The Trial

[Birathen Aximund]

The sky people had brought him here, though Birathen could not pin down as to why they had chosen this world. The two outlanders had snickered to one another when choosing this false world, of which Birathen now knew to be called Korriban. Why, the youth did not know, nor would he waste energy pondering over the activities of outlanders anyway.

What Birathen did know was that this world was dusty. It reminded him of the great wastes of the southern continent; where the banners were called every month, and the lords demanded great tithes of soldiers. Such was required to deal with the ferocity of the mongrel hordes that assailed the lands of those that followed the great Jedi Lord. Unfortunately, that lord had died millennia ago, but his promise still rang true in the minds of the people. Should the masses of daemon worshiping cultists and their insidious ways be purged from the throneworld, then there would be eternal peace.

That conflict, however, was lightyears away. Birathen had been sent to survive in the forgotten worlds, just as all other young men of noble birth. The boy would be thrown to the wolves with naught but his sword and his wits. From there, he would find his way back to the throneworld, and return a man.

All of Birathen's elder brothers had returned. If he was to serve alongside them in the great war, this duty could not be shirked. The sky people had come upon his fifteenth summer, just as mother had said, and off he'd gone. They'd left him here on Korriban over a month ago, and Birathen had quickly grown to dislike the wretched place. It smelled of the savages that paid homage to their dark gods in the south, and the malignant powers they brokered deals with lingered here ever-present.

Were it not for his faith and the weight of his great purpose, Birathen would have succumbed on the first week. As things were, he had survived, albeit with great difficulty by the strength of his arms. His longsword hang from a rather plain leather scabbard at his belt, and his cowl was drawn about his patrician features to shield him from the sun's murderous gaze. On his back he carried a sack filled with dried meat and other things he had deemed the essential in his travels; most relevant among them being a triangular object that glowed red in darkness. Birathen assumed such a pretty trinket would be of great value to the house of Aximund upon his return to the throneworld.

Alone, Birathen trudged into the gates of the settlement he had been marching toward for the past four weeks. He did not know its name nor its people, but he knew it meant salvation. Determined to succeed and unbroken by the wasteland that stood at his back, the squire trudged into Dreshdae.

No one paid the child any mind. He was just another peasant come to peruse whatever had been sacked from the tombs, or so he would have them believe. He walked like the highborn young man that he was: back straight, shoulders back, gray eyes set. A hand lingered upon his longsword as he moved from one merchant's stall to another, trading random trinkets for food and other niceties as he went along. By the time he finished his rounds, the young man's stock had been replenished entirely, and he wasted no time in biting into one of the exotic yellow fruits he'd bartered for.

After a time, he found himself an empty bench to sit upon. Alone now, he allowed his eyes to drift shut, and let his consciousness dip into the dark realm that the sages spoke of. Birathen, third born of the Aximund sons, was gifted with the Lord's blood. Theoretically, he could vie for power in the struggle between the high lords of the northern continent for the lord's seat. This had made him a particularly valuable asset for his family, though not enough to keep the boy from his trial.

For now, thoughts of ambitions of kingly positions were lost to the boy. He was content to drift through the currents of the lord's realm and observe: the realm named in the old books as simply The Force.

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

A small crowd had gathered around this cantina bench. By no means was Pazaak a rare sight. Au contraire, it was a medium of communication between Dreshdae's settlers, traveling merchants and smugglers, and even Sith Academy personnel. Besides a means of income, it was a social activity - one that rewarded well those two took the time to invest in it as well.

"You're going to have to draw, Alara!"

The young girl payed no mind to the bantering of her fellow student - a Twi'lek who'd enrolled at the academy just before she did, although Alara Slayn seemed more like a visitor than an actual trainee. As opposed to the standard 'above-ground' curriculum, most of the goings-on in Alara's life seemed to happen just behind the shrouded veil of the Dark Side. As to from whom exactly was receiving instruction was a mystery, but it was clear she was making considerably more progress than her peers - an advantage she wasn't afraid to leverage to one-up both friend and foe. No contest was so base that it wasn't worth winning.

