Private Calculating One's Ambition

[Ladybug]

Korriban - Sith Academy



The days following the events on Coruscant had been productive and hectic for Mikilanna. She had gone from Jedi dropout to killer to now being housed in the most iconic Korriban Sith Academy. She wasn't Sith, yet. She had tasted the Dark Side recently, but embracing it didn't qualify her as Sith. That was a title she needed to earn. So for the better part of the passing days she exposed herself to everything Korriban and the Academy had to offer. She watched duels between Sith Acolytes. She studied the history of the Sith from their perspective as she did once at the Jedi Temple. It was disturbingly odd to see the two different perceptions surrounding the Sith and the nature of the Dark Side. She even visited the Valley of the Sith Lords, reaping the benefits from the Force's darker nature. There was no conflict brewing in her mind, this was her destiny. This was her purpose. This was the path she would forge; to become Sith.

As the fifth day was transcending into night, Mikilanna finally received a holo transmission from the Sith that brought her to Korriban. The message was simple, meet her at some ancient ruins out past the Valley of the Sith Lords at first light. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Eagerness and the fortitude to begin her training nearly prevented her from a good night's rest. At the nearing of the break of dawn, Mikilanna had made her way to the ruins, standing in awe at the massive monoliths that surrounded the old structure. Looking about, there were no other footprints about. She had arrived before the other, lending her just enough time to sneak a peek into the building. Ruins and the tombs on Korriban were highly dangerous. Traps were the least of concerns, when faced with a pack of hungry tu'katas or hssiss.

Just as she expected, the ruin was like all other ruins; musty, dusty, and void of light. Luckily, she came equipped with a natural sight that allowed her to see in the absence of light. After some time, she arrived at a massive antechamber illuminated by burning torches. Outside the stone sarcophagus, that had been plundered countless centuries ago, and the hieroglyphics etched into the walls, the room was empty except for the scattered bones of small animals. Apparently this was a nest once, but how long ago it was hard to determine. Until the other arrived, she decided to study the symbols, images, and ancient texts inscribed on the walls.


Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

There was much to be learned by watching someone at some distance. Sometimes Ophidia would be close, hidden in plain sight, sometimes she would watch from further away than one would consider probable or perhaps even possible. Sometimes, like now, she was at only a little distance, hidden within the Force's folded fabric, shrouded from sight as well as other senses. To walk unseen was not just a skill, it was the core of her skills, practised and perfected.

It was the lethal patience of a predator in ambush.

Unlike what Mikilanna thought, this dusty old tomb was not just any tomb. This one had been employed by Darth Ophidia's master, Darth Ferus when she was a young apprentice as well. Back then, it had been the nest of terentateks, whose matron Ophidia slew. It was also the day she created her first sithspawn.

Her voice cut through the stillness as she finally chose to let herself be perceived. Her head shrouded under a wide, black hood. Her slender body covered with layers of black and blue cloth. All that was visible of her was the ashen skin of her nose, mouth, and chin, and the burning irises smouldering like embers under the shadow of her hood.

"Notice how their name has been chiselled off the walls, even the sarcophagus." She brushed the wall with a hand if ink-black skin. "He did not simply die. He was erased from memory, from history."

Her voice cut through the air like a serrated blade, rasped and dry, pronounced with the faintest accent of some unknown first language, clearly taught an imperial standard of Basic.

"And yet, we visit his nameless tomb in search of what it means to be Sith."

A chuckle, as if she found it silly or perhaps ironic.

"Do you know the meaning of the word, Sith?"

Ladybug

 

[Ladybug]

"Why was he erased from memory," she inquired now noticing the crude destructive strokes upon the wall, "Who was he? What did he do to have his life cast from the history of the Sith?" Turning around she saw the partial features of the woman staring at her, clearly annoyed she posed the questions and it was Mikilanna's duty to answer them.

