Tempelj

The pale Lady of the Sith walked silently among the sanguine pillars of the temple's main chamber. She paced the distance between the main entrance and the far side of the chamber, where a black door, tall, but seemingly insignificant to the size of the room itself, lead to the archives.
The war council went more or less as expected: her plans were almost full-proof and in case something *did* go wrong, there was ample enough backup to remedy any anticipated drawback. Besides, they based their initial tactic on the same ones the Mandalorians employed in the first war, to great effect; start with isolated worlds, under Republic influence but beyond their main forces, then move to more important ones. While she herself wasn't one to conquer a world and then abandon it, there was the inconvenience of thinning her forces too much, were she to attempt to hold every planet that fell before her. The councillors not only liked and approved of the plan, they literally enjoyed it. The fact that they'd be mimicking the attack plan of an enemy that still made the Republic shake in it's knickers, and the effect it would make on the adversary's morale seemed very appealing to the Sith.

But now was not the time to put more thought into that matter; she had to focus on what she was going to teach Kareem when he arrived. She had instructed Fury to send him here a few minutes after their training session, giving her enough time to review her disciple's report and to get here first. She opened the door to the archives and found them empty, save for the Keeper and his assistant, whom she ordered to take a break for a couple of hours. She was now wearing her meditation clothes; long flowing robes, the colour of the darkest void of Space. Placing herself in a sitting position with her legs crossed beneath her, she closed her eyes and began to levitate a few feet above ground...

It was not long until he showed up. She could sense him even before he entered the temple, and all the way to this room. When the door opened and closed, she remained immovable, save for her eyes, which sprung open.
"Well, well," she said playfully. "It seems you are still in one piece. Your fight with Fury must have been quite light-spirited then." In truth, she already knew what happened, at least from Fury's point of view, but still she asked him;
"So, what can you tell me about your first non-lethal duel with a Sith Weapon-Master?"

The sweat that soaked even thorugh the breathing material of his clothes stuck to his skin and made it cool more swiftly, but still not fast enough for the hotness to diminish. The Nautolean that stood a few paces away from him was clearly enjoying the workout she was giving him while the bounty hunter was coming to a bitter realization of just how diminutive in skill a Sith had he dueled and killed for the contract three years ago. Had it been Darth Fury in the place of the tall, pale man he'd impaled on his blade, he'd been the one lying motionless on the floor afterwards. And considering the fact that his opponent had hardly broken a sweat, she was just testing him, toying with him even. Kareem didn't consider himself an overly skilled duelist – after all, his approach of choice was a nice, camper position with a good sniper gun in hand and a clear view on his target. Not that he'd never engaged in a duel, even far from that – he'd grown up on the streets of Nar Shadaa, for Force's sake! And still he had an exceptionally hard time even keeping up with the Sith, let alone fight back. The fact that the arrogant woman was constantly reminding him of that didn't help him either. Luckily, he was quite resistant to her taunting, though it was starting to get under his skin, for he hated when people mocked his abilities.

Folding his fingers firmly around the handles of his vibroblades again, he approached the attentive woman, more careful this time. Eyes examining her every move, trying to anticipate when she'll pounce and avoid- he threw himself sharply sideways, barely moving away from the lashing blade; but then his eyes spotted his first opportunity in forever and he twisted his hand around to bring the flat of the blade hard upon her back and neck. The mass of tangled limbs tumbled to the floor but Fury made excellent use of her natural advantage and pinned him down with her tentacles that came in very useful in such close combat. With a few parting, degrading words, she pushed away and went to refresh herself, while Kareem was left lying on the floor, sensing oncoming aches in various places he'd never have considered. If this is anything like the training will look like, i've got a long way to go, he grumbled to himself and scrambled onto his feet.

Rushing down the corridor, he took the last turn left and stopped to a rigid halt upon seeing what lay before him. It was a simply gigantic chamber with reddish pillars that rose high up to meet the barely visible ceiling. The marble-like floor shone of reflections thrown upon it by the flickering light, yet the most imposing of all were the doors at the end of it, black and intricately ornamented. Shaking his head at the awe of it all, his quick steps led him to those very doors with haste and he pushed them open to meet an astounding sight – Lady Pride, levitating in the air with the most tranquil of expressions. He'd heard and even seen what some Force users could do, but this was simply astounding. Can they fly too? he questioned, astonished, but kept the surprise well off his face and his features schooled into that of a ready apprentice.

He would've liked to deny her simple assessment, but he was sure she'd know if he lied, so a simple nod, he decided, was to suffice instead of a fully formed answer. Hearing she was a Weapon-Master did little to assuage his self doubt, but it at least had him know his losing to her wasn't as much of an embarrassment as it could've been. "As you know yourself, Lady Pride, I've still much to learn," he sighed, but his lips curled up into a smile. "She seems to know her way with a sword very well and I'm ashamed to say I've only managed to land one hit in the whole fight, and even that one was…" he trailed off, the indiscernible muttering being an obvious indicator of what good a hit that was. "No matter, I will learn," he said with conviction, a sparkle of amusement lighting up in his eyes. "I never make it a habit out of losing, that I assure you," there was an undertone of determination in his voice, determination and sheer belief.

"You misunderstand," Pride said in response to the bounty hunter's explanation and shook her head. "The very fact that you could hold it together for that long and that you managed to actually *hit* her, speaks volumes. Last week, she duelled a hundred of my foot-soldiers at once and not a single one scored even a glancing blow."
Of course, the point of that fight was to prepare her soldiers for fighting a much more powerful foe, attempting forcing them to use teamwork and advanced troop tactics to outmanoeuvre their adversary. But that adversary being a Nautolan that dedicated almost her entire life to the art of wielding a single lightsaber with perfection, even that proved to no avail. Pride could only hope that the enemy had duelists fewer in number and skill, otherwise her shock-troops could be decimated before her own champions managed to get to the enemy Jedi. Either that, or she'd have to go to the field herself, and she preferred to avoid that, unless there was an adversary worthy of converting or draining his power.

"You were correct when you claimed you had a long way to go," she said matter-of-factly. "But it is only a long way because you aspire to surpass her, a feat that was to my knowledge accomplished only twice." A charming, satisfactory smile on her lips made it rather clear who managed at least one of the two.
"However," she continued, "the big picture is, that you possess quite a lot of skill with the blade, which will speed up your training tangibly." A short period of silence arose as she graced him with a congratulatory smile. Then she slowly descended to the ground and spoke once more;
"But most of that will be covered by the Weapon-Masters. Only when you are capable of duelling Fury to a stalemate, will I consider sparring with you. I get bored if I have to hold back too much. That being said, it's time to move to another field of your studies, a topic that at the same time has little and a lot to do with combat; the Force."
She studied his face with a thoughtful expression, trying to figure out how much of what he knew about the Force was true and how much he believed it. She decided it would be best to start at the very foundations.
"The Force is, in essence, energy. A universal field of energy that flows through all life, encompasses it, and yet exists outside of it as well. Energy that is at the same time within everything in existence, and yet only in living beings. An endless estuary of energy that we expend and thereby return it to the sea from whence we came. That's why every creature, plant or whatever sentient species has to kill another to continue its own existence; to replenish the energy you give away by exerting yourself, you must take that energy from another being."
She paused, letting him grasp the meaning of her words.
"Let me illustrate: pretend there is an infinite shimmering pool of pure energy. All life, every living being, every life-form draws from that pool when it comes into existence. During it's lifetime, they have a thin stream of energy flowing through them from the great universal pool. But those streams that connect each being with the progenitor pool are also connected among themselves. And when a life-form dies, some of it's energy remains while most of it returns to the universal pool. So essentially, the amount of energy is unchanging; the only differences are the forms in which it takes place and it's location or concentration."
She gave him a wry smile.
"By now, you must already have grasped what I'm telling you; just as every living being transfers energy from the universal pool to itself as it is created and just as the universal pool takes back that energy when they are destroyed, so too do living beings take energy from each other. A Jedi aspires to use that knowledge in pursuit of wisdom and protection of the weak. A Sith, on the other hand, uses that knowledge to strengthen himself and to defeat his adversaries. Some of my subordinates would claim that a Sith must cull the weak from the face of the Galaxy, as a direct aversion to the goals of the Jedi. Personally, I disagree. Can you guess why?"

His smile grew broader at the matter-of-fact way she informed him he'd actually fared well in the sparring match with Fury. He was certainly glad to hear he hadn't cast a shadow upon his prowess as a warrior, but the elation was quickly pulled back to earth with the offhand way she spoke about him still having much to learn. No matter, he had already come to terms with that fact, because for him the goal was nowhere lower than the best of the best. He aspired to excel at what he did, be it killing or forcing an enemy to his knees. To achieve that, however, one had to – more often than not – go to great lengths and sacrifice many, many hours of dedicated learning and knowledge amassing. That very process had a tendency to take very differing forms, but in essence, it was all the same; to spend so much time absorbing the gist of a certain subject that it became one with the student. In order to amass that very knowledge, Kareem pulled all of his attention on the Lady of the Sith that began his first lesson about the Force.

He was surprised at how patiently she explained the whole thing, if a bit annoyed that she repeated it again – after all, he was not some small child that could not pay attention. But he pushed his irritation aside, grateful that Pride wasn't going into the other extreme, reminding himself to be more grateful, however difficult it was for him. He nodded in response to her offhand inquiry, still paying rapt attention to whatever came out of her mouth. He had no intention to irk her, for the wrath of the Sith was of common knowledge – and common in songs as well – and albeit Pride, as much as he'd seen of her, didn't exactly abide by the typical image the Republic and Jedi would paint of the Sith, he wasn't the slightest bit enthusiastic about testing just to what extent it was true.

