Emotions – 3660.285 BY
Zanlyea sat on the edge of her bunk staring blankly at the plain wall in front of her, mind lost in a myriad of swirling thoughts. The young acolyte was still clad in her blood splattered robes, the stains now rusty brown. She felt strange, as if she was undergoing some kind of metamorphism from who she had been to somebody new. Every time she closed her eyes she could see her vibrosword tearing through Frendric's throat and she could still hear his last choking cry ringing in her ears. But she did not feel remorse, there was no guilt and that in itself was puzzling her; she felt as if she should feel culpable, that her actions ought to be haunting her. There was nothing though. All she could feel was the fading effects of her sudden connection to the dark side. She had expected that she would be staring at her hands, questioning what she had done, instead they were just resting on her knees. She had taken somebody's life, snuffed out the light of a living being. In the end it had been easy, a simple downwards slash similar to those she had practiced countless times. He had deserved it, she reasoned, had their positions been reversed he would have killed her without a moment's hesitation.
A chime from the intercom interrupted her brooding.
"Your master wishes to see you," a timorous voice said. Zanleya turned her head to the door and waved her hand, activating it with the force. It slid open to reveal a male green skinned twi'lek with his head bowed, clad in the garb of a slave.
"What did he say?" Zanleya inquired, getting to her feet.
"Just that," the slave replied, not lifting his gaze.
"Very well," she stated simply. She crossed the small space that she called her home, past her sparse decorations. There were a couple of ancient scrolls on her desk, a claw of the first k'lor'slug she had killed hung by the narrow window. Her old golden orange dress was pinned to the wall, to constantly remind her of her past and fuel her hate. She swept past her meagre trappings though and headed for Darth Kharvak's chambers.
She expected he wanted to comment on her performance in the tomb, perhaps reprimand her for not going after the alpha beast. As she well knew though speculation was all but pointless where Darth Kharvak was concerned, she could rarely second guess him.
It did not take many minutes before she was standing outside his chambers, still looking dishevelled and dirty from her morning in the tomb. The door slid open granting her entry to Kharvak's sanctum. He was seated for once, sat in his high backed chair with an ancient tome upon the desk in front of him. He closed the weighty book as she entered, turning his full attention to her. Zanleya noticed that his face seemed less stern than usual, something she thought was strange; his almost brooding and aloof expression was softer.
"You did well today my apprentice," Darth Kharvak stated, he leant forward and almost smiled at her. Zanleya did not outwardly display surprise, but she felt it, he scarcely ever called her his apprentice. He would normally only give her commands, never acknowledging their relationship.
"Thank you, master," she replied, quickly regaining her composure. She walked to the centre of the chamber and adopted her customary position, kneeling with her hands in her lap. She could easily see Kharvak over his desk and he could deliver his lessons from the comfort of his chair, not that he usually did as he would commonly pace around.
"I heard that you were smart enough not to chase after Lord Claw's prize," Kharvak remarked.
"Indeed master, I thought there would be too many others going for it. I didn't wish to get stabbed in the back," she said, relieved that he was applauding her for not going for the alpha beast rather than condemning her. She had learnt long ago to be honest with Kharvak. From painful experience she had come to the conclusion that he could sense even the tiniest smudging of the truth or the smallest omitted fact.
"A wise decision. Too many are swayed by promises of grand rewards and run blindly forward like a charging rancor. Several of your fellow acolytes made this mistake and paid with their lives," Kharvak replied. "You were right not to chase it; you do not need to impress me with deeds of reckless courage. I want to see you think for yourself, act for your own benefit and further your personal aims, which you did," he commended.
Zanleya nodded, she was grateful in a way that Kharvak was her master and not somebody like Darth Thanaton. Kharvak could be harsh and unforgiving, but, providing she could explain her actions and justify them, he did not punish failure or underhand tactics. Whereas another Darth might punish their acolyte for not following instructions to the letter, Kharvak would be lenient if he could see that she was taking initiative. This was not to say he had not punished her before. More than once she had been scraped off the floor by a meddroid after he had chastised her for failure to pay attention or for poor performance. However as with her current situation he was not angry that she had gone for the easy way out of the trial instead of hunting the grand prize.
