Chapter Fifteen: Burdens
Outside the Academy, the Korriban sun had long since set, leaving only the darkened sky above. The various trials of acolytes and apprentices had ended, only those with the most brutal masters continuing their training into the night. A lone figure made his way out of the Academy and down the steps that rest between him and the facility's main landing pad. Under the dead of night, the figure walked under the watchful eye of the Imperial Guardsmen who remained at their posts. As the figure made his way toward his intended destination, the tail of his coat bobbed with each step, its red fibers almost touching the dusty ground beneath his feet.
As the man continued his casual pace, he came to a stop a short distance away from the docked shuttle that awaited him.
"Lorrik," the figure said with a subtle delight. "Didn't think I'd meet you out here."
Stepping from the shadows surrounding the shuttle, Lorrik revealed himself to the figure. "Vai. I thought our last meeting ended rather abruptly."
"Indeed it did. Quite a shame that was," Thorel replied. The vibrant Human altered his course, moving to the side of the docked shuttle. Rather than approach its hatch, he planted his feet and began to casually lean against the vessel's hull. "So. What can I do for you?"
"I just thought I would catch you before you left," Lorrik stated. "After all who knows when you're coming back?"
"Yeah, who knows?" Thorel offered with a chuckle. "That was a pretty interesting stunt you pulled today, meeting with the students whilst I distracted the instructors. Was that your idea or Syrosk's?"
"Syrosk's. Should have known that wouldn't pass beneath your notice," Lorrik jocularly stated.
Thorel laughed. "How could it? You should have seen the face of your instructor when he ran up to me, telling me you were interfering with his students. I asked him what you did exactly, and he had no idea. He just fumed at the idea of you messing with his students, an idea he hadn't even confirmed."
"Always happy to hear when I leave an impression," Lorrik joked.
"What did you end up telling them anyway?"
"Nothing they didn't need to hear."
"I suppose that's fair," Thorel declared, rubbing his chin. "You know, even after all this, the offer still stands. We'd still be happy to have you."
"As I recall, you never officially made me and Jresh an offer."
"That's right, you had that fake fight with Syrosk and asked me to leave before I had the chance."
"To be fair, it was only half-fake. I meant everything I said. I may have oversold the emotions, I admit, but nothing I said was a lie."
"So you continue to follow Syrosk, knowing that he will continue to be controlled by his visions."
"The time for following had passed," Lorrik declared. "I've learned many things over these last ten years. From teachers and teachings. From you. From my partner. From myself. But my sole purpose is not to learn. I may be a student, but I am also a teacher. I may not impart ancient wisdoms or combat techniques, but the knowledge I am able to pass on can serve anyone, master or apprentice, Lord or acolyte. And that is the lesson that has taken the longest to sink in. Each and every Sith, from their initiation to their death, is judged by their worth. Not by their peers, but by themselves. We seek knowledge and power to better ourselves, and once we've finally achieved some semblance of authority, we lord it over our lessers, because it reminds us that we are worth something. Because all our lives, we have been taught that we are worthless. Even amongst non-Force-sensitives. Because we are never satisfied. Because worthiness is forever beyond our reach. The acolyte is worthless next to the apprentice. The apprentice is worthless next to the lord. The lord is worthless next to the Darth. The Darth is worthless next to the Emperor. And so we assign worth in everything but ourselves. We heed the word of our masters, because we believe they possess something we do not. We follow visions, because we believe them to be worth following. But not once do we look to ourselves. Not once do we look to our equals. How could those without worth possibly provide us anything? So we look up. To our masters. To our visions. Each and every one of us. You think Syrosk a slave? We all are. Each and every one of us. Each and every Sith. What is it that your master ultimately desires? Do you even know? Does he even know? We tell ourselves we know what we want, but do we really?"
"And what is it you think you desire?" Thorel asked.