He smirked softly and replied without hesitance "First, I would say because doing something just to spite your adversary – however fun that might be sometimes – is in general unwise, unless it's a part of a bigger plan. It can easily backfire on one, if one isn't cautious enough when doing such things," his voice was calm and collected as he continued, "as second, it would probably be the fact that the weak are far better and of more use as controlled, opiated masses than bodies bled to death. It's the essence of politics and in my opinion, war is just politics that have…escalated into a more physical form of confrontation," he smiled ruefully, mind on the wars that have shaken the Galaxy not long ago and how the tides were easily turned by single figures that usurped all of the command.

She gave a small chuckle when he finished his answer.
"While I find your view of politics rather amusing, you are of course absolutely correct," she replied. "But though I agree with your statement, you have missed the essence of the question." She didn't have to look at him to know that he would want an explanation.
"Even though you didn't explicitly state it, you do realize that domination is in the long run much more effective than destruction. Why kill someone, when you can make them serve your purpose with all their talents, correct?" A nod of approval directed to the man interrupted her speech.
"But there is another side to that crystal. And that side is, that both strength and weakness only make sense when you compare yourself to someone else. Therefore, there must have been several occasions in even the most powerful individual's lifespan when there were those that were stronger still. And that proves what we all already know; that all of us have the potential to grow stronger through hardship, experience and training." She gave him an inquisitive smile.
"Are you beginning to grasp what I'm coming at? It's not just domination instead of destruction; it's also about allowing the weak to grow stronger before you drain every last pinch of energy from their lifeless bodies." The smile on her lips acquired a sinister shadow, giving her face a wraith-like wickedness. "Think of it as an investment; by letting it grow, you can gain much more than you initially invested when you finally do cash it in."
The shadow mostly subsided and she continued with a lighter tone;
"You see, most beings only take energy from others by physically consuming them. However, a great percentage of the consumed being's energy is lost that way, returning to the universal pool. But the ancient Sith have developed a more effective and much more sophisticated technique; it allows those who have learned it to siphon *all* of the energy of their victim, not just scraps left after their identity has dissolved and all that remains is the body. And one day, when your power has grown enough to wield it effectively, I will teach you how to do that."
She paused, knowing his head must be full of fantasies of him growing stronger with every enemy he would kill. Well, at least that's what she felt when she first learned of Force Drain.
"But as I said, before you can tug on the strands of pure energy and trap them inside yourself, you must first learn to *see* them. And this will be our first goal; teaching you how to see the Force."
She rose to her feet and began to strengthen her aura, letting a fraction of her true power show to those that were capable of sensing it. Normally, she kept her presence controlled to the point where most would regard her as an average Force wielder; even in her home citadel, if only so not every Force-Sensitive could pinpoint her location. But now she wanted him to sense what he has been nigh-blind to all the years of his life to this point.
"Close your eyes," she said with a soft, whispery voice. "Let go of all your thoughts, all your focus. Extend your senses beyond the limits of your physical body. Breathe, and take within yourself the world around you. Forsake your eyes and open your mind. Don't think; *feel*. And finally, Kareem... awaken."

If the general philosophy of Pride's Sith was anything like her own, then, he reckoned, he was going to be more than happy with his new installment among this faction that the Jedi called dark and corrupted. He, of course, could not disagree, but seeing as he was already a member of the poisonous throng of bounty hunters. The sole principle he lived by, "Survival of the fittest", was in its core the fundamental opposite of Jedi philosophies. It wasn't such a big step, upon all of this, to join the forces which embodied that very concept. Never to have been one with problems about killing, he didn't care he slightest if a Jedi or a hundred of them would have to fall for the simple reason of being in his path. To him it seemed that this apprenticeship with the Sith was nothing more than a long-term contract, mayhap even a lifelong one, if you will. The best part of it all, Kareem thought, was of course the fact that he didn't get to be paid only in simple, if life-enrichening credits, but also with sheer power, command and knowledge.

His trademark smirk spread across the scar-tainted face when Pride elaborated her point. A technique devised with the sole purpose of absorbing one's life essence? he mused in his mind, excited beyond measure. This was indeed fantastic news to the bounty hunter (or soon-to-be Sith?). When the question suddenly popped into his mind, he realized he was powerless to banish it by any other means than asking it aloud. Thus he directed the inquiry at the Sith Lady before him, waiting for a few moments after she'd delivered her explanation.

"Lady Pride, if I may ask," he began, eyes twinkling with curiosity, "what does one have to do to be considered Sith?" he asked, at the same time wondering just how much could e dug up about this order in the holocrons and libraries of the ice planet.

His pondering was interrupted by her silken voice, however, and he mutely, wordlessly listened to her instructions. Extend my senses beyond the limits of the body? he thought, his mind chuckling a mirthless laugh inwardly. As if he hadn't been doing that for half his sorry life. If one relied solely on one's eyes, like most of his species was limited to, one quickly perished in hostile environment. If one was resourceful enough to nourish one's hearing and smell, his chances of survival grew exponentially. So he closed those blasted eyes that so often blotted out every other sense and let himself immerse into his surroundings.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale...

Gray? Or is it silver? ... No, it's...that's a strange color, don't you think, Tyriani? Specks of white, even? And some shapes of black, I think. They're small though. There's a gaping hole of darkness over there... Sith's balls!

He didn't even realize he cursed out loud, but the expression on Pride's face assured him of that quick enough. He muttered a half-hearted apology, still shell-shocked by what he'd seen. Or had he sensed it? Or could it even be fair to deem it sensing? It plainly, simply... was. Those shades of gray and silver that would vary from the most blinding whites to the hole of blackness that hurt the eye. Even his soul, be it as dark as it were, was shaken by hat thing, whatever it was. It wasn't Pride, however. That darkness seemed somehow...all-encompassing, as if it resided within the planet itself.

"That doesn't make any sense," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone in particular. "Is it possible that...uh, something as big as, say, planet fills your whole Force-vision? Force-awareness?" he slowly questioned, the eyes of tempest-ridden sky seeking out those orbs of stark whiteness. When he looked at her again, however, his senses still somehow in tune with...whatever that was, he could spot a faint, grayishly red glow around the Arkanian, which only served to further his respect for her, for the aura rang familiar bells in his head - it struck him as dreadfully similar to the great blackness.

She observed him as he followed her instructions, her focus to even the most insignificant of responses that came from him. She even touched his thoughts; not enough to intrude and make him sense it, but just enough for her to get a glimpse of what he was seeing. The task seemed to give him pause at first, but then again, the first step is always the most difficult one.
And yet, after he caught a whiff of what she wanted him to see, his mind seemed to open fully to this new spectre of sight that was kept hidden from his knowledge for so long. However, he got ahead of himself, as most initiates did. Instead of opening himself slowly to the Force, he opened the windows wide as soon as he saw them, thereby also opening himself to the full might of the residual Dark-side aura that the temple accumulated through centuries of being the archive of Force-techniques and religious centre for the most powerful remnants of the ancient Sith. While Pride had little understanding for the purposes of the Kissai rituals, she was well aware that their obscure religion granted incredible powers of Sith alchemy and sorcery to those among them who had the gift. And while she was astoundingly jealous at them for having the bloodlines that enabled them such talents, a bloodline she was deprived of, she knew the power they held over other Sith, both through authority and sheer potential for destruction, should they ever unleash it. Besides, the Sith, the native red-skinned members of the original Sith-species, preferred their metal blades wrought with Kissai alchemy to lightsabers.

She gave him a frown for his inappropriate swearing, but didn't mention it otherwise. She was well aware that Kareem was still new to Ziost and that the word "sith" was often used as a general derogative for any malevolent action or mishap that occurred to the denizens of the Jedi-influenced worlds. While the bounty hunter made quite an impression of being self-sufficient and self-centred, he couldn't escape the influence his company made to his way of expression over the years. And judging by what his profession was and the general reputation of bounty hunters, it was quite a pleasant surprise that his mouth wasn't fouler.
"It is entirely possible," she responded to his shocked question with a composed, explanatory tone. "Not only possible, but also quite common, at least on worlds and places that have witnessed a lot of Force-Sensitives visit them over millennia. Places that many or powerful Force-users had visited, places where they meditated or committed some important deed... those places often carry echoes of what has transpired for centuries to come." A single white hand rose and descended on his head, at first seeming as if about to caress his hair, but then her fingers traced the upper part of his skull, applying a bit of pressure on different areas.
"What you sensed, however, was not Ziost. Not even the Citadel. What you sensed was this temple. A lot happened here ever since the first Sith settled here after the fall of King Adas' Empire, eons ago. A lot of battles, duels, acolytes training in Force-techniques, and Kissai rituals; all of which have left their own impression into the walls of this place. And as if that wasn't enough, the Kissai claim their ancestors had the entire temple built by over a million of slaves, then executed them upon completion of the temple's construction and bound their spirits into the stone itself. Whether or not you believe that tale is irrelevant; the bottom line is that this place was built for the sole purpose of being a focal point, a nexus of Force-energy, and that there is great power here. Power that vibrates the Dark-side through its very essence." She paused, knowing full well that this was a lot to take in at once. She slowly retracted the hand that was massaging his head back to herself, as he was evidently relaxed enough now. However, not wanting to discourage her new apprentice, she added:
"The first sight of such a concentration of dark energy often has a deafening effect to a neophyte of the Force. Worry not too much about it, for if you manage to learn the sight here, you will be able to do it almost anywhere. Only Korriban has a stronger Dark-side presence than this place, and that planet is completely evil in and of itself, not to mention the graveyard of some of the most powerfull Dark Lords of the Sith in history."