She knew of the Sith, but the meaning of the word was absent from her. No manner of research or studying the history of the Sith, from any perspective, aided her in formulating a proper response. She was smart, maybe a genius in the making, so even trying to stumble a reply sugar coated with facts was not an option. She was here to learn the ways of the Sith, to fully embrace the nature of the Dark Side; so the only viable option she had was the truth.

"No," came her reply, stealing a glance at the ruined sarcophagus. Whatever Sith meant, she wondered, was a concept not to be trifled with. The former resident of that final resting place was proof of that. "I mean I've studied up on the history of the Sith. Codes, etiquettes, the species, and even the waged wars over time fill the coffers of the library's archives. But not a mention of the meaning of Sith." Again she looked toward the walls, wondering what he done to incur such a wrath from the Sith. Or a particular Sith for the matter.


Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Ophidia returned her hand to her midriff, folding her hands in front of her abdomen, one ashen grey, one black as ink. She looked at the apprentice as if she was some kind of animal in a cage to be studied. Her eyes flicked from her face, to Mikilanna's hands, to details of the room, then back to her face, but never did they stop to blink nor waver in uncertainty. While they glowed like embers, exuding vibrant and intrusive inquiry, they seemed dead and reanimated in their movement.

She gave the apprentice some time to consider, even though she knew it was highly unlikely the apprentice knew the answer. With the time given and the records at her disposal, it would have been a surprising if she knew.

"It means perfect."

Her eyes moved quickly to the chiselled-away inscriptions where names might once have been, her teeth baring in a wry smile before she once more ransacked the apprentice's face for clues as greedily as Mikilanna herself had ransacked the records for clues on her newfound path.

Ophidia stepped further into the room, her steps showed a practised grace, perfectly in line, perfectly in time. Each step was like a small conquest, claiming that ground as hers, and effortlessly ruling it as her own fiefdom.

"Tell me then, Mikilanna, what makes you perfect?" Her advance stopped, eyes locked on the apprentice "Why should you be worthy to carry the title of Sith?"

Ladybug

 

[Ladybug]

"Perfect," muttering the word under her breath. The word was almost as empty as the ruined tomb itself. Perfection was a taboo the Jedi taught, and the more memories she recollected with the time spent among that Order, the more she began to understand the need to not only distance herself from flawed teachings, but to shed away the skin of their lies. In order to become Sith, that part of her life must perish; forever cast away into the abyss never to see the proverbial Light of the Force again.

Snapping from the reverie encompassing the dark ill intentions rapidly manifesting into pure hate of the Jedi, the question posed before her sent her body into a ridged state. From the moment she took those first steps in life, the tendrils of perfection had dug deep into her flesh. Before her parents, those cursed wretches, sold her to the Jedi she commanded perfection in every state for herself. If perfection couldn't be accomplished, then the flaw was not in her but the demanding desideratum of the meaningless task. The Jedi sought to break her through reprimands and countless lectures, and the more they attempted to exorcise the demon within in; the more and more the invisible hands of the Dark Side were stretching out to embrace her, unaware to her. The flaw was in them, not her.

Extracting claws on her right hand, dragging them along the walls adding her disdain for the one written out from memory and history while her hatred slowly surfaced, she spoke with absolution in her tone.

"Perfection didn't create me, I breathed life into perfection," she began digging deeper into the walls, unaware her hatred of the Jedi, her former existence among them, and her parents who sold her into slavery was adding a malicious tone to her speech. "If you are not perfect, then you are flawed. If you are flawed, then you are weak. If you are weak, then the judgments forthcoming are righteous! And I'm not flawed! What makes me prefect you ask? Look at me, I am perfection."

Letting her hand drop from the wall, she addressed the last question with a flicker in her feline eyes. "I am not worthy of being Sith in this current state."


Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Ophidia did not just see, she used her whole self to sense what was happening within Mikilanna's emotional spectrum. Every emotion, every memory was like a colour filter or a scent in the air, anger like burnt food, aspiration and pride like different temperatures of fresh wind, and sadness like mud after a heavy shower of rain.