"Freedom," Lorrik answered. "The freedom to wake up, and know that my life is in my own hands. The freedom to pursue my own goals, not those of whomever would dictate themselves my superior. The freedom… to be with Jresh, and know that I won't hurt him because I was too blind to see what was truly important. I sweated, bled, I died, because I wanted nothing more than to become better, because that's what I thought it took to earn my freedom. But I realized, I'll never be able to break my chains, so long as people like Tash exist. I once thought him some villain, some unique entity that stood between me and my freedom. But he's just another in a long line of Sith who would sacrifice his fellows for personal gain. Even if he were to die, another would take his place. Another controller. Another unseen, unheard figure that would hold more sway over my life than I would. That's why this is no longer about Tash. No longer about Syrosk. That is why I spoke with my former classmates. Because I tire of masters. I know that I cannot change the Empire. I know that I cannot oppose those in power. But I can do everything in my power to make sure the next generation of Sith does not fall victim to them. I can teach them. I can tell them all that I have learned, and hope they make the most of it. You want to know what I told those students? I told them of the man who brought them to the Academy. I told them of the man who keeps them here. I told them, for all the power he possesses, he is worthless to them. I told them, that regardless of what they've been taught to believe, they are not worthless. That they could learn from and teach one another more than any Lord could."
"And why tell me any of this?" Thorel asked.
"Because I believe you to be someone of worth. Someone who deserves so, so much more," Lorrik admitted. "And most importantly, someone who is not above being given advice from someone like me."
"And what advice would that be?"
"What manner of men were Syrosk and Tash to you?" Lorrik put forth. "Teachers. Masters. Tash taught you everything you needed to know about a saber. Syrosk honed your mental skills. They both provided for you, but you were willing to strip one of everything he cared about at the word of the other. Syrosk saw his own death at the hands of his only friend, and you thought him a foolish Seer, unwilling to disregard some fleeting vision. A vision from a man who had just sent you across the galaxy to seek Force-sensitive children with utmost precision. A vision that detailed the betrayal of a man who now not only held his life in his hands, but the lives of dozens of acolytes. And you would continue to follow Tash with the same faith Syrosk placed in his visions? I know that you're better than that. The day you took me away from the mines, you made a profound impact on me, same as the other students. You had a part to play in the people we are today. But your master still only considers the eight of us worthy of his attention, whilst the acolytes in his classrooms remained trapped in their indeterminate fate. You can't think them worthless. You met each and every one of them. You brought them here at the behest of Syrosk and Tash. Now, your master holds total control over them. But I will not stand for it. And if I know you as well as I think I do, you won't stand for it either."
Thorel crossed arms as he stared at the inquisitor under the darkened sky. The two locked their gazes, standing silently amongst the shadow of night. Without a word, Thorel straightened his posture, removing himself from the shuttle's hull. Straightening his coat, the Human turned his back on the inquisitor, heading toward the ship's hatch.
"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do," Thorel declared as he placed a foot on the vessel's entrance ramp.
"Maybe I don't," Lorrik admitted. "Then again, maybe you don't either."
Thorel offered one final silent look, his features hidden under the darkness of night, before finally boarding the shuttle. Lorrik turned back toward the Academy as the vessel lifting itself from the landing pad, slowly ascending toward the sky. Walking under the dark cover of night, the lone Human softly whistled a gentle tune as he returned home.
The sun shined high over the Korriban landscape. It was a new day, and the apprentices had gathered to their master on the traditional mountaintop. The eight of them stood tall, confident in their performance on the previous trial. And little as he could show it with his seemingly permanent scowl, Syrosk was satisfied with them as well.
"My apprentices," Syrosk rasped. "I have heard word of your interaction with Tash's classrooms. Each and every one of you seems to have delivered a sufficient message without overstepping your bounds." The apprentices stirred with pride as they absorbed their master's admirations.
"Curious," Kar'ai said. "I had bet we'd show up today to hear Nesk knocked some acolyte's teeth out." The Trandoshan offered a sideways glance to the bemused Rattataki, but ultimately maintained his composure.
