. Another time his master made him run through an obstacle course while hunted by vicious probe droids that fired electric bolts. For every bolt that struck him, he had to spend an hour inside a freezing, repurposed meat locker.
"For the time being, your body requires food and rest. As your powers grow, you will have less need of such base requirements. The power of the Force will sustain you, its energies invigorating your mind beyond the need for sleep. It is up to you to decide how harsh I will be. Succeed, and your torment will show you the way forward. Fail, and your torment will remind you that you are yet mortal. You may be my apprentice, but that does not mean you are exempt from disappointing me."
'No,' Vrehk thought. 'That won't happen. I will succeed!'
Through intense study and rigorous discipline, he improved his grasp of the Force day by day. At first, simply levitating an object a foot above the floor had required a great deal of effort. Now, he could throw something across the room with a thought and cast a handful of bolts of red lightning. His master told him that particular shade of lightning was incredibly rare. It made him feel special, powerful. The lessons were harsh, the punishments more so. But Vrehk endured them. Everything his master put him through ultimately made him stronger, faster, better.
For too long, he'd been nothing but a victim. Darth Perdition was teaching him to be a Sith, a god among mortals. Never again would he have to be afraid. The truth of it was that his master had done more for him than his own family ever did. While he despised his grandfather, and spit on the man's memory, the same couldn't be said of his parents. They'd loved him, cared for him, and he thought of them fondly. But for all their love, they had left him alone. Abandoned him to be abused by his grandfather. How could they have done that? How could they leave when they claimed to love him more than anything?
He hadn't been happy in a long time. But now he knew the truth. Happiness was overrated; strength was all he craved now.
Though he moved nearly three times as fast as someone his age, his heart still pounded in his chest. His breaths were heavy, laboured. Almost there, almost there. The entrance was close; Vrehk recognized the cuts he'd made into the wall to mark his passage. Just a little farther…
Yes!
The door leading out of the caves and into the catacombs lay just at the end of this tunnel. He started to relax, but noticed that the door was closing. "No!" he cried. "No, no, no!"
He summoned every last bit of strength, forcing his legs to propel him forward. The door slowly slid closed. In moments, he'd be too late, forced to stay here all night. Just a bit more, a bit more. Leaping the last few feet, Vrehk shimmied by the door just before it closed. He skidded to a halt, lungs on fire as he placed his hands on his knees. Bright spots flashed in the edges of his vision, and he closed his eyes as he leaned against the wall.
"Well done, young master," a polite robotic voice greeted. The droid stood near the far door. Bipedal, it possessed four articulated arms that protruded from its aquamarine-coloured body. Its round head was marked by a pair of large, compound eyes and a vocabulator grill that twinkled with amber lights when it talked. "Your performance was .08 percent faster than expected. Rather impressive for a being of your age and size."
"Thanks, ArZed," Vrehk said, straightening himself. RZ-87 was a caretaker droid selected from among the estate staff. Perdition himself could often be away on business or secretive missions, and thus had assigned the droid to watch over Vrehk.
In many ways, RZ was the closest thing he had to a friend.
"Look!" he said once he'd caught his breath. He held up the geode in his hand. "I got it!"
"A most impressive find, young master. There are none who are your equal."
Vrehk basked in the praise, smiling.
"Duke Uvanar requested your presence upon your return. If you will follow me?" Vrehk nodded, and the droid led him out into the corridor. They walked for some time through the only home Vrehk had known the last two years. They passed the obstacle course and punishment rooms. Then the sparring ring and machine shops. His favourite place had to be the library. Darth Perdition kept one of the most extensive libraries he'd ever seen. His master claimed the only places that could boast a superior trove of knowledge were Obroa-Skai and the archives of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.
It had everything imaginable: biological indexes of various fauna, from Acklays to Shyrack to Krayt Dragons; historical volumes of worlds such as Onderon, Korriban, Mandalore, and Ossus; biographies of famous individuals like Exar Kun, Revan, Nok Drayen, and Yusanis. Vrehk always loved reading about Revan the most. For almost every bit of downtime in the last two years, he'd pored over the books and scrolls and datacards of his master's collection. He'd barely made a dent, and would likely spend an entire lifetime reading through it all.
