Private One to Teach; One to Learn

[Darth Tennacus]

Darth Senthral

Tennacus looked at him - through him. The Dark Side didn't hide his intentions; he was trying to read his apprentice's thoughts. Regret, conflict - anything that resembled struggle in his path as a Sith. Unless the Sith Lord was not reading into him well enough, he did not believe the apprentice suffered any regret for his actions. But Tennacus would teach him a valuable lesson.

"There are necessary evils in this universe," he started. "Sometimes, too much good can be bad. Claiming the Jedi are anything but keepers of the peace would be a lie; but their methods in doing so are wrong. If there is power - great power, present in the Dark Side - you do not ignore it. You master it, and then you learn how to command it. Remember that we would not exist if we were not necessary. The Dark Side would not have called to you to kill your brother if it wasn't required. He was weak, unbalanced and beyond saving. If you did not kill him, he would have suffered eventually. I feel that you struggle to think of his face. We are going to do exactly that, and you will understand the nature of the Dark Side even greater."

Tennacus spoke ever so calmly. "Can you take us to where your brother is buried?"

 

[Darth Senthral]

His Master’s words were wise, and yet piercing. Perhaps the most damaging was the truth in it. He did not want to see that face. You carry with you a person when you kill them. A flame of life snuffed out, and though he saw the necessity, he could not help but feel that their flame was added to your own. You carried forth the souls of those you killed, as you took their future, they must see yours’ through. So it was pain to remember things so clearly, the face at all. So much more was the face the moment life leaves them. He was glad to not remember, and yet he would have to. That was something to do with the next lesson it seemed.

“As shadows, or in the flesh?” Once more query sounded from Darth Rhys. As well not the last, that he knew for sure. “I can either way.”

He could, for his brother was buried at home. That was one of the only times he returned there after being taken by the Jedi. Not a bother, and respectful to the dead. For in death his brother did not stand against him. Nobody would bury him with the same respect. It was necessity, and perhaps lingering attachment. For Chosen Kin.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

"Bone," Tennacus corrected. "He is dead, is he not? Or is there still flesh mingling upon his corpse?" Tennacus' bluntness hinted towards his question being rhetorical. "I am not asking you to bring his face from the shadows. I am not asking you to raise aspects of his likeness in vague energy. What we will do next will determine your exact loyalty towards accomplishing greater knowledge. How far you are willing to go into the dark."

Tennacus turned around and motioned himself away from the apprentice, giving him a decent amount of space. "I want you to think of the place where your brother is buried. Think hard, and think deep. Project yourself there, over his very body. Cast your shadow before his tomb. I will know when you are there."

 

[Darth Senthral]

Rhys understood now, and the shadow materialized on his own home soil. Staring forth at a pile of rocks balanced in an odd way. An especially odd grave for an especially odd Jedi. He did not say he was there, his Master said he would know. So he felt no need to say anything at all, perhaps he was also at a loss for words. He did not know he would be back here. Ever. There was no expectation of it in him. Yet here he was. The Dark Side wills as it will it seemed.

“How far will the Dark Side take me, and how far will I go. One and the same I believe, I am willing to go as far as it is going to take me, and more.” Assurance rang true in the Sith Apprentice. Not overconfidence.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Tennacus never answered him. Not in the way that he might have expected, anyway. “So this is your brother’s grave,” the Sith Lord spoke. Words did not emanate from just anywhere. They were directly beside him — his shadow. A host has risen, black as midnight; two shadows looming over the dead. Tennacus saw through its eyes, observing the layout of his apprentice’s deceased kin. Tennacus quoted nothing regarding the burial structure. He’d seen enough of the galaxy to know honour of the dead could be substantial or bare-minimum in its efforts. This looked like neither.

“The Dark Side is a path many consider to be. . . unnatural. My master taught me nothing is unnatural. Death, everlasting life — immortality — cannot be unnatural if they exist. Only those who fear them believe such barbarism. If you are willing to go further, you will be able to take this next step into the darkness. Cast aside morals and principles; they have no place here. We are among the dead.”

