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[Darth Pyrrhus]

The doors opened to the powerfully framed Togruta. He had to bend his head to avoid his curved montrals crashing with the door-frame as he entered. His height gave him a vantage point over most of what went on inside. His appearance often had him stand out in a crowd. Togrutas were common, but even so he felt he rarely came across them. The imposing presence of the man had more to it than just his horns and red skin with its fierce and tribal-like facial markings. His eyes were cold and projected an aura of dread. It was the eyes of a conqueror not accustomed to defeat. Frequently he found he needed no other weapon.

It had been a while since Darth Pyrrhus had visited a bar. Of course, it was not so much about the locale as the company one kept. These days the Togruta Sith Lord hardly went anywhere without an agenda. This evening was no different. It was high time to make some waves from the shadows again.

As always, he was clad in the signature dark robes of the Sith. He had made no efforts to mask who he was. Everything about him was a challenge to anyone around who felt so inclined. Everything about him suggested that those challenges were swiftly crushed.

The bar was already a mess. Without any involvement from him too. A fight had broken out. Broken chairs, shattered glass and blood painted a vivid picture of what had transpired. How it had started he did not know, although he could make an educated guess. The sound of violence still raged high. How long the brawl had gone on was hard to know, but it was not over yet. Pyrrhus made no moves to get involved. He simply observed from the doorway, conveniently blocking passage both in and out.

[member="Tes Dralyn"]

 

[Tes Dralyn]

To a newly-introduced observer that chance might bring knowing her state of mind from the outset of the evening, this scene would paint the picture of a young woman pitching a fit (to overwhelming excess) of immaturity, self-pity, and entitlement. Reality told a different story, of that same young woman who neglected to grieve, instead having her pain and anger made into highly-steeped foci for the power of her will that was ultimately left with no-where to go, for that over which she would never have control - she would never be his kind, that of the Panathan who had drawn her into the fold, and thus never mean much of anything to him because of it. She had been proving herself from the outset, and for what? it was into these cracks that a long-festering depression burst and like pus, leaked and dried.

Which brings us to this very bar, where the woman had been drowning herself in too much drink, and minding her own business when the last possible thing occurred: she was recognised for what she used to be, and they proceeded to pour salt into the putrid, neglected wound until a tumbler fashioned of glasteel shattered against the wall behind the bar, accelerated to its demise by her will, much to the shock of the individual tending the bar.

'Say that again,' were her exact words as she had slid off the barstool she occupied, ambling up to a big, dumb-looking guy easily twice her size, getting in his face as much as possible, nearly chest-to-chest, and he had been blind enough to not clue in to what might happen. 'I dare you,' she went on, jabbing a finger hard into him, and he was stupid enough to oblige, seeing only her smaller size and having no sense for the darkness roiling off of her; 'I said you're a has been, little girl. A reject,' and he tried, just tried to cup her chin, but it was enough. Next thing he knew, his arm was strained, and he was clear across the bar with a path of broken tables and chairs in his wake, plowed into the wall so hard that it cracked.

That was when his two mates joined in. A half-hour later, and they were too stupid to know when to cut and run, and it had cost them. One of the guys was dead, another possibly in a coma if not dead as well, and the last of them had just been thrown into the hard edge of an outward-facing corner just shy of where the jukebox stood, and that jukebox creaked and the music stuttered a moment with the impact, some moments after [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] arrived, and she stared after that last man as he slumped to the floor, heaving breaths, bruised, broken, and bleeding a good deal, herself. The back of her hand swiped across her mouth, her nose, then that hand went on to cover over her eyes and pinch together her temples as the presence of the Togruta filtered into her notice, while she attempted to set straight the organised mess of her psyche. Her breaths became slow and even as she attained what couldn't quite be described as 'calm', but she was rooted to the spot where she had been when the fight came to an end. The words that came out next were little more than pained, with all other emotion depleted, leaving a raw chasm of nothing.

"What are you doing here, Pyrrhus?"

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

The bar was indeed a mess. Naturally he wondered what had been the bang to start it all. There was no way of knowing that now, unless of course she told him or he asked. Perhaps if he had possessed skill in psychometry, but alas, he did not. Whatever scuffle [member="Tes Dralyn"] had found herself in she was the last woman standing. Two guys were dead. Or, well, one guy was definitely dead. The other one he did not know about. Upon a closer inspection through the eye of his mind he could conclude that there had so far only been one death. That was not to say it could not slip into two, who knew what damages his beaten body struggled with. Regardless, it was of no concern to Pyrrhus.