She let him process that for a moment, then remembered to answer a question he had asked before they began and one she handwaved away to be answered later.
"For now, you are an initiate, a neophyte. You will learn the ways of the Force and you will adapt your fencing techniques to a lightsaber, then develop them further still. You will be tried and tested restlessly, and the sooner you master the initial forms, the sooner you will learn more advanced abilities. And then, when I deem you ready, you will be given a special task; one that will take you across time and space and face you with your greatest fears, deepest and darkest secrets, and your most desperate desires. Should you complete that, you will forge your own lightsaber, a weapon that will reflect you and become part of you. Only then, will you become worthy of being a full Sith."
She had, of course, expected that he would not stop there, but climb all the way up the ranks until he became one of her lieutenants, to claim the title of Darth, and perhaps even rise to become her new Shadow Hand. But if he was to be of any use as such, he had yet to master everything Fury, Nixa and herself had to teach him, and filling his head with fantasies of grandeur so soon would only serve to divert his attention. Instead, she commanded;
"Now, try again. This time, do not let go at once, but gradually. That way, you should be able to partially block the aura of the temple and see the two of us instead."
She closed her eyes and focused her aura to herself, compressing and contentrating it on her person, this time colouring it a brightly shining silvery light that should spell away the blackness of the Kissai rituals.

His heart was still beating wildly in his chest and he patted the Force on the back, for he wasn't a man who was easily scared. Before Pride told him he was touched by the very thing he envied both the Sith and the Jedi, he had always thought he'd seen it all. A lot of that came from his childhood days, if the period even deserved that name...well, a different question for another time. Growing up on Nar Shaddaa and prowling its streets had its advantages, and it would be wrong to think otherwise - it was just that the drawbacks of the very same situation heavily outweighed its good sides. For instance, one had to learn to close one's heart sooner or later, lest it break over the course of the years; the sights one's eyes could and would encounter in those squalid streets were unspeakable even for men twice and thrice their age, yet the children would not stare at them with mouth agape and feet frozen in fear - they'd long ago taught themselves to turn their gaze away and snuff the voice of conscience.

But now? Kareem didn't know what to think. This Force-vision, or Force-awareness, or whatever the hell it was, wasn't a gruesome image or a devastating truth of life that he couldn't behold. What scared him was the fact that it wasn't anything like things he'd seen in his life till that day. He muttered a few choice words in the language of Twi' Lekk and with a long sigh relaxed into whatever Pride was doing with her fingers. He listened to the words that poured out of his new Lady, absorbing the knowledge and storing it in the depths of his mind, putting it in the correct compartment for easier recollection at an appropriate time.

Sacrificed the slaves upon completion, you say? a dry smile curved his lips, the hardened heart not even flinching at this piece of information. The only things that moved him these days were sex and life threats, and hardly anything else inbetween. Fuck that, life's life. If you can't beat it, you die, he thought with a set jaw, dismissing the useless pondering and went about trying to peek again in to the realm completely unknown to him, a world of shadows and lights playing a game of hide and seek. With a curt nod to note he'd understood what she told him, he closed his eyes, disciplining his breath.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale...

Go slow, Tyriani, we dunnae wanna see thatta shape 'gain. 'Twas enough once, methinks. Yep, thattae right, Tyriani, go slooow, jus' like with thems touchy-feelies, thems gals who're too sensitive....

Attaboy! Thattae right! Aaand watch that, even her aura has thems curves...well ain't thatta nice. 'Tis too shiny tho, methinks. There were reds b'fore...ay well, who knows 'ow this things work, still trying very hard to maintain his concentration solely on the Force, he lifted his own hand before his closed eyes and Pride was privy to a sharp intake of breath when Kareem saw his own Force-signature for the first time.

Well, well, wee-e-ell...you've gone blaaack as hell, darlin' Tyriani. But who knows, maybe we've been like this fer a loong time, his mind drawled on, observing the dark fingers that danced in his vision. The only other shades in the swirling blackness were spots of dark red that reminded him immensely of the color of dried blood. He opened his eyes, blinking away a single drop of sweat that trickled down his forehead. "That was quite...unsettling," he almost stuttered. "I mayhap be in wrong, yet it seems to me your aura has somehow...lightened?" He gazed questioningly at her, a trace of confusion in the gray eyes.

"I can guess what the colors could mean, but I would rather you clarify it for me," he stared askance at her, pondering thought swirling in his mind. He had indeed a long way to go.

((A se mi samo dozdeva, ali ima Kareem Gollúmov kompleks? ))

Her smile widened as her instructions evidently grew to fruition. Kareem knew how to focus, that was undeniable, but he was also stubborn, perhaps even foolhardy, and very eager to learn. She could not hold any of those against him, for, tempered with wisdom, those very traits were a sure path to success. However, even considering all of his insight, cynicism and critical eye, Kareem was not exactly the kind of person she would have described as wise. Maybe he was just too obviously a hedonist, or perhaps he simply never had the time to ponder the deeper mysteries of existence? Be that as it may, wisdom was something earned, not laid in one's cradle.
"I mayhap be in wrong, yet it seems to me your aura has somehow...lightened?" he commented once he regained his composure. The smile that faded when she studied him reappeared on her face, amused by the fact that he went out of his way of expression in an attempt to please her. Well, he *did* a good job, considering she enjoyed the melodic cadences of the finer High Galactic, and that she had to pay close attention to notice it wasn't entirely authentic.
"I can guess what the colours could mean, but I would rather you clarify it for me," he stated afterwards. She complied without much ado.
"Some would name blue "good" and red "evil," while white would be "law" or "order" and black "chaos" or "anarchy." But those are labels, and I think you don't need to know me for long to know that I despise labels. The truth is much less simple. Blue represents selflessness, altruism and self-sacrifice. White is for order and doing what you believe is right. Red is the opposite of blue, selfishness and ego, sometimes malice. Likewise, black is the opposite of white; it represents doing whatever you want, because you want it, and damn the rest. You can probably evaluate both the combinations and why I detest labelling them by yourself." If anything, she hated being called "evil" by those who were too ignorant to realize that ambition and ego did not equal malign intent. She didn't harm people because she wanted to; she harmed people because they gave her no better alternative. Besides, she was everything but an anarchist; if anything, she was the closest to being a caring autocrat. After a moment, she continued:
"But your aura is not absolute. It is governed by what your general actions and emotions are. For most, that means it stays more or less the same colour, varying only in tint and power. However, I soon learned that it is not only dramatic experiences that can heavily influence your aura, even change it, but mood swings as well. For instance, your own aura is by nature darker than most. Were you overcome with wrath or melancholy, your aura would darken still, possibly so much it would stand out to anyone capable of sensing it. On the other side, if your actions would ever be dominated by feelings for another without care for yourself, your aura would lighten evidently, turning your native shadow to a harmless gray. Such changes are only temporary, lasting hardly longer than the aforementioned emotions, but sometimes that is all you need.
"The strength of the aura, on the other hand, has nothing to do with what kind of person you are, but solely on the amount of connections you form with and through the Force. Therefore, leaders and ambitious personae have a stronger aura than others, and Force-Sensitives have stronger still. The greater your knowledge and talent with the Force, the more lives your actions affect, the stronger and more visible your aura becomes." She gave him a wry smile, then intertwined her palms in her lap.
"So now you know that someone like me must needs learn to somehow control the emanation of their presence, lest every Force-Sensitive in the system learn their location and foundational characteristics. It is not difficult to change your aura, once you learn how, but it takes years to master to the point where you can successfully fool an expert. Somewhat like a physical disguise; crafting one is hardly more difficult than crafting a general outfit; but to make a disguise efficient enough to deceive the parents and siblings of your target, you need lots of practice in both disguising yourself and perceiving the reactions of others to yourself. Like the image you saw moments ago; it was also the one I projected in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Strong, but not so powerful that they'd feel threatened. Shining bright, paved with good intentions and a general desire for the good of others, but not too perfect, lest they suspect deception." A wink was meant to tell him that her true agenda was not exactly the same, although not too different. After all, who wanted to rule a bunch of broken cripples, shadows of what they could have been? If for no other reason, she wanted her subordinates capable because they could serve her better at full strength and that general happiness starkly reduced any chance of rebellion (and even if it did come to that, the rebels would be fewer and more perplexed, being forced to fight their friends and families for what they thought just).
"Now," she said, "you will do your best to maintain your concentration a bit longer. If you do it right, you will be able to witness how changing one's aura works in practice. It might provide you with some good hints for when you learn to mask your own aura. You must see both a functional and a faulty disguise first before you can make a convincing one yourself. But to do that, you must first train your sight until you can use it almost effortlessly. Now, again!"
She let her shining white aura linger for a few moments, then changed back to her native smouldering coals, and then to a deliberately weak blue, faulty to the point that it must have been transparent enough even for a novice to notice.

He was beyond everything now, he knew. The information she imparted on him was slowly coursing through his brain, being processed it by bit. Never he dared to interrupt her even by a slight move, for there was a time for joking and carelessness, and there was a time for concentration and hard work. This was, on instance, the latter, and thus he was but the personification of focus. He offered a single, barely detectable nod of recognition to show her he understood. It's no surprise then, that I am the color of the night, he chuckled at himself, a twisted smile stretching across the scar-marred face. He came to understand then, just why Pride was a motley of all those colors - for as far as he'd seen and been privy, her purpose was not to sew pointless destruction throughout the galaxy, but to reinstate an order she thought just. The Force-aura must therefore be a completely subjective thing. Meaning, he drawled out in his mind, the smile on his face turning into a slow smirk, that as long as the person manages to trick himself into believing his actions as righteous and justified or for the greater good, now he was positively snickering, barely suppressing the low bellowing that threatened to surface.

And then the realisation struck him, and struck him hard. Oh my, groaned his brain, fully seeing the great problems that situation arose. He was anything but not realistic - he was the most down-to-earth possible kind of person. That was one of the things that kept him alive for this long. That was the very reason he was good; he knew himself to the core. Every dark secret, every depraved wish every strange, outrageous thought - but above all else, he knew the extent of his abilites, and how to push himself over the edge of those. And by the force, decieving himself he was something he wasn't; making himself believe into the very opposite of his nature, the nature he was, might in the end prove to be the greatest challenge of all.

