More than a Simple Meeting

[Arjant Clevenger]

Alderaan

Prince Stedar of the Royal House of Kurdal was doing the usual that he did when he got up from his comfortable and luxurious bed. He would attend breakfast with his family, continue on educating himself in his studies, do some hours of swordplay, lunch, spend some time on his private studies of the Sith Order, and then focus on his own small business that recently just started. He was investing in it with his own personal funds that was given to him by his father. Small it was, but it would grow into the enterprise that Stedar had wanted it to be.

Because of it's tier, business was slow and he, and a few others, were the only one working in it; however, as long as he had business, then all was good. Soon he would hire workers to help him if his company began to grow. It focused in trade and commerce, and was getting a small fortune of indiscriminately selling phrik to clients that had contacted him. It was a small fortune because of the little customers he received which was another factor that would change.

And speaking of which, he had a client to attend to who was the last one of the day.

"My liege, your last client of the day is here," said Brelm, a personal bodyguard, which was assigned to him since the day Stedar was born.

"Excellent, do send him in," the noble replied and awaited for his customer so that he could conduct business and be done with the day.

[member="Tirdarius"]

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Stedar Kurdal"] |​

There was a beauty to Alderaan that seemed ever at odds with the darkness that seemed to be ever-present with the Galaxy now. It was a cold beauty, true, framed by vast snow-capped mountains and deep valleys, cold streams constituted by glacial waters that ran off the tips of those behemoth peaks. Were it not for the cities that were carefully sculpted to maintain that sort aesthetic, one would imagine this place a paradise of sorts: the kind that spoke to a deep inner serenity, a meeting of the grandeur of nature with the ominous darkness that was ever-present.

Sadly, sightseeing was ever a lesser priority over the reasons that had brought a Sith to this planet: the sort of business that invariably demanded a face-to-face meeting, rather than some lesser Holonet communication. As the Sith worked to re-establish themselves and build upon their power base, it was important to create connections with others, quietly, in the shadows, the sort of gentle alliances that might enable them to build fleets, establish outposts, outfit armies. For the tools of war are the catalyst of true peace. That much had been obvious from the start.

He had found himself escorted to a set of lush chambers that were clearly intended as a waiting room between the outside and the one he had come to visit. Richly appointed, they spoke of wealth and taste, albeit one that was a little too extravagant for the tastes of the austere Sith Lord, the kind designed to impress those that felt power was best expressed by expensive furnishings and outward trappings. He was not so fooled by the outward appearance of the place, knowing it often a facade: so many foolish and lesser beings surrounded themselves with such, imagining that it granted them power that was ultimately of little foundation.

Standing in stillness within the room, he had dismissed offers of refreshment, or to take a seat. Tirdarius was not the type to wait on the pleasure of another, and nor did he intend to be lulled by the offer of hospitality, as if to be made complacent by such. True, acceptance might have added a layer of illusion, perhaps lured his host into a sense of relaxation, feeling no threat or concern at the nature of his visitor, but placing such a person at ease was not his way. Better to grant your time without allowing it to be wasted. He preferred to make that clear.

A bodyguard emerged from the far room and beckoned him forward, gesturing that he should enter the room and receive audience with the one that resided within. Perhaps now we can get a move on. He moved across the marble floor with a predatory stride, dark grey eyes facing intently forward, taking note of the bodyguard and dismissing him just as quickly. Only fools need guarding. Any being of power would know better, but this one clearly felt the need for a little additional security.

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

Mere moments later a man that seemed to have high standards and an elite just by the way he was dressed came inside the room. The man also seemed to be much older than Stedar as he gave one quick observance at the man's facial features. He certainly wasn't too old, but perhaps the client was somewhere in his 30s or 40s. Not that the prince was interested about the man's age or anything about his personal life; all he cared about was making some sort of profit today despite whatever currency it was. Credits, exotic materials, contracts, whatever they could name.

But before they could get into the talks, the young noble would greet his guest in a royal fashion. Something that he hated at times.

"Welcome to Alderaan, Lord Tirdarius. It is an honor to have you here. I do hope your trip coming here was well and that you find comfort on your stay on Alderaan," and topped it off with his hand extended outward to shake Tirdarius' hand.

