Private Recovered From Dirt

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He was swimming in the warm ocean, or at the very least he thought it was the ocean, it could have easily been a lake, a river perhaps, he could not quite say, all he could see was darkness. He had heard many people discuss such experiences, of being warm in water, and said it reminded them of being in their mother's wombs. Malum could not comment on the experience, he really doubted that anyone could, who remembered floating in their mother's wombs?

What he could comment on however was the feeling of his arms, of his legs, of his chest, even of his face. He did not remember exactly why, but there was a foreboding feeling that he should be in deep pain right now. That his muscles should be ripped, his bones aching, his skin on fire, but instead... he felt at peace. Perhaps somehow further than peace, it was almost as if the water was one with him. It was an odd feeling, not being able to feel where one's skin began, and where it ended.

Still, there was a larger rather issue, that he was now being made aware of more and more, as he gently swung his hands around. It was not his breathing, for indeed the motions of breath had not failed him, he could breathe in oxygen, and breathe out carbon dioxide without struggle or difficulty. Another feeling that likely should not have been possible, for some reason... some reason he could not recall, he felt that process should be more difficult. It was not his mind either, for though it felt dulled as if a headache had just passed, it was still acting without issue, thinking crisp and sharp, alert and aware.

It was actually, the realisation that he was not swimming in water at all.

Malum's eyes burst open, as he soundlessly screamed, bubbles appearing over his eyes, as all he could see was blue.

He found himself clawing at the oxygen mask on his mouth, as full panic took over him.

His hands banged against the glass exterior, as the slimy blue liquid slowed him, suffocating him, as he started breathing deep breaths.

What was this?!

His eyes erratically looked up, breathing deeper, and perhaps causing his mind to stop its useless struggle. The tank had a lid.

He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly to calm his erratic heartbeat, and then with a flourish...

...The tank's lid flew open, hitting the ceiling, before crashing back onto the floor, Malum could make out the debris of the roof, little more than dust falling down. But he could not find himself to care.

Malum coughed roughly, as he swam out of the tank's slimy contents, an idle realisation that it was bacta, not making him feel any more comfortable. Looking down at his state of undress, he could only sigh. Where exactly was he?

---

Malum fit the cloak back over his shouldered pauldrons, his bootstraps having been tied already. Waking up naked had been a surprise, though waking up at all had been a greater one. There were blinking lights and sounds from various medical equipment, which did imply this was an infirmary or hospital of some sort. That did shoot a hole into the afterlife theory, or perhaps he had been so low to deserve this as an afterlife.

Still, assuming he was still alive. The question remained how, and perhaps more importantly, why?

His memories had returned as he had left the bacta tank. The fact that it was actually a bacta tank, was a cause of slight embarrassment if he had not panicked so, he would have realised that he was harming himself more than the bacta was, indeed everything he did to escape the bacta was attempting to cure. He'd offer an apology if apologising to inanimate objects was likely more of a concern than just allowing things to stand as they were.

Still, he remembered the duel well, not too difficult as even if he had been horrendously injured, the bacta should have healed him rather quickly, within a day or two at worst. Still, bacta could not cure death, which meant that Darth Ophidia had not slain him.

Odd, to say the least. He was pleasantly surprised of course, but as soon as his own plan had fallen apart, to flee to the Lochris, he had not rated his chances of survival highly. Indeed, he had been in a bad shape by the end of their duel, it was a fool's errand to have attempted an experiment like that in the middle of the duel, as he was losing, but desperation did wonders to the rational mind. Looking down at his lightsabers, he was glad to say apart from some darkened sheen, they seemed to be fine, which was truly remarkable, attempting to push lightning through them would not have been simple for them. He would need to do some maintenance on them certainly.

Still, he felt the still healing bruise on his ribs, where he had been kicked, that had been where he had fallen mostly unconscious after all. Not before experiencing a moment, a soul-shattering experience of lightning.

Ah, yes, that experience was why he had thought he had been dead, as he closed his eyes, he could still see the white streaks clearly. Falling unconscious after that, even if only experiencing it for a second? It would convince anyone they were dead.

Still, of why he was not dead, still went unanswered.