He was startled out of his reverie by the sudden harshness of the usually melodic voice that belonged to Lady Pride and he turned his glazed gray to the stark white that eyed him with a look that demanded unwavering discipline. Kareem had no choice but obey under her sern gaze, and try to immerse into the strage feeling of the Force. He envied those who learned it from the moment they'd left the cradle, for he knew how it was to learn without hardship if one started as a youngling. His eyes slipped closed and he let out a long, relaxing sigh, liberating himself of the thoughts hat would only hinder him at completing the already difficult task.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale...

Keep it together, boy, or the ice queen won't letcha sleep wit' 'er again. Now focus, or Force choke on y'all!

So he did. And it was wondrous, this time. He felt himself slip into the realm of the Force with greater ease than before, the feeling of immense interconnection flowing through him. The whole place pulsated with indescribale energies that formed silverine and black and red and even white threads between the living and as well as objects and even the temple itself. Kareem shuddered at the darkness that it exuded, trying to absorb everything else and cage it within itself. He turned his sense away from it, recoiling into himself, pulling back and finding it much easier now to look upon what he was Lady Pride.

She shone almost too bright a white in that dark place for a few more flickering seconds, and then the aura dissipated into what looked much like his own, only significantly more powerful and deafening in regard to its surroundings. The black and red swirled about her in a display of strength and magnificence, making him feel small and unimportant, even weak. But he banished those worthless thoughts, firm in his resolve to suceed. A sharp intake of breath followed when the dark and crimson mist dispersed, a weak, wavering and quivering blue emerged, fluttering and dying around the form of the Sith before him, flickering back into an impotent shine every now and then. He was certain that this was a prime exaple of what a bad disguise looked like - if even he, with nary a skill in this kind of thing had been able to derive that, surely no-one could have been fooled, let alone Jedi masters. With that lingering thought, he opened his eyes but bid the feeling of all-encompassment to stay even if he wasn't immersed into the Force anymore, at least not directly.

"That was," he paused for a bit, then smiled, "educative." The languid smile broadened and his storm-like eyes found hers. "I have another inquiry, if you can be bothered to quench a neophyte's thirst for knowledge," he started after a few moments of comfortable silence. "I have, ah...heard some unproven rumors that the Dark side of the force corrupts not only the soul but alse the visage of those who wield it in their pursuit of rule," he finished with a frowned brow, eyes clouded over in pondering.

((mogoce en malo =D sej ves, ko lovis folk po enepar mescov cez galaksijo in nimas nikogar za se pogovarjat sz... bdw, kk to da pride nima nobenih le dark sajd luk znacilnosti? ))

((Zakaj ga pa nima Anakin (except for the lava eyes in that one scene), ali pa Jacen Solo oz. Darth Talon? Ti povem in-character kako si jaz to razlagam. ))

She gave him a curt nod in response to his asking for another answer. The question itself caught her less prepared than she would have liked. It was of course something that every wielder of the Dark Side should have asked before embracing it, but she didn't expect him to bring it up. She assumed she simply didn't consider him ever hearing of that rumour, or if he did, that he didn't believe it. Now that she thought about it however, Kareem did seem like the kind of person who was smart enough to be "better safe than sorry," so she chided herself for not anticipating it.
"That is..." she started, a hint of hesitation in her voice when she considered how much she should tell him. "A complicated issue," she finished. Licking her lips and slowly caressing them with the long fingers of her hand in a thoughtful manner, she continued:
"I suppose the easiest answer would be that it's mostly true. In almost every case when one has used the Dark Side of the Force excessively, their features become what most would describe as 'corrupted'. Whether or not their spirit decays with their appearances, or the corruption of the spirit is what causes the changes on their bodies, is as of yet unknown. However, I have a theory of mine own, and as you can evidently see, it has worked for me."
She paused, considering if she should tell him or not, and if yes, how much he was ready to learn. After a moment, she decided and continued:
"There is one thing that I have in common with most of my apprentices, who even after mastering certain outwardly destructive techniques managed to escape this corruption untouched and unscathed. I believe that it is because we do not consider ourselves evil. We learn of the Dark Side because it is part of the Force, because we seek to become stronger, wiser and more powerful, not only because we would wish to slay every enemy. Unlike a lot of Sith that came before us, we do not give ourselves blindly to the will of the Force, be it Dark or Light." She gave him an all-knowing smile and added:
"That compulsion to lose yourself in the darkness that you have been feeling ever since you glimpsed the Force; that is the temple's power calling to you. Personally, I have never embraced the Dark Side to the extent of losing myself, so I cannot speak from experience. Ancient texts and some of the Kissai claim that doing so would grant one an incredible increase in power, both physical and mental. The price for that, at least so I assume, is the corrosion of both body and spirit. Aside from physical appearance, those who embrace the Dark Side too strongly also show increased signs of sadism, paranoia and general malice. However, considering I have defeated several such "powerful" examples, I can hardly believe that the power granted by such an act would be worth the cost."
After all, if they couldn't best me, despite some being quite powerful even before, that power they supposedly gained was obviously still too weak to close the gap between our power levels. Besides, they tend to go berserk after they realize that they cannot defeat their enemy easily, and a frustrated and angry foe is a predictable foe, the Sith Lady thought to herself. She breathed in, then concluded:
"Let the Dark Side flow through you, but don't let it control your actions. If you do what it tells you, then do it because you want to do it yourself, not because it compels you to. Basically, just stay yourself, and you will probably need not worry about any unintended changes to your mind or body. Although considering how angry you left Fury, I suspect she will be eager to try adding some more scars to your collection."
That last sentence she finished with a smile and a wink, informing him that rivalry was everything but frowned upon, although Pride did go into length making sure that those rivalries stayed non-lethal. After all, she had no intention of losing her most competent subordinates to sheer vanity of the victor not wanting to face the same foe twice.

He was more than slightly surprised to see that the question he had posed found Pride speechless. She always seemed to have an answer ready at hand, her talk relaxed and charismatic. No sumbling, suttering or even simple pauses taken to compose herself; no, she was a veritable pinnacle of smooth-talk. And yet he was privy to a moment when she was at a loss of words, and with such simple a question. It seemed she finally found herself again, centred and composed, and spoke into the stretching silence.

Kareem listened intently, wanting to know all there could be known about the subject, for he had little wish to become what the whispers would talk about in corners of taverns, obscured by darkness; decayed, putrid flesh, unnatural pallor woven with outstanding, almost protruding veins and eyes the colour of amber... Please and thank you, but no. He liked himself the way he was and considering his flesh was already disfigured more than enough, he had no need for any further mutilations.

He nodded in silent agreement to her statement, happy the point of view that Pride entertained was shared by the others too. It seemed to him that he would've found it hard to mingle with people that would commit foul deeds for the fun of it. He was no goody-two-shoes, that was true, but then again, he never in his life had done something truly malicious solely for the pleasure such an act would've brought him. The Sith Lady concluded her educative speech in a lighter tone, giving him a fair warning in advance. Letting a few moments of companionable silence pass between them, he rolled the words he wanted to speak about in his head, finally finding the right way.

"That is most comforting," he chuckled, in truth very relieved that the cost of the power were his other charms. "But I believe, in consideration of what you've just told me, that my visage will scarcely change. I will freely admit that I always enjoy a good kill, yes, but I very rarely do so because of the act itself," a slow smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued, "I...take pride in having the skill to commit it and subsequently the ability and aplomb to survive the encounter and emerge victorious, rather than the very fact of having taken a life," his eyes twinkled in amusement at the wordplay, but aside from the small smile, he remained serious.

"And all in all, I hardly am the type of person that blindly does what other people or things tell him to. I like to have as much of freedom as it is possible regarding my actions as well as thoughts and I do the bidding of others next to never. Unless, of course," the gray eyes shimmered with a short glimpse of lust, "I either hold the person in question in high regard or my options are limited to death and obeisance."

He shook his head in order to bansih the completely unexpected bout of arousal that coursed through him. What the hell? he thought, confused. But the source soon revealed itself to him, coaxing a mirthful smirk out of the bounty hunter. He was always attracted to power, he knew that well, but to find it was true to such an extent... Tempest-ridden eyes slid over the figure of the Sith Lady, giving every veiled curve of her form an appreciative look, finding out just how much the fact she was covered heightened the pull. After having seen her in all of her naked glory, it was far more stimulating to gaze upon her body like this, knowing full well what was underneath, yet being unable to lay your eyes upon it. "I find," he spoke slowly, licking his lips and continuing with his gaze still glued to her hidden form, "that there is also the third option," his voice was completely detached now, "knowing that doing your absolute best and beyond is the only thing that will get you under those clothes...suffice to say it is a fairly decent motivation," he finished in a low drawl, finally turning his eyes back to hers.

"I gladly obey," he surmised, the gray skies clouding over with lust instead of the ever-impending storm.