The Ysanna eventually did though, only to draw a +5 that added her downed cards up to 21. A perfect round. Her opponent, a Trandoshan trader, was infuriated and began screaming profanities at the little girl, accusing her of cheating among other less savory acts.

Alara simply stood up as well, collecting her deck and the credits that now belonged to her. "Don't be angry, Gork. It's only the second time this week", she sneered as she looked up at the reptilian. The latter was just about to swat at her with one of its claws, but was quickly put down after a hot red blade quickly found its way through the Trandoshan's torso. The spectators scattered as the blade was retracted back into its emitter, and Alara proceeded to leave the cantina amidst a flurry of barking from some of the patrons and the bartender for the trouble caused, sneering from fellow academy students, and the pointless reprimands of low-level instructors - all of which she'd long since learned to filter out and pay no mind to.

Strutting down the colony's cold durasteel hallways, she usually payed no mind to the settlers that went about her daily business as she did. Far from being the usual ruffian that populated the Sith Academy's dormitories, Alara was quite the erudite for her age. She was in the habit of profiling the people and places she encountered, hence her gradual indifference overtime. This time however she spotted someone different.

Outlander, she first thought. Not a face I see here.

In her standard black robes, light duraplast armor plates and outer robes, she approached this youth sleeping on one of the benches closer to the spaceport and the marketplace outside. Immediately discernable to the naked eye was a full complement of essentials for living -probably food- and a cold-steel weapon. A sword. It was enough to pique her interest.

"I haven't seen you around Dreshdae before", she simply said with a deadpan expression, and no more until she got some answers. She drew no weapons or made no threats, but the cold, hard stare from her emerald green eyes begat the expectation of a hell of an answer.

[member="Birathen Aximund"]

 

[Birathen Aximund]

It was a storm unlike any other, and Birathen had seen many. The savages often conjured them up by sacrificing their people to the gods they had sworn themselves to, and those storms could level entire keeps. This one destroyed worlds and great fleets of ships that Birathen did not recognize. Then it was gone - replaced by a simple lightning strike to just a few paces down the road. Birathen drew in a sharp breath - something had died, and it was no simple beast. The young man had grown accustomed to the bloodshed of Korriban's fauna, but blood spilled by man had an entirely different feeling.

Alarmed, the youth bolted upright, only to find himself face to face with a stranger. She all red hair and dark robes: delicate features and eyes that bespoke of the lie those features represented. Birathen had seen those eyes in a sage the knights had captured some months back. She'd cursed the whole keep before they set her aflame on the pyre.

Gray eyes narrowed as the girl spoke. Dreshdae must have been the name of this town. Useful information, if nothing else.

His initial thought was to set a hand over the pommel of his sword, though to do so would be unwise. The elders had sent him to a world controlled by the same malignant spirits the savages worshiped; those daemons held dominion here. Whomever this girl was, it was quite likely that she bowed to the same creatures. The clothing she wore bespoke of the knights that dared to call themselves descendants of the Jedi Lords, but it, much like her soft face, was likely a lie.

With this in mind, Birathen met her gaze.

"I've not been here before," he answered plainly, drawing back his cowl to reveal a head of unkempt hair dark as her clothing. He rose to his feet then, standing a little below six feet in height, and with broad shoulders that his body was already beginning to fill in. Birathen was by no means fully grown, but he could play the part of an adult if needed. Back on the throneworld, he was old enough to marry after all.

"I'm a tourist of sorts," he continued, gray orbs flickering past her to the town at large. They returned to meet her own when he spoke. "I've been out in the wastes - thought it'd be a good plan to visit civilization for a change." The boy paused, recalling his manners, and bowed low. Such was befitting when speaking to women. "My name is Birathen of House Aximund," he added as he rose back up to his full height.