With the pleasantries all out of the way, Stedar gestured the man to sit across from the wooden table in between of them. One thing that Tirdarius would notice, something that Stedar never took account for, was the fact that he had a connection with the Force and that his aura was dark due to his egoistic personality which had a desire of power, wealth, self-importance, and being at the top of the food chain.

"Now, how may I be of service to you?"

[member="Tirdarius"]

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Stedar Kurdal"] |​

​

Shaking hands was such an odd tradition, something Tirdarius had often noted privately. Establishing a bond beyond the metaphysical, but for a fleeting moment, as if that helps to establish rappor. There were even rules to such: if the person shaking your hand turned it to face upwards, he was affording you respect or admitting subservience. To turn it so that the back of their hand faced upwards instead was an insult: a slight intended to hint as dominance or disdain. Such foolishness, but so many of our etiquettes are designed to be pretentious, lies built upon illusions, that we all might feel civilised.

Clearly the younger man had misunderstood his purpose here if he thought that this was some simple business meeting: intended to be a transaction of resources, one exchanged for the other, as though they were simple merchants bartering in a marketplace. The younger man was presenting himself outwardly as such, of course: fine clothing, well-appointed room, guards and aides that might wait upon him, to serve whatever needs he might have. A well-crafted illusion. Perhaps you even believe it yourself?

The boy's sensitivity was clear, tinged by the shadows that naturally gathered around those that sought power, as he knew this one did. His company was legitimate, oh yes, but it was a front nonetheless: a bid to become something more than a minor nobleman from a negligent House on a world rife with political scheming and aristocracy as common as weeds in a field. Such a thing must be agony to you, to know that you are a little fish in a big sea, likely to be engulfed and forgotten in time. Arrogance so often pushed such natural insignificance aside, only to be drowned by that ocean in due course, but this one...this one might yet swim.

"You have nothing of value to me, and I do not want anything from you," he responded coldly, carefully moving to sit in the chair that the younger man had indicated. Undoubtedly he was used to credits and connections affording him a level of false courtesy that others might hide their disdain behind, but Tirdarius cared little for either, since both were meaningless to him. Credits he had in plentiful supply, and connections far more dangerous than the nobility of Alderaan. "I should ask the same question of you: what do you want from us?"

The plural was telling: the young one before him was not so foolish as to not know from whence Tirdarius had come, to not know what he was. The Sith Lord made no attempt to disguise it, either: he had given his Sith name, wore the dark robes for which he brethren were known, carried his lightsaber brazenly on his belt with no inclination to conceal it. That the boy had 'granted' him audience spoke to that knowledge, and he had to know there was more to this meeting than petty finances.

"You know what you are, don't you? You've suspected it for some time, perhaps?" The Sith Lord arched an eyebrow, inquisitive even though this was no interrogation. "Or you have had your suspicions confirmed by a moment where something has happened that should not have done? Be honest with me: it is not me you wish to be of service to. You wish that we can be of service to you."

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

There was some confusion that could be read upon Stedar's very own face. Yes, the prince took this meeting in the wrong idea. He was under the impression that this would be some business interaction where both men would be profit from it. The young Kurdal would have credits, and Tirdarius would have some phrik or whatever it was that he wanted. The way that the stranger talked was strange and weird. "Us"? Who were these "us"? And what did he mean what he wanted from them? The noble tried to decode the wording of Tirdarius, but had some difficulty in trying so.

And then it all made sense. His eyes caught the hilt of lightsaber that clung to the man's waist, and then took another observation of the man. Dark robes he wore, and then he came to thought of his name. Suddenly all the pieces of the puzzle were coming together. He realized that Tirdarius had no surname when they spoke to each other via transmission. Just Tirdarius. Was that his...?

A gasp was produced from Stedar's breathing. "You're a...Sith," the saying, not question, was said with a mixture of fear and hope. He had always wanted to meet a Sith ever since he immersed himself into studying the culture, history, and philosophy of the Sith. Unfortunately, there wasn't that much the grand libraries of Alderaan could offer him so that he may know more than what he did now.