"You have all learned much," Syrosk declared. "You have progressed. Matured. No longer bound by the ideas of warriors and inquisitors. No longer bound by the ideas of acolytes and apprentices. You now stand apart from other Sith limited by their own preconceived notions. You've grown strong. You've developed bonds. I am proud of you all."
The apprentices were pleased to received their master's respect, but the inherent positivity that accompanied it was definitely odd.
"You okay, Syrosk?" Arlia asked with the tilt of her head. "You're not dying or anything are you?"
"No, my apprentice, I am fine. In fact, I'd say I've never been more alive," Syrosk declared. "Which is why it is a good day to continue your combat training. Tash's apprentice has departed from the Academy. His classrooms proceed as usual, only now with the added influence each of you has planted. Whatever consequences come from your intrusion will takes days, weeks, to unfold. For now, we train. Same as before. Well, not exactly as before…" The Sith Lord's eyed slowly drifted across his apprentices until they affixed themselves upon the Human amongst them. "Lorrik. You're body has still not recovered. You're dismissed for the day."
The others looked to the inquisitor, who stood befuddled next to his partner. "What are you talking about? I'm just fine."
"I don't need an apprentice who is 'just fine'," Syrosk explained. "You are far below your peak, and I'd not ask the other apprentices to lower themselves to your level for today's trial. It would serve no one, and only add more time to your recovery."
Lorrik dipped his head as his gaze fell to his feet. His spirits raised when he felt a comforting hand upon his shoulder. Turning, the inquisitor saw Jresh offering him a calm, confident look. No words, but enough to communicate a message. Lorrik and Jresh needn't stand side by side to be together. Jresh could fight alone, and his partner would be with him in mind and spirit, bolstering him as well as any second saber would. The Human cracked a smile as he could feel his companion's concern for his own health. Concern that was bolstered with a belief that Lorrik was strong enough to overcome the affliction that prevented him from partaking in the day's training.
"Alright. I'll take the day off," Lorrik stated. "I think I'll hit up the archives. Might find something that can help expedite my recovery."
"Stay safe," Jresh advised, lifting his hand from his companion's shoulder. Lorrik offered a firm nod of his head as he turned his back on the other apprentices and walked toward the Academy. As he embarked upon the return path, he could hear his master detailing the other students' trial.
"You will each be dueling against one another, to gauge your skills and see who is lagging in their training…"
Back in the Academy, Lorrik walked amongst the institution's true halls. Imperial Guardsmen guarded the pathways to each major sector, and Imperials and Sith alike went about their business. Keeping to himself, the inquisitor traversed the Academy, heading toward the public archives.
Ascending a flight of stairs, the apprentice came across a series of connected rooms containing a number of holocrons and datacards, housing within them the litany of information afforded to the denizens of Korriban. Sith of various levels and ranks stood amongst the archives, studying the various wisdoms and tomes that had been gathered and recorded. Acolytes. Apprentices. Sith Lords. All delving into the words and musings of scholars and historians.
Walking amongst strangers, Lorrik rearranged his robes' collar, making sure it continued to cover the slave's brand that marked the back of his neck. An elder Human stood opposite the apprentice, garbed in a simplistic set of black robes, cataloging a nearby shelf of datacards. Lorrik approached the archivist, maintaining the sense that he truly belonged amongst the other Sith.
"Excuse me, I'm looking information regarding holocrons," Lorrik stated. The archivist heard the apprentice's words, but did nothing to divert his attention from the nearby shelf.
"You're going to have to be more specific," the archivist declared with a low, droning tone.
"Alright, uh… mechanics, origins, maybe something about Rakatan artifacts."
"All Rakatan materials were recently checked out by Lord Ra'kus," the archivist explained. "All data pertaining to artifacts can be found in the east wing, first level."
"What about histories of the Sith? Or maybe just Korriban?"
"East wing, second level."
