Chapter Twelve: Departures
Lorrik awoke upon the flat of his back gazing toward the brightening Korriban sky. His field of view was sufficiently limited however, as the visage of Jresh looking over him took up much of his sight.
"How long have I been out?" Lorrik asked, slightly embarrassed.
"Not long," Jresh immediately answered.
"I miss anything exciting?" Lorrik joked.
"I held Isorr by the throat and threatened to drop him of a cliff," Jresh stated, completely deadpan.
"And they say you don't have a sense of humor," Lorrik replied, forcing a chuckle as he rested on the ground. Without a word, Jresh motioned to his rear with a quick jut of his thumb. Raising himself the inquisitor looked past his companion to see Isorr sitting near the edge of the pit alone a short distance away. "Oh. He okay?"
"Hard to say," Jresh admitted. Looking to his right, the Human saw Ryloh still laying prone nearby, Kar'ai kneeling by his side.
"He okay?" Lorrik repeated.
"Hard to say," Jresh repeated.
"Damn," Lorrik softly muttered as he fell back to the ground. Letting out a hard exhale, the inquisitor placed his hands behind his head and gazed longingly toward the Korriban sky. "What are we going to do?"
"Continue?" Jresh offered.
"Think we can?"
"Of course."
"You really think Isorr won't take your beating personally?"
"I hope he does," Jresh confidently stated. "I know a thing or two about how the other warriors operate. I wouldn't have taken such actions without a plan."
"Jresh has learned the art of manipulation. No one is safe," Lorrik offered with a chuckle.
"Try and get Ryloh ready for travel. I'll go talk to Isorr," Jresh said as he parted from his companion.
Letting out another sigh, Lorrik stirred from his grounded position as he turned his attention toward Ryloh. Walking back toward a defeated Isorr, the Pureblood ignored the passing glances and stares from the other acolytes that stood between them. The Zabrak looked up from his emotional stagger to see his aggressor looming over him with his stalwart figure. Narrowing his focus, Isorr saw the Jresh had already extended his hand, silently asking the defeated warrior to raise himself with it.
"I neither need nor want your help," Isorr muttered, his voice not yet fully returning to him.
"You can take my hand, or you can receive my fist. The choice is yours," Jresh offered. Isorr reaffirmed his gaze and locked eyes with his aggressor. Silence, broken only by the Zabrak heavy breaths, followed. The two warriors remained fully separated, physically and emotionally. But the Pureblood refused to withdraw his hand. "This is what being a Sith is to you? Unable to deal with defeat? This isn't the Isorr I knew back at the Academy."
The Zabrak's face twisted and contorted as he struggled to vocalize his thoughts. "Shut up. Who are you to talk about what being a Sith is?"
Jresh replied only with the stoic circular wafting of his hand over his crimson-skinned visage.
Isorr let out a snide growl as he regretfully wiped his face with the palm of his hand. "This isn't what I thought apprenticeship would be like…"
"We're not apprentices yet," Jresh calmly stated. "Not until we get back to the Academy. So take my hand and let's get back on our path."
"Our path? There is no 'our path'. Each Sith must follow their own path. That path might occasionally align with others and intersect with them at fixed points, but they never merge."
Jresh reaffixed his gaze upon the sulking warrior. "And who taught you that?"
"No one," Isorr admitted. "It is the base for all the Sith teaching dating back hundreds and thousands of years."
"The Sith are dynamic. That is what truly separates us from the Jedi. With each generation, with each battle, with each conflict… we adapt. We change our ways to better facilitate our success. It behooves a Sith to be selfish in their rise to power because they eventually encounter a Sith whose selfishness and power supersedes their own, who hopes to keep them down. The Sith rise. Only the weak seek to prevent ascension. Only the scared. Only the selfish. Tradition has held us back. The Academy has held us back. Syrosk has held us back. If you truly respect the Sith, prove it. Don't align and dedicate yourself to the musings of dead masters and tyrants. Dedicate yourself to the Code. Derive your wants and desires from that, not from the wants and desires of other Sith."