The satisfaction that she felt when he confirmed what she suspected him to be was offset by amusement at the way he spun the words into a double entendre. Although, if one wanted to be precise, she felt like she was the one taking him more than he was taking her. Nevertheless, merely the thought provoked the arising of the memory, which in turn provoked her arousal. His next words also did little to quell that, not to mention the bulge that began to form at the centre of his pelvis.
But this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts, let alone to let those thoughts turn into action. Pride wanted her intimate moments to remain just that: intimate. And even if she did allow spectators, the creepily obscure Kissai would probably have been the last kind of people for that privilege. And she knew they were watching everything that took place in the temple.
"Yes, I do believe that there are... other, more effective ways of motivating certain individuals than life-threats," she said with a seductive smile, while leaning closer to him. "And I am glad that in your case, that is all that is required." She considered a thought, then retreated back to her casual position and added:
"I am, however, interested as to how far that motivation goes. Let's test it, shall we? I will leave you alone here for the next few hours, and we will see how much progress you can make with what I have taught you so far."
Besides, I have things to do, and you know all you need until you practice enough to be ready for the next step, she thought to herself.
"A word of caution," she said as she rose to her feet. "Do not accept anything anyone in this temple offers you. There are certain artefacts that can enslave even the most headstrong person and twist them into a slave of the Dark Side, unless that person is also an incredibly powerful wielder of the Force by their own right. You do not want to test yourself with that until you are ready." Her elegant strides stopped just as she reached the door. She turned back slowly, letting her hair flow with the motion.
"I can tell you, however," she said while moistening her lips in a most attractive manner, "that I have a tendency to rewarding progress. Meet me back in my tower after dusk and we'll see how much *progress* you have made." Her lips curved meaningfully and her head tilted slightly at the word. And just because she felt like it, she used the Force to touch him where he was most tense; slightly, hardly more than the touch of silk, but more than enough for him to feel exactly what she wanted. Just before closing the door behind her, she added, purringly:
"And remember; exceptional progress equals an exceptional reward."
Saying that, she exited the room and closed the door, then began walking to the outer gate of the temple. Passion was still rising inside of her, and she was glad she was out of that cursed place before it would have become too much to handle. She knew Kareem will have to face temptations of power from spirits that dwelt in the temple and waited for the lone Force-Sensitive, as she herself did when she first meditated in the ostentatious building. But she was also confident that the man possessed enough strength of will to overcome those temptations, not to mention that she gave him quite a powerful temptation herself; one that might prove stronger than the ones offered by ghosts of the past. And speaking of temptations, she had her own to subdue; well, at least for the time being.

Goody, he thought eyes ever on the woman before him. Those thoughts quickly dispersed, though, when she made it clear it had to wait until later. With a long, deep breath, he exhaled the need to simply trap her against the nearest bookshelf and have his way with her. Bridle your desires! he reminded himself sternly, far from enthusiastic to find out what consequences would follow if he did not. He blinked away the clouds of lust, averting his gaze from the luscious, tempting body in front of him, and settling it on an ancient carved chest that sat upon a table of dark, red wood. It looked antediluvian, yet the intricate intarsions were still visible in the unnaturally pale wood. His eyes tried to search for even more details, all in order to set his mind onto something else than Pride, all just to distract himself. It seemingly worked, though he almost lost his resolve when the Arkanian spoke again in that velvety, even slightly husky voice. He drew a single shuddering breath, but remained still as a statue when his look connected with hers again.

Wordlessly, he listened to what she had to say, finding it easier to forget his passions if he watched solely the movements of the stark white eyes. Great, temptations, a little voice at the back of his mind complained. Well, wasn't it always like that? Even if you were supposedly 'evil' and had, according to the belief of common people, already given into everything there is to give in, explored every infatuation and erased all your inhibitions...in his experience, that was far from true. Certainly he enjoyed a set of more...debauched desires, if you will, be he was by no means a complete libertine.

He watched the long, silken mane of white hair slip through the closing black door, all the while pondering just how he was supposed to concentrate with that kind of motivation on his mind. Fuck it, Tyriani, we'll just have to do the usual, eh? he mused, eyes scanning his surroundings. Now that his attention wasn't cemented on Lady Pride, he had time and freedom of thought to observe the ominous environment. Aside from the chest he'd noted before, there was also a set of weapon plaques on the sides of the shelves, displaying things he'd never before seen in his mind. He took a couple of tentative steps towards the weaponry, admiring the magnificent craftsmanship it took to create every single one of them. They were all very curious types of blades, some more, but most less than similar to the ordinary vibroblade used nowadays. With this new sense of his still a vulnerable, fledgling state, he could almost hear the weapons call out to him in whispers of an unknown language. A hand extended towards one of the blades, completely unconsciously reaching out, without the will of its owner. He watched his own arm move slowly closer to the weapon, mesmerised beyond belief. With his fingers only inches away from the ceremonial sword though, his mind wrestled the control of his body out of the ancient ghost's power, curling the fingers into a fist just a hair away from the shimmering, dark energies that swirled about the blade. He quickly retraced his steps back to the middle of the room, only then allowing the air to flow back into his lungs, realising that his heartbeat was erratic and thumping wildly in his chest. He closed his eyes in an attempt to calm himself, the image of the beckoning sword still burned into his retina.

That was way too close, he thought, painfully aware just how weak he was. I need to be more wary of these things, he concluded after the throbbing in his ribcage was mostly gone. All of his sexual desires efficently and completely gone, he was now free to immerse himself into the realm of the Force. But seeing just how easily an old weapon rack enslaved him in a world he knew well, he wasn't sure he actually wanted to know where the things will stand in a world he was but a newbie to. It's all in the willpower, he tried to encourage himself, remembering how he was able to turn away from the gaping blackness of the temple. Yes, when Pride was here to temper its power, nagged the voice of self-doubt, but the bounty hunter pushed it away forcefully, firm in his reslove to emerge victorious from this battle of wills. He was an incredibly stubborn person and if he wanted to suceed, he knew he most surely will. With that thought on his mind, he sat down, crossing his legs in a comfortable position, and closed his eyes.

Inhale

Exhale

Inhale...

Aaach, teh sweet smell of solitude...well, we knows it well, don't we, Tyriani? Come on, let's go see what this place looks like through the Force, by now, the strange sensations of feeling with the Force didn't shake him as much as they used to, but it was still more than weird to probe around with his mind, gazing upon the mostly red and black surroundings, with a spot of gray standing out here and there like a Jedi among the Sith. He remembered how Pride told him to go slowly, and tried to put that to effect again.

Gently, as if caressing the body of a woman, he reached forth with his mind, peeking around the invisible corners and stealing a glance here and there. He stretched farther and farther, careful to avoid the blackest parts of his vision, all the time trying to keep his own sitting body in his mind's eye. It was positively eldtrich to see himself like that, a haunched form of dark red mist. Am I really such a bastard? he pondered, but in his heart knew it was true. He always took care of himself first and he did things the way he wanted to, sparing little thought for the laws of the common man. Well, look where it's brought me; I get to learn, I get to grow, I get to fuck...I get to do everything I'm good at, with this, the subject of his nonexistent morale was closed and the key thrown away, while the heartless person in question decided to explore a bit farther.

Just as it seemed that nothing would challenge him at all, the very thought was enough to jinx it and suddenly he felt a looming shadow fall upon him. Not his body directly, but his detached mind that had wandered deeper into as of yet undiscovered crevices of the ancient buliding. His breath hitched in both fear and excitement, but he didn't pull back. There was no other way to overcome obstacles than facing them and he was good at meeting things eye to eye, even though sending a schorching bolt of laser into the back of their head was usually just as satisfying. There was no backstabbing this entity, whatever it was, so he spun around, only to find himself in front of a mist of, surprisingly, somehing gray.

Nothing happened for a few long moments, the two just eying eachother, seemingly weighing the options; then the gray cloud pounced with all its might. Instead of feeling physical pain, his mind was forced to its knees under the assault of unrelenting guilt; a torrent of accusations that went to smite him right through his callous heart. It was his conscience. The images of what he'd done and even more of them for the things he hadn't danced before his mind's eye. All the suffering he remained indifferent to, every pained soul that he passed without a thread of compassion; they all came tumbling down upon that ruthless, petrified piece of rock in his chest. He watched, unable to escape from his own grip, as years and years of his moral decay were displayed before him, laid down in plain sight for everyone to see. And as if that wasn't enough, it all went on to show him what he would degrade into; a rampant, trigger-happy beast with no other feelings but vehement hate for all things alive.

He ground his teeth together both in pain and strain; but a final image of himself that the entity forced into his mind was too much and all went black.






For a long time, there was nothing.

Then a slow flicker, like a dying flame, stung at the edge of his unconsciousness, prickling and pinching with boundless patience until the broken form of Kareem Tyriani stirred to life. His hand grasped at the hard surface beneath him and he pulled himself upright, slowly regaining a small piece of his dignity, his self. He didn't open his eyes, his single coheren thought telling him, no, ordering him to stay in realm of the Force. The previously annoying prodding now evolved into a full-fledged fire in his body until he had no other choice but open himself to the strange energy again.

The gray entity was still there, but paid him no attention, obviously convinced he was done for. Nobody does away with me this quick, he growled with newfound strength, a low rumble in his chest a sign of unbent will. He scrambled to his feet, trying to find his balance on queasy legs, for a moment overcome with fear of falling again; but he retained his equilibrium and with it a decent portion of his internal power. He crossed the void between self and his conscience, coming to a rigid half in front of the menace. "I'll never fear you again," he said, his voice inlaid with powerful conviction and unwavering determination.

The gray entity stirred, shocked (as far as one could read feelings in formless mist) to see him back on his own two feet. It tried again, but Kareem, knowing what awaited him, was prepared. The image of decayed self was now just a low-chance option he dismissed offhandedly, sweeping it into the drawer where it ended up with the shot-self, decapitated-self, lawful-self and farmer-self. Sure, it could always happen, but so could he die the next day. If he didn't fear death, why should he fear amorality? Now he was the one looming over his conscience, growing bigger, stronger, more sure in himself.

"I am," he said silently, calmly, but with immense certainity, and the silverine entity was gone with the wind.

His eyes shot open and he realised he was drenched in sweat, the vein on his neck pulsating against his adam's apple. But despite his physical state, he felt more tranquil and composed than before. His eyes traced the room, lingering for a moment upon the ceremonial blade; but the whisper was either gone, or he was beyond hearing it. He rose to his feet, standing upright and proud, and left the temple with a small smile playing at the edges of his gray eyes.