Ophidia's head cocked to the side when Mikilanna scratched the wall with her claws, leaving growing gashes in the scarred blank patch in the ancient murals, where the name once had been: A blank space in history long since written and archived.

"No, you are not worthy." She said flatly. "Not yet."

She curved her path off to the side, moving in a quarter circle around the apprentice, keeping her burning eyes on her. All sound dropped out of the room, as if it held its breath in the meantime. It was deafening, as if the sand itself stopped shifting, winds stopped howling, the sun and moon stopped rotating for just one moment.

"You have always been told you were not enough." She scoffed "They held you down, chained you to their level."

She brushed a corner of the sarcophagus with her ashen hand.

"And you believe their lies." her eyes narrowed just barely. "You say you are perfect, but you give no reason. You ask me to look at you, do you think appearances will help you in this?" She chuckled, a twist of her head subtly showing the electrocution scars marring her neck and cheek. "No, you cannot be that foolish." -The laugh echoed in the shadows as the darkness grew tighter around them. "You are not perfect, you are pathetic, small, you are a cinder in the face of a winter night, and rather than fan yourself into an inferno you nestle in the very snow that threatens to extinguish you."

Sparks shot from her fingers, arcing off the sarcophagus and floor, throwing ozone and dust in the air, but not touching Mikilanna. The silence broke in a crack of thunder, then came crushing back like a tidal wave settling around them.

"Show me that you are worthy!" "Show me they are wrong!"

Ladybug

 

[Ladybug]

In those brief echoes of silence that fell over the tomb like a death shroud, Mikilanna stared not at the woman, but through her. And like the waves that crashed upon defenseless shores, the silence was broken. Eyes narrowing, fists tightening, the raw anger engulfing Mikilanna sought expulsion. The Force worked through her but she held no true command of it, and now as the Dark Side slid deeper into the bowels of her existence, it grasped her anger with both hands; exploding in a shower of immense proportions.

The stone coffin, suffering still from the elemental assault, began to shake and crack; but did not shatter. With one small sigh, it crumbled to dust under the weight of her passions to prove herself worthy.

Bridled by her anger and casting a menacing finger at the woman, Mikilanna cursed. "How dare you!"

Blinded and fueled by an emotion she was untrained to steer in her favor, she dropped both hands down unclipping the two hilts from her belt. Transfixed by the woman's words as they continuously chided her throughout her mind, ignited the first blade; touching the tip to the sand, she slowly crept toward the woman dragging the blade behind her leaving a trail of glass in her wake. The second blade ignited, poised and ready. Mikilanna raised the first, simultaneously flickering her wrists, now holding her two lightsabers in an unorthodox reverse grip.

From somewhere in the darkest region of her mind came a whisper, clear and venomous and dark: Attack!

Like hands commanded by the strings of a marionettist, the Force guided her attacks. Even with the assistance, her attacks where wild and clearly by one untrained. One blade went high, the other low; leaving herself vulnerable. And all the while, she began to fall further. That sweet little girl from Felacat whose parents made that tough decision to send their daughter to the Jedi in hopes of a better life for her, that sweet little girl from Felacat who stood in wonder and amazement that she was going to be a Jedi and save the galaxy from evil and evil doers, that sweet little girl from Felacat who behind doors was praised by Jedi Masters and teachers on the nature of her potential and strength in the Force; was no more.



Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The anger, the hate, the growing darkness in the young girl, Ophidia could feel all of it even before it began affecting the world around them. And when she did see it affect the tomb, it took an effort not to smirk. She could not break the spell yet. She had to keep fanning the flames until the young one could truly experience what it meant to draw upon one's feelings.

Peace is a lie; there is only passion.

The sarcophagus crumbled. Good, but there were heights to be reached. She had still more power to harness, still more anger to funnel.

"Weak!"

The lightsabres came out, but Ophidia stood unarmed as if she dared Mikilanna to strike. The girl was clearly revelling in the swirl of emotions spurring her on, she could feel the dark side calling, feel the sith watching from beyond the grave.

