Chapter Seventeen: Answers

For the next few hours, Lorrik and Jresh rested and recuperated. Each attempted to cleanse themselves of not only the dirt accrued from a week in the wastes, but whatever baggage had managed to sink its claws into their psyches. A cleansing of the body and mind. Stepping out of the shower, Lorrik caught his mirrored image upon the reflecting wall. He had expected a haggard visage, one that had been through turmoil, through pain, through the physical and metaphorical grit of Korriban. Instead, he found a face of determination. One of resilience. One of vigor. He locked eyes with himself, gazing deep into the amber irises that stared back. He saw the image's lips began to curl into a smile of confidence.

The apprentices suited up. Gone were the tatters they had to contend with the past week. A fresh set of robes were pulled from their closets. Black fibers with red and purple trims enwrapped the students' renewed countenances. Gloves and boots slipped over and were secured to their hands and feet. Fully garbed in their robes, the apprentices stood tall, rigid in not only their stature, but in their state of mind. They stood at the precipice of a new dawning. Leaving their respective rooms, the pair met each other with symbiotic respect.

Simultaneously catching their attention was an unfamiliar ring buzzing through the apartment. Upon it's cessation, the two apprentices made their way to the entrance. Poking his head out the opened door, Lorrik saw the other pairs doing the same. Next to each of their doors' exterior control panels, there was a note posted. Utterly simple in its message and design.

Banquet Hall B

Two Hours

-Syrosk

Lorrik puzzled over his master's directions. "Banquet hall? We have banquet halls? Let alone at least two?"

"Where there's Sith, there's expense," Jresh plainly offered.

"At least we'll be served food when we face our master."

"Do we pressure Syrosk for answers this soon to our return?"

"It's now or never," Lorrik replied. Looking out and across the hall, the Human saw the confirming nods of the other students as they retreated into their rooms. "You think this is proper dinner attire?"

"We don't know what could be thrown at us before, after, or even during this meeting. Dress to repress."

"Should we be armed?"

"Well, I've no weapon…"

"If we're upgrading to actual lightsabers soon…" Lorrik began as he eyed the training saber clipped to his belt. With a pause, he removed the weapon and gently placed it on a nearby counter. "I'd better get used to the lighter weight."

"You seem unfamiliar with the consequences of directly confronting a Sith Lord, even as his apprentice," Jresh stated.

"We know so very little about our actual place here… but there is something I firmly believe. Lord Syrosk wants us to succeed. He's invested in us. He'll not cast us aside for questioning his motives or our future."

"You're sure of this?"

"Yes."

"Then you have my support. I am not as skilled in the matters of persuasion as you… at least, not without my hand reaching for someone's throat," Jresh stated.

"Nonsense. With that soothing voice, you make the act of strangulation sound downright pleasant," Lorrik joked as he patted the warrior on the back.

The Pureblood offered a single chuckle as he and his companion turned from the door. They were scheduled to convene with their master in two hours. They planned to be fully ready.

The hours passed quicker than any of the apprentices expected. Vacating the safety of their residencies, the eight students walked in tandem amongst the Academy interior. The banquet hall was tucked away from the forefront of the grandiose establishment, nestled high and deep within the upper halls. Passing through with little complication, the eight apprentices had reached their destination. An unassuming door stood in front of them, beside it a small plaque bearing its description. Banquet Hall B.

Lorrik placed a light hand upon the door, prompting it to automatically shoot up into its recess and grant the students an unbridled view to a wondrous scene. Beyond the threshold of the hall rest a living picture of decadence amongst the structured order of Imperial designs. Resting in the center of the elongated chamber was an imposing table that stretched from each end of the room, more than capable of seating the nine Sith intent on eating. Polished metal, the color of smoke, made up the majority of the furniture. Tapestries and cloths hung from them with a deep crimson, bearing the trimmings and signets that fostered the undeniable Sith image.

Across from the entering party, sitting at the head of the table, Lord Syrosk waited patiently with a short-stemmed glass resting within his ungloved palm. Seeing his disciples enter, the Sith Lord took a sip of brandy as he raised himself from his seat. The apprentices were confused to see their master had shed his usual battle regalia, replacing his usual set of armor with a simplistic set of black robes.

"Students… apprentices. Please… take a seat," Syrosk directed with a warm rasp. Seeing eight seats situated in front of eight empty platters near their master's end of the table, the apprentices could deduced what was expected of them. Silently, they took their seats, four on each side of the Sith Lord. "You all must be wondering… why I have gathered you here, of all places. The truth of the matter is… they are planning on converting this hall into another combat wing. I wanted to have a meal here before they install the training dummies."

The students looked at their master flabbergasted as he nonchalantly took another sip of his brandy.

"In case you forgot," Lorrik tersely spoke up, "we just got back from a hellish trek across the wastes of Korriban. You'll understand if we expected some measure of seriousness."

"That's a shame," Syrosk coldly admitted. "I always thought I could count on you to keep things lighthearted. Although I suppose even someone such as yourself would harden when they're prepared to challenge their master." Lorrik tensed within his seat. "Yes, I know you intend to wring as much information out of me as you can before you'll continue your training proper. And I know you're backed by the other seven in such desires. Very well. I'm an open book."

"How do you know what I wanted? How do you know half things you manage to just pull out of thin air?" Lorrik asked, almost interrogating the Sith Lord.