And yet, there were materials he couldn't read. RZ led him down a left turn, and they walked past the door to Darth Perdition's sanctum. Vrehk ran a hand across its smooth, golden surface. His master kept a tight grip on works dealing with advanced Force powers, holocrons, and catalogues for alchemically created monsters and lightsaber construction.
"Over time, I will allow you to absorb the information stored within my sanctum," Darth Perdition had said when he'd asked. "But not before you are ready for it. Knowledge is power, but too much knowledge learned too soon can be damaging."
Vrehk let his fingers slip from the vault door. "Someday I'll get in there," he promised.
"I'm sure you will, young master. Now keep up; we don't want to keep the Duke waiting."
Darth Perdition knelt on the floor of a meditation sphere, clad in a voluminous black cloak clasped with a silver chain connected to a pair of Sith broaches. Constructed in the shape of an orb, the rounded walls of the meditation sphere were etched with symbols and glyphs meant to focus the power of the Dark Side. Not as potent as his private sanctum, but enough to help centre the mind. He sensed his apprentice as soon as the boy returned from the caverns, then followed the sense as he approached the sphere. The boy registered as a growing vortex of Dark Side energy. Over time, with Perdition's guidance, Vrehk would become a raging storm of power.
When he'd taken the boy as his apprentice, he had been reminded of how his own father raised him. Klodiam Uvanar treated Perdition as diseased, something to be obscured and hidden like a dirty secret. He hated his father, even after all the subsequent decades. Klodiam had sought to suppress that which made his son powerful and special. Perdition would not do that with Vrehk. He would foster the boy's talents, teach him the ancient ways of the Sith. He would raise his apprentice to be a great Sith Lord who embraced his talents.
Reaching out with the Force, Perdition opened the door before Vrehk could knock. The boy stepped inside, the caretaker droid remaining out in the hall. "I've completed my task, master," he reported.
"So you have."
Vrehk stood in front of him, bowing and holding out the geode. Perdition took it, examining it up close. Gripping it with both hands, he split it in half, revealing the crystals within. They gleamed violet inside the hollow cavity. Upon close inspection, he found that the crystals were more or less intact. Identifying the largest and best of them, he plucked it loose and discarded the geode.
"Kneel."
His apprentice obeyed, kneeling before him despite his obvious fatigue.
"The secrecy that we live by is useful, beneficial. But there are deficiencies." Vrehk looked at him intently, ready to absorb his latest lesson. The boy's singular obsession with learning did him credit, but it had to be properly tempered. "One of these deficiencies is the lack of resources for lightsaber construction. The Jedi maintain a monopoly of crystal caverns on worlds like Ilum and Dantooine. As a result, the Sith of our order have had to find alternatives."
Vrehk nodded.
"Instead of relying on naturally occurring crystals that are found in nature, the Sith utilize synthetic crystals. This allows us to fashion our own, without risking discovery by attempting to purloin the Jedi's stocks. Synthetic crystals are also far more powerful. The blades they produce can, on occasion, short out the blade of an opponent's lightsaber."
"How do we make these crystals, master?"
"Most often, an individual Sith has had to create it using raw materials. It is a laborious process, requiring days of concentration in front of a geological compressor." He held up the crystal he took from the geode. "Early in my apprenticeship, I discovered that the crystals found in the crevices of the caverns here could be used as lightsaber crystals. All that is required is one day in a compressor and pouring Dark Side power into it. The power and elegance of lightsabers is matched by their internal symmetry and the raw applicability of their design."
Vrehk's eyes lit up. "You mean I can use that as a lightsaber crystal?"