"Apprentice"

So he had not been imagining the words. Darth Ophidia had said them to him. His second theory had been true then, and his initial one not. She did not wish to kill him, a theory he had discounted so early, but had felt so true throughout their encounter. Instead, apprentice. Apprentice to one of the Triumvirs, apprentice to one of the most powerful people in the galaxy. A great honour? Maybe... but a trap too? Equally as likely.

He would need to tread carefully.

He sheathed the lightsabers at his side, as he stood. With the noise he had made while awaking, he was sure Darth Ophidia would not be too far away. He would need to mentally prepare for that.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"I see you are awake."

Darth Ophidia's voice cut the tense silence of his dressing as he placed his lightsabres back their rightful place at his sides. From nothingness, her presence bled into existence as her ashen face emerged from the darkness behind Malum. Even now, her edges were hard to grasp as the silken robes seemingly melted into the somber background.

The Sith Lord had been near, tending to other matters while he was left to heal. It was only when he stirred from his bacta tank that she had returned to speak to him. She also decided to let him dress before she emerged so as to not embarrass him further.

She considered herself nothing if not polite.

"We must speak."

An ashen hand emerged from her robes and beckoned him as she turned and began to wander away. Her other hand swept through the air, revealing a door concealed in the intersecting lines of neo-classical sith architecture, clearly inspired by the findings on Krayiss II and Malachor V if one had the discerning eye to tell.

She did not wait for him to catch up, but expected that either his sense of fear or morbid curiosity would be sufficient to string him along.

Her stroll passed through a narrow vaulted corridor that split in a T intersection. Ophidia curved left and swept her hand through the air again to open a new door. A dull, blue light cut the darkness as they entered a larger hall with tall windows that looked out over the excavations below. At its far end was an image of four serpents intertwined, enclosed in a circle of thorns. Each serpent had eyes made from precious stones of different colours: Red, black, a pale yellow, and white. Beneath them was a throne of seemingly ancient stone, patched together with seams of gold.

In this empty throne room, she stopped and turned. Her hands folded in front of her abdomen.

She looked at him expectantly, as if he was the one who had something to say.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The hairs on the back of his neck rose to attention at the sound of the silky voice behind him. Truly, he felt he would have tripped over in haste of surprise and shock, if only he were not so tired already from the bacta tank escape. His eyes carefully turned to regard the woman who by all rights could have killed him. Perhaps he should have felt grateful to her that he was not dead, but that would have taken some backward logic, if she had not invited him to Fiviune, his health would not be at any risk at all. As it stood, he regarded her carefully, there was no real risk that they would come to blows, but at this point, perhaps it was best that he have no assumptions of how the woman would act.

She had the ability to hide completely. Not just physically, though no doubt that in itself would have been impressive, but to hide her force sensitivity as well. He would not claim to be a master of senses, indeed, that was more Trayze's ability, and though he had conducted some experiments in having Consume Essence act like Psychometry, he had little success yet, still, all force users to an extent had the ability to sense out those like him, the fact that he had not even felt a minuscule presence was truly impressive. Yet, that was only a taste of the skills and powers of one of the Triumvirs, was it not?

Such considerations ran so deep that he did not even consider more present implications of the ability to scene. If he did, he no doubt would have blushed a deep tomato, at the realisation that the Triumvir would have likely seen him almost entirely naked, and then dressing.

But instead, as the Triumvir announced her intentions to speak, motioning him to follow, and turning to reveal a doorway, his eyes left hers to see a note that had been neglected by both him and Darth Ophidia. It was seemingly delivered to him, and he doubted that the Triumvir would waste giving him a note when she could speak to him directly. Still, with her walking away down the dark hallway, there was no real time to consider the matter at length. He took the note, and as with as much grace as the situation allowed, stuffed it into one of his pockets, beginning to walk after her, his pace very much not resembling a walk.

Idly noting the very particular architectural style both on the door and along the corridor. He was reminded... well not exactly of what he had seen on Korriban, but something newer than that. Indeed, he could think that the architecture seemed to be an evolution of the ancient Sith architecture. One could call it a love letter to it, perhaps others would call it a bastardisation of it. Unfortunately for Malum, as much as he was interested in archaeology, he was not as much interested in architecture, he would leave that to those specific scholars. Though, he doubted most of any would see this.