"Being a telepath is almost worth the admonishment that comes with being an alien within the Empire," Syrosk bluntly answered. The response prompted the eight students to uncomfortably shifted in their seats.

"You can read minds?" Kar'ai asked.

"Only those that are untrained," Syrosk replied. "Unfortunately, your previous instructors did a poor job in that regard. In fact, they may have made you more susceptible."

"Speaking of aliens… the guards outside… they said our kind weren't admitted to the Academy," Ryloh lowly muttered. "They didn't look down on our presence, they rejected it."

"The Korriban Academy is… rigid… in its traditions. Chief among them the selectivity of accepted candidates," Syrosk explained. "No aliens. No slaves."

"Then, how do you explain us?" Arlia asked.

"Easy. You are not, nor have you ever been students of the Korriban Academy," Syrosk explained. The eight apprentices froze, staring wide-eyed at their master, trying to comprehend his shocking revelation.

There was a loud thud as Isorr slammed his heavy fist upon the table. "I have been here... for over a decade. Shed blood. Broken bones. Countless hours. Countless duels. You cannot sit there, and tell me I haven't been a student of this Academy!"

"Oh, but I can," Syrosk countered. "Your kind are not admitted to these halls. This is the most prestigious institution for training Sith in the entire Empire. They'd not have it soiled with impurities. I was trained at the personal behest of my master, far away from any of the Academies. Only by his influence and years of work am I able to operate within these particular halls."

"What happened to him?" Jresh asked.

"He's dead. Killed years ago by the same man responsible for your tenure here before I pulled you from your classes," Syrosk explained.

"So, what? Are we part of some revenge scheme of yours to get back at your master's killer?" Lorrik harshly questioned.

"I suppose you could consider myself motivated by hate. But hate of more than one single person. Hate of the ideas that person represents," Syrosk admitted. "That person's name is Darth Tash."

"Tash," Jresh muttered as stroked his chin. The Pureblood's companion offered a curious glance. "In the old Sith language, it means 'lie'."

"He is a man of intricacies, and overlapping and interweaving plans. A man with enough years at his disposal to not just recruit likeminded Sith… but to grow them, raise them, cultivate them to suit his needs," Syrosk explained. "You eight were brought here as pawns, to be used in Tash's political games. He was given control of the ancient halls you all once called home. Each of your instructors were agents of his will. Your former classmates still operate under his dominion."

"But why? What is he planning?" Lorrik asked.

"That, I am unsure of," Syrosk admitted. "I have been guided by visions, premonitions. But there is a darkness that prevents me from seeing with clarity. A darkness that is not only his, but also my own. He is preparing for something. Amassing a legion, one of specific constructs and divisions."

"Something you thought to disrupt by removing us from the classrooms?" Jresh asked.

"When he removed the warriors, you mean. Us inquisitors were 'rescued' by happenstance," Lorrik added.

"There is reasoning behind all things, whether it is clear to us or not," Syrosk rasped. "Darth Tash seeks to repress strength, and delay the progress of those under his domain. I sought to allow a select few to rise above. To see their potential realized. To be Sith. To be more than Sith. We both offer a guiding hand, but where he seeks to oppress, I seek to unchain. Tash's followers believe him to be aiding the war effort, finding a use for the impure amongst the Empire without making them proper Sith… but he is only loyal to himself. Not to the Sith, not to the Empire. He tolerates only that which he can manipulate on his path of ascension. Everything else is destroyed."

"Sounds like a proper Sith," Isorr bluntly stated.

Syrosk cast his deadened stare upon the Zabrak. "The Sith are plagued by ideas of wonton destruction and manipulation. Being a Sith means strength. Being a Sith means freedom. Though these aspects often manifest in countless murders and betrayals, those come from the individual and the teachings of individuals. The most basic tenets of the Sith are about following passions, gaining strength, finding freedom through the Force. I'd like to see those tenets extended beyond the Empire's chosen peoples."

"So what? We're to believe you're looking out for us?" Arlia replied.

"No," Syrosk plainly stated. "You are eight individuals that represent an idea. Were there others more worthy amongst Tash's crop, they would have presented themselves. I will train you. I will test you. If you are in danger, and believe me, you will be in danger… I will not save you. Only you have the capacity to prevent your deaths. I will simply be providing the teachings to facilitate that capacity. You all are my apprentices, I will push you toward greatness."

The eight students looked upon their master with trepidation. Entire years of their lives had been practically invalidated. But they were on a new path. Though they didn't know what to expect going into the future, they knew it was better than it would have been under Tash's instructors.

"But… why the pairings?" Lorrik asked, shooting a quick glance to his companion.

"A good question, and one I shall answer with an upcoming trial," Syrosk answered.

"I have a question. If those in Tash's classroom were supposed to be 'impurities' within the Empire," Arlia spoke up, "how do you explain Lorrik and Jresh."

"Well, I was a slave before coming to the Academy," Lorrik plainly admitted.

"And the Pureblood? I thought the Sith adored his kind," Arlia stated. Jresh remained still, silent, and stern in his seat.

Lorrik concernedly faced his companion. "Jresh?" Silence followed.

"I see. So he hasn't told you yet, Lorrik?" Syrosk asked, already knowing the answer. "Very well. That's his choice." Entering from a side door, an Imperial attendant entered the banquet hall and approached the seated Sith Lord. Whispering in his ear, Lord Syrosk nodded before dismissing him. "Well, I imagine you've all had not much to eat in the last few days. Let's remedy that."