"Ever since my adolescent years, I noticed I became rather...peculiar in comparison to my family and peers," the prince said as he regained a calm and balanced posture. The stereotype of all Alderaanian which they lived up to by the letter was to serve and spread peace in the most pacifistic way. Not to mention they were to show compassion, love, and care to others. But that wasn't Stedar. Oh, no. He was not a fanatic of democracy or to serve those that he was above and beyond. He cared about power and wealth. He sometimes manipulated others, via blackmail, to get something he wanted that didn't really made a grand scheme and earned him an awful reputation. "And you are right. I do wish for all to be of service to me. I do wish for all to sing praises about me and kneel before me."

Honesty at its best.

"Do tell me, Lord Tirdarius. Why are you here?"

[member="Tirdarius"]

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Stedar Kurdal"] |​

​

Finally. It had taken the boy a while to comprehend his meaning, to understand who and what it was that he was dealing with - though any well-informed businessman would have thought to check ahead of their meeting. Complacency is ever a danger among our kind. The boy ought to have known that, particularly given the nature of the things he had been digging into. Oh, yes, he had come to realise that he was sensitive to the Force, and had gone looking into the Sith, combing through texts and seeking out artifacts. And such things always draw our attention, eventually.

The younger man clearly hadn't realised this, though: no doubt, to him, the Sith were mythical figures, far removed from reality, even though their names might be whispered with reference to ancient dark planets out on the Rim. Though the Sith had existed as a political and military force for many millenia, so many did not want to believe that they truly lived, and so they often took on the position of mythical figures. And so mundanes poke their noses into our mysteries without ever imagining we might come to find out who it is that is so curious about us. This one had done so, and they had learned of it and come to learn more.

"Pride is a very dangerous thing," the Sith Lord noted, ignoring the younger man's question, instead choosing more circuitous path. He had noticed this about the boy, of course: the way he drew together trappings of power, the manner in which he had kept Tirdarius waiting in the reception room beyond his office, and the way in which he had greeted him: distantly, with that professional disdain that suggested he might be useful, but no more. "It can be used to drive ambition when directed towards a clear goal, but it can also be an obstacle, holding you back when you need to move forward. You do not know yet which way to walk with that, but you remain imperiled by it nonetheless."

Of course the young man would not know it, but these 'interviews' were ever designed to test potential candidates. If someone was found to be a little too curious as to the nature of the Sith, an investigation would be conducted to find out why. Sometimes it was children just poking at scary bedtime stories; at other times, greedy antiquities collectors would sniff around hoping to find reference to valuable artifacts that might earn them credits; sometimes, ever so occasionally, one such as the boy would seek to learn that which might empower them. And so we come forth to find them, see if they are worthy of induction.

There was danger there, of course: if the prospective candidate turned out to be the wrong type, the Sith would act to eliminate them, rather than see them become a danger to others. Or, worse, a Jedi. It was ruthless, true, but it was the most pragmatic course. The boy undoubtedly did not realise that his life was at stake here: undoubtedly he felt secure, present in a space he controlled, certain that no harm might come to him. That remains to be seen, however. If he proved to be of the wrong caliber, Tirdarius would take his life without a heartbeat's worth of hesitation. That was just the way of things.

"You know why I am here," he remarked cooly, his expression calm but with a soft touch of anticipation present in his body language. "You do not stir up things best left undisturbed without hoping for a response. You wanted us to come, did you not? So better to ask what it is you want from us."

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

The man was...cold and sharp the way he spoke. The Sith Lord spoke like a supremacist with that accent, vocabulary, and aura he gave off. Deep down in the prince's core he could feel being shadowed and being so tiny in comparison to the man. Was it because Tirdarius was proficient to the ways of the Force, mostly the Dark variations of it? Absolutely. From the legends and myths he had heard and investigated on, he knew that those part of the Sith Order were not very forgiving and cruel. Despite whether a Sith had the personality of a warmonger and a conqueror such as the likes of Malgus or secretive and patient like Sidious they both shared something in common. The lack of mercy and compassion.

Elements in which Stedar had, but heavily suppressed due to personal reasons. It was like he was trying to bury his true self, and replace his face with a mere mask. A fake personality of himself.