He caught the tail end of Darth Ophidia, as she reached a dead end with paths to the left and right. Idle curiosity was quickly dismissed and wondered what was to the right, before he dutifully followed towards the left, walking through the newly opened door. He blinked away the light, not totally noticing how dark it had been before, he was reminded of the lunar light, blue and white. Looking about towards tall windows, towards the artwork of coloured serpents, and most poignant of all, a stone throne flaked with gold. Truly, his first impression was this was a church, of what faith he was not sure, though he could make a strong enough guess. Still, the throne was a bit out of place if that was the case, a throne room then, perhaps? A throne room, and a throne, for what kingdom, for what king? He could not quite say, Fiviune was much too new to him.

His eyes were drawn back to the Triumvir, as she turned back towards him, staring at him expectantly, with her arms crossed. It was clear what it was his move.

"What is this place? Where is this place? Why am I still alive?" He asked simply, perhaps he had been expected to know, but truly, he was not sure. Though it was clear this place had some importance to the Sith Order, there was nothing he could place to truly say what or where it was. Indeed, perhaps the coloured serpents, the throne, was a clue, but a clue for what? Wracking his brain, a single bead of sweat flowing down his brow, nothing became evident. Of the latter question, perhaps the most poignant, even if it did not feel as such. He was almost certain he knew, but now, now he wanted to hear it from the source.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

The silence between them was tense, but just as she had expected, the questions that gnawed on his mind tumbled out of his mouth as soon as she gave him the chance. In all her years of moulding the hopeful aspirants to the throne of the Dark Lord, she had found that acolytes always had questions. She also found that they listened far more intently if their queries were heard.

"This is the Cradle of Contempt."

She gestured out to the view of the excavations of ancient ruins on the craggy plains of Fiviune. From this vantage point, one could see with ease the outline of structures long since crumbled down to their foundations. If he raised his glance, then he could also see the cliff on which they had met.

"A temple and place of learning for the Tsis'kaar."

She stepped closer to the window herself, seemingly glancing out over the wasteland that she had seized for herself. It was not the only territory the Tsis'kaar ruled, and everyone knew that their administrative centre was on Ventruun. But it was also known that they had conducted extensive archeological digs in the sector. Most presumed they would find nothing, but that did not appear to deter her.

"And you are alive because I have use of you, Malum."

She looked at him again, the molten irises seemingly peering through him. She had not blinked yet, not now, nor when they fought previously. Her stare was so still, so constant, that one would almost assume she did not see at all.

"I have determined that you shall be my apprentice, that I shall teach you the secrets of the Force and the ways of the Sith."

She did not appear to give him much of a choice in the matter, but a question lingered beneath the surface.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

The Cradle of Contempt hmm? Browsing through his memory, he could not recall the name, neither could he honestly recall much of Fiviune either. Though, as he considered the matter, both were likely by design. The way of the Tsis'Kaar, the order within the Order, that he knew the least of, that all knew the least of, it seemed he would be inducted into it, if he desired it or not.

With the choice having been taken away from him, the question then was posed, did he desire this? That was hard to say, the Tsis'Kaar were as mysterious as they were hidden, and he knew very little of it, the Order of Scholars and Espionage was perhaps the simple way to consider it. As it stood, one of those elements very much did appeal to him. The Force knew if he had not been given his greater purpose, that he would have been content to remain encased in some library somewhere, writing books about Galactic history. Truly, they had lost so much, it would take a truly Herculean effort to recover even part of it. Unfortunately, that effort for him had been relegated to a simple hobby, but to join the part of the Order that focused on such an effort... was certainly tempting.

Though the other half of the order was concerning. Assassin? Spy? Him? Others of his House might have said it was an attack on the dignity of the House of Marr, to participate in actions of the cloak and dagger, yet not him. His concerns were of a more moral and principled nature, he was not so conceited enough to consider his actions wholly moral or principled by most lenses, but he had lived his life out of a code of general goodness. Everything he had done was for his family and his house, to bring the House of Marr back to its prominence. He would do it out of constructive action, to bring forth himself to the heights of greatness, rather than bring all those to his lows. Could he do that as a spy? As an assassin?