"I also hear that you fought and killed another acolyte," he stated.
"Yes master. He attacked me along with a trio of outcasts. Änastasiä was there and together we beat them," she affirmed. She did not bother to ask how he knew what had happened, she had just come to accept that her master had eyes and ears everywhere.
"Frendric was a fool and deserved what he got. One does not move against a powerful opponent until certain of victory, to do otherwise is foolish. If you do not believe you can beat an enemy in a duel, you stab them in the back. If you do not believe you can sneak up on them to stab them, you hit them with a bomb. If you do not believe you can bomb them, you find a way to make peace with them until you are better equipped to bring them down. Frendric should have known you were the better duellist and not have attacked you. He was therefore not worthy to become Sith and you did our kind a service by removing him from the Academy," Kharvak said. Zanleya nodded, it was a lesson she had heard before. Darth Kharvak, despite outward appearances, did not fight with honour. He was a firm believer that the only victor was the one still standing and that no tactic was too foul.
"I would not have survived without Änastasiä," Zanleya admitted, her eyes downcast. "His tactic of recruiting help would have worked had she not been there."
"And it was stupid of him to attack you both," Kharvak countered.
"That is true," Zanleya agreed.
"Nonetheless, what matters is that you stand before me and he does not," Kharvak said. "You killed today, tell me what happened, describe it. I want to hear the words from your lips." Zanleya proceeded to narrate the events of the morning, relating as best she could how Frendric had met his end.
"What gave you strength? From what did you draw power?" Kharvak queried.
"What do you mean master?" Zanleya said apologetically.
"What emotion was it, was it hate? Anger?" Kharvak clarified. Zanleya was relieved at his patience, he was in a good mood.
"Anger I guess and the will to stay alive," she replied.
"And when you struck him down?"
"I killed him in wrath and with the determination to become Sith," she answered, the moment still crystal clear in her mind.
"Good, through passion I gain strength. This is why we will triumph over the pathetic Jedi, they try to fight without emotion and it makes them weak. Passion gives us strength, it lets us connect to and harness the force, control it and bend it to our will. Fighting with anger makes us strong, it fuels us," Kharvak lectured.
"Yes master, I have no shortage of sources of anger." She had only to think of her father and her face would twist into a snarl and her hands clench into fists.
"Good, but remember that anger is not the only source of our strength," Kharvak stated. Zanleya frowned slightly, it was not a lesson she was familiar with. She did not interrupt him though, as she was curious to see where his line of logic was going. "Passion is not restricted to anger and hate, during a battle they are emotions that are easy to draw on. It is easy to hate your enemy or to be angry at the circumstances that led you to the fight. But sometimes other emotions are better. Passion covers joy, love, happiness… anything that you feel passionately about," Kharvak explained. Zanleya paused, she had never heard of the concept of a Sith drawing on love to power them, it sounded absurd.
"Speak," Kharvak stated, seeing that she had a protest building.
"How does that work master? How can love give you strength?"
"In much the same way as hate, the height and strength of your emotions fuels your power. If you feel you are fighting to defend one you love, or fighting on their behalf it gives you strength. The same can be said of joy or happiness. Anger is certainly easier, but equally you can be blinded by hate and anger and this can lead to making poor or foolish decisions," Kharvak explained.
"I don't love though. My mother is dead, I hate my father and I don't have any interest in guys," Zanleya objected fiercely; Kharvak forgave her interruption.
"This is theoretical knowledge my apprentice. I am merely informing you of ways to fight. The style you adopt and how you choose to strengthen yourself is up to you," Kharvak said. "The majority of Sith fight with anger or hate, but it is not the only way… you have more questions?"