Perdition nodded, holding it out on his palm. The boy took it, admiring it in a new light. Using the Force, Perdition unhooked his lightsaber from his belt and levitated it in the air between them. He then disassembled it, spreading the pieces apart until they became a cloud of metal. "The crystal serves as the blade's power source," he explained. The blood-red crystal of his weapon separated from the rest of the components. "It generates the energy sufficient for a basic beam of contained plasma. But focusing crystals can be added to enhance its power, producing a far more powerful beam." The other crystal floated beside the synthetic one. It glowed a faint sky-blue. "I chose an Eralam crystal. It produces a clear, superior beam compared to others.
"This will be the first step you take in constructing your weapon," he told his apprentice. "It will be years before you are ready. Whether Sith or Jedi, your lightsaber is an extension of yourself. Combat is one of the highest forms of expression, especially among Force-users. Everything, from the crystals to the blade emitter to the grip, will be your choice and yours alone."
Gripping the crystal tightly in his hand, Vrehk asked, "When will I be ready, master?"
"First, you will learn the ways of combat. That is the next step I will add to your training. I will teach you the styles and sequences necessary to engage in lightsaber combat. In turn, you will devote every waking moment not focused on Force power to practicing. While a master of the Dark Side is a mighty warrior and skilled duelist, one can never stop learning. You will practice for the rest of your life, seeking mastery over every form and technique until they become second nature. As my apprentice and my future successor, it is your responsibility to learn the secrets of our order so they may be passed on."
He then stood, and gestured for Vrehk to follow. Perdition led him to one of the training rooms, pulling a metre-long section of wall out. It slid open to reveal a row of vibroblades, each a different size and configuration. He selected one of the single-hilt swords, swinging it a few times to test the balance. "We will start with this."
They spent the next several hours practicing. Perdition taught his young apprentice the fundamentals of Shii-Cho, the Way of the Sarlacc. As it was the first form of lightsaber combat, it had been taught to Jedi and Sith trainees for thousands of years. It gave the student a basic understanding of attack, parry, and marks of contact. Perdition's master had been somewhat disdainful of lightsaber combat, but he himself had taken to its study like a Rancor feasting on a fresh kill.
Nearly four decades of practice and training had forged him into a master duelist. In the end, it had been his skill with a lightsaber that ended Darth Umbris' life. The very thing the Kel Dor had disdained proved to be his downfall.
They began to spar, putting the lessons into practice. Vrehk's movements were awkward and clumsy, but would no doubt improve with time and practice. The boy overextended on a jab, and Perdition knocked his apprentice's weapon aside and cut his arm in one motion. Vrehk cried out, stumbling back as he pressed a hand to his wound. It was shallow, doing no permanent damage.
"Never devote everything to a single attack," Perdition chastised. "It leaves you vulnerable, creates unnecessary openings." Gesturing to the cut on his arm, he added, "The wound will heal. The lesson will remain."
Leaving Vrehk to practice the first sequences on his own, Perdition left the estate and traveled up to the shipyards. After being met by a contingent of his Morgukai warriors, he ventured through the massive labyrinth of construction bays, laboratories, offices, and supply depots. Eventually, he arrived at a viewing booth overlooking one of the drydocks. This particular zone of the shipyards was reserved for the planning and construction of prototype vessels. As such, it fell entirely under Uvanar's control.
Upon entering the transparisteel box, he was greeted by Project Foreman Zal Astros. A Corellian by birth, Astros had formerly been an employee of Corellian Engineering Corporation. Uvanar had managed to retain his services for KDY twelve years ago, robbing a competitor of a talented asset. Thin and wiry, Astros had balding black hair, flecked with grey, and a thin mustache on his upper lip.
"Duke," Astros greeted, bowing.
"I've come to check your progress," Uvanar explained. While he normally made frequent inspections of his pet projects, much of his time had been taken up lately with Vrehk's training.
"The work proceeds quite well, my lord." The foreman gestured at the drydock. Within the large empty cube, secured by docking clamps, the vessel began to take shape. With the death of Chocoth Chund and the other troublesome Mining Guild executives, Perdition had ensured their replacements were more…pliable. One was his direct agent, his eyes and ears in the guild, while the rest were beings he had sufficient leverage to manipulate. Thus, the ore from Cinnagar had flowed freely. Now, two years later, that correction began to bear fruit.