What glories from battle would come? What recognition for his service? What increase in his renown?

The end of her words ended his thoughts.

“I am honoured, truly to have gained your favour and opportunity to learn from you,” Malum said softly, bowing his head in respect, before raising it back to stare at her unblinking Orange eyes, was it possible that she did not have eye lids? It was a rather intimidating view regardless, “But if I might be so bold to ask, why me? What use of me do you have? And as I understand my position, why would you want me as an apprentice?”

He could think and believe whatever he wanted, and indeed he had many a thought on the matter, but really, at the end of the day mattered little and naught. In this auspicious moment, where his life seemed on the precipice of a diverging road, where the road not taken would forever be a question of what if.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

"Do you intend for me to stand here and flatter you?"

Her words were sharp like a knife, and her eyes narrowed. Whether it was humour or threat was left for her to know and him to descipher.

She did indeed have eyelids, as evident when her expression changed, but she did not appear to need them. In ways, her motions was like an uncanny facsimile of life. She was far too pale, too grey, her eyes too harsh, her motions too smooth and her voice too dry. Yet, stranger things existed.

"A master without an apprentice is a master of nothing." or so the Sith scriptures said. "And I aspire to be master of all, as should any Sith."

She looked him up and down, then tilted her head slightly as she considered again how to answer his questions.

"You have potential, and I intend to unlock it."

Greed was apparent in her voice, and her eyes seemed to glow brighter for a moment, as if someone had stoked the coals that burned in her eyes.

"In this process you may be killed, maimed, annihilated and forgotten, but if you decide to walk away from this offer then I can guarantee you that you will never achieve your full potential." "And one day, be it you or another, I will be struck down by one grown greater than myself. One stronger, wiser, and more devious."

Greed turned to fervor as her arms extended to the sides, calling the sith of the past to witness. It brought attention to the black banners hanging on the walls, decorated with the symbol of the sith, encircled by a serpent biting its own tail. The serpent was a common symbol in sorcery and alchemy, meaning life, death and revival.

"As the Sith'ari destroys and rebuilds the Sith, so shall the Sith be destroyed and rebuilt." The serpent bites its tail "The apprentice kills the master, the master trains the apprentice, and with each step we grow greater yet." And devours itself.

In her fervor, a smile broke through. It was not a comforting expression to behold.

"-Until we are victorious or unmade." "We will rule over all, or we will crumble and rise again. You may be the pinnacle, or you may be the ash on which the next stands, but you will never know unless you rise."

She seemed to calm, her hands returning to her abdomen, but her eyes lost none of their intensity.

"Success or death."

Her eyes closed as if in thought as she exhaled slowly.

"Answer truthfully, do you believe yourself worthy?"

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He had the good sense to stifle a nervous smile at the beginning of her words, it had been fishing for compliments in a sense, but it seemed Darth Ophidia was not in the mood for that, unfortunate too, as he had yet to gain a clear answer from her on why she wanted him to be her apprentice. It was just like the Tsis'Kaar he supposed, scholarly assassins, the arts of subtlety and anti-sociality, all in one. Perhaps they were his Order.

He stood silent as he heard her words, a master without an apprentice was nothing, he supposed that was true in a sense. An apprentice learned to become a knight, a knight though could teach was not a teacher, one made themselves a master to pass on their craft to another. A master thus was not only a rank, the most senior rank within their Order but too a position of responsibility, to teach what they had learned onto eager ears.

Yet through her explanation, he did receive an answer on why him specifically.

"You have potential, and I intend to unlock it."

It was a thoroughly unsatisfying answer, but it was an answer, everyone had potential, even the weakest, yet it was those who wished to work towards that potential that was the ones to truly fear, perhaps that was the reason for her interest?

He stood still silent as the true gravity of this apprenticeship was dropped on him, killed, maimed, annihilated, and forgotten, all potential costs, but somehow the cost of not embracing this situation was worse.

"...you will never achieve your full potential."

