Odavessa was like few worlds Seraphon had seen during his travels, but he had not see too many to be truthful. Many of the worlds in the Outer Rim had some level of industrial capacity and urban sprawl, but this world took that to a new extreme. Millions of people dedicated to the will of the Sith. Born on this world, raised on this world, and perishing on this world never experiencing the warmth of other worlds stars. Such was the way of the Sith and their empire building, though this world alone was not to be the center of such an empire. Word had begun to spread since Seraphon's arrival. Rumors more than anything, but individuals of power were beginning to grow nervous. It permeated the air of Odavessa, tainting both Sith and citizen alike in its familiar feeling.
It thrilled Seraphon.
He had made these observations during his first few days on Odavessa, though they were not the reason he had come to this world. Due to the consequences of his own actions, he could not find an apprentice to train on his homeworld. The importance of an apprentice could not be ignored in the life of a Sith. They were valuable assets to hold, and properly trained, lethal allies and weapons to wield against ones enemies. Odavessa was the nearest world of any size with a Sith population on it, and the academies spread out across the world a ripe training ground for the next generation of Sith.
In this setting, Seraphon had found a potential apprentice. Unlike his peers, he took to his training with a single minded purpose that few could match. In the training yards of the academy, he fought against foes both real and imagined for hours on end without break. Training, training, training...
Today was no different. Seraphon found the young man training against dummies in the yard. His ferocity and agility saw him move swiftly through the practice maneuvers required of Sith hopefuls, though Seraphon saw potential for more. As the other acolytes and young Sith left the courtyard for a meal break, and the determined individual remained behind to continue sparring unhindered, Seraphon approached. The long robes he wore almost dragged on the ground of the training yard as he moved forward. The fur rimmed collar of the robe, situated over simple combat fatigues, brushed against his facial tendrils as he came to a halt several meters away from the training individual.
"Hold, acolyte. I wish to speak with you for a minute."
Yraven Lakke