While only half-completed, the vessel dwarfed anything KDY had produced. The overall profile resembled a dagger ready to thrust into the heart of any target system. The drive assembly and main engineering sections at the stern had been built first. The rest was a skeleton with large sections exposed to the void. Lights flickered all along the hull as constructor droids and organic work crews worked tirelessly to fulfill Uvanar's will.
"Are we on schedule?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
Astros consulted his datapad. "According to the latest estimates, we'll be three months behind your deadline. With respect, Duke, perhaps we should consider pushing back the timetable."
Uvanar shook his head. "Unacceptable. We can't afford any delays." Stroking his chin in thought, he said, "Double the workers' shifts, and allocate more funds to purchasing constructor droids."
"My lord?" Astros asked, looking at him with surprise. "The workers are already on extended overtime as is. I can only rotate the groups so much before they're too exhausted."
"They will work until they can't," Uvanar replied coldly. "Double shifts, no exceptions. Any worker that refuses will be fitted with shock collars and deprived of all station privileges. I shall endeavour to acquire more manual labour from outside sources. But in the meantime, all that matters is meeting the deadline. Is that understood?"
The foreman pursed his lips. Perdition sensed the man's reticence through the Force, but it would do him no good. Whether by credits or the threat of force, he would comply. "As you say, my lord."
Uvanar nodded. "Good. Keep me apprised of any updates."
Without bothering to see any further reaction on Astros' part, he turned and left the viewing booth. His offices, located on the topmost floor of the northwestern quadrant of the drive yards, were an expression of contradiction. The atrium, meeting room, and viewing gallery all displayed signs of great wealth: plush Chandrilan leather seats; mesmerizing Ch'hala trees that rippled with vibrant colours in response to sound waves; aurodium-thread carpets; crisp, painstakingly detailed holographic representations of KDY vessels. Yet despite these trappings of garish ostentation, his private office was startlingly austere by comparison. A single large desk with functional chairs, a transparisteel far wall that offered a view of Kuat's surface and the surrounding starscape, and a trio of holo-projectors built into the floor along the left wall.
Uvanar found it a useful tool. Those who came to meet with him would be taken in by the gleaming exterior, then surprised and off-put by the simplicity of his office. It gave him an edge in negotiation. Also, it catered more to his tastes: having long grown past the desire for wealth as a symbol of status, Uvanar preferred a simpler style. And yet, as a Duke of Kuat and head of one of The Ten houses, some ostentations were to be expected.
Walking past the reception desk, manned by a gleaming protocol droid, he entered his office and sat at the desk. His Morgukai guards positioned themselves outside the door.
For all his current prestige and power, Uvanar could have made himself the most powerful man in KDY. While the Kuat family had perpetual ownership of the company, that did not preclude someone of superior intellect from ruling behind the scenes. If he had never been born with command over the Force, he would have devoted all his efforts towards the company. None could match his ambition or ruthlessness.
Yet, the universe had seen fit to bestow the power of the Dark Side upon him. Having been trained since childhood by Darth Umbris, Perdition had expanded his focus. Rather than a single company or world, he sought to influence an entire galaxy. As per the Grand Plan, he manipulated entire star systems. Trade routes could be moved around like string on a board. Public figures removed like dejarik pieces. The Republic, that bloated, rotting beast he and his predecessors strove to disembowel, slumbered in the delusion of peace and comfort. But while it slept, an infection slowly tore through its body one cell at a time.
One such cell was Rilsimont.
A minor Outer Rim world with a relatively short history, Rilsimont was home to two sentient species. The native Ghuvin, reptilians with a crystalline skeletal structure, and the insectoid Qhoknon who were descended from a colony that arrived seven centuries earlier. The two species had a contentious, bloody history until Jedi-led Republic diplomacy had brokered peace. That peace had lasted for nearly 200 years. The planet itself had little importance, but its proximity to several important trade routes had drawn Perdition's interest. Secretly, he had been stoking the flames of conflict, encouraging the old enmities between the two species to re-emerge.