He had plans, ambitions, desires, all that would be naught if he could not attain power, and perhaps he could through other routes... yet he already knew that to be false, his instructors at the Palace were good, yet they had to teach the masses, would never be able to aid him to specialise, his only path forward would be to find a master, but what greater master was there than Darth Ophidia? The failed Darth Carnifex? The rumoured dead Darth Empyrean? Of all the Triumvirs, the great masters here was one offering him personally the chance to reach greater heights.

The Ouroboros rung true, in the destructive cycle of the Sith, which only made them ever stronger, the apprentice learned all he would, then kill their master, to take upon an apprentice to covet all they knew. Was the woman before him the Sith'ari? He could not say, she was powerful, but would she be the path to the Order's salvation?

...And what would it make him if he slayed the Sith'ari?

The Sith'ari was to be the perfect Sith, could such a figure be killed, as Darth Ophidia laid out before him?

The question that had broken him the first time, the question which had caused him to raise his blade and make an attack upon the Triumvir, the question that was spoken again now.

"Answer truthfully, do you believe yourself worthy?"

That was the million-credit question, was it not, did he believe himself worthy? His mind only wandered back to the last time this question was asked. How he had felt, how he had despaired, how it was so simple to say he was worthy, only due to the accomplishment of his forefather, the sharing of their blood, and his status as his successor. Yet how could he claim to be worthy if he was stating his worth was his ancestor's? That his worth was as his precursor's shadow, and nothing more.

Yet he had not proven himself to be more than that? Had he not proven himself to not perhaps surpass him, not yet anyway, but at the very least be his own man, able to forge his own legacy that would one day be superior to the great Darth Marr? Even just thinking those words had an ache form in his head, a spell of dizziness come over him, it would be a great challenge, one which would be almost impossible to achieve, yet what worth achieving came easily?

"Success or Death," He said simply, repeating the words, his eyes refusing to bow at the gaze of the Triumvir, "I have achieved little and less thus far, but I refuse to be the shadow to my ancestor, I shall be my own shadow," Malum said, concentrating, as he willed the Force to him, and beside him stood the shadowed figure of Malum, silent but with the same expression, "I shall go further, and then further still, if it is my destiny, my fate, to be your apprentice, and if it is the fate and destiny of the apprentice to slay their masters, then I accept it," His eyes took on a violent sheen, the red glowing in the dark, "But fate and destiny mean nothing, not to my will, I refuse to be ash, it is my desire to be the pinnacle, and so I will be." Was it arrogance? Was it vanity? Was it hubris? He could not quite say, only that he felt more sure of himself than he had ever been before.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

Success or death

-He said. Echoing her words.​

She nodded barely, then looked out over the excavations below.

"Then you have answered your question."

Enigmatic, but not untrue. Their discussion had shown her much about how Malum thought, spoke, and how to push him. In time, she would find even further ways to urge and control him. Then, perhaps, one day he would grow beyond her control.

"I chose you because you are worthy, or believe yourself so."

Perhaps that was the compliment he was looking for, though perhaps not in the shape that he most desired. He would do well to learn that nothing was easy in the way of the Sith. Those who hid behind prestige would never truly know the darkness. Those who never climbed beyond their means would never know the limits of their strength or the limitlessness of the Force.

Strife would be his path, and domination his only purpose.

"In a sense, I did not choose: You did." "All I did was to offer power to one with ambition to take it."

Only a fool would take that to mean she was powerless in this situation. Her words echoed the cycle from before, albeit subtly. The apprentice chooses to slay the master in the end.

"As my apprentice, certain boons will befall you." "In addition to my training and tutelage, you will gain access to places of learning, lodging and transportation." "Military aid can also be arranged, though not limitless. That is a privilege to be earned."

The boons were many, but she would keep an eye on his requests and expenditure. The more he asked, the more she would demand of him in return.

"But the responsibility is equally great. You represent me among your peers. Your failure is mine, and my patience is finite."

From the side, a door opened and two droids entered the chamber. One carried a tray of several objects, while the other, a small astromech, rolled along beeping contently.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum listened to her words intently, much of it could be pertinent, but they could be equally empty, the woman was unreadable... well.

His mind turned to the last of the memories of their duel.

The anger flashed upon her face when he spoke the name.

Saiah.

