uncharted Space, an indeterminate amount of time in the future.
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The gentle humming of the holocron, a pale blue light emitting from the pyramid. It was an old device, worn from travel and displacement. The capstone was chipped and the edges were worn thin and cracked. There were sections of exposed plate and decaying metal. Unresponsive to the Force, requiring more care, more patience to unlock it’s secrets.
The Gatekeeper of the holocron, a fading and glitching facsimile of a cloaked Sith Legionnaire from so long ago materialized a few feet away from the artifact. He held his helmet in his hands in front of him, his face secluded by shadow. He orated to the empty room, to the ruins of Empire.
“I still remember my first kill in the service of the Legion. Most men try to forget things like that, I would imagine. Most men don’t dwell on their disservice to the Galaxy, most men want to fill their journals with the glory that they brought, the changes they were part of. Great Men. The likes of which we haven’t seen in many an age. I’m no great man, I was no one. Just a blip. A mistake more than anything.
I am willing to admit my sins, to confront them, and should you wish to walk alongside me, and those like me, it’s a story worth telling.
New Junction. I don’t know how that damned hellscape would be-”
The voice spurred out, repeating syllables, before the entire image snapped and broke. Malforming into a procession of pixels before filtering back together.
“- Sith’s Crusade against the Mandalorians. They’re a strong people, a proud people. Accepting, willing to bash away the marble, make you new. Make you family. I respect them, always have. Always will…
Sure I hit some on the run up with my squad, but the infantryman can’t count those as confirmed. I maimed, wounded even, and there’s a chance one or two were hit in the killzone. Upper chest to neck, that’s what they taught up to aim for. Destroy the self, blast the brain or the heart, stop the self…
This Mando threw themself at me when we breached through the gates to the city. He had no blaster. None that I saw. Beskar scratched and covered in carbon scorching.”
The man brought a hand up to his face, holding the thought in his head before letting it come out.
“He brought a knife to me. Hands slipping against our armor, trying to hold back his wrist. Punched me real good on the side of the head, thought he cracked my helmet for a bit. Got my pistol out, pressed it to his stomach, and unloaded the cell.
I killed the man, I watched him die.
There’s something in that moment I won’t forget, and it’s how little I cared. He was an enemy to the state, an enemy to Zambrano, and enemy to the Empire. He was another target, just like the training dummies back on Ord Radama. I didn’t think of it at the time.
I watched the light fade from this man’s eyes. I did that. I did that. I killed him. Trigger pull by trigger pull, didn’t stop, didn’t consider what I was doing. Didn’t think about it for a long time. I can’t explain the sensation of someone’s body going limp, those last jolts of power, of fight or flight. He wanted to live, same as me. We both were just trying to survive in that ruckus.
War, that’s what the Sith Empire gave to me, war and conflict. Struggle is the basis of my creed, of course. Sith, we thrive on conflict, bettering ourselves over others. Being the Superior Being. We dehumanize, we forget, we let our hate overtake everything else.
Passion is a guiding force… Passion can rule us as much as it can destroy us. I lack the understanding where passion is incompatible with our teachings, it’s in the damned code. But instead we war, we hate, we cultivate fear and distrust. Passion? Where is the passion in cold blooded murder besides the fantasies of a deprived thug on the streets of Coruscant? What separates us, what separates the highest Sith’ari from common killers? We’ve got an army, a state behind us?
Violence is just power projection by other means, and there's an argument for that being the true nature of the Sith. I’m just not sure how much I agree.”
Another bout of silence, the image shakes it’s head.
“Emotions are the source of our connection to the Force, all emotions. Foolish to become corrupted, malignant, malformed. Love, pleasure, joy, happiness. Draw from what your fellows have abandoned. Not as the Jedi do, don’t falter on the Creed. For what defines us is not where we draw our power, but how we draw our powers. Embrace your emotions, all of them. Guilt was a journey for me, one that I thought would destroy me, but that drive can help… this is more of a ramble than anything I suppose. Guess you picked the wrong Holocron if you were hoping for some Dark Lord with himself put together.
By the Force, wonder what Raptious would think of me now…”
The image turned around, and took a step away from the viewer, blinking away back to the holocron.
