Chapter Two: Providers
The halls were quiet. Too quiet. Lorrik slowly walked across the foyer, taking careful note of his surroundings. Panning his gaze, turning on his heels, the Human made every effort to search every facet of his environment. With each careful step, the inquisitor slowly inched himself closer to one of the stone columns that lined the foyer. Lorrik placed his back against the pillar and raised his guard, fists held close to his chest.
A sharp ping shot through his mind as he sensed danger fast approaching. Ducking away, Lorrik barely missed the foot of Arlia slamming into his nose. Instead, the blow crashed into the stone column to seemingly no ill effect for the other inquisitor. The pillar, however, possessed a new crack upon its surface. Rescinding her leg, Arlia continued her pursuit of her target as Lorrik remained on the defensive. The Human carefully backed up as the Twi'lek advanced, lashing out with the quick jabs of her hands.
The inquisitors engaged one another in a hand-to-hand display of martial technique, Arlia possessing the advantage. She moved with a warrior's grace, each movement flowing into the next, no energy or momentum wasted. A swipe of her hand would be followed by another, then a sweep of her leg, all the while Lorrik attempted to maintain his defenses alongside his balance.
Arlia eventually landed a clean blow to the Human's gut, shaking him to his core. Lorrik replied with a flailing right hook, only for the other inquisitor to snatch him by the wrist. Twisting his arm, the Twi'lek wrung the Human's arm behind his back. Rather than try and regain control of the limb, Lorrik shoved his entire body backward, eventually sandwiching the Twi'lek between himself and a nearby column. The two impacted with a sizable thud, as well as an audible crack.
"Did you hear that?" Arlia asked, displaying neither signs of injury nor exhausted despite the prolonged match. The two separated, putting the duel on pause.
"No, why?" Lorrik plainly replied, turning to see his opponent staring at his right hand with wide eyes. Raising his arm, he could see his right hand had been bent forward, palm almost touching his own forearm. With his left, he did nothing more than straighten out his other hand and began rotating it at the wrist. One by one, he was capable of retracting and stretching out his fingers to no ill effect.
"Anything broken?" Arlia asked, more curious than concerned.
"Don't think so," Lorrik answered, gently shaking his right hand.
"Then what was that crack?"
"I didn't hear one. Maybe it was the pillar,"
"Whatever. You ready to continue?"
"Of course, let's just-" Lorrik started to speak before pausing.
The two inquisitors looked to one another for but a moment before each taking a simultaneous step away from each other. Not a second later, Jresh flew between them, sliding across the slick floor upon his back. They watched the warrior skid to a stop as he released a low grumble.
"Having trouble, Jresh?" Arlia teased as the Pureblood picked himself up off the floor.
"No," Jresh quickly replied, before sprinting back in the direction he slid in from. The inquisitors shared another look as they heard a resounding crash sound out from the other end of the foyer.
"How long you think before one of them gives up?" Lorrik asked.
"I think the building will give up before either of them do," Arlia offered with a low gentle sigh.
The two inquisitors resumed their bout as they and the other apprentices went about their own training and fights. The Sith would clash with one another, sometimes for minutes, sometimes for hours. Sometimes with fists, sometimes with sabers. Whatever injuries were accrued would be mended with the estate's full stock of first aid supplies, as well as Lorrik offering of a healing hand.
This was how things would continue for the next few days. The apprentices would wake up and train, pausing only for a meal now and again. Each and every one of them possessed a level of skill and displayed a measure of power other Sith had not thought possible of those from lower birth. Others believed the polluted blood of aliens and impurities was incapable of properly harnessing the power of the Force. These eight proved them wrong.
For four days they toiled amidst one another's desire to better themselves. They faced challenges born from their own minds, rather than their master's. Challenges carried out in singles, doubles, and all-out brawls between the eight apprentices. They covered every base they could, thought of every danger they might encounter, because as much as they knew, they did not know what lied ahead. They had to be ready for anything. And for all their confidence, all their skill, they still didn't know if they were. But they would not be deterred by that fact.
On the fifth day, the apprentices awoke to something strange. On each of their datapads, the eight students had received a message from their master. Gathering together in the palace foyer, the Sith met to discuss the new development. The apprentices gathered in a motley circle befitting their differing personages, each looking to another with a sense of hesitance.
"We all got a message, right?" Kar'ai asked.
"It's time we talked," Lorrik quoted the message word for word. The supplied nods from the others revealed that they had received the same. "No source, but I'd say it's obvious who it's from."