The shadow of Tennacus raised its wisped arm. Black, elongated claws stretched out over the grave. The rocks, the dirt — something else — trembled beneath them. The Force grew stronger — darker than his apprentice might have ever felt. “Your brother’s death is by your own hand. His life force taken by your doing. As much control over it which you had to take it from it, you have as much to bring it back under your control. Clear your mind of wrongdoings; this is the will of the Dark Side. Picture him, beneath the dirt, rotting, enriched by insects feasting on his decaying flesh. Do not think of him as lifeless. Let the Force flow through you unto him. Let it move through his bones — make his digits twitch. He is an extension of your consciousness, another nerve which ticks at your command. Summon him up from beneath us, so that you may look upon the face you once buried. A sorcerer of necromancy does not fear the dead which stand with him.”

 

[Darth Senthral]

Darth Rhys had killed this man, and yet to raise him? It shook him to his core, to make him stand once more among the living. His Master was right though, in a way the dead were detached completely from the living. He was told not to fear, and yet he did. To see the face of death, perhaps it would be different if that face was not shared with his brothers. Yet he was already at work, the ground seemed to rumble before the ordered rocks. They started shaking themselves, and yet did not fall apart. Masterfully put there, he should know, he has ordered them like that. It was a masterful ease that only the dead man lying under it would appreciate.

Emotion flowed through him, a storm of it, and yet like a lightning rod he harnessed it’s greatest powers in him. Soon a skeletal arm burst from the ground. Though it wasn’t as if he did this with the Force directly, but that the Force coursed through those bones. At his very own beckoning. Like blood through veins, powering the living onward. The dead could rise through the Dark Side. What a wonder. If even grim.

The skeletal arm put a hand on the dirt for support and pulled up the rest of it’s body. Half way out the thing pulled another arm free, ground giving way under it. Finally it scrabbled out and balance on skeletal legs, dirt slowly falling away under it. No flesh remained, but all sorts of dead feeding creatures fell away with the dirt. The bones were not that comical white you imagined a skeleton as, but dirty and rustic, like crimson blood mixed with brown earthy dirt.

He who beckoned this thing seemed stunned, not simply drained by the power it took. Struggling to keep it up though, even staring at empty eye-sockets he saw those green piercers. On clean skeletal skull he saw red locks flowing down where they once had. It clawed at the humanity within him, though he struggled to maintain indifference before his Master.

“What more is there to do? I’ve come thus far to raise my dead brother. Yet here he is, his being darker than us, shadows. I see it’s necessity that we are here, and yet I seek meaning in that very need. Why this lesson Master? Why raise my chosen kin as the first dead of my beckoning?”

 

[Darth Tennacus]

In all truth, Tennacus did not believe that his apprentice would accomplish the task set before him without additional support. Through the wraith he watched silently, his hand stretched over the burial of his apprentice's brother, waiting to use the Force to do it for him. And yet, he felt himself wanting to pull away, returning his arm to the shadowy remainder of his guise. His assistance was not immediately needed. The soil trembled, with granules of grit tumbling over one another as a mountain suspiciously arose beneath the dirt. Tennacus watched through the abyss of his midnight silhouette with focus. The Dark Side had grown strong beneath their feet. The likeness of forgotten bones moved in unnatural disturbance. Skeletal remains ascended. Tennacus finally lowered his arm.

The Dark Side had moved through him. The apprentice had tapped into such disturbed power, raising the ruined remains of his brother from beneath the dirt. His decomposing guise climbed out slowly, until at last it erected itself in full before them. There was strain emanating between itself and his apprentice. Like a rope being pulled on both ends, inevitably ending in one side letting go. For this, Tennacus returned to raise his devil-like fingers through the shadow, assisting in the manipulation of this dark art. Never did he expect his apprentice to animate an empty host by himself on the first attempt. Tennacus had failed and suffered punishments multiple times himself at the hands of his old Master, sometimes even forced to lose focus due to unnecessary torment. The strain eased from his apprentice. The weight of the corpse's animation rested upon both their shoulders.