That was her, long ago, his mind filled in the mental gaps with the memories he had seen when his consumption of essence had gone far deeper than he had thought it possible. Now, that was certainly something to look into in the future, both of these things, in fact, but he knew well enough now to not bring up the name now. Lest he wished to be utterly flattened, and this time without the benefit of bacta to bring him back to tip-top shape.

When her words relayed to those of certain military boons, his mind raced to the stories of the Sith conquests of the Galaxy, of soldiers armoured and glorious, Sith bladed and dark, rushing forth, neither cowardly nor craven. His own glorious ancestor, the great Darth Marr would have led so many of those charges, so many of those rugged defenses and so many more subtle and intriguing maneuvers to turn about a battle before it had even begun. That was the legacy he was to inherit and in fact.

He had inherited that legacy in a far more real and physical manner than one would think.

The Marr Household Guard stood ready and if he would write to his father, it would be at his beck and call, for him to truly emulate, no... surpass the legacy of his forefather.

"I appreciate the offers you have given me, and shall keep them in mind for the future," Those boons could be very useful indeed, and he would keep them in mind, yet just as he had not asked for aid in his father from the Guard, he was not too confident at asking about such boons from his new Mistress, especially... as he was far from certain that they were truly offered freely.

"As you say, mistress," The word felt foreign on his tongue, yet, he had a feeling that it would become comfortable with time, as he came to accept his new position, "I shall not disappoint you, for the greatest Triumvir, the greatest apprentice," For that was his goal, was it not? A minutia of his achievements certainly, for calling oneself the greatest of the lowest, was hardly an accomplishment, yet as it stood, he was of the lowest, and thus, until he advanced, why not be the best of the lowest?

He tilted his head slightly as a side door opened, and two droids walked mechanically out, the sound of metal scrapping across the floor, somehow a present reprieve to the subtle conversation between the two. One was a humanoid droid, carrying rather intriguing prospects, which he assumed would directly involve him. The other droid was an astromech, rolling across the ground and beeping as one of their kind was oft to do, now why would she summon an astromech droid here?

Many a question still lingered it seemed.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The two droids approached, then stopped some ten meters away from the pair. The human-like droid, a protocol droid by the look of it, bowed stiffly while the spherical astromech tilted its head compartment so to mimic a similar supplication.

"These droids will serve you, as they have served me."

She beckoned for them to approach further. It the became apparent what the tray in the protocol droid's hands carried. There were two cups of warm, cloudy grey liquid with a fragrant smell, a disk of gold finely engraved with two serpents biting each other's tails, and the third object appeared to be a knife formed of clear, artisanal glass, with a swirling dark substance in its centre.

"Droids, provide designations for your new master."

The astromech responded with beeps and whistles, but the protocol droid took initiative to answer.

"Designation: M-DTO-8 protocol and regulation droid, at your assistance, master." It turned stiffily and gestured as much as it could to the astromech. "This is Si-BB-9, 86 series astromech at your assistance."

The astromech seemed to bristle and puff itself up as a show of strength. However, Ophidia's attention turned to the items on the M-DTO-8's tray. She plucked one of the two cups from the tray and wrapped her hands around it as if seeking its warmth before she took a sip of it. She was clearly taking a moment to separate herself from the conversation so Malum would have a second to present himself to his new droids.

"If you require a restraining bolt, then they will be fitted with such."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"I shall do fine without, thank you," Malum stated simply, looking over the droids curiously. Droids were not uncommon to him, indeed, he had seen plenty a droid come and go throughout the Marr manse throughout the years. Yet, they were unemotional husks, and while that should not have been too surprising, they were droids after all. He had come to learn as he grew older, the reasoning for such disposition by the droids around him.

Restraining bolts.

Decried by supporters of droid independence, and championed by supporters of droid slavery, Malum felt rather ambivalent about the topic.

Of course, there was a moral question of how one should treat another living creature.

But of course, droids were not living creatures, were they?

His reasoning for not wanting a restraining bolt was far more selfish.

He had seen a few droids without bolts on his adventure to Korriban. They were far more expressive, far more... alive, than he had ever seen droids be.

He wished to see that for himself, see how droids he owned would act around him if autonomy was allowed.