Darth Pyrrhus had the pleasure of watching one guy as he almost flew into the jukebox. He was done. Tes cleaned up well. Since she had her back turned to him he could not fully see the extent of whatever damage she had received. Even from his point of view he could tell that things had gotten rough. Worn down but far from beaten. Or had she been, but simply refused to accept it? Her aura spoke of a resolve to stand when others would stay down. Her presence had certainly left its mark on the locale. From what he could sense, tonight there was something wild and savage about her. Tes was probably not in the right frame of mind to receive visitors. A shame she had no choice in the matter.

The girl managed to recognise him without even looking. Impressive. She was clearly not one to forget easily. "Hello Tes" the Togruta's voice replied calmly, while trying to mask his amusement. He didn't pick up any hostility from her words, nor was there much to be found of the opposite. She sounded drained and ready for this night to end, for it to just be over. Slowly he began walking further into the establishment. The tall male would come to a halt beside her, perhaps one or two steps further ahead. He glanced over at her over his shoulder once, giving her a look over before turning to look back at that bar in front of them. "You look well" she looked a mess.

He still had not responded to her question. Perhaps he owed her an answer? "Actually" he started, turning now to face her properly, shoulders squaring off. "I came here looking for you." Would he find her, he wondered? Or had she become something else since the last time their paths had crossed?

 

[Tes Dralyn]

More powerful adherents to the Dark tended to carry a deeper, thicker, larger presence in their wake, whose effect was more cloying the further another sensitive's alignment was from the subject; to Tes, this was an attractive quality where some of her ilk would be wary and where Jedi might be cautious. She felt exposed to a lower and lower bass thrum of [member="Darth Pyrrhus"]' presence with each step he took in her direction, but rather than revel in it as she was wont to do, she felt nothing save for its existence, but for a very small voice that was smothered by the evening's debacle. That voice knew what this was, and wanted it in every way possible.

Her hand fell away and her head tipped back as she pulled in a long draw of air the moment the Togruta looked away from her and made his mocking observation. Doubtless, she looked like shet and couldn't care less in this moment, but as her mind began to clear she could feel the destruction, the carnage she wrought hanging in the air and undercurrent of fear that was waning, as it all seeped in. She was far from her baseline, and this was the start of the climb back up out of the hole. The first stone, the first rung on the ladder. Only when he turned and looked squarely at her did the cogs begin to turn once again, proposing the mere whiff of an idea - that looking on him still felt the same as the first time. A pity her wit was still vacationing.

"Why?"

There would be bruises, many to accompany the gashes and scrapes she bore in the present. Deep bruises, some bone cracked but none broken... except maybe the other hand which as she now realised, was pulsing with the pain response, excruciating if not for the fact that this wasn't the first time that hand had suffered. She tried making a fist, grimacing at first, then sucked in a sharp breath and did it anyway - so, probably not broken, but the feeling passed from threshold of pain into mild euphoria, until she released the fist and it abated, and the expressions on her face ran the gamut with the feeling. She continued on this route, proking, prodding, testing each hurt while listening to whatever it was that the Togrutan Sith Lord had to say.

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

Pyrrhus could feel the ripples in the Force. The course of the galaxy was changing. One either adapted or perished. And he was nothing if not adaptable. Standing to defend pride and honour was not the way of the Sith. To lord over conquered land in peace and only take up arms in its defence was the path to stagnation. It did not forward their cause. The success of the Dark Side was not measured in holdings and tax revenue. When they stopped forwarding that cause to make peace in order to protect and contain what they already had, they stopped being Sith. Even now Pyrrhus was learning much about the strengths and weaknesses of a Sith Order.

The Council did not speak with one voice. In fact, he hardly heard any chatter from there at all. The future of the Sith was in his hands. Pyrrhus wanted someone strong with him, someone he could trust. Well, trust was perhaps taking it a touch too far. Someone who could do the right thing. Someone strong. Sith. He knew of only a handful he would refer to by that name. Could that be Tes? Maybe. He didn't know. There was potential, that was undeniable. Maybe she'd die. Maybe she'd once more show him why he remembered her in the first place.

"To see if you still exist" for whatever reason his tone appeared darker, as if praising her and judging her at the same time. The tall Togruta began slowly circling the girl, measuring her up. In time, only she could truly provide an answer and show him whether he was still a good judge of character or had been mistaken. "To see if you still hunger" his intentions were slowly becoming clearer and clearer. His presence would become more vividly felt as he opened the gates to his corrupting darkness and let it seep out, sinking into cracks, wood, touching everything in bar. Even the lights seemed to dim, the air grew heavy, as the establishment became consumed with the Dark Side. His Dark Side. Theatrical? Perhaps. But he wanted her to feel him. "To see if you are worthy" he had been circling her, but when he spoke those last words he was suddenly standing right behind her, whispering into her ear. While he wanted her to realize who and what she was, he would also have her made aware of what she could become. Even he had been an insect once. Or rather, Tanek had been. Pyrrhus was born a Sith.