"I needed to see," the Sith answered. "We needed to see. For millennia, the Sith have fought to ever expand their conquest and knowledge of the Dark Side. But there are many of its secrets long buried within the archives of the past. Forgotten tomes and Holocrons teach us that the ways of the old were ever powerful. Through its teachings, the likes of Force Demons, shadowy hosts, and even the infamous Leviathan, have been conjured up to achieve sufficient success against our foes. They value moral - principle - and it is that which disconnects them from greater power. Necromancy in itself is a weapon like no other. While there are many who struggle to achieve reanimating the simplest of dead and complex life forms, there are also those who cannot concentrate themselves to bring life back into familiar faces, much less their own kin. If you can do that - if you can reach beyond the false ideologies of those who believe moral guides them - then you will realise that you can attain power like no other. There are truths out there even I have not obtained. But together, we will conquer them. One day, you will teach them to your apprentice, and the descendants of our lineage will be ever stronger."

The Force swayed in its balance. No longer did it feel as if Tennacus was assisting his apprentice with the aid of his necromancy, but more like he was trying to take ultimate control over the risen host. The soils once again moved in accordance to the Force's influence, serving to swallow his brother back beneath their feet, so that he may be risen once again another day. Once the manipulation had concluded, Tennacus' shadow dispersed from the presence of the burial, returning his entire consciousness back to the halls from which their physical guises resided. Before beginning anything else, Tennacus awaited the return of his apprentice, expecting he might have something to say.

 

[Darth Senthral]

The shadow stood staring at a grave once more at peace, and yet it lie changed forever. Twice now had his brother been buried, once at death, and once after resurrection. By two different people. Apprentice and then Master. The shadow dispersed and once again was he one. It was no surprise to himself when a leg gave out and he fell to a knee before his Master. Heaving for air, no longer able to stand fully it seemed.

“Forgive me Master, perhaps I overstepped myself. Yet if I did not I would have failed one of my first lessons. Perhaps that indignation in me will cause me to fail the next. Why did you put him back to rest? Did you not think I was capable of it?” Cold questioning, not a hint of challenge in his voice.

He found himself wobbling to stand upright. When finally wobbling stopped and he stood straight, silence once more overtook him. A valuable lesson, even so, near he had come to failing it. Two weaknesses were the cause, he found the Force easy to understand as a Jedi. Yet hardly practiced it, it drew more in him then those adept in it’s usage. He would have to overcome that. The other weakness was fear, fear to raise a dead person one had cared for. He would turn that fear into power. No matter costs.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

Tennacus did not offer a helping hand; that was just the way of the Sith. Contradictory to his earlier assistance, perhaps, but his apprentice knew how to stand up. Necromancy was something else entirely. The candles once perished under the weight of the Force ignited simultaneously around the edges of the hall, bringing a sense of light back into the room, albeit dim. Once the candles swayed again with the presence of fiery life, Tennacus motioned around his apprentice, setting the course of his gaze from foot to head.

"Your brother's return beneath the soil had nothing to do with your strain. Better he lay out of sight for now; we will need him in the near future. By the time we return to him, the dead will be walking as a horde at your back. For now, we will proceed to another course of training."

Tennacus ceased his circular motion, now standing behind his apprentice. "There is a lot more to teach you, which we will learn before and during our many paths out there in the galaxy. I noticed that your Lightsaber is unbloodied. You still carry the mark and likeness of Darth Rhys, who carries the former Jedi version of himself in that projection of sapphire emanating from your weapon. Both must die today. You must be reborn anew. Do you know how to blood your 'saber, apprentice?"

 

[Darth Senthral]

“That I do not, it is not something the Jedi would teach me.” He wasn’t smarting off, just stating fact once again.

Silence once more as he took in his Master’s words. He was right. It was just a powerful side of the Force, honing it would be no simple task. Perhaps he would collapse many times, but not in front of his Master. No, not like that again. He would let it serve as an example to keep his cool, he could not become greater from a knee. He would be standing up all the way, and more then likely moving along with that. Darth Tennacus also told truth in that he would need to bear a new name. As Darth Rhys he was simply a Dark Jedi. Perhaps it was time to become a Sith truly.

“I do have an idea on how bleeding might go. To focus your emotion on the crystal, anger, sadness, turned to rage. Focused with the Dark Side of the Force. It is however, just an idea, Master.”