Hum-ha, hum-ha, hum-hum-hum-hum... hum-ha, hum-ha, hum-hum-hum-hum...
A low chanting, emboldened by deep-resounding drums, echoed throughout the main chamber of the temple. Twin lines of sentries entrenched the path from the main doorway to the centre. They wore heavy armour of a deep-black colour, polished to a brilliant lustre, and long black saberpikes, with short blades of crimson light gleaming at the top. The armour itself was unsuitable for actual combat; it weighed too much, was too rigid and inflexible for anyone but Shii-Cho or Shien practitioners, and had obvious weak points at the inner parts of elbows, knees and shoulders. Oh, but how beautiful it made her honour guard look when they stood in attention awaiting the beginning of the ceremony, the Dark Lady thought as she strode past them and they bowed their heads at her passing. Their mistress herself wore a tight bodysuit, above which she wore a breastplate, shin-guards over long boots, bracers with gauntlets, and a long cape, all as black as the starless void of Space, save for the armour itself, which gleamed with reflected light.

Once she stood in the absolute centre, she turned back and watched the trio of acolytes approach. They too wore attires of utter darkness, long flowing robes with hoods, similar in form to those of the Jedi. Originally, these black cousins of Jedi robes served as a reminder that the acolytes were once Dark Jedi (or at least that used to be the case with a large majority), but will soon become Sith. One of them had a slimmer, hourglass-shaped figure and twin blue head-tresses lay downwards from the shadow of her hood and upon her breasts. The other was a tall man and muscular, his hood ruffled at the top by the horns underneath it. The third was a man, whose face was completely concealed in his hood's shadow.

"Behold," the supreme authority of the Sith exclaimed with arms outstretched. The Sith that stood behind the honour guard and the circle of lords formed around their leader stirred in attention and the chanting stopped abruptly.
"Behold these warriors three who deem themselves ready to become Sith," she continued, her voice resonating within the very air they breathed and filling it with power.
"Allegiances they have broken, dangers they have faced. Trials they have endured, ancients secrets they have uncovered. Powerful they have become, oaths they have yet to take. I ask you, Sith, shall they be allowed to join us?"

The chamber trembled with a unanimous "aye!" - the question has in itself long since become rhetorical and refusal would have been regarded as a challenge to their Lady. One of The Twelve stepped forward; this time, it was the red twi'lekk known as Darth Wrath.
"My Lady of Darkness," he said as he bowed his head, his voice menacingly calm. "Their strength and cunning they may have proven, but are they truly Sith? Do they know our heritage and our laws? Let them prove their knowledge and wisdom as well!"
This too, was part of the aeons-old ceremony, as was Pride's following response;
"There is only one law!" she said and used the Force to strike the red-skinned man to the ground.
"Prove this insolent doubter that you know it!" she commanded the three acolytes. And they too, have been instructed that in this scenario, there is only one correct response. And the malevolent hissing sounds of the One Truth filled the air with great thunder, for the many joined the three as soon as they spoke the second line, and their voices rose in strength and passion in an ominous crescendo all the way to the end;

Sure, he'd faced trials before, but this was different. It had a pregnant air of solemnity, weighing heavily upon the shoulders of the three initiates that were soon to pass their final barrier and become full-fledged Sith. The months since his own arrival had fled by in the blink of an eye and while day-by-day progress was unpalatable, looking back, he realized much had changed. Let alone the physical aspects of the arduous training that he'd undergone on a daily basis, but also the alteration of his mindset. The way he lived fit him perfectly into the egoistic, striving bunch that Pride kept on a tight leash and on a some level, he felt like he'd arrived home; if one could deem a place where life was never a guarantee a home, of course. But all in all, the leap wasn't so great and while infinitely more restricted than before, in some ways, he had freedom he'd never have imagined once.

His internal musings were interrupted by their cue – oh these ancient rituals! – and as one they strode the path the Sith Empress had walked mere seconds before. The cowl and the whole set of flowing robes felt strange upon his skin, the material light and almost weightless, but it made him pause on a more psychical level; he preferred freedom of movement and the danger of getting tangled in one's own attire was not something he appreciated at all. Nevertheless, it was just another demand to be accommodated if one wanted to participate in the ceremony. He thought this show-off, this commotion useless and pointless, but he was smart enough not to let these opinions surface in a room at least half-full of mind reading sentients.

If the impractical apparel was good for at least something, it was the fact it hid the planes of one's face in complete shadows, thus allowing for unadulterated emotions to sweep over one's features and go by unnoticed by the innumerable audience. He could barely comprehend how the chamber could host so many people, but obviously the geometry was eye-deceiving, as the black mass was impenetrable by the naked eye. He shook his head and fixed his gaze forward, onto the sleek figure of Darth Pride who stood in the central podium, unabashedly basking in the attention of a thousand gazes. He listened patiently for the short albeit powerful speech to end, shifting imperceptibly as the onlookers turned their faces to them as one. The undivided attention was making him rapidly uncomfortable; he was a man of the shadows, after all, and in his previous business having everyone look at you was the next worst thing to Republic police breathing down your neck. Needs must what needs must, however, and with stoic posture he awaited, a silent incarnation of stolidity.

His silver gaze followed the dark twi'lekk, a member of the Dark council, as he approached the Empress of the Sith, his anxiety tempered with the knowledge of each and every step of the ritual. It was all long-established procedure that he believed was followed more for tradition's sake if for anything else. As their time neared, he quickly rolled the strange language across his suddenly rigid, heavy tongue again. A few blinks cleared his mind of the needless fog and he was fully devoted to the task at hand. As the last of Pride's words resounded off the walls of the great chamber, he inhaled deeply, his voice coming in perfect unison with the other two;

While she did not speak the words herself, she basked in the great choir of voices that spoke as one. An outsider might think many inappropriate things as to why she did not partake in the legion of oath-takers; but all those gathered within knew that as their leader, she embodied the Code and all it stood for. Did the truth speak itself? Of course not. It was spoken by those who aspired for it, but rarely by those who truly understood it.

After a time, the vocal concerto oh wickedness subsided, ending in one glorious exclamation.
Poor things, she though to herself. They will have power, they will dominate their lessers, but they will still serve me. For only the strongest can bear the burden of true freedom. And as long as I shall live, so shall it remain. And I intend to live forever.
"May it be known," she spoke aloud once the voices ceased, "that these three have earned the right to bear the title of Sith. For as the name declares them "supreme," so shall they answer to none but those who prove stronger than themselves, and rule over all those who do not. Azaria, step forward."

She accompanied the invitation with an extended hand and the female apprentice approached with soft steps that were completely inaudible even in the now present silence. If not for the quiet sound of cloth dragging on the floor, one might have thought her incorporeal. At last she bowed in front of her mistress without uttering a single word.
"Do you, Azaria Raye, accept my offer of freedom and power, accept my teachings and my knowledge, and swear to serve me faithfully and loyally, until such a time that I would prove weak and you rightfully strike me down in single combat?" the Arkanian asked with utmost pride.
"I do, my Lady," the blue Twi'lek replied. There was no doubt of her answer, for she was a young prodigy, gifted and powerful in the Force, and as lustful for power as any.
"Then so be it!" Pride proclaimed, and placed a small black object into her hand. The apprentice raised her hands high above, displayed the small black ring. It was engraved with deep-red hieroglyphics, containing the penultimate line of the words they have spoken, one that translated to "Through Victory, my chains are broken." She placed it upon her index finger and shot several large, crackling bolts of lightning upwards from her fingertips.
"Dzwolutatul nu Sith!" she replied with loud exclamation. I am truly become Sith. Then she walked away from the room, not even bowing towards her mistress. And nobody had stopped her, until she vanished through the great gates that she opened and closed with the Force.

It was as the ceremony decreed: once an apprentice became Sith, he or she was to leave the temple without hesitation or turning back. For the words, though no longer implying an outward challenge they once did, were still remembered. Any who would stop a newly anointed Sith, would have been understood as a challenger, and a duel to the death would have been inevitable.

"Doran, step forward," the Empress commanded the next in line. Unlike the Twi'lek, the Zabrak's steps were heavily seeped in confidence, and each time he trod upon the stone, his boots echoed through the chamber.
"Do you, Doran Serliss, accept my offer of freedom and power, accept my teachings and my knowledge, and swear to serve me faithfully and loyally, until such a time that I would prove weak and you rightfully strike me down in single combat?"
His reply was exactly the same as that of the woman who preceded him and he too received a ring of black metal with dark-red hieroglyphics. Receiving the ring, he too exclaimed his challenge to all who would dare oppose him. Unlike his predecessor however, he did not display his power with Force Lightning; instead, he flourished his double blade of viridian, leapt into the air, and seemingly disappeared.
An interesting approach, Pride commented to herself, But effective. No-one will stop him if they can neither see nor sense him, and he displayed both his mastery of Force Camouflage and how dangerous he could be for it. And obviously it gives him an edge in what I presume he is about to do.
One of the two wings of the great gates opened and closed. Since everyone was certain the second apprentice had left, Pride continued.
"Kareem," she called. "Step forward."

Rivulets of sweat trickled down the back of his neck and further along the spine, making it extremely hard for him to resist the terrible itch they left in their wake. Nevertheless, he stood at the side of the other two acolytes, waiting his turn. For some reason, he couldn't shake the faint tremble that overtook his body, despite the clenching and unclenching of his fists in the depths of his flowing black robes. Subtly changing the weight to his other foot, his gaze followed the first soon-to-be-Sith that responded to the commanding voice of Darth Pride. The subsequent speech was, as all the previous, for ceremonial purposes only; if anyone were to interrupt with unbecoming gestures or words, the only closure could be found in the death of either the challenger or the challenged – but as far as the historical entries in the hololibrary went, it was an extremely rare occurance.

The Twi'Lekk woman was done with a flourish of the Force and gone through the great doors in a blink of an eye, the Empress' authoritative timbre already calling on for the man that stood beside him. Kareem watched him like a hawk, noting the prideful, almost languid a stroll he took to face the ruler of the Sith. Listening to the words of the vow, he could swear they were disturbingly akin to those of a wedding; though instead of Until death do us apart, there lay until you strike me down. A derisive smile curled the corners of his lips as he observed the disappearance of the man who'd just swore fealty to the Sith Lady. Finally, his time had come.