Rising from his desk, he stepped over to one of the holo-projectors. Activating his personal encryption setting, he entered the contact information of his target. The projector came to life, and a full-sized hologram materialized in front of him. The being he saw was thin, of average height. It had a leathery, violet hide, with obsidian plates protruding around its face and extremities. A second pair of arms extended from the elbow joints. The being wore an open robe that exposed its chest, revealing the quartet of holes that revealed the gleaming crystalline bone plate in the chest cavity.
The being placed all four hands on its hips, brow plates grinding in irritation. "I was beginning to wonder when we would speak again," he said. His glowing fangs peeked from between his lips as he spoke.
Perdition clasped his hands behind his back. His hologram setting would obscure his face and distort his voice, ensuring secrecy. "My apologies. Urgent business demands my attention."
Avyyk Xosin, chief aide to Rilsimont's representative in the Galactic Senate, growled. The crystals in his chest turned a dark shade of blue, which indicated anger. "I have waited for this long enough, Prefect," he said, using the codename Perdition had provided when they began their correspondence. "Do you understand the humiliation I have to endure? Serving that disgusting Qhoknon that prances about while it dares to speak for my world?"
"I understand your concerns, my friend. But we must proceed carefully. If the Republic discovers our plans, this entire enterprise will fall apart."
"I have been careful, Prefect. My people are loyal, unlike the Qhoknon who went skittering to the Republic to aid them in our conflict generations ago. The Jedi are the only reason we've been forced to share Rilsimont with those interlopers. All we require is the last shipment of arms, and my people can finally reclaim sole occupation of our home."
Perdition had worked through intermediaries to covertly ship various armaments to Xosin's growing confederate movement. Tensions between the two species were so high that a single blaster bolt could ignite another civil war. Xosin, while consumed by chauvinism and hatred, stood a good chance of overthrowing the current government and making the Ghuvin the dominant species.
Unfortunately for him, Perdition had other plans.
"The final shipment is on its way to you now. All that remains is my payment, and the transport will arrive in three days' time."
The Ghuvin aide smiled, baring his fangs. "Excellent. Most excellent." His two right hands typed at something out of view. A tone sounded a few seconds later. "Payment transferred. While I may not know your name, my friend, I can assure you that you will have an honoured place in Rilsimont's history."
"I'm sure I will," Perdition said, his tone neutral. "This will be the last time we speak to each other. Good fortune in your efforts, my friend."
"And to you." The transmission ended, and the hologram dissipated.
The pad beside it then came to life , projecting an image of Nax Hamall. The Muun steepled his long fingers, inclining his elongated head. "How may I be of assistance, Duke?"
"Did the payment into the Raltax account come through?"
Hamall consulted a datapad. "Yes, it did."
"And I have your assurance that account cannot be traced back to me?"
"Every assurance, Duke. My work speaks for itself. As far as anyone will be concerned, that account is under the name of a crime lord in the Outer Rim. Any security checks or back traces will lead them to the Qhoknon head of state."
Perdition nodded. "Good. I want you to allocate 2 million credits from that account to Ishu Dusmin."
"The assassin?" Hamall asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Yes. Send the credits along with these instructions." Perdition transmitted an encrypted datafile. "We've done business in the past, so he will have the decryption protocol."
The Muun inclined his head once more. "It will be done. Is there anything else I can do for you, Duke?"
"No, that will be all."
The hologram dissipated, leaving Perdition alone with his thoughts. His manipulation of Rilsimont's volatile political situation had taken over a year to shape. Not to mention a significant number of credits to arrange the arms deliveries. But in the long term, it would be worth the effort. The conflict he'd worked so carefully to brew on Rilsimont was the latest in a series of similar manoeuvres. In a few years, the situation would blossom into a state of threat that would serve his ends.