Even the nameless one.

Her master had been a fan of the reversed grip, so she was familiar with its workings. And, as she had sought to murder him at least once, she was also familiar with its failings and shortcomings. If it was one thing Darth Ferus had drilled her in, then it was intimate knowledge with the strengths and weaknesses of different forms of combat.

He had also drilled her in the use of two sabres, to the point where that had become something of a speciality for her.

Yet, she stood seemingly weaponless in front of the young apprentice.

The two strikes came at her, Ophidia did not step back, but in toward Mikilanna. After all, the reverse grip turned the brunt of the blade away from the centre. She lashed out with her arms, stopping the attacks not by parrying the blades, but by stopping the acolyte's arms. As she did, her hips twisted with the defensive movement as she raised her leg and unleashed a precise and deceptively strong kick at close quarters, aimed at the side of the high attack and directed at Mikilanna's lower ribs.

Ladybug

 

[Ladybug]

The quick defensive maneuver from the older woman caught her by complete surprise, practically halting her attack in place. It appeared, in her mind, time had come to a standstill. The air in the tomb took on a more defined odorous musty-like smell, while the already lack of illumination drew dimmer; the torches themselves seemed to be shielded by a shadowy force. The Felacatian's perceptions began to shift around her, but it was all a façade. She had allowed her uncontrolled emotions to dictate her movements, the Force's darker nature to work through her, rather than she working through it. Or with it.

As the realization was reformulating in her mind, a glimpse caught through the girl's peripheral vision of a footed attack was incoming. The attack was to precise and directed for her to react defensively, only embracing the strike. The wind was nearly knocked from her lungs, as pain shot up through her body as if her ribs had been set on fire. From the hand that attempted the high strike, opened and the hilt flew from her hand, powering down the plasma blade. She staggered back to recoup, drawing on the pain to fuel her through the Dark Side; resurrecting a concoction mixed with anger and pain, something of a brew she was not fully aware on how this was being managed.

Collected, but not quite poised, she caught the flying cylinder drawing it back to her hand, igniting it once again. Then a memory of recollection resurfaced. There was no possible outcome she could claim victory over this woman by means of direct Force or lightsaber combat. The woman was far more superior in both categories. Powering down her twins, and returning them home, she now balled her fists. Changing tactics.

Hands up in front, she moved toward the woman; eyes directing on her; her mind on the torch behind the woman. Again she attacked, fueled by anger and pain, throwing a session of punches with no precise patterns or landing spots. The attacks where meant as a distraction, while the torch lifted and hurled toward the back of the Sith; aiming to light up her world.



Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

In every action Mikilanna did, in every avenue she explored, Ophidia observed with great interest. While her body reacted to the apprentice's actions with immediate defence and counterattack, her eyes and her mind were set to analysing the young woman. She did not feel threatened by the physical attack armed or not, because she could read Mikilanna in part by experience, in part by the thoughts that trailed off the top of her mind, and in part by the sheer precognition of a trained Lord of the Sith.

Yet, the girl packed some surprises.

Not many would decide to forsake their weapons against an unarmed opponent, or go hand to hand with a Lord of the Sith to begin with. Ophidia would congratulate her on her adaptability when it came to the end.

As Mikilanna threw punches with no seeming pattern, the Sith moved reflexively to the punches thrown. She bobbed, weaved, voided, and only occasionally resolved to sweeping the attacks away with her arms. The apprentice was pressing her back, but had yet to gain the upper hand.

Then, a sensation, like an itch at the base of her skull. Behind.

She stepped to the side to avoid a punch, coming to the outside of Mikilanna's arm, and pivoted sideways. Her left hand lashed out, grabbing the torch as it flew at her. However, she did not grab it by the safe stem; instead, the ink-hued fingers wrapped around the burning end. The flames curled between her fingers, biting at her skin and withering for it.

But she did not allow this to be a moment of respite. In return, her right hand lashed out against the apprentice's face, and her right foot moved to sweep the leg out from under her.

Ladybug