An odd feeling of calm washed over his mind and features, making the scarred face frighteningly peaceful, almost serene. He took firm, determined strides to cross those few meters parting him from the powerful woman, kneeling before her to satisfy the traditions – and to hide his smile. The words he read and heard before breezed past him and at the appropriate time, he uttered that fateful "I do," but his heart was not with the ritual; rather, it was with its gist itself. While words were a powerful weapon to wield, one witch which you could crush your enemies without even breaking a sweat, in such instances, he cared little for them. It was what lay behind them, what they stemmed from, that drew his focus.

With numb fingers he received the ring black as the void of space and red as a laigrek's eye. Breathless, he donned it, the simple yet imposing piece of jewelry fitting perfectly to his digit. And it was with only half lidded eyes that he realized what this meant; not that he wasn't the scum of space before, or that he'd still had a soul worth speaking of. No, it was the fact that now even the simplest sentient would recognize him as a foul being that drew the smile wider. Not for the evil he would now represent, but for the power it brought along. And with that barely veiled grin and shining eyes, he bowed, uttered a silken "My Lady," and left with the black cloak billowing behind him. Having seen the other two leave with pompousness and fanfare, he could not allow himself to be outdone. On the other hand, his single most notable characteristic was probably next to complete lack of pride; therefore, he didn't put up a grand show. With so much as a hand gesture, the black gates gaped open for him, creaking ever so slightly. He was just about to step through the looming arch and be gone, when a subtle rustle barely perceptible by the human senses stopped him in his tracks and he lunged sideways, having only his honed instincts to thank for still being alive; for there, before the gaping doorway stood the newly anointed Sith, brandishing his double Viridian and clearly sending a message that could not be misunderstood.

He was challenging him.

He too had accepted her offer and claimed the symbol of his newly achieved status from the ring-giver. But though he too spoke the words of challenge, proclaiming his superiority, he did not attempt to intimidate potential challengers with a display of power. Instead, he merely bowed and walked away.
Caution, or is it cowardice? the mistress wondered. If it were someone else, she might also consider lack of self-esteem, but by now she already knew that Kareem did not lack confidence while at the same time not caring about how he looked to others.
And even so, she argued, Were he in truth intimidated by the two who had studied the mysteries of the Force for so much longer and therefore, at the time being, possess greater mastery of it, he would not display it publicly. He must, therefore, have ulterior agenda.

Everything had unfolded exactly as she had foreseen. She was not surprised when she witnessed Doran's attempt of an ambush, neither by the attack itself, nor by the fact that it failed. Kareem might not have commanded the Force through willpower as well as his peers for lack of training, but his subconscious senses were developed extremely well, even in comparison to some of those who had honed them their entire lives.
Now, one might wonder why, since she had known it would, she had allowed this to happen nevertheless. After all, a challenge like this meant that she would inevitably be one apprentice short, and everyone on Ziost knew that Pride would never waste a potential resource.
It was inevitable, she deemed. Thus it is better to let him go through with his plan now, than to inform him of my knowledge thereof and let him plot further into the future. But that doesn't mean he can have his way.
"Everyone step aside!" she commanded as she observed some of the Black Guard take a defensive posture. Then she drew one of her own twin spiked blades... and threw it un-ignited at Kareem. She could sense Doran, after a moment of pure astonishment, attempting to catch it with the Force, and she smacked him with the same invisible power in order to break his concentration, as well as inflict a wide red line on his cheek.

"If a challenge it shall be, I will make it an interesting one," she smirked. She deliberately avoided the word "fair," for her gesture did not only even the odds, but tilted them to some extent in the other way. Just as well; it was not her intention to be fair. It was her intention on protecting her preferred winner. And besides; it was no fun watching a duel where one of the participants had yet to build their own weapon of choice.

Before even a single conscious thought could pass through his brain, he was already dropping in combat stance, his posture slightly hunched and his body at the ready. Breathing was immediately tailored to fit the sudden change in pace and his vision widened like a predator's; after all, he was one. The cowl of his cloak had slipped off in the rush of their movements and now the whole audience was privy to the feral glint in the man's eyes as he stared down the contestant.

Before they could really engage, though, their ongoing battle of gazes was interrupted by the one voice in the room that possessed the strength and wielded the authority to do so. When he took in his immediate surroundings, he realized that the Black Guard that previously stood idly by the sides of the aisle to stem the current of the audience was now alert and ready to stop them if anything got out of hand. Both the challenger and the challenged turned to face the pale woman whose mere presence demanded complete obedience and respect. One sleek hand, half hidden in the shadows that played across the white of her skin, reached for the twin sabers that hung loosely on her belt and unclipped one. Without effort and with ladylike grace, she cast it cross the room to the battling pair and a choir of astonished gasps washed over their ears.

He was no fool; there was no mistake to be made about her gesture. A thin smirk stretched the scar that cut across his cheekbone and lip and he sidestepped to catch the black handle. Ah, but I am a fool, he corrected himself with chagrin and the slightest bit of disappointment. Had it not been for her intervention, he'd been a pile of fine ash on the floor by now. Instead he was given a chance to win the duel and learn an important lesson, should he survive: never take a single step unarmed.

His fingers grasped the finely crafted grip of the Lady's saber and with caution he edged further away from the ex-Jedi who wielded double Viridian. While Pride's imposing voice rang through the watching throng, he took the time to familiarize himself with her weapon. During the past few months he'd spent on Ziost and training with Darth Fury, he had held a lightsaber, yes, but not nearly enough to even begin to understand its full mechanics. It was a complex weapon and it went without question that an unskilled warrior was sooner to cut himself in pieces than actually harm the opponent. He knew the differences between the traditional Sith and Jedi weapon compared to the normal blade; but that was all theory, while practice was an entirely different dimension. The weight was all centered in the handle and therefore required much less force and strength to use. Quite on the contrary, it was essential to focus on precision and control rather than brute force. And tight, correct movements executed with utmost accuracy were not exactly a bounty hunter's forte.

Well, here goes nothing, an otherworldly grin twisted his scarred features and then they danced. The Jedi pressed on, so he moved back, aside, jumped, dodged, parried and did anything he could to avoid actual contact. He needed time to get used to the strange weapon in his hands, he needed years at best, not a few sparse minutes. Nevertheless, he had only two options: either win or die, and he had no intention to do the latter. So that is why he slithered and evaded the man's double blade, never crossing swords with him. Both their breaths were coming in short gasps and their movement had lost in speed, for every dance required stamina and theirs was one of the most demanding.

Kareem's sneer was tightly wound, his eyes never leaving the Jedi before him, watching out for those tiny flinches of muscle that gave away the next move of an enemy. Fingers that held the unlit lightsaber were whitened from the force of his grip and he could feel the strain the constant evasion was putting on his legs; it was time for a change of tactics. Baring his teeth, he lunged forward and simultaneously turned on the Lady's blade which hissed to life in the color of laigrek's eye. The previously defensive prey now turned into an aggressive hunter that was one thing which could trump any amount of experience; he was cornered.

And the blades flashed as their combatants clashed. Light struck light with flashes of pure energy. A beam of heat struck a beam of heat with loud crackling of thunderous vibrations. Bodies crashed together in vicious strikes, then separated again, until they would meet once more a moment after. Before, it was Kareem who was retreating; now they were closer to a tie. Doran also favoured evasion to parrying, but their duel came to such a point where it was impossible to keep away from the enemy for long, and so they crossed blades regularly, although only for moments at a time.

She watched with pride as her preferred apprentice seemed to show more and more superiority by tapping into his hidden amounts of power; ones which he at this time, for lack of training, could only access in times of dire need. And yet, Doran was relentless; despite his enemy gaining strength and ferocity, he continued to remain one step ahead. While he could only match his opponents' speed and thus had no time for a successful counter-attack, he remained untouched by the weapon of his enemy. The Niman form he employed had few benefits to speak of; but it had no drawbacks, and that was its greatest strength - especially when opposing someone, who for the most part of his life killed people by exploiting their weaknesses.

But there was a flaw, and while only the Dark Lady herself (and perhaps one or two others in the chamber) could spot it outright, it became more and more evident as the duel progressed. The double blade Doran employed had indeed given him access to quick attacks and blocks and his defence was thus nigh-impenetrable, but for it he also sacrificed three important aspects; reach, strength, and spontaneity. The blades were shorter than a single blade would have been, so even when reaching out, he could not match the enemy's range without a risky lunge. And because he had to hold the middle of the blade on two parts relatively far from one another, he could only put the force of a single hand (plus rotation and momentum) in a single strike, thereby falling short against a single blade. And lastly, the mere shape of his weapon demanded usage of a fighting style with curved round movements: to profit from the speed his weapon allowed, he had to, by necessity, attack with each blade interchangeably, a strike with one blade being subsequent to that of the other. That made his movements more predictable than usual: and a predictable opponent, is a defeated opponent.

It was inevitable, that being the hunter he was, Kareem would take notice of this sooner or later. The question, however, was how he would effectively exploit it, and if he would survive long enough until he could seize an opportunity.

The sounds have become dampened, all movement slowed down to a messy blur of colorless shapes. The only thing left was the singled out feeling of every shattering step, every reverberating shock that traveled through his body every time their blades met. The power of their dance was intoxicating and in the deep recesses of his mind he was again reminded just why he loved the thrill of the hunt so much; the blood thumping loudly through his veins, the widened vision, shallow breathing, quickened pulse…he was grinning like a madman and he could have cared less about it.