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

"Your concept of it is close enough," Tennacus answered. "Bring forth your Lightsaber and I will show you."

The Sith remained idle while his apprentice withdrew his weapon. Amidst this transition - this annihilation of his former self - he hoped to surface the very nature that his apprentice was. To bury himself within his mind, feed off of his emotions; allow him to perceive the mentality which led him so deeply into the Dark Side. He thought back on his own master, Darth Viscus. How he had tested his mannerisms, his strength and his deepest, most negative of emotions. Fortunately, Tennacus had never held sorrow. But for now, his own emotions were his own.

Each transition was unique.

"Focus your emotions. Think heavily on them. What it is that brings you rage. What it is that brings you hate. It's your brother, isn't it? No. Maybe not just your brother. Your own hatred runs deeper than that; I can feel it. Your anger, your rage. You are angry at yourself, aren't you? You hate yourself for what you done. He was a coward. He could have been stronger, but he wasn't. He was weak, like you were, as a follower of the Light. You're angry because he left you to walk alone in the dark."

 

[Darth Senthral]

Out his lightsaber came, and he held it out in an open palm. “Regret.” He confirmed it. His Master was right. Yet there was even more. “I want to be free. There was no freedom in the Light. He did leave me. In two ways even, as he left me no choice.” Another confirmation really.

It all led back to his brother. He wasn’t what made Rhys leave, his mistrust for the Jedi was the cause. Yet Akimill’s death had fueled him like wood for the flames. It pushes him onward, killing him had inspired Rhys in an odd way. It was like he had thought earlier, to him killing someone you knew, was like taking them on with you on your journey after. You inherit a small part of them, you cut their dreams short and so they have to see yours through. It was an inspiration in an odd way, he had to get farther. His aspirations had to be reached, for the dead he carried with them. Whether they were shared aspirations with those dead or not. Yet through it all this was the way it was truly meant to be. He did have to walk alone in the Dark, he would always have had to. It was not a path that those who shared it did so willingly. Not completely at least. Never completely.

Eyes fell on the saber before him. To channel those emotions to it? He already felt them, ready to dispense that honed chaos. Searing regret, rage filled resignation, and cold sadness… No. Fiery sorrow. These were at his beckoning, his very call was there ready to make them into something greater. The Dark Side was truly a passionate, and yet unnatural thing. In a way it’s unnatural aspects were more odd then any other. As Rhys saw it, it was a Nature in itself. Many came to it, as a means to an end. Yet they were fools if they did not see it as so much more then a means. Even so, that seemed common knowledge among devoted Sith as far as he knew. Of course it was more then a means, it was also the end. The beginning even, as one became anew through it. He once again regained focus, looking to his Master ready. Ideology was all well, as long as he did not become lost in it. Ideas were nothing without actions to enforce them.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

"The Light is ever blinding," Tennacus commented. He'd struck a nerve in his earlier speech, but such methods were what drove the likes of such emotions to instil them into the heart of that crystal. The Sith Lord could feel suck emotion pouring from him. Raw, untamed energy, ready to set itself upon his very blade.

This transition was an important one. The Kyber Krystal strained beneath the weight of the Dark Side, ever so desperately clinging to the light. The Force was dense, turning and writhing like a vicious tide. Hate salted its intangible waters. Rage lashed its waves ever so violently. "Conserve your emotions, my apprentice," Tennacus ordered. "Instil them upon your blade. Let the crystal be subjugated by your undying hatred towards your brother. Every stroke of crimson will be another wound to stain his name. Remember who is the stronger mortal between you two. Remember the Dark Side eventually reigns over all. It is time to say goodbye to your brother's memory.

Desecrate the past, and you will be reborn."

 

[Darth Senthral]

Just like that the emotions were like a torrent, guided by the Dark Side into the Kyber Krystal. It was of course at his own doing, and he felt it all. The Kyber Krystal seemed to fight under the weight of his emotions, where once it was used for the Light Side. Yet it was his very own, and he made it submit, in a way as he once submitted to it. He could feel it like real pain in something living, it bled. His emotion was plain on his face, and was there for all to see. Yet hones in on the Kyber Krystal. Suddenly a shift, and when next he switched on his lightsaber. It was a crimson red beam, like he had seen in his Master’s, although unique as it was of his own making. It was different from any bleeding krystal out there. It was his. Who was he now? What mantle would he take? Rebirth? Yes, and he basked in it’s glory.