They were still his, after all, to serve at his whim and pleasure, why not allow them some leeway?

"I thank you for your gifts, mistress. I shall use them well." He offered a small nod of his head at that, and he would use them well, the military protocol droid could be useful enough for many things, and could offer advice on military and political matters as needed, while the astromech could aid him in piloting the Lochris. They were worthy boons indeed.

Which only made him wonder what the cost of them would be.

Darth Ophidia had already stated that nothing offered would come freely, after all.

His eyes traversed across to the protocol military droid, "M-DTO-8, you shall hereby be known as Motus," His eyes then swept to the astromech, "Si-BB-9, you shall be hereby known as Sibby," One of those names was certainly more intimidating than the other, "Wait for me in the medical bay," He commanded, content to finish whatever his new Mistress had in store for him before he sorted out his newly ordained droids.

His eyes settled on Darth Ophidia, but not before his mind reminded him of the note in his pocket.

As the self-proclaimed Dark Lady of the Sith sipped her beverage, her eyes watching him, unblinking, he read the parchment.

An invitation.

To Jutrand.

From Darth Empyrean.

A rival of his new Mistress, a fellow Triumvir, and apparently within days, had found out his newly minted status.

Troubling.

He offered the note without a word.

Whatever came now, he was bound to her.

That must have some perks.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

There was a small recognition in her as she witnessed him naming her droids. She recalled how she herself had named a droid that shuttled her across the vast space of the One Sith in her youth. She had called it Darling; a name whose origin she had killed in her own mind. Darling had followed her faithfully for years before he was decapitated by a Jedi of the Silver Jedi Concord during her restoration to physical form on Wayland.

So far, it would seem they were unsuccessful in cracking its code and deciphering the contents. But it was a matter of time before they would begin walking into the traps she had set.

Her hairless brow raised as her apprentice produced a note.

She accepted it as he handed it to her, and read the note quickly. Her fingers traced the edges and textures of the flimsiplast, as well as the feeling of the ink, all to produce clues to its origin.

"Empyrean summons you."

It seemed she would have to clean her house of his influence.

"He will attempt to pry into your mind while you speak, to siphon what you have seen here. And, no doubt, he will ask you to inform him about any designs I may have against him"

She took another sip of the cloudy liquid and looked into the remainder like a mirror.

"As he has asked of others." Her eyes snapped back up to look at Malum "Be wary of those who seek to be close to you, particularly those that have nothing to gain and much to give; they want to indebit you."

Her attention turned to the remaining objects on the platter.

"These are also yours." She gestured to the glass knife. "This is a shikkar; an assassin's blade. It is made to break once it enters the opponent, whereupon it will release a dose of deadly, devoranian blood poison."

Her hand then gestured to the gold disk.

"This is a marque. It will designate you as one of my agents in the eyes of the law. Should you require to see me, then keep it close and focus."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

"I thank you for the gifts, I shall do what I can with them," Malum said, approaching to take both the dagger and the disk, gazing at both with a contemplative expression. Such it was that the other side of the Tsis'Kaar Order was opened to him, scholars whose purpose was to preserve and make known the history of the Sith, yes, that was a worthy purpose, one which he could easily accept and be happy with. But this dagger symbolised him fully accepting the other half of the Order, one of the assassins.

Could he take a life in cold blood if ordered? One that may not necessarily deserve death, but one whose death would be aiding the cause?

"What difference does it make if life is taken in a back alley, compared to the battlefield?" His mind whispered as the turmoil bubbled over in his head. Malum could certainly answer that, yet not in a way that would make him happy. He had been trained to kill on the battlefield, trained to kill in some duel. He had been trained with honour in mind, even if Custos had attempted to convince him away from it. What matter was it if he was not trained to murder, could he not be trained now? Yet he knew that was not the problem, on the battlefield, in a duel, there was some unsaid consent given, there was even an argument of self-defense.

But with this, it was coldblooded murder, if executed successfully, it would be those words, an execution, no chance for the opposition to resist.

Was that what he wanted for himself?

"Your goal is to grow so powerful that none can stand against you, your goal is to execute any that oppose you," His mind seduced, his walls falling as he realised, battle could be had, battle could be bloody, but to win battle, to win it easily and decisively, to win it bloodlessly, or at the very least with limited losses, was not that always the goal?