He stood in front of the transparisteel wall, staring out at the starscape. Nearly every one of the dots of light against the black void represented an inhabited system. Together, they made up a tapestry of chaos and ignorance at the core of the Republic's ineffectual structure. Darth Perdition, like the Sith Lords who came before him, would pull the threads loose until the tapestry unraveled completely.
He would save the ignorant, mundane masses of the galaxy from themselves.
Vrehk swung the vibroblade down at an angle. The weapon felt large and heavy in his hands. He knew he wasn't old enough to properly grip it, but he would follow his master's command. Any free time would now be taken up by sword training. Lifting the vibroblade, he tried to repeat the ready stance Darth Perdition showed him. His master had gone up to the shipyards on business the day before.
"Place your dominant hand above your non-dominant, young master," ArZed told him. The droid watched from the side, cataloguing his movements. Vrehk switched his hands, then repeated the movements. This time, the weapon felt more natural and fluid. "Well done, young master. Your hand-eye coordination is steadily improving."
"Thanks, ArZed," Vrehk said. He practiced for a few more hours, committing the sequences to memory. Darth Perdition had told him that this was only the first form of lightsaber combat, and there were many more to learn. Once he mastered it, he could move on to the next. And the next, until all the forms became as natural as breathing. He burned with an eagerness to learn, to discover all that he could of the Force and the power of the Dark Side. Back home on Devaron, he'd always loved reading. His mother read to him every night, sharing tales of the Jedi and fantastical beasts and worlds scattered across the galaxy.
Placing the vibroblade with the others on the shelf, Vrehk pushed it back into the wall. He then made his way into the library. Selecting a volume from the historical section, he took it to the opposite end of the catacombs. The room he entered, like all the others, had only one entrance and square, flat walls. Only a single overhead light provided any illumination, and Vrehk sat directly under it in the centre of the room. Lining the walls were a series of containment fields. Each consisted of a pair of glowing orbs, one in the floor and one in the ceiling. All but one were inactive. Directly across from Vrehk, a large male Weequay hung suspended in one of the fields. His hands were bound in magnetic cuffs held in place by the field.
"Your ability to create Force Bonds is extraordinarily rare," Darth Perdition told him once. "Only a handful of individuals in the last few millennia have possessed it. With the proper guidance and practice, you have the potential to affect the course of galactic history."
Vrehk remembered the chill upon hearing those words. His power made him special, and his master fully recognized that.
"But be warned: over-reliance of this ability will spell your doom. Long ago, there was a Sith Lord who could create Force Bonds. He fed through them, growing in power. Unrestricted use left him wanting more and more power. It came to a point where he became consumed by it. For all his might and the terror he inspired, he was nothing more than an addict, a shell. I will teach you how to use your power, but only in moderation."
His master's expression then became cold and severe.
"If you ever attempt to use your power on me, I will not hesitate to destroy you."
Since that day, Vrehk had kept that warning in mind. Darth Perdition arranged for a number of prisoners to be held and drugged in one of the estate's secure rooms. Every few weeks, one would be brought into the catacombs and held in one of the containment fields. Criminals, transients, and other undesirables, anyone with some sort of skill were brought in. While Force Bonds could make others subservient and loyal, there was a far subtler use: learning. Through a bond, Vrehk had the potential to acquire knowledge far faster than if he learned it through traditional means.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, looking up at the Weequay. According to his master, the man had been an enforcer for a Hutt clan on Nar Shaddaa. He'd earned himself quite a reputation for his skill with knives and vibroblades. It was that knowledge Vrehk sought, in an effort to improve his proficiency with lightsaber forms.
"I thought we could read about the Mandalorian Wars this time," Vrehk said excitedly, opening the text and placing it on his lap. The Weequay glared at him with lidded eyes. He sneered, accentuating the scar that ran across his mouth. The containment field ran a continuous electric field through the occupant, preventing concentration.
The Weequay could only give a fatigued growl. He'd been in the field since that morning, but he was still recovering from the drugs that had kept him unconscious for weeks.
