Chapter 2: River in a Storm

Warmth seemed to be draining out through her hands. At least, she could swear that's how it felt. For a desert-like planet, Korriban was surprisingly chilly. It didn't help that the training saber she'd received might as well have been shipped in from Hoth. The icy durasteel hilt stung her fingers to hold, but she didn't appear to have many options right now.

There were five of them. No, wait, six. Vaessa spun her head around a few times to double-check, and keep an eye on their positions. None were attacking yet, but all held their own training blade at their side. Each wore a robe similar to that young Sith's from the shuttle, which unnerved her enough, but what truly frightened her were their faces.

I think I'm going to be sick. Skulls. The faces of all six acolytes had been carved into the shape of a skull. At first, she'd thought they were simply intricately drawn tattoos. Tattoos that covered the entire face, but tattoos nonetheless. Yet she'd seen tattoo's before, even seen war paint. There was no mistaking a carving though. Not for a slave. Her hand quickly covered her mouth to stifle the horrified gasp that had risen up in her throat.

She quickly looked back up the steps to the old hermit, Spindrall. There he stood, hands clasped behind his back, and his weathered eyes surveying the scene. It was difficult to make out due to the ragged grey beard that obscured the lower half of his face, but Vaessa could swear she saw his lips curl upwards a bit. Was he enjoying this?

Vaessa stood still in the center of the six Sith acolytes. Each paced around in place, never taking their sunken eyes off of her. The whole of the tomb fell deathly silent, only the occasional stream of sand falling from the ceiling as the ancient crypt settled around them. Her hands trembled, though whether that was due to the cold or the fear she did not know. The rhythmic flurry of her quick, shallow breaths seemed to keep time to the rapid beating from her chest. From the corner of her eye, an acolyte appeared to be raising his arm.

Inhaling slowly, she closed her eyes. After a few seconds, she opened them again, turned, and raised her weapon.

Not since Zash herself had come through his encampment had Spindrall been so entertained by an acolyte. The way she struck against her enemies with such raw ferocity! Yet within her he did not sense anger and hatred like so many other Sith. Instead, there was a primal sort of quality to her rage. As if she fought not because she wanted to, nor because she enjoyed it, but because she needed to.

His own acolytes certainly were giving her reason to fight. They charged and circled around her, swinging at her legs and back, attempting to overpower through sheer numbers. She did her best to counter them all, but there's only so much an untrained fighter can do in these odds. Even one as raw in power as she appeared to be.

"Keep up the assault, give her no room to counter!" One of his acolytes was shouting to the others.

Another had circled around her, raising his blade to strike at her back. "Give it up, slave! You're pathetic if you think y-"

The audible crack of his ribs echoed through the musty room as the hilt of her saber connected with his chest. She'd turned her head when he started talking, and forcefully jabbed backwards with her weapon. The man choked on air and collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest. She quickly turned her attention back to the five remaining acolytes.

Spindrall raised an eyebrow. The display was certainly entertaining, but she'd taken out a foolish opponent who'd left himself defenseless in order to banter. Not exactly the most impressive feat. Still, he found himself remembering Zash's trial in the tomb.

It'd been years since then, but he still recalled the charming young woman who'd found her way to him. It was the way she presented herself that threw him off. The majority of the acolytes who'd ventured into the Tomb of Ajunta Pall were as subtle as a brick. Smashing and stabbing their way through their trials, they had nary a hint of a cunning streak in their entire bodies. Yet she was nothing of the sort. Which made it made it all the more unsettling when she effortlessly butchered the hapless acolytes he set upon her.

The present suddenly came roaring back into focus for him, in the form of a particularly shrill scream. His gaze darted back to the fight before him, scanning for who had made such a sound. It didn't take long to figure out.

Damn.

Vaessa clutched at her arm, her eyes widened as they rapidly looked from acolyte to acolyte. Only three remained now, but that last one refused to go down without getting a slash in. His blade definitely connected sharply enough. Her mind was frantic now and she slashed wildly out at the remaining three in order to create some space between them.

Of course he got my sword arm, wouldn't be enough to just slash me, would it? Nope had to take out my ability to swing this blasted thing around.

One of the acolytes made a move for her, he leapt towards her, his robes fluttering around him, his blade raised over his head. Dulled eyes, sunken into a hollowed skull, met hers as she fumbled to move her blade to meet his. The only response she received from her arm was a sharp jolt of pain that ran up into her shoulder. No time to think, she raised her remaining arm and outstretched her hand.