And then he was asked a simple question. What did he wanted from the Sith and his colleagues? The answer was obvious, but the young man didn't dare to answer in such haste. Instead he took a few seconds of their time to think about it which turned into overthinking about it. He came with complex answers, but his gut told him they were inferior like his much simple one.

"To learn, Lord Tirdarius," the Alderaani said, deciding to roll out with his much simple answer, "I know who I really am. Ever since I was told about the stories of the Sith, I have always used whatever of my spare time to study its culture and history. It is something I wish and would do anything to enter its ranks."

And he truly meant those words.

[member="Tirdarius"]

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Stedar Kurdal"] |​

In close proximity to the younger man, it was easy to reach out with the Force and encompass his mind, to brush subtly against it and yet gain a sense of what it was that ate at him. A being as yet untrained would ever lack the mental discipline to push aside the searching telepathic tendrils that might usurp his thoughts and provide their user a sense of the person they were targeting. His emotions and the fleeting images that crossed his conscious mind were like an open book, not something you could flick through at will, but something viewed passively, each offering insight.

This one had clearly studied the Sith of the ancient past: names rolled through his thoughts as he reflected on them, each bound to an individual Sith Lord distinctive in power, contrasting in nature. The boy had learned much of their history - or at least as much as might be available to one not inducted into the Sith ranks. He saw what many perceived the Sith to be: psychopathic zealots focused on forcing their own rules upon a Galaxy that struggled from beneath them. He recognised the cruelty, the whim, but admired the power, perhaps wanted it for himself.

That was ever the thing in question: to what end did this one seek the powers of the Sith? If it were for mere vainglory, the power to subjugate others and wield that power on a whim, he would be far too dangerous to induct into the ranks. True, such beings were often used as weapons, indoctrinated to believe in their superiority, and given a stubborn hatred of all those who would call themselves the enemies of the Sith, making themselves both lethal adversaries and ultimately expendable. If such beings died in service of the Sith, it was a small loss, and not one that could not be easily absorbed. There are always more where that came from.

Very few ever understood what would be asked of them, and so many sought power without understanding the sacrifices that had to be made in order to allow them to embody it. They understood that they were different, and with a little time, felt that they alone had the right to rule, that power was theirs for the taking, and they only need reach out and grasp it. Deluded fools, Tirdarius thought contemptuously. Only children imagined that empowerment came without cost.

"Anything?" Tirdarius raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if the young man knew that such a thing could encompass many different facets. Can you surrender everything that you are? Your name, your ancestry, your birthrights? The comforts of your home, the privileges you enjoy? The principles you hold, the very judgment you claim as yours? So few prospective candidates understood what would be asked of them in this respect. "What makes you think that you are worthy of our powers?", he asked, staring at the boy with a stern expression. "Do you have any understanding of the sacrifices that come with those powers? What you would surrender in order to become one of us?"

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

Patience. Keep calm and steady.

Truth be told, the prince was getting a bit irksome with the dialogue between him and the Sith Lord. How much he was desperate to join the ranks of the Sith. He craved to walk amongst them for his own personal goals that would also benefit the Sith Order. He found it be his calling in life. He was always...different from the others. The people of Alderaan loved and supported the ideals of democracy and giving power to the people. Stedar, silently, was against these things and very much admired an imperial government with having a strong and powerful central branch of it as long as the dictator was competent. Very much like Palpatine's original Galactic Empire that had the Sith rule the Galaxy while being a bit fair to its subjects.

And then another question from the Sith. Well, questions. What would the noble sacrifice? His wealth, his title, his family, his name; there were many things that he could offer up, but he had to choose something that would mutually benefit him and the Sith Order. "My theory to why I am worthy to be have the power and knowledge of the Sith is to trust someone to continue out a legacy and help them to reach their ultimate goals."

"And I would surrender my freedom to become a Sith."

Many would offer materialistic things that they treasured. For Stedar the one thing he valued the most was his freedom. Especially at the level of status he was.