Pyrrhus had taken apprentices in the past, but none he had truly devoted much attention to. They had been tools used to forward the One Sith cause, not as Sith themselves, but as pawns and soldiers. Though he recognized they would not become Sith, there were other ways to make them useful. The one he did give his attention to he had never truly considered to be his apprentice. He had trained her, yes, but she held another title. Now there was nothing. This time was different. He was not creating soldiers now. He was seeking Sith.

"Why are you here, Tes? What do you desire?" He did not know much of what became of her after their last encounter. He hadn't heard news of her. Pyrrhus could see for himself now that she had not fallen. Had she chosen a different path? Was she on the road to giving up? If so he offered her now a way out if she was willing to take it. Even now, all bruised and bloodied, there was a rough charm to her. Was he completely honest with himself when he said he was only seeking her out because of her potential? The girl had many qualities, that was undeniable. "Are you still Sith?" or did she still have the desire to become one? That was last question, and he would measure her reaction to them all. She was in pain, that much was clear. But she did not succumb to it, did not complain because of it. He hoped it would guide her. He hoped she would remember.

[member="Tes Dralyn"]

 

[Tes Dralyn]

The unpackaging of his power caught her in the euphoric height of pain that came with the exploration, the probing of her physical state; she stood otherwise depleted, this darkness filling in every pore. Her eyes rolled back and shut, and a breath released in a tense shudder, a moment of what it took to accept what would otherwise be cloying, to abide it willingly, and not be a slave to it. Her eyes slipped open, perhaps expecting to find him in her field of view. Existence? She knew who and what she was. Hunger? Always, and so pitifully unsated...

...Worthiness? Her head canted, lifting the ear in which he spoke and tilting her a touch backward, towards him. She was nothing if not responsive, and keyed up by that which he brought to the fore; it mingled with her abating rage, and toyed with, stoked, the faint existence of her lust. She cradled her hand, and took in his questions. Questions that teased the flesh of her ear when breathed into it. Oh, he had her attention quite in hand.

"I came to drown myself," she said, voice softened by the sheer proximity of his flesh and the weight of his presence; her lips curled on one side at her next words, "and ended up venting my frustrations and anger all over the place..."

As if that wasn't obvious, each of those last four words spoken with hard, singular emphasis.

"...because my desires have been unheeded and unused," and the poetry of such words caused the other corner of her mouth to do the same as the first, "I desire purpose, Pyrrhus, I desire recognition."

She turned just enough to lay her emerald eyes upon him. She needn't give words to every one of her desires.

"I crave power. What could be more Sith than that?"

[member="Darth Pyrrhus"]

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

[member="Tes Dralyn"]

When she opened her eyes it was like seeing them open after a cold shower. There was no water but his dark presence sufficed to create shivers. She was awake. If nothing else, he would seek to accomplish that here. Awaken her from her slumber, pull her from a self destructive stupor and ascend her to greatness. Pain, longing, hunger were not wells to drown in, but sources of power. He knew that she knew. She just needed a reminder. She just needed purpose. Such potential should not be wasted on self-indulgence and self-pity.

“Nothing” the answer spoke for itself. It was good to see that she still had the edge. Pyrrhus stepped even closer. Or perhaps he didn’t move, yet it felt as if his presence advanced towards her. Whether she was aware of it or not, his mental tendrils sought to seek out those dark emotions, activating and toying with her passions and desires. He wanted to create the sense that everything was amplified in his presence. He was not only a source of power himself, but held the key through which she could activate her own.

“It’s within reach. Purpose, recognition, power. I will help you reach your desires.” he was sure many had offered her promises in the past. Yet the difference here, he imagined, was that he had the capacity to fulfil them. She knew him, at least on some level, and knew he could elevate her. Of course, it came at a price. As did all things when concerning the Sith. But it was worth it. “I will channel your frustration, your anger. I won’t take it away from you. If anything, it will grow deeper. But I will give it purpose. Focus. Take your blunt rage and make it sharp.” she needed someone strong, with purpose, vision.

“Devote yourself to me.” and you shall have it all “Others would make you into a weapon. I will make you Sith.” a higher being, destined for greatness. Tes was meant for more than thrashing bars and venting her anger in pointless battle. With the proper guidance, she could forward the Sith cause itself, bring them closer to their true goal. In many ways it was his duty to mold the Sith of the next generation. Their order required much correction. What better way than to create Sith in his own image, rather than watch another mass of misguided dark siders waste their talents on doomed empires and false prophets.

‘If this is what you desire, follow me.’ his voice rung clearly within her very skull. It was imposing in its own way, yet not uncomfortable. Filled with promise and power. He would not make her follow him. She knew her options. What she became was up to her, though whether she knew it or not, she had an opportunity few would be granted. His reason for being here had played itself out. With that the Lord was ready to make his exit.