Lorrik offered his thanks, and received a soft grumble in return. The apprentice headed toward the archive's eastern wing. The walls were completely lined with shelves containing repositories of Sith knowledge. It was a wonderful sight. As mundane as the archives were to normal entrants to the Academy, Lorrik had spent much of his life without such a source. The students in Tash's classroom didn't have free reign over anything. Training sabers had to be check out and used under supervision. Knowledge was restricted to certain materials approved by the instructors.
Lorrik paced in front of the archives, unsure where to begin, unsure what he was even looking for in the first place. He began pulling datacards, moving between sections, between levels, collecting a small assortment of knowledge that might shed some light on his affliction. Using one of the archive's readers, the inquisitor tucked himself away in a corner, to pour over the gathered records.
Minutes turned to hours as Lorrik scanned the lines of data. He delved into the construction and maintenance of holocrons, looking for some insight into the intricacies of the one he procured from the tomb. But the only knowledge he had at his fingertips was the most basic of instructions. He had more advanced records back at the suite. The inquisitor turned to history, looking to the first Dark Jedi to arrive on Korriban. And history proved unkind. Of all the individuals responsible for the modern Sith Order, only a select few had their names committed to record, most others fading to obscurity. He looked to ancient dark side techniques, finding nothing resembling the darkness that warped his hand.
Lorrik had found out nothing. Nothing that could help him restore his hand. Nothing about what had caused the affliction in the first place. The day had gone to waste. While Jresh and the others fought one another, he sat alone in a worthless archive. While they advanced, he had nothing to show for the day. With a heavy heart, Lorrik returned the gathered datacards to their proper place and turned in his borrowed reader.
His thoughts drifted to his partner. He could sense that the day's trials were not yet completed. He could feel the pain his companion endured, the fiery drive in his heart to continue. He could feel the weight of his foes beating down upon him even as he stood far beyond the reach of battle. It was a feeling of simultaneous greatness and dismay. He was proud of Jresh. The warrior continued to fight, despite the wound he had inflected upon his leg. Meanwhile, the inquisitor's pain had fled, leaving only a dulled sensation in its place. And yet, he could not fight. But he knew he would have to. He knew he had to stand up and fight, because that's all that there was left to do. His voice had reached the ears of his former classmates, but at this moment, his reach was limited to what he could grasp in his hands.
Departing the archives after hours of fruitless searching, Lorrik began to wander the halls of the Academy, no particular destination in mind. He did not desire a trip to the training grounds, lest he strain his newfound relationship with Syrosk. He did not desire a trip to the suite, let he resign the rest of his day to complacent rest. But he needed rest. For his body, as well as his mind. The Human could sense his partner's emotional state, so it was likely Jresh could sense his as well. All the worry, all the confusion that plagued his mind would begin to affect his companion. In his want to not become a burden, that was exactly what he would become if he could not overcome the thoughts swirling within his head.
And so he decided. Lorrik could not allow himself to be dominated by his own fears and concerns. He closed his eyes. Concentrated. Felt a wave of relief wash away the burden, lifting his heart and providing him a sense of peace. A sense of peace, that was instantly shattered when he felt a powerful strike connect with the back of his head.
Lorrik fell forward to the ground, head reeling. Looking at his immediate surroundings, he quickly realized he had ventured well beyond the Academy's front halls. He had crossed into the depths of labyrinthine walkways and muffled echoes. He had lost track of time as well as his own position. But only a moment of attention could be devoted to such developments, as one factor took immediate precedence. A factor as serious as it was familiar.
"Seriously. Why do people think you can just hit someone in the back of the head and knock them out?" Lorrik muttered as he struggled to lift himself from the floor.
"Who said I was trying to knock you out?" The voice was new. One Lorrik had never heard before. Male. Older. Gruff. Cocky. The felled Human flipped himself over to see four Sith standing before him. Humans garbed in black, form-fitting robes, lightsabers clipped to their belts. "Lorrik Velash. Your time has come."