"Has anyone sent a reply yet?" Ryloh asked. The other Sith shook their heads. "Alright then. Should we?"
"Wait, a minute," Arlia interrupted. "We're hearing this from Syrosk? Not from one of Tash's apprentices? You know, one who Lorrik thinks is an ally, another who is Isorr's father."
"It's not like Vai would have a way of contacting us," Lorrik explained. "So far, we've only interacted through speech and physical notes. I'm not sure about Isorr's dad. Does he have a way to contact you?"
"I left him the means to get in touch with me," Isorr declared.
"And has he?" Arlia asked.
The Zabrak shook his head. "No. There's a chance he doesn't know what's going on. More likely, though, he knows exactly what's going on and just doesn't want me involved. When we spoke, he mentioned that he and Tash were preparing for some major battle. He also said it didn't involve Syrosk."
"No, I doubt it would," Lorrik stated, scratching his chin. "Our master would be the last person Tash would include if the classrooms were involved."
"You think he's taking them into battle?" Kar'ai asked.
"He's been preparing them for something," Lorrik stated. "I think we're about to finally find out what."
"My father and Tash have been fighting in the war for years now," Isorr explained. "I can't think of a reason he'd need a few scores of acolytes now."
"What manner of task could Tash and his apprentices not accomplish themselves?" Jresh followed up.
"I don't know," Lorrik admitted. "If all he needed was manpower, there are far simpler ways for a Sith of his standing to attain it. There's a reason he spent over ten years cultivating those acolytes. And it is not just so that they could take part in some battle."
"Whether we know the reason or not, that's not going to stop Tash from doing what he's planning on doing," Jresh declared.
"You're right," Lorrik stated, his eyes drifting to the floor. "Right now, Syrosk's our only source of information. He wants to talk, we should talk."
"He wants to do more than talk," Arlia replied. "He wants to stop whatever Tash is trying to do, regardless of whether or not he understands it. If he wants to act irrationally, we can't get caught up in it."
"He acts irrationally whenever he feels he has nothing left to lose," Lorrik declared. "When his master died, when he felt betrayed by Tash, when he lost everything he had sought to build. The best thing we can do is hear him out, lest he think we've abandoned him."
"We haven't abandoned him… right?" Ryloh asked.
"No," Lorrik replied. "He is still our master, and still deserves our support. Whatever mistakes he's made, whatever paths he could have taken to avoid all of this… the man is still responsible for our freedom. Relatively speaking. If not for him, we'd be on Korriban right now preparing for whatever it is Tash has in mind. And the more we can learn about whatever that is, the better." The other apprentices looked to one another, before standing in unanimous agreement. "Alright. I'll send the reply."
Korriban. As the harsh sun peaked over the jagged mountains and crags that surrounded the Academy, Lord Syrosk gazed upon the grounds beneath the overlooking peak where he had oft trained his students. There were movements abound on the planet's surface, even in the early hours of morning. Its denizens were preparing for something. And whilst the institution's proper acolytes maneuvered, the Sith Lord sensed they were not alone in doing so.
An atypically large amount of supplies were being delivered to Korriban, and while much of it was divided and distributed amongst the Imperials on the surface, a number of crates were being surreptitiously delivered to the forgotten halls where Tash's classrooms resided. Watching the scattering of forces and trainees on the grounds below, Lord Syrosk sharpened his gaze before making his way back to the Academy.
Traversing the dusty pathway down the mountain and up the Academy's front entrance, the Sith Lord could feel the pressing eyes and pointed thoughts of those who surrounded him. Ever since his apprentices had left Korriban, Syrosk had not shed his battle attire, not even in his private quarters. The battle-scarred suit of black armor beset by a heavy cloak provided a frightful countenance, but he knew it might not be enough to dissuade any would-be attackers. And on Korriban, there was no shortage of Sith willing and able to challenge him. It was the Sith Lord's unfaltering focus that protected him, as he remained in no one spot long enough to attract the worst kind of attention.
Passing the threshold between the proper Academy and Tash's halls, Syrosk could see a number of crates being carted in, opened and sorted by the realm's quartermaster and weapons master. They retrieved dozens and dozens of simple, standard-issue lightsabers meant for foot soldiers. The gray hilts were stacked side by side, counted, and stored behind the quartermaster's counter.
Though he watched from afar, the Sith Lord could feel a familiar presence creeping closer in his mind. Turning his horned head, Syrosk saw Vai Thorel standing beside him, arms crossed, wearing a warm visage.