Vrehk turned the page. He tried to reach out with his power, imagining the bond taking shape in his mind. The Weequay barely registered in the Force, making it difficult. It was like trying to step up a staircase in complete darkness. "Here's a picture of Mandalore the Ultimate!" he said, pointing to the image of a masked, heavily armoured figure. "He led the clans in waging war on the Republic. That was almost 4,000 years ago. The Mandalorians were unstoppable in every battle, wiping out whole fleets of ships."
Another growl.
There! The bond was in place. Vrehk's sense of the Weequay increased through the link. Now, he peered into the other's mind, looking for the knowledge of combat. He frowned as he met resistance. Perhaps the Weequay was naturally stubborn and strong-minded? Or maybe he had enough sense to recognize the touch on his mind and fought back.
"Everything changed when Revan entered the war," he continued. "The Jedi didn't want to fight because the council forbade them. But Revan couldn't stand by and watch all those people get slaughtered. He and his best friend led dozens of Jedi to the Republic's rescue. Battle by battle, he and the Republic pushed back the Mandalorians. At the final battle, Revan fought Mandalore the Ultimate in single combat. The two greatest warriors of their time, fighting for the fate of the galaxy. At the end, Revan won and killed his opponent. The Mandalorians were crushed, and the war was over." Vrehk's lips curled in a wide smile when he read that passage, imagining the epic battle in his mind. "How amazing is that? I wish I could have been there to see it."
His previous exercises with his bonding power hadn't gone well. The first few prisoners were criminals, murderers, and other intimidating figures. Hating himself for it, Vrehk had let his fear get the better of him. That fear translated through the bond, heightening the prisoners' emotions and causing them to try to lash out. Those failures shamed him before his master, and he was determined never to let that happen again.
Vrehk found that positive emotions had an improved effect on the bond. Negative emotions like fear or hatred, while the source of a Sith's power, demanded more effort. Heeding his master's words on the ancient Sith Lord who let his hunger consume him, Vrehk chose to take the more cautious route. Injecting positive emotions like happiness and comfort made the recipient of the bond more open to the connection. Once they lowered their mental defenses, they'd belong to him.
When he looked up into the Weequay's eyes, he saw the resistance melting away. His own excitement of Revan's heroics translated through the bond, putting the criminal at ease. Minutes later, his mind opened up. Vrehk, ecstatic at his success, read through the other's mind like turning the pages of a book. There were so many memories, so much pain and greed wrapped up in a cynical, angry personality. He pored through it all, searching for what he'd come for. It took hours to sift through it all, but he was determined.
There!
Deep in the man's mind were memories of growing up an orphan on Nar Shaddaa. Every day was a struggle, fighting to gain even a morsel of food and the barest shelter. In that time, the Weequay's quick hands made him suited to knives and vibroblades. He taught himself how to grip a weapon properly, how to throw a knife so it always hit its target, and how to swing a vibroblade just right so it caused maximum damage.
"Thanks," Vrehk said, closing the book and standing up. "This was fun."
He left the prison behind, returned the book to its shelf in the library, then went back to the training room. Pulling the rack out, he examined the various weapons it contained. He picked one of the smaller throwing daggers. It was thin and razor-sharp. "ArZed," Vrehk told the droid, "toss one of your spare parts in the air."
"As you wish, young master." The droid flipped open a panel in its leg, taking out a replacement joint servo. It then tossed it towards the centre of the room.
Vrehk, drawing on the knowledge he'd taken from the Weequay, hurled the knife. It lanced through the air like a bird, impaling the part and imbedding itself into the opposite wall.
"Now we're talking!"
Who has two thumbs and got a LEGO Death Star for Christmas? This guy!
Hopefully y'all had a wonderful Christmas, and I hope your New Year is full of excitement and joy.
This section of the story will jump ahead a few years at a time for efficiency's sake. Think of it as the greatest hits of Vrehk's training. Enjoy, and don't forget to leave a review and favourite!