"Who are you?" Lorrik asked, carefully shuffling backward upon the floor.
"We are Sith. Which is something a worthless slave like you will never be able to say," the group's leader stated. Reaching to his waist, the Human leading the group drew his lightsaber, igniting its crimson beam.
The red saber of Isorr came down hard against Jresh's guard, but the Pureblood managed to maintain his stance. The two combated, clashing before taking a step back and clashing again. The two powerhouses practically shook the ground beneath them each time they connected, two unstoppable forces meeting with the clash of blades. As the two duelists connected once more, Jresh pulled away, lowering his guard as a flurry of emotions intruded upon his mind.
"Come on, Jresh," Isorr taunted. "Don't tell me you're getting tired already?"
The Pureblood ignored his opponent. The words had not even reached his ears, as his mind was too occupied by the worrisome feelings overtaking his insides. He knew something was wrong. He knew Lorrik was in trouble. Jresh disengaged, sheathing his weapon and fleeing the arena to the peculiar glances of the surrounding apprentices. He could not speak. He could only run. Ignoring the sharp pain that overtook his right leg with each step, the Pureblood rushed toward the Academy, running faster than he ever had before.
"How did you know I was a slave?" Lorrik asked, trying to stall the aggressors as he lifted himself from the ground.
"We've known about you for a long time," the leader declared. "In fact, we've know about all the students that occupy the underhalls. Rejects. Outcasts. Slaves. Aliens. Impurities. Beings unworthy of the title of Sith. But for some reason, you all operated under same rules as the rest of us, meaning you were off limits. You couldn't be touched. So imagine my surprise, when we find out that some of you aren't afforded that protection any more. And yet, we hear you're still gallivanting around the Academy like you belong here? That didn't sit right will us."
"I'm sorry to upset your delicate sensibilities," Lorrik replied, slowly backing away. The apprentice could only take a few steps before he found himself backed against a wall.
"This isn't about sensibilities. This is about maintaining the integrity of the Sith," the leader declared. "We're not some acolytes looking to take down some rival. We're here to wipe the impurity from this institution, starting with you." Lorrik reached for his belt, retrieving his own lightsaber. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon ignited, shining its blue blade as the inquisitor raised his guard. "You really are a poor excuse for a Sith."
"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Lorrik taunted. The Sith leader looked upon the inquisitor with abject disgust. The three Sith that accompanied him fanned out, taking position between the apprentice and the ways out of the hallway, blocking his escape.
Lorrik stood across from the group's leader, their eyes locked, their sabers at the ready. The inquisitor had never laid eyes upon this person before, and yet this man hated him more than any he had met. He knew nothing of his position, of his rank. He could have been a student of the Academy. Some Overseer's underling. A Sith Lord with a chip on his shoulder. But whomever he was, he intended to take the apprentice's life.
The leader aggressor rushed forward with a blinding pace, descending upon the inquisitor within the blink of an eye. Lorrik raised his saber to intercept as the red blade crashed down upon him. His foe possessed remarkable strength, more than a match for any of the other apprentices, and more than capable of overcoming the Human's weakened state. There was little room to maneuver within the compact hall, forcing Lorrik to remain within arm's reach of his foe. The aggressor continued his assault. He was done with words, he wanted nothing more than the apprentice's death.
Lorrik attempted to keep up with the attacker, but he lashed out unlike any he had faced before. He was used to training duels. This is the first time he felt his life truly in danger at the hands of a Sith. And with each clash of the blade, Lorrik felt himself losing control. He was fast becoming exhausted. One powerful strike later, and the inquisitor could no longer keep hold of his weapon. The lightsaber flung from his hand, deactivating and clattering against the hard floor.
The attacker lifted his victim with the Force, and flung him backward, pinning him against the nearby wall. Lorrik flattened against the surface and he felt a crushing pressure overtaking every part of his being. His chest couldn't expand to take in air. He slowly began to choke, unable to breathe.