“Master. What of this one?” In his other hand was another lightsaber. His brother’s. No. A Jedi’s. What it meant to him now, he did not know. Perhaps it carried meaning if even a small amount even now. Though he felt that meaning washing away like wild waves of a planet covered in water, and many moons. The lightsaber that was not his own was a cross guard variant. The foolish Jedi who made it was sloppy. Could not connect with the Kyber Krystal truly, it was unstable. This was not too uncommon.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Tennacus moved his gaze towards the lightsaber. There was now a conflict between them both. One, burning wildly - unstably - in an ever saturated stain of scarlet, twisted by the Dark Side of the Force. And then there was the other, blinding in its Light, screaming in despair through the nature of the Force. What had happened to his apprentice's weapon had affected his brother's; the lightsabers were now polar opposites.

It mattered little to Tennacus that the 'saber belonged to his fallen kin. The sentiment in keeping it would only serve as that glint of light desperately trying to pull his apprentice from the dark. He couldn't have that. The Force had recognised the Master's intent, longing for the dark to be absolute. A simple ascension of his made his opinion on the matter clear enough. In one swift will of the Force, the lightsaber escaped the apprentice's grasp, falling within the hand of the master. Silently, he deposited the weapon into his cowl, where it would remain until Tennacus decided otherwise. He would it back, but only when the Master had willed so.

"Your association to the light henceforth will be no more," Tennacus started, which would be the first of a long and thought out speech. "Before, you were but a connoisseur of greater power, enslaved by the will of the light, unable to reach the potential. But now we have disenthralled you from your conflicts. The Dark Side will reign in you absolute, and you will attain a power far greater than any Jedi."

Tennacus reached his hand forward, maintaining its height at the level of his hip. "Kneel, my apprentice; for Darth Rhys is no more. Rise, under the servitude of the Dark Side; an agent of chaos. From this day, until the end of your days, you will be known as the Shacklebreaker, Darth Senthral."

 

[Darth Senthral]

The Sith, once Darth Rhys, had no qualms from the lightsaber taken from him. It was of no meaning to him now. He simply nodded and kneeled to his Master. He had become something new entirely. Not something. Someone. Darth Senthral. As he was dubbed by his Master Darth Tennacus. He was truly Sith now, not just some Dark Jedi. He felt wicked blood course his veins as if birthed anew. As if. No, in many ways he was in fact born anew. His Kyber Krystal, which had been bled was also born anew. Perhaps not the Kyber Krystal itself, but the lightsaber was anew. It was off now, but he still saw the crimson light shining in his memory. The light no longer held him back in any way. He could truly pursue the Dark Side. Truly understand it. Freedom was closer.

“Darth Senthral. It is befitting, thank you Master Darth Tennacus. If I may inquire, what is the reason for your own name?”

He was curious, if he was the Shacklebreaker, then who was his Master? A curiosity he could not deny, perhaps it was best not to. There was no reason to repress now, not that he had forgotten respect. In a way it was respect that beckoned him to ask the question.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Something in him was now different. Well, it wasn't something; Tennacus knew what had changed in him. The Force flowed ever darker, coursing through him like liquid fire. Passion, rage, anger, malice. They were the aspects of death to him now; the things he would die believing in. Now, he was a true Sith, and a true Sith deserved proper guidance.

There was no change to Tennacus expression upon receiving the question. Not that one would be distinct, anyway. The respirator obscured that aspect of him which presented such changes. "Be wary not to ask the same question to all Sith you come to meet, Lord Santhrel. Some hold onto the meanings of their names born in the fires of pain and suffering." Darth Bane was a prime example. "Tenacity," the Sith Lord added. "I was a tenacious apprentice, forever furthering the quests set out for us. My master believed it would one day be the death of me. His prophecy came close almost once."

Maybe Tennacus would speak further on his history, but in due time. For now, they had different matters to attend to, now Senthral was properly initiated. "Take us to your ship, Lord Senthral. We are going to delve into the studies of our personal interests."