"Yes master. How would I draw on joy in a battle? Surely I'm not going to be happy if I'm fighting for my life?" Zanleya asked, completely baffled by what she was hearing.
"True, but you are fighting because you want to be happy. Perhaps you are fighting because you want to see the smile on your daughter's face again or fighting for the good times you have enjoyed and still wish to enjoy. These emotions or memories are what you are passionate about and it is these that give you strength," Kharvak replied.
"Then how is that different from the wretched Jedi? Surely they fight for their order or something they are passionate about?" Zanleya queried.
"No, they believe that there is no emotion, that they should fight with a clear and empty mind to better allow themselves to become vessels for the force… and that is why they are weaker than us."
"I still don't understand how you could focus on joy, how in all the 'verse does that make you powerful?" Zanleya said, still at a loss.
"Perhaps you have not experienced a moment of great enough joy to draw upon," Kharvak countered. Zanleya opened her mouth to object, then stopped. She tried to remember when she had last felt truly joyful; she could think of plenty of times she had been elated by success, victory or triumph. But a joyful memory was harder to recall, nothing sprang to mind, her fond childhood memories were all tarnished by the shadow of her father and Bragga. She pursed her lips, then gave a distinctly un-lady-like snarl.
"I don't need joy to be powerful," she declared, one corner of Kharvak's mouth twitched up into a smile. "But I can take joy from becoming powerful!"
"As I said, everyone must find their own source of strength, their own passion. It is just wise that you know all the options," Kharvak stated.
"Ma…" she stopped herself.
"Ask your question," Kharvak said, giving her permission to continue.
"Master, if it's not impertinent to ask, where do you draw your strength from?" Zanleya asked, genuinely curious. Whenever she had seen her master fight he had always seemed calm. Unlike Traz he fought with an expression of almost grim determination, not a snarling rabid one. Kharvak did not respond immediately and Zanleya flinched, thinking that she might have crossed a line.
"Patriotism, my desire to glorify and strengthen the Empire. In striking down my foes I tighten the grip of the Empire on the galaxy and bring us one step closer to total domination," Kharvak replied. "Sometimes anger powers me, but more often it is my passion to see our Empire rise that gives me strength." Zanleya blinked at him for a moment, slightly taken aback by his answer. It had never occurred to her before that somebody could feel so strongly patriotic that it gave them strength. She had always suspected that Kharvak had strong feelings toward the Empire, the mere fact he wore the insignia upon his armour was proof enough of that. But what she had not realised was quite how deep the feeling ran. In all honesty she was quite indifferent toward the Empire, having had precious little to do with it save from train upon one of its worlds.
"Oh, I didn't realise…" Zanleya responded in surprise, tailing off.
"How much it meant to me?" Kharvak said, filling in the gap for her.
"Well… yes," she admitted.
"It is my firm belief that the Sith should serve the Empire, we are the leaders, the elites, the shock troops. While many Sith do not behave like this, it is how I believe they should. Being Sith is about more than being angry, killing Jedi and seeking personal power. Whilst the latter two are admirable goals, they are not all that matters. We fight for the Empire, to unite the galaxy under one great rule and to crush the weak and narrow minded Republic. Being angry is senseless without somewhere to direct that anger. Killing Jedi is useless if you do not do it with a purpose and seeking power is empty if you do not use it for something greater. That is why I strive to further the goals of the Empire and to destroy those who oppose us. Only when every world kneels before us will our work truly be done. Never forget the big picture my apprentice," Kharvak went on. Zanleya paused, uncertain for once, she had always believed that power was the aim of being Sith, simply the acquisition and use of it. That was the impression she had gained from reading about the ancient Sith Lords.
"How can I fight for an Empire I know so little about?" Zanleya asked.
"I will show you apprentice. Soon I shall take you to see our home world, Dromund Kaas, and you will witness the glory of the Empire. For now though you must finish your training. You have done well this day. Go; meditate on what I have taught you and what it means to you to be Sith."