The lightning flowed through her body, like a river in a storm, it surged from within, racing to the tips of her fingers before discharging into the open air. The air itself seemed to catch on fire, crackling sporadically around her. Bolts of electricity extended from her hand as if her fingers themselves were outstretching across the room. They extended rapidly, crisscrossing erratically towards the helpless body of the airborne acolyte.

He, to his credit, had just enough time to register what was happening for his eyes to bulge in terror. The whites ran red as the veins seemed to mimic the lightning bolts. The acolyte let out a frantic gasp, and then they connected. The lightning exploded around his body, rippling through him from head to toe. A brilliant blast of light blinded the rest of the room. For a moment, time seemed to grind to a halt as his body hung in the air, convulsing from the blast.

Then the moment ended. The force of the bolt seemed to finally register with the rest of him, and his body was flung across the room. It crashed into the carved stone wall, before landing in a heap on the ground. He writhed for several seconds, then became very still.

The same couldn't be said for Vaessa herself, however. Her limbs shook and her jaw clattered. A cold chill settled over her as the heat generated by the blast began to dissipate. Her gaze lingered on the man's still body, before slowly shifting to look down at her trembling hand. Clenching it into a fist was all she could do to stop it.

I killed him. He wanted me dead, and my power saved me.

Vaessa inhaled, and tightly clenched her eyes. When she opened them, she watched as the remaining two acolytes lowered their blades to the ground.

Spindrall couldn't quite fathom what he'd witnessed. The girl seemed all but finished one moment, and the next, his acolyte was smoldering on the floor on the other side of the room. The last two acolytes had simply surrendered to her, yet she did not move to strike the cowards down. A mistake he would not allow.

"Finish them." His voice must have caught her off guard, as her head spun around to face him, and the wide-eyed look of confusion confirmed what he'd thought. She has no grasp of the power she wields.

"My Lord, I've survived your trial of blood. There's no need to kill them, is there?"

He chuckled softly. "Yes you're quite right, you did survive—" he saw her let out a small sigh of relief, "—except it is still a trial of blood. And these two spineless wretches have yet to spill any. So if you want to pass this trial, you will kill them, or I will strike you down and deliver your corpse to your Overseer myself."

The color drained from her face. The battle had exacted a toll on her body she was clearly unaccustomed to, even as a former slave. Sweat slid down over her round, flushed cheeks before dripping from her chin to the ground. She turned once more to face the two acolytes, both completely frozen with fear. Spindrall leaned forward, eagerly awaiting her decision. Slowly, she raised her injured arm, still clutching the training saber, and moved it across her body until she was able to pass the blade to her usable hand. He could tell she was straining, the pain clearly unbearable, if the hissing sound of her sucking air in through her teeth was anything to go by. Both acolytes were looking to him to stop her, as if he had any intention of doing so.

Presumably realizing the futility of such a plea, one quickly looked to the ground and made a desperate grab for his blade. He nearly had it, but by then hers was already slashing through the air.

"Excellent," he said, admiring her handiwork crumpled on the floor behind her, "These former acolytes wanted nothing more than to earn their second chance for glory by killing you and taking your place."

Vaessa squirmed in place, breaking eye contact and staring down at the ground. Her hand moved to rub her battered arm. She'd kill these men — these fellow acolytes – simply because she'd been told to. Well it was self-defense, she told herself, but the words rang hollow in her head. Those last two were defenseless, hell, they'd surrendered to her. Yet she struck them down simply because this crazy old hermit told her to. She wondered what that said about her, but had no time to think about it as Spindrall was still speaking.

"…Well done, but you are not sith yet." He clasped his hands behind his back as he began to pace back and forth, never taking his eyes off of her. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion."

Perhaps it was the pain in her arm dulling her senses, but the tomb itself seemed to spin before her.

"Through passion, I gain strength."

Her head felt like a weight, dragging her to the ground. It throbbed worse as her balance faltered.

"Through strength, power. Through power, victory." He paused, coming to a stop directly in front of her.

Each word reverberated in her mind, Passion. Strength. Power. Victory. They seemed to grow louder with each passing second. She bit her lip as another jolt of pain shot through her arm.

"Through victory, my chains are broken."

The cacophony of words silenced. A familiar feeling began to wash over her, the feeling of that river again. She recognized it this time, the force. Vaessa inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes.