Rha had forgotten how boring healing was. She was not going to admit but the kolto had helped a lot. The scars were smooth and thin, blotches of mismatched color across her stomach and legs, even the older scars became flatter and stretching her shoulders no longer hurt.
And of course her dear master had no fiction in his library. Half the text she did not understand and the ones she did were either too disturbing or made her want to try the technique it described. She was not to heavily use to the Force until she was fully healed. No proper sparing. All she wanted to do was forbidden. Rha sighed. Of course, she was being overdramatic. It was just so weird to have nothing do at all. Every day was waiting for her body to be healed enough so that she could leave.
The gardens were nice, nothing compared to her Temple, but a lovely speck of green amidst the darkness. Literal darkness, since Obscurus forgot she had eyes half the time. Well, forgot or 'forgot'. His company was pleasant when he had the time and he came by often. At his side she could forget the troubles of the galaxy.
But with every day that passed, anxiety grew in her. She must leave before she no longer could. Before she no longer wanted. Conviction wavered without action. Not yet, though. Movement was not as smooth it once was, scars still fresh and sensitive. What was another week or two, compared to the months she had already spent here?
The most entertaining thing was Obscurus himself. She had been an most well behaved padawan, but well, she was no padawan anymore. Tracking him down was easy, the sole shadow against the untrained presences of his few servants. She had yet to meet any of them. Whether it was to keep them from betraying her or her from betraying them, she could not say. Both, likely.
"Master." She whined and took great joy in the twitch of his hands. "I am bored."
"My dearest apprentice, I know."
"And?" Rha drew the word out.
He sighed, secretly pleased despite his played annoyance. "Perhaps an outing would be fitting. First hand experience of what we Sith are when we are not trying to kill you."
"Have you developed an social life in these thirty years?" She raised an eyebrow. "I would not mind going out, if its with you."
"Good. I should – May I introduce you to my tailor, Lady Kallar? She knows to keep quiet – and is most resistant to force influence."
"Force-User?"
"No. Not even enough to be counted as sensitive. Neither Sith nor Jedi would take her."
How curious. "She is loyal to you?"
"Quite."
"Sure, I don't mind meeting her if she'll keep quiet. But what will be our story?" Soon or later someone would ask and she'd like to have their stories straight.
"You are my Apprentice. That will be enough for now."
Rha nearly rolled her eyes. Sure, his people would never dare to ask but she needed an role to play.
"We do need a backstory if you want to take me out – well I would not mind being an bounty hunter but that is not your intention."
"Correct."
As he said nothing further, she started to list whatever came to her mind. "Am I from the Republic? Neutral territory? The hutts? An smuggler?"
"Somewhere that would drive you to the Sith."
"Don't you generally assume anyone would want to be Sith?"
"Not everyone is so easy to fool."
Rha nodded. "Republic, outer rim, small time criminal. A few bouts of bounty hunting in the past. Combat experience-" She tapped her fingers on her leg. "Subconscious force-use. We met – say five years ago? And you convinced me to become your Apprentice."
"I hired you for some jobs and noticed your force power."
"What kind of jobs?"
"Claim you cannot answer, if anyone asks. If nothing works, use an old mission."
"Alright. Where will you take me?" Despite her Shadow work, she was not particular knowledgeable about what an 'public outing' for an Sith might be.
"An celebration of some sort, set for an week from now. Well, it is meant to be an celebration but I believe it is an purely political event. The invitations are rather wide strewn, from what I heard."
"How high is the risk of death?"
"Rather low. After all this is an official gathering. Breaking the peace would be an insult to the host."
An interesting contrast with the previous sith parties she had joined – usually because she was undercover as Bounty Hunter. Those had been . . Well. What one imagined when they heard 'Sith Party'.
"And the host is?"
"Lady Calor. She is a Sith Lord, trained by Darth Arathan, somewhat favored by Marr – as in he complemented her skill, three years ago – and the bastard daughter of Lord Nawvrath. Neither of them like to be reminded of their relation."
"I only know of her father."
Ten years ago she had broken into one of his strongholds, pretending to be an bounty hunter, helped along by plans an rival had offered her. Nawvrath played high-stake game – high enough that an fellow Sith would betray him.
"Calor is an warrior and hates political games, but she is rather good at them. She is, well, an mini-Marr. They even have the same ridiculous shoulder pads."
Rha snorted. "Seems like we could be friends."
"You can approach her if you want to, but try not to draw anyone onto my neck."
"I'd never let them hurt you, Master." The words came out more grave than she had wanted. "Is there anything I can read up on? We have some days to prepare. If I am to be your apprentice, I should be able to hold an conversation, yes?"
He scoffed. "Believe me, it would be barely noticeable. Some, I wonder if they ever went to the academy at all!"
Rha laughed. "Are you saying no?"
"Of course not. But truly, your current knowledge would be fitting for an Apprentice that is meant to be an blunt tool – and to my sorrows, the academy produces a lot of them."
She bristled. "How good, then, that I am not a true Sith."
The weight of his unseeing gaze rested on her for a long drawn out moment. Then he smiled, soft and yet bittersweet. "I know."
"Have you considered learning to heal again?"
"Force healing?" She snorted. "Don't waste your time."
"It may work for you if you use the dark side." Obscurus pointed out. "You last tried to learn when you where an child and then again as you just became my padawan. Not the best circumstances."
That was an massive understatement and they both knew it.
"I don't want to." The idea alone made her grimace. Once she had thought she could be more than an weapon, had tried to imitate Ghila and Vivian, their grace in the Force and soft, clean hands. But it was an jealousy she tried to ignore, with all the shadowed memories it involved. No, it was good that she was an great warrior, killer, or else she would have died years ago.
She would miss life, now. Could, for the first in an long time.
"Then you won't." Obscurus touched her cheek, his fingers freezing cold, before he withdrew. "I do have the entire collected works of Darth Lessandir."
"Really?" The shadows only had the third volume. Not that she could read it again – mission preparation was one thing, but reading sith poetry for fun was frowned upon.
"Third shelf, row five. Alphabetical order without the Darth title. I'll call Lady Kallar for your appointment."
"My lords." Lady Kallar bowed. She was an older zabrak woman with gold-covered horns and piercing blue eyes, taller than herself, like most people were, but shorter than Obscurus. Her deep red skin was contrasted by an bright blue blouse over black pants and several golden armbands.
She presented them with several pieces of clothing. An deep crimson robe, woven through with golden strands, black rims and an black belt. Far shorter than the trailing robes Obscurus preferred and no long sleeves. That was clothing she could fight in. He must have shared her measurements – and her tastes. Even if she would never wear red, undercover as Sith or not, the robe was beautiful.
Green and gold reminded her too much of Ghila. She wanted something where she would not forgot who she was playing as. The blue though was very pretty, cut more like an uniform, the dark cloth set with white gems like an clear night. But no, she needed something more stereotypical Sith, something to match Obscurus heavy black, red and gold.
"I bet she says she wants something black." Obscurus play-whispered to Lady Kallar. Her aura flickered in amusement but she did not smile. "I had several black pieces prepared, as you ordered, my lord."
"Then you may show them." He turned to Rha. "I had hopes you might for once take the chance to wear something that is not black, beige or brown."
She rolled her eyes. On her rare day off, she preferred greens and blues, as he well knew. "Master, you do not even have eyes. I could be wearing neon yellow, for all you know."
Obscurus chuckled.
Despite his words, it was not entirely black. The overcoat went only down to half her thigh but it was long enough for her taste, with an split at the sides and gold-thread seams. Thin shiny patterns covered her shoulders and back, just as golden as the buttons. Below it went black pants with polstered knees and an thin undersuit that was covered by an black shirt.
"Acceptable." Rha answered after going through several basic stances in the clothing. Not as good as her armor but fine enough for an evening. Especially if there were no stabbing involved.
Then the day came. Rha had spent at least an hour in the fresher just to cover up her scars with waterproof make up and nothing to say of the time she had needed to even out the rough texture of her burn scar, all just in case she lost the an strange sight, to be so – unblemished.
The last time she needed to hide her scars so deeply was in her youth. But her eye remained blind and the sclera burned red. On any other day she would choose an eyepatch or cover both her eyes with an veil like Obscurus, but tonight she called on the Force and reached towards that honey-sweet darkness and let it set her gaze aflame. Then she put on the silver mask that covered all except the bottom half and glanced at the mirror for one last time to make sure her lipstick had not smudged.
Her Master wore an glittering assortment of gold and rubies, several layers of black cloth that billowed behind him as he walked down the plank. Half an step behind, Rha followed. The air tasted of humidity and recent rain, wet, faintly mossy and the promise of an storm. Lord Calor's estate was located on the slope of an cliff, the ever cloudy sky of Dromund Kaas stretched out behind it, pierced by lightning as the rumble of thunder drummed in her ears.
The chains on his robes chimed as he strode towards the entrance. People – servants or slaves – parted without an second look at them. Only his name was asked for and then they went inside. The lack of security was strange to her, but then again, who would dare to attack an entire gathering of Sith?
The building was not as ostentatious as she had feared. Small statues of well-known sith and what she assumed was family members marked the hallway, only one banner of the empire hung in the hall and there was no gold outside the actual feast hall.
Inside hung grand glittering chandeliers and weaved tapestry of grand battles, popular myths and poems. Huge tables were covered in food and drink of all kind, an most pleasing scent rising from it, if an bit too spicy for own taste. The Lady of the House greeted all newcomers but spared not much time for them. Not important enough, she assumed, to whatever the goal of the Sith Lady had. And just as Obscurus had said, the tall woman wore heavy armor to her own party.
Well enough for her. She really did not want to make small talk with Sith. Obscurus and her joined other aliens, once-slaves and outsiders, sympathizers gathered nearby and around an set of tables were the most traditional Sith. Some preferred to stay unaligned, jumping between groups or talking to associates. The newer apprentices stayed glued to their masters side or shoed off to what she thought to be the equivalent to the Padawan table. Those who had more experience, power and confidence hunted for allies and enemies to push their masters off their thrones or aid them in their rise.
An Sith dressed in nothing but layers of sheer silk and a hundred moths made of gold and gems, stood next an Pureblood in surprisingly simple black robes with deep cleavage, showing off piercings and body glitter, gold of course. The Sith Lord in heavy armor and a lot of cybernetics next to them was an strangely reassuring sight. Clearly she had underestimated the amount of glitter and bare skin. Rha blinked. Another Sith wore armor with an ridiculous amount of spikes, everywhere and in every direction. How was anyone meant to move in that?
There were others she recognized from briefings or her own dealings. Darth Bellator, who had ascended with the Wrath from Baras' apprentice to Dark Lord; the Wrath himself in black armor and Darth Shaar, whom she had quietly watched for her association with Vowrawn.
Darth Acina and Darth Krovos gathered hungry glances already. Rha turned to watch the Dark Ladies. After greeting everyone of importance Acina strode towards a group of Sith Purebloods. Krovos stood aside, clearly waiting for someone. Then the halls filled too much for her to see the entrance.
Towering over all others was a Sith in a white and black mask, formed like a skull. Long black robes flowed behind them, hovering just above the floor. Silver ornaments wrapped around their bare arms, grey and black. Around their chest was a ribcage, perhaps real, perhaps not, glittering with black and pale grey gemstones.
Darth Morior, Head of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, wore their name well. Decay. Even their presence matched it. It was neither cold nor hot, but the absence of life, not mere murder, the void. The end of the universe, captured in one single being.
Not someone she ever wanted to cross. Also not someone she wanted to stand next to, but Morior choose to chat with an Twi'lek Sith Lord not three armlengths from her. Apart from being terrifying, Darth Morior also caught her interest due to their past.
According to rumors the Sith Lord – or Lady – was an ex-slave and an alien. Rumors only, because people did not often survive conversation with them – or proved to be unwilling to speak. Morior proved their right to rule with an ferocious thirst for knowledge and power, diving deep into secrets best left forgotten. It might be exploited against their fellow Sith, one day. The shadows were watching and waiting for that day to come.
It was strange to see all these people and know that in any other year she would have fought them. Killed them.
The one presence she recognized like no other approached. Heat that should sear her skin somehow was an soft caress across her cheek, the taste of chocolate and the sweet smell of flowers with an undertone of spice. Hm. That was new.
She caught an glimpse of his face, his eyes and what she saw took her breath away. Bone-deep grief and the rage, the pain that grew from it, the same expression she used to see in the mirror, an spark of raw agony that was suddenly reflected in her own chest.
It was not just her who he had lost. Whatever his relationship with Darth Marr may have been, his loss had hurt the entire empire. Even her, she had to admit. What an shame. And nothing to speak of Ziost – an entire planet, gone, like it was nothing. When Coruscant burned and the temple fell, at least it was not her own people who had done so. Not the one who led them.
Yes, even in her grief for Ghila, she had been able to go home and fall apart admist the trees, the lakes and the grand glittering caves. Even when she lost him, that poor boy who had followed her so eagerly into his death, even then she could at least visit his grave and scream and rage high above in the mountains.
But Vowrawn had no body to bury. He had no enemy that he could kill, not without risking all of his people. Revenge had to wait. Force, he had been the one to negotiate the Empire's surrender.
And she wanted nothing more than to tell him that at least she had survived. But she could not. Rha turned her face away. As much as she wanted to soak in him presence – he lived, at least he lived and was safe, even if nothing ever was truly safe – she had to keep quiet.
So she kept to the quiet little corner in Morior's shadow and watched the Sith weave plots and dance around each other, wielding words as blades. His presence haunted her all the while.
Later Rha wondered if would he had believed her. If she could have sneaked an message to him, he did know her handwriting from before, or just revealed her force-presence, but then she remembered that he did not knew about the darkness inside nor about Obscurus having been her master. He might. He might have not.