And to make it all the sweeter, his opponent was no loser either. Far from that, in fact, Doran held his own very well, never giving the man an opportunity to land his strike and finish him off. They moved in circles, their weapons meeting at a steadily increasing rate, for both patience and the strength to avoid were beginning to run low with the two combatants, forcing them to make their confrontation ever more direct. He wasn't an analyzing being, and though he rarely regretted it, this time he wished he was. While the former Jedi couldn't attack back because of the constant barrage he had to defend himself from, it was only a matter of time before he'd make a mistake. He was fighting with an unfamiliar weapon and was indubitably the one with lesser amount of training. His only chance at winning this battle was to trick his enemy into practically doing it himself. How to do that, though, was a problem that stretched to completely different dimensions. Sure, a bounty hunter's job often involved traps, lures and mind games of every kind, but playing a trick on a trained Jedi wasn't very akin to tricking normal prey. Thus it was obvious it'll require subtlety and refinement; and as we all know, bounty hunters have that in hosts, don't they?

Kareem furthered his aggressive stance, pressing into the retreating Jedi more and more. He had to exploit a hole in his defense, or, even better, turn his technique against him. But how? The man had created nary an impenetrable shield out of his double-wielded weapon. They kept at their deadly tango, their roles now interchanging without pattern, each of them leading the dance for a limited amount of time and giving their mute audience no give-away whatsoever as to who and when will gain the upper hand again. The instinctual haze that had swept over his mind before, granting him the increase in strength and speed was now retreating and taking those benefits with it, leveling the field, so to speak. And though it had many drawbacks, it had a positive side to it that could not be overlooked; he was now free to plan, plot and execute his opponent's untimely demise.

They kept at it all the while, neither really coming out on top and neither really making a fatal mistake. And that is what drove Kareem's attention after a while – for he had no real idea for how long they'd been fighting – the routine they'd somehow managed to fall into. That was not how a battle was supposed to go down, not in his book. If either of the combatants ever failed to deliver a blow that was unpredictable, than by all the rules, he was fit for death. And since that's exactly what Doran had begun doing – blocking and attacking in ever more expected patterns – it was time to finish their little game of life and death.

The Jedi wielded a double lightsaber that was by way of use and its movement mechanics very similar to those of a staff, the only difference lying in the bits that were actually dangerous. While a staff hit could really harm you only in full swing, the nature of the lightsaber itself was such that all of its length was harmful and thus had to be avoided at all costs. The hunter stretched his lips, the whiteness of his teeth giving an eerie feeling to his face, the red and green glow it bathed in not helping at all. And as he rushed through all his experience and canvassed every bit of knowledge he had about lightsabers, he started to devise a simple yet ingenious plan to "bag the prey" so to speak.

Every move now made by the newly anointed Sith held a certain air of decisiveness about it. Every step had a meaning, every slight change in position a purpose. He was setting an ambush in plain sight. Come on, don't be a pussy now, a sole thought lingered in his mind as he traced his way backwards, intent on putting more space between them, lashing out now and then to leave Doran with no respite. If his plan didn't work, he knew he could very well pay with his life. It was a risky move that would leave one of them exposed. Who it was going to be, though, it remained to be seen. Then he made the crucial step aside and everything unfurled with blinding speed, like everything meaningful in life is wont to do.

The Jedi, a skilled warrior as he was, seized the opportunity in the blink of an eye, lunging forth, swinging his weapon to deliver the killing blow in all its might.
Kareem lifted the Lady's lightsaber, viridian closing in on red…
his perspiration-slick fingers slipped closer to the button…
at the instinct's call, they squeezed…
the red disappeared…
the man moved…

And suddenly it was back, hissing to life and cutting through cloth, skin, muscle, tendon, bone, marrow and soul.

Weapons twirled, quickly and evasively. Blades clashed, harshly yet only temporarily. The bastard attacked like a Boma, but eluded counter-attacks like a Malraas. It was all Doran could do to maintain the tie-position. He had stamina aplenty, that much was true, but he could only match, not overcome, his enemy's strength and dexterity. Anger and pure survival-instinct had made his adversary a dangerous beast indeed, far more than the Zabrak had anticipated. Savage and unyielding, the mongrel almost overcame him in his initial moment of surprise; but he persevered and remained unscathed...

There! He began to see his foe's strength recede, his attacks even more sloppy than before. It was evident; the Lady's pet was getting tired. Thus, Doran forged his plan in a moment's thought: he would play the hunter's game, let his opponent think he was getting just as much or even more tired, then tap into his reserves and overpower him once he had grown weaker. It was a plan worthy of a Sith and he congratulated himself for being so cunning... and almost lost an ear because of it.
Later, he reminded himself. One should not boast over victories not yet won.
He maintained his defence vigilantly, never staggering, never failing to block or evade a blow. He began to block his enemy's attacks later and later, feeding the opponent false information about his depleting energy reserves.

And there it was; an opening! A result of sloppy technique and fatigue, coupled with lack of training and beginner's arrogance! Doran burst with power and with Force-augmented strength as he slashed toward his foe's shoulder, attempting to rip him from neck to toe... Only to be stopped by a feeling of unbearable pain in his own neck. He would scream, but he had no lungs to voice his agony. His last sight was his own decapitated body staggering by the sudden loss of control and tumbling to the ground. His last thoughts were those of regret, for he had realised that betraying his former brethren and allying with the Sith had brought him nothing but pain, anger, and lastly, death. He passed away before his severed head touched the ground.

*clap*
*clap*
*clap*
A series of three short claps, loud as only leather gloves can clap and with long seconds of silence between them, echoed throughout the chamber. The sleek figure clad in tight-fitting black armour, starkly contrasted by her pale skin, eyes and hair, trod slowly towards the victor. The image of him de-activating and re-igniting his blade mid-block and continuing without losing momentum, thereby decapitating his enemy, still flared in her mind. It was rare for her to be impressed, and such a masterful stroke, from a man who by all standards should be only a step above a beginner, was a rare event indeed.
"Hail the victorious Sith! May he bathe in the blood of his enemies!" a male voice from behind her exclaimed. The masses soon followed with "Hail! Hail!" It has been long since an open challenge had occurred on a knighting ceremony, and the ending was quite impressive, probably even to those who had hoped for a different outcome.
Pride remained silent. All she did was deign the victor with an amused smile and a nod of approval. Then a member of the Black Guard poked the ex-bounty-hunter with the metal end of his lightsaber pike and bellowed: "Return to Her Majesty that which belongs to Her."
Kareem really had no choice; not here, surrounded by powerful warriors who would be willing to lay down their lives for their mistress, to avenge even the smallest of provocations. As soon as his fingers unclasped, the hilt of the weapon rapidly flew into the pale palm of the Arkanian.

Then, as the victor finally left the chamber in concordance to the ceremony, the Dark Lady pulled her favourite blue-skinned, red-eyed and black-haired councillor to her side and whispered: "Have a Shadow covertly deliver a message to the quarters of each of the new Sith; 'You are to meet your Lady in her tower at midnight'. That is all."
The crowd had already began to disperse; the ceremony was over and most had other duties to attend to, and the rest had no intention of spending any more of their time in the uncomfortable ceremonial armour. Pride herself merely turned and proceeded into the Inner Sanctum of the temple. She had her own business before nightfall.

He knew the Zabrak behind him was dead and lying in a pool of his own blood, but his heart was still racing and his senses still impaired. He could hear his own life-giving liquid thump through his veins and burn against his skin, thrum in his ears. "By all the Hutt strippers," he uttered in the numbing silence of the ceremonial chamber. The flow of adrenaline through his body was starting to wane and in its absence left unbelievable fatigue. He staggered for a moment and had the sense to turn of the gently humming lightsaber still held tightly in his right hand. With the battle rush gone and a small portion of normalcy returned to the still-silent room, he was starting to realize just how badly the duel had drained him dry. Kolto, here I come, he added with a thin smile on his lips, finally turning to face the clapping Lady.

As if given a sign, someone among the throng let out a victorious shout and soon after all others followed him, cheering him and citing Force-knew which Sith mantra. But he barely heard the calls, even barely felt the annoying jab of a Guard's pike when he issued his command. As if he were foolish enough to try and do anything else but return the weapon to its rightful owner. With a tight bow that let him know just how strain he had really put upon himself, he let the blade slip from between his fingers and into the grip of those clad in black leather. He took a few steps towards the decapitated Jedi and observed his robe-clad body, lifeless and without a single spark of the Force left. His fingers flexed and the double grip of the viridian saber jumped from the dead man's hand to his own. The hunter slid it into the depths of his cape – the only thing the apparel was good for, really – and shot a last lingering look the dead opponent's way, then turned on his heels and left the chamber without another word.

Just as he had promised to himself, he left for the medical bay immediately after dropping by his room to get rid of the flowing and unpractical black robes; they were tattered and useless anyway after the battle that had ensued at the ceremony. The immersion in kolto freshened him up and healed all the burns the Zabrak had left on his body. While resting in the cool substance, he also had time to reflect upon the happenings of that day. The killing hadn't shaken him at all – it was, let's face it, what he used to do for a living until recently – but he was more concerned about the toll it had taken upon him. That, and the fact that he had come unarmed. He still couldn't believe his own stupidity. Walking into the jaws of a Boma without even a blaster? If he could've slapped himself, he would have. He made a mental note to never stop carrying arms on his person, be it a gun or a lightsaber. Come to think of it, when would he get to build his own? He dismissed the thought, knowing full well he had enough to learn without having to add the construction of a lightsaber to it.

Upon returning to his room, he stole a few badly needed hours of rest, knowing that the tight-wound schedule of an Empire at War could hardly allow him to show up tired. When his eyes opened again, light had almost completely disappeared from Ziost, save for a few flickering stray rays at the icy horizon. If it weren't for them, he probably wouldn't have noticed a slightly misshaped shade standing in the corner of the room. He rose from the bed, hands reaching for his blaster, but the figure took a step forward, speaking in a monotone voice: "You are to meet your Lady in her tower at midnight." And the figure disappeared with a slight pop, leaving only empty space. "Damned Sith and their secrecy," Kareem sighed and went to find his clothes, remembering only minutes later that as of today, he was officially one of them.