"Tash must be ready to accelerate the acolytes' training," Syrosk muttered. "Unless of course, the lightsabers aren't meant for training."
"They aren't," Thorel plainly admitted. "But then again, you probably knew that."
"You're not the only ones gearing up," Syrosk stated. "Every Sith and Imperial on this planet is preparing for something."
"Not just here, Dromund Kaas too," Thorel explained. "You'd know that if you got out every once in a while. Don't you ever get tired of Korriban?"
"I was already tired of this place when me and Tash were taking it back from the Republic," Syrosk admitted.
"Yeesh. I forget how old you two are sometimes," Thorel joked. The Sith Lord offered only a low grumbled. "It's a shame things had to turn out the way they did. Honest. You were a good teacher. And if you hadn't gone all daft in the head and ruined a good thing, you could have been a part of this."
"I've seen enough of what goes on here to not want any part of it," Syrosk declared.
"Now, now, I think your actions over the past two years point toward the contrary," Thorel offered.
"I wanted nothing to do with Tash's sullied classrooms," Syrosk curtly replied.
"And here I thought people wantonly using words like 'sullied' and 'impure' was the entire reason you and Tash brought these students here," Thorel countered. "Didn't you want for these students to prove themselves despite the Empire's reservations? Well, now they can. They're going to take part in the defining moment of the war. They're finally going to get the chance to prove their worth to the Sith who think they don't deserve to be included in the Order."
"I'm sure that's what Tash would like you to believe," Syrosk stated. "They're just tools to him. Just like everyone else. Once they've fulfilled their purpose, he'll abandon them or cast them aside like he did me."
"You were 'abandoned' because you had a bad dream and let it dominate your life," Thorel rebuked. "He continued the work you wanted to do, training these acolytes despite everyone telling him not to. He gave them a chance. Gave them shelter. Protected them from those who would do them harm. What of the students you took for yourself? Let's do a quick headcount. Who's had more students almost killed and exiled from the Academy?"
The Sith Lord cast a harsh glare toward the Human. "My apprentices are stronger than any the classrooms have produced."
"Oh, great, I'm sure that will come in handy when absolutely no one recognizes that strength," Thorel declared. "Wake up, Syrosk. You're a good teacher, but what can you provide them beyond training? Everything you've given them had been a result of the crumbling goodwill you possessed with the Academy leadership because of your master. Once that's gone, then what? You can provide them nothing. Do you even know where they are right now?"
"In light of their exile, they decided to walk their own paths. It was their wish to be alone," Syrosk calmly answered.
"You know why? Because they know you've given them all you can. There's nothing more you can provide them," Thorel declared.
"I take that as a sign that I have fulfilled my duties as master," Syrosk replied.
"Are you that dense? They cannot move through Sith space without a target on their backs," Thorel declared, raising his tone. "One of your students was almost killed, and what did you do? Nothing. Hell, I've given them more than you have in the past month."
"How else could you convince them to join Tash?" Syrosk snidely asked.
"This had nothing to do with Tash!" Thorel shouted, his otherwise pleasant demeanor shattering. "Are you that blind? That single-minded? When Lorrik was injured, I provided answers. I told him the truth, truth you had kept from him and the other students. After he and the others were exiled, I gave them a gift in good faith, letting them reclaim a piece of their lives because I knew it was something you'd never give them, even though it firmly rested within your power. I did. Not Tash. And definitely not you. You think Tash uses people as tools? What about you? What are your apprentices but a way to get back at Tash? You took them, trained them to prove a point. You don't care about them. You only care about yourself and getting revenge against my master."
Syrosk stared at the Human in silence, relaxing his once harsh glare. "And what about you? You truly care about the acolytes? My apprentices?"
"Yes, I do," Thorel adamantly stated.
"Then prove it," Syrosk rasped. "Don't allow Tash to sacrifice them for whatever he has planned."
"They aren't sacrifices," Thorel countered. "They're not even going to be hitting military targets."
"Then what is their purpose?" Syrosk asked.
Thorel offered the curious arch of his brow toward the inquisitive Sith Lord, studying the alien's wrinkled, leathery visage. Without another word, the red-coated apprentice stepped away from Syrosk, making his way deeper into the forgotten halls, leaving the Sith Lord's question unanswered. As the Human disappeared down one of the many corridors that connected the halls, the Sith Lord release a low grumble. Turning around, Syrosk began making his way back to his chambers, but not below slamming his armored fist against the wall.
Within his compact, unassuming quarters, the Sith Lord journeyed deeper within his home, passing through the barren meditation room that greeted him when he first stepped in. Syrosk ceased his advance in front of a holoterminal. Carefully examining the device, he input a brief message and sent it to its eight intended recipients. The message was off, and the Sith Lord was alone in his quarters. Alone with his thoughts.
He began to pace in front of the holoterminal, occasionally looking back to the communications device. The Sith Lord walked back and forth, maybe for seconds, maybe for minutes, maybe for hours, he did not know. Time had lost its meaning as he waited, focused solely on whether or not he would receive a reply. Eventually, a lone ping sounded out from the holoterminal, signaling a response. Syrosk quickly engaged the device to find a message from Lorrik providing him the details of a better means to communicate. Punching in the acquired data, the Sith Lord found himself connecting to a holoterminal in Yerrig's office on Ortess-3.
Slowly, the grainy image of Lorrik appeared above the terminal's holoprojector. Then, one by one the other apprentices came into view, standing beside the Human. The eight of them stood together, ready to address their master.
"My students," Syrosk began. "It is good to see you all together and safe."
"It's good to see you too, Syrosk," Lorrik spoke for the group. "I assume you have more information."
"Indeed," Syrosk replied. "Tash's apprentice is on Korriban organizing the other students for something big."
"Which apprentice?" Isorr butted in.
"Pardon?" Syrosk replied, a genuine confusion in his voice.
"So Vai is there…" Lorrik muttered. "Any idea what they are planning on doing?"
"Nothing specific," Syrosk admitted. "But the acolytes are being outfitted and armed for war. Tash intends to take them into battle."
"That much we've gathered ourselves," Lorrik declared. "We need specifics."
"We're not likely to get them," Syrosk rasped. "We should meet up. Decide how to proceed."
"We decide how to proceed only when we know what Tash is planning," Lorrik adamantly stated. "Not a moment before."
"I've met with Vai," Syrosk admitted. "He'll not reveal any more to me, and I trained his mind too well to pick up any of his thoughts. By the time I uncover their intentions, they'll be mobilized and we won't be able to stop them."
"Anything involving the acolytes will have to be filtered through the instructors, correct? If I recall correctly, they weren't the most strong-willed individuals. Take your answers from them."
"Are you the one giving orders now?" Syrosk asked, releasing a raspy chortle.
"Of course not, I'm merely offering guidance," Lorrik stated with a grin. "And remember Syrosk. The five layers."
The image of the apprentices faded as the communications ceased. The Sith Lord was left staring at the blank wall across from him. Syrosk adopted a rough grin upon his rugged and leathery visage, stroking the tip of one of his horns. His students had come a long way. Even he was amazed at how strong they had become. How capable they were. And in light of recent events, none of them looked to possess anything less than absolute focus and tenacity. He believed in them. And they believed in him.
Exiting his quarters, the Sith Lord made his way back toward Tash's domain. Crossing the cold, metallic halls of the Academy, Syrosk eventually entered the shoddier corridors that linked his rival's classrooms. We walked with purpose, heavy boots clanking against the hard floor beneath his feet. He reached out with his mind, searching for his target. Searching for someone suitable. It wasn't long before he found it.
Walking down one of the many narrow and winding hallways that made up the sector, Syrosk set his eyes on one of Tash's instructors. The Human was garbed in robes only slightly above the acolytes' in quality, signifying him of his elevated station. The Human possessed little in remarkable traits, but Syrosk instantly recognized him as the teacher of inquisitors Lorrik once belonged to.
Hearing the echoing footsteps sounding out behind him, the Human turned around with a startled expression before calming down as soon as he recognized the alien Sith Lord. The instructor adopted a snide expression as he barely paid attention to Syrosk's approach.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lord Syrosk. It looks like your-"
Before he could finished his sentence, the instructor was interrupted by the Sith Lord firmly tapping his index finger against the Human's forehead. The teacher immediately blacked out, crumbling to the floor.
The instructor awoke to find himself sitting in a small, barren chamber. Panning his gaze across the dark metallic walls that encroached upon him, he struggled to move, only to find his arms and legs bound to the chair. Slowly, Syrosk came into view as he circled around from behind the immobilized teacher.
"What… what are…"
The Sith Lord pressed his finger against the Human's lips before moving his hand upward, placing his palm against the instructor's forehead.
"Don't worry," Syrosk rasped. "You won't remember any of this. Then again, you might not even remember your name afterward."