"How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?"
Just as the Sith was about to clench his victory, he heard a soft whisper a short distance behind him.
"B-Boss…"
It was the panicked voice of one of the underlings. The leader turned to see one of the men guarding the way out staring at him with wide eyes, gloved hands clutching his chin and the back of his head. He could only lock eyes with his underling for a moment before the hands twisted his head around, sending his lifeless body crumpling to the floor, revealing the red figure that stood behind him.
The Pureblood wore a penetrating scowl upon his face, his red eyes burning a hole into the leader's mind. The warrior stood adamant, every fiber of his being consumed by rage. The other two underlings moved from their position to intercept the Pureblood, igniting their lightsabers.
Jresh readied his weapon. The first to bring their blade down upon the warrior found it effortlessly deflected, leaving them completely open for the Pureblood to thrust weapon into his heart. The lackey fell to the ground beside the first, leaving only two standing. The group's leader relinquished his grip on the inquisitor to face the intruder. Lorrik fell from the wall, scurrying toward a corner as he struggled to catch his breath.
The third underling lashed out with a swing of his blade, only to for it to be parried by the Pureblood. The warrior followed up with a quick slash of his blade, severing the Sith's weapon hand. The lackey released a harsh shrill as he clutched at his charred stump. The noise was enough to distract the group's leader, who didn't even see the approaching backhand that would swiped his face and sent him tumbling to the floor.
The injured underling looked upon the warrior with a fearful dread, turning his back on the battle and fleeing down the hallway. He was only a few steps ahead before the Pureblood threw his saber with the flick of his wrist, sending the swirling blade toward his opponent. When the lightsaber reached its target, it swept itself across the Sith's back, bisecting him at the waist. The attack was accurate, but still sloppy, as the flying saber impacted against the wall rather than returning to its owner.
The leader was without his underlings, but he didn't need them. He rose to combat the weaponless foe, readying a powerful downward strike. Before he could connect, the Pureblood snapped his gaze toward the aggressor, taking a deep breath. Once more the two's eyes locked together. The attacker could not stop his strike, but the warrior's eyes told him he should have done everything in his power to give up. But it was too late.
Jresh was weaponless, not defenseless. He exhaled, releasing a primal shout backed by the full might of the Force. The blast struck the attacker, and sent him crashing into the wall behind him. The walls cracked from the force of the impact as the Sith collapsed upon the floor. He was defeated, but still alive. But that was not satisfactory. As the fallen Sith struggled to support his own weight beneath his arms, he found himself lifted up by the Pureblood. The warrior's hand clutched his foe's face, raising him higher until his feet dangled above the floor. Muffled whimpers struggled to escape the Sith's mouth, but the words were impeded by presence of the Pureblood's palm.
"How does it feel to know your life rests in the hands of a true Sith?" Jresh muttered through gritted teeth.
There was no answer to be heard as the warrior channeled the full might of the Force through his hand, a destructive wave of kinetic energy passing through his victim's skull and out the other side, staining the wall behind him. Jresh relinquished his grip, tossing the lifeless Sith to the ground.
In the corner of the hall, Jresh could see his partner curled into a ball, heart racing, drawing labored breaths.
Patrolling the halls of the Academy, an Imperial Guardsman passed through one of the institution's deeper pathways. Rounding a corner, the helmed sentinel saw a curious sight. At the end of the hallway, he could see a figure lying upon the ground, unmoving. Moving forward to investigate, it wasn't until he was upon the figure that he noticed that it was only half a man, his legs situated a couple meters behind him. Rounding another corner, the guardsman was greeted with a sight of death and destruction. Scorch marks lined the walls from errant lightsaber strikes. Blood lightly stained the floors where it had managed to pass through otherwise cauterized wounds.
Sitting amongst the scene however, were two living figures. Rushing to investigate, the guardsman found a Pureblood sitting beside a splotch of red upon a cracked segment of wall, a Human resting in his arms.