 

[Darth Senthral]

“Yes my Master. I will do well to watch where my tongue next leads me. With caution, and yet my fear will never forestall me.” He didn’t mean that he would pry anyway, it was more of an assurance that fear would never hold him back. In his aspirations, in anything.

Maybe he would have smiled before if he had heard they were moving on. The next lesson exciting a man he once was. Now he held a stoic expression, and yet it wasn’t as if he did not crave this seeking of personal interest. It just wasn’t something he saw reason to show, even if he did. A short bow was produced, no need for words. He would simply do as his Master had told him, that way they could get to this next lesson more quickly. If that’s what it was. Not that all trials and tribulations in life weren’t simply the next lesson. Everyday was a lesson. As long as you learned from it, even if you only grew .01% that day. You still grew. Your mind or maybe your soul did. He took them from the hall they had spent most their time out to a landing strip. It was not so long a walk, and even if it had been silence was held. Before they knew it they were on board a humble Allanar N3 Light Freighter. Simple ship, just fast enough, just strong enough. There was a better ship in his future he imagined, but for now this one would do. The ship did not make the Sith. Not at this moment anyway, he imagined they were not off to go fight some battle among the stars.

“Where to?” He asked, approaching the cockpit from inside the ship. The back of his own pilot’s seat was grabbed and yet he stopped and half turned to his Master. “Ahem, unless we are not headed anywhere. I shouldn’t have been so quick to assume Master Tennacus.” No apologies, he admitted his faults, and didn’t imagine apologizing didn’t do anymore. Not to mention it seemed to be a fair assumption. Heading to a ship usually meant going somewhere. He was just making sure, as not to undermine Darth Tennacus. He had no intention of that of course. He had respect.

 

[Darth Tennacus]

​

Tennacus entered the vehicle rather slowly, taking in the many visuals and vistas offered by the technological advancements of the era. He had seen only one ship thus far other than his apprentice’s, but many more from an exterior perception in passing. He peeled the fabric of his hood away from his face, letting the loose material drape down his back. He made sure to take on what information he could upon entering the cockpit. He intended on buying his own ship, eventually. Maybe his apprentice could help him with that.

Tennacus approached the navigator, installing a set of coordinates set for an uncharted system in the Outer Rim. It had three lifeless planets and one moon, but there was a vessel maintaining orbit around the sun, and it was there that they would travel.

“I’ve set the charts. Before we jump into hyperspace, disable your tracker and make a jump to the Core before we reach the Outer Rim.”

It was clear he did not want them tracked. He said nothing to quench Senthral’s knowledge on their motives, but they would find out soon enough. For now, Tennacus seated himself and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

 

[Darth Senthral]

Senthral followed the orders fairly easily, he wasn’t the world’s greatest pilot. Yet he knew his way around this ship, the coordinates were in, but he followed his Master’s orders. Tracker disabled, and once they were off planet a hyper jump to the Core. From there it was smooth to the Outer Rim. He would have jumped there, but it seemed like his Master advised against it? Though perhaps not directly saying so. Once to the Outer Rim he navigated them to the coordinates. A vessel? He kept a safe distance from it, perhaps it was not wise to simply assume they were immediately landing there. So he saved the request for landing, swiveling around in the cockpit chair towards Darth Tennacus.

“Master. We are here. Should I move in and request landing in the orbiting vessel?” Simple line of questioning, but alas he did not know.

Around the ship his eyes wondered, a fine one on the inside. Very comfortable looking, cozy even. He had slept many nights aboard it, and hadn’t faced any adverse affects from it. Aside from nightmares that used to torment him, and yet they had nothing to do with the ship. He could sleep in the most comfortable silks and still he would have had them. A time of confusion usually brought about nightmares, they had not been around for a while. Resolution had over taken, resignation even, at the chasing of a goal. Confusion did not reign in him for a while, and especially now it washed off him like water. Questions would be answered, even if the answers had to be sought out. All in due time, and that time often of his own making. Peace in the Chaos. No Chaos at Peace. Controlled perhaps was a better way of putting it.