[member="Tirdarius"]

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Stedar Kurdal"] |​

​

Freedom. Pfft. One of those words so often flung about by people that had no real understanding of what freedom was, what might be demanded to obtain it, and how truly dangerous it could be. Freedom is the only burden that restrains us beyond our ability to bear it. So few people realised how problematic their freedom could be: the breadth of choices available to them could prove suffocating, create stagnation, push them along pathways that served to be of little benefit. And so rare is it that one understands or is capable of perceiving real freedom. Most were chained down by burdens they weren't even aware they had: obligation, responsibility, duty. Even one's own desires and ambitions could prove to be restraining - what true freedom might one derive with such present?

No, the boy's answer was the one he believed that the Sith would expect: much as you might answer a parent with what they wanted to hear, rather than what you actually believed. Or perhaps he is simply that naive. A dangerous thing for him, if that were true: the way of the Sith had a tendency of being utterly unforgiving, merciless in a fashion that few things in life were. We cannot admit those to our circle that cannot withstand the storm, lest they bring everything down in their turn. It was ever a precarious thing, to risk introducing a new being to the madness of Sith training. So easily can one fall to corruption. Should such happen, a swift end was the best outcome that could be hoped for.

Still, this one was persistent: that he had pursued Sith knowledge spoke to a level of dedication, and that was an essential thing for one that sought to walk the path. It takes persistence to survive the trials that stand before you, to overcome obstacles that would prove lethal but for a single mis-step. The naivete the boy displayed might be burned off rapidly in the light of such, so perhaps the risk was worth it. But yet to be wholly determined.

"Your freedom is not yours to surrender," the Sith Lord informed the younger man calmly, softly tapping a finger against the fine desk in front of him. He believed otherwise, of course, Tirdarius knew that. Very few people living failed to embrace the illusion that they were free: they believed that they chose their actions and therefore embraced the consequences, but this alone was not sufficient. "If it were, we would simply take it from you anyway, until you learned how best to exercise it."

Tirdarius had learned that from his own Master, a woman that had been quick to observe that too many exercised their freedoms too casually, with a contempt for them that spoke of natural entitlement, rather than a true appreciation for what they did. Our every action can have consequences more far-reaching than we ever anticipate. As the vernacular expression often noted, even the little things could come back to bite you. Doubtless the boy did not wholly understand that, but he might do, in time. If he survives learning it.

"You say that you know who you are, but I'm afraid you're gravely mistaken," Tirdarius said softly, though with the slightest edge to his voice, sharp and unforgiving. "We each build a self-image that is built on insecurities or upon strengths, but rarely do average beings see their true limits tested. Absent that, you see a false image in your mirror." His grey eyes bore into the younger man with a stern glare, one not willing to relent in the barrage of contradiction that he offered. "Our training will break down your sense of self-image, batter it until you recognise it no longer, and break you into tiny little pieces, perhaps never to be reassembled. You should understand this."

 

[Arjant Clevenger]

The Sith Lord continued to speak to the noble in more philosophical riddles, and it extremely confused the boy. His knowledge of the Sith was limited, but from that limited knowledge he expected not to be lectured, but to be put in pain and agony. To know the feeling and consequence for those wanting to join the ranks of this infamous sect that the Galaxy despised and discriminated upon. But never would he imagined to be talked to at a philosophical level that Stedar could not comprehend despite his high tiered schooling and education.

My freedom is not mine to surrender? What words is he speaking of?

If he was not free, then would he not come to this moment of his life? Would he had never study the Sith Order in private during his free time? Would he just pretend to follow the footsteps of his family that he heavily, yet discreetly opposed of?

How am I not free then?

That was the million credit question for the young man, and it would cause him to roll and squander in his sleep if he did not find the answer to that. At least the prince could come to agree with Tirdarius that he did not know his true self, his true form. He knew that whenever he looked himself in the mirror way before this meeting had ever come, he knew that what he saw was a false sense of himself. That he was a shell; thick layers burying something deep down at his core. Fortunately, he had come to remove pieces of that shell each passing day when he educated himself on the culture of the Sith. Yet he did not find what he really was.

But when the Sith had said 'Our training' the young man suppressed a happy grin and tried to keep a neutral tone of face.

"Training? Does that mean I am part of the Sith Order?"

His tone was curious rather than joyous. He'd imagined showing any emotion was a sign of weakness to the Sith.

[member="Tirdarius"]