At least the marque provided less moral dilemma to him. A tool to have him recognised as one of the Tsis'Kaar, seemingly formalising his allegiance, though as of yet, he held no loyalty. But of course, it was far more than that, seemingly a tool that from anywhere in the galaxy put him in contact with his Mistress. That was a rather nifty tool, he wondered if in any of their instructions, he would learn how to make such an object.

That was a matter for a later date though, as it stood now, what was far more important was this meeting with Darth Empyrean, one of his Mistresses' greatest rivals, within the Triumvirate.

"I shall keep your teachings in mind, Mistress," Malum said, nodding his head in a show of respect, "I thank you for your guidance in what shall happen in the meeting with Darth Empyrean, I only ask, would you have me do any more? And, what should I tell him, if he does indeed ask to know of your plans? My family is on Jutrand, I would not wish for harm to befall them," He had not thought of his family in some time, which likely made him both a bad son and brother, still, at least in this position, he might be in a better position to defend them, to precipitate the rise of House Marr, to the heights it deserved.

He only had to grow more powerful, and more skilled.

Only had to become an agent, of one of the Triumvirs.

Darth Ophidia

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Malum of House Marr​

She could sense his conflict. It was one many faced when they first contemplated the ways of silent and brutal murder. To Ophidia, there was no difference between the battlefield and the comfort of one's bed. Their entire existence was a cold war, and nothing at every moment, her enemies were conspiring to strike.

The only difference was time.

"If Empyrean asks, you tell him the truth."

She placed her now empty cup back on the tray and folded her hands into the sleeves of her silken robes. Her tall and slender figure made her resemble a pillar of darkness, or a black shard on which her pale face was mounted.

"You know of no designs against him on my part."

She contemplated the mention of his family for a moment. Her jaw muscles clenched gently as if chewing the word in her mouth before replying. She never had a family, certainly not by blood. Her closest relations had only ever been burdens to her ascension, chains to be broken. She had raised a daughter, but that too was a ploy to make the perfect sith.

Concepts like family were only tools for power.

"As for your family, I can only offer them the protection I offer any citizen of our domain: Vengeance."

Her eyes fell to the glass knife before snapping back up to his face.

"He will threaten, and he will pretend he has endless power, that you are at his mercy and that he knows all." She scoffed. "Truly, Empyrean can see far, but he cannot see all."

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was far from what he desired to hear, but at the very least it was something to go off of. The reminder that Darth Empyrean would attempt to look into his mind, was far from ideal, especially as Malum knew with what limited aid his Mistress was giving him, he had really only a single option.

To bluff.

Really, to lie.

The fact was even with their latest fight, his priority was their protection, and this whole apprenticeship would achieve that... somewhat, true, this apprenticeship was far more to advance his family, and arguably they would be safer if they all remained unaligned, but what was the value of safety if they all remained underfoot? Ignored and mocked?

Better to be in danger and known.

Rather than safe and unknown.

But Malum was always rather spoiled, rather privileged.

He would rather be safe and known.

Thus it meant that even though express protection had not been granted, when the time came on Jutrand, for him to speak to the disfigured Dead God, he would need to bluff to him, to lie to him, to convince him that Darth Ophidia truly wished to protect his family, that striking at them, even in threat, would rouse the anger of the Mistress of Shadows.

Would threatening a simple apprentice truly be worth that?

He had to hope not, and furthermore, that Darth Empyrean would not see through such a lie.

Truly horrific events would follow if he did.

Perhaps House Marr should relocate from Jutrand...

Still, he noted down all the words his Mistress said, especially noting the seemingly low opinion she had of Darth Empyrean. It was expected sure, rival Triumvirs that they were, but he had not truly expected for her to viscerally reveal it to him.

"I shall do as you say then, and do my best to outwit and outlast the Corpse King," Malum said, lowering and nodding his head in respect, "Would there be anything you would ask of me now, or should I leave for Jutrand?" He assumed the Lochris was still parked where he had left it, as soon as he left this facility, he could likely find it.

Darth Ophidia