"And yet you expect me to take your hand."
"Because we are not Sith out here. We are not acolytes. We are survivors. We are men and women who have been deceived. Together we can survive. Together can find answers. That is something we all want and desire, even you. Once we return and become apprentices, it is fully up to you how you wish to proceed. You can separate yourself, betray us, combat us, do whatever you feel is required for you to become Sith. I expect you to. But for now… take my hand."
Isorr's nose twitched as he processed his opponent's words. Which a heavy sigh, he succumbed to the Purebloods musings, agreeing to cooperate. Slowly, the Zabrak began to raise himself from the ground without the aid of the Pureblood. He was quickly interrupted.
Jresh thrust his hand in front of the stalled warrior. "I said, you can take my hand or receive my fist. If you refuse my help, I will continue to drive you to the ground until you accept it."
Begrudgingly, Isorr took ahold of the other warrior's hand and raised himself from the dirt. Standing in front of one another, the two warriors locked eyes, sharing cold glares. The two remained locked in their stances, refusing to break away from one another. Suddenly, Isorr drove his fist into the cheek of his once opponent. The punch impacting hard against the Pureblood's cheek and Jresh stumbled for a moment as he reeled from the blow. Returning to his upright stance, the struck warrior offered a hearty chuckle.
"Where was that fire when you were dangling off a cliff?" Jresh offered before turning back to the gathering of acolytes a short distance away, walking off with a hearty gait. Isorr stared at the back of the implacable Pureblood as he returned to the other acolytes, his eyes narrowing, his mouth releasing yet another sigh.
As the early day's sun hovered upon the Academy's exterior, Darth Tash walked, almost hovering with splendor, as he made his way back toward his transport. Trailing in his path, one of the instructors within his dominion walked a respectful distance behind him. The two figures walked, one head held high, one kept dutifully lowered. Reaching the landing pad where his shuttle off world resided, the dark lord turned to face his lackey whom immediately straightened his stance and offering his master the level of attention he so rightfully deserves.
"My lord, it would seem all of your affairs and assets are in impeccable order," the instructor dutifully stated, the trailing Human finding momentary confidence.
"It would seems so," Darth Tash softly admitted. "Syrosk has suffered and waned, even since his return to Korriban, confirming his status as a non-threat. However…"
"Yes, my lord?"
"I must admit I am intrigued by the news of Syrosk's students. Eight acolytes plucked from my crop, serving whatever plans the alien currently finds himself partaking in."
"I'm sure they're of no threat to you or your plans, my lord."
"Oh? Is that so? Even when one of them was capable of tricking you into allowing them access to the classroom and single-handedly defeating a number of your students?"
"I am dreadfully sorry, my lord, I didn't recognize the acolyte. He said he was serving a Sith Lord and I was felt open defiance was counter intuitive with your plans. You told us not to do anything to upset the Sith of the true Academy."
"I find no fault with your actions. That was in the past, which no longer concerns me. In the present, Syrosk is still of no concern, but his students… I don't expect you to have felt it, but deep within the wastes there was a flicker, a ripple in the Force. Lasting only a moment, but I noticed it fully."
"Do you think it was them? There could have been a number of causes."
"It lacked the inherent darkness held by the usual flares offered by Sith Lords and the various tombs that populate the land. It was unique. Something new. It matters not how far Syrosk has fallen if his students are able to continue his schemes."
"Could such a weak master produce apprentices that are a sufficient threat?"
"Syrosk and his master may not have been the most powerful, but they were resourceful. I'll need you and the others to keep a close eye on them once I'm gone and Syrosk has recalled them from their hiding place."
The instructor offered a dutiful nod. "Shall we operate as usual?"
"Enough time has passed. Syrosk has a rapport with the Academy, but his students do not. They no longer possess the sanctum of my domain, nor the Academy at large. They are no longer protected by the same set of rules the other acolytes. Proceed accordingly."
"Might you have any plans for them?"
"Assuming they survive the coming months… of course."