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

"Why, it's a pleasure to meet you", Alara answered back - a reply somewhere between a sneer or a genuine acknowledgement fuddled by a naturally maleficent manner of speaking. She looked up at the young boy, who seemed about her age but stood about five inches taller - it made no difference. The same viper-like gaze with that perverted smirk met his own, seemingly unwilling to concede to anything, but not exactly disrespectful either. At the worst, she seemed just a little too confrontational and probably had a screw loose - at best, she was an uncouth savage who just happened to have a pretty face and delicate features.

She continued, "My name is Alara. Alara Slayn." She didn't seem very proud of that name; more like she was just forced to live with it until she could inherit a name of her one under the order. "Tell me, what kind of a tourist brandishes a weapon around when visiting another world?"

Alara then bit her lip, and with an ominous sparkle of yellow in her eyes, followed up, "Or is this about the prerogative of nobility to go where they please, bringing what they please?" A smile then returned to her face.

It was often said that the only people who still found Alara attractive these days were those who admired her from a distance.

[member="Birathen Aximund"]

 

[Birathen Aximund]

Birathen wasn't sure what to make of the woman. His visage was one of passive pleasantry; a thin smile pulled about his features, and his eyes narrowed into little half-crescents. It was a false image, but one that he had long since learned to purport among the courts of the throneworld. From his father's failing, Birathen had learned that the heart of civilization could be just as dangerous as the battlefield, albeit in different ways than one might encounter in war. Words were the chosen weapons, and favors were the artillery with which kingdoms were toppled. House Aximund had suffered such a fate due to a naive lord; Birathen had little intention of repeating his mistakes.

"Ah, you too," he answered, his voice tired yet pleasant. He took note of the way she spoke the name: like a bastard, as if the name were more of a curse than a boon. It drew the young man's interest for but a moment, before he found his gaze falling to her lips. She bit down, and his mind turned to steel. "The sort of tourist that would like to keep his head," he answered diplomatically, swallowing hard. "I do not go where I please. These worlds are far from my home, and whatever happens here -- well, it doesn't concern me. I'm only passing through."

He passed, blinking as a brief moment of horror flashed through his eyes. Had he seen that correctly? Did she bear the mark of the daemon worshipers? He could have sworn that flecks of yellow had flickered in her eyes; such were signs of the eternal foe. If what he'd seen was correct, then this woman was indeed the sort to be wary of. The death he had felt likely originated from her, meaning there was a possibility that such a fate might await Birathen.

But the third son of Torin Aximund had always been a wise and clever child.

"I come from a place called Meridies. It is not a part of your realm, so far as I know. We fight the eternal war there - a war that has raged since civilization came to our world. There is nothing more important than that war, so the men of noble birth send their boys into the outlands as a test of mettle. We become cultured, we learn, we survive on our own, and then we return with our knowledge and skills to lead our people. I've just started my pilgrimmage."

Birathen paused, "And...what of you, Miss Slayn? You dress as like the sage-generals we fight, though you don't seem to share their general personality."

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

Alara's gaze kept locked in on [member="Birathen Aximund"]'s, seemingly unwilling to stray so long as she felt like this one had something to say. Physically speaking the disparity between them was clear as day, but the Ysanna was not in the habit of stepping aside - for anyone, or anything. She was genuinely intrigued after all, as Korriban wasn't exactly real estate fit for tourism. What was there to see? The galaxy's finest sand - far as the eye can see. And even then, Tatooine could dispute such a bold claim to fame. Curious.

By now the other settlers were beginning to take notice. Some worried about another fight leaving the cleanup crews busy for another afternoon, but most were generally irked by disruptions to their daily routine - on a world where extraordinary events tended to involve people dropping dead like flies. Alara, however, remained unphased. A Sith she may have been, but she was also still young, and the last remnants of that childish curiosity had yet to be fully corrupted by the Dark Side.

"What have you come to see here then", she followed up with a grin, "And that's new - you claim to be a tourist but you also claim you had no say in your coming here?" She chuckled. "Are you really an outlander on a visit, or did you just have one too many drinks down at the cantina?" It may have been unnerving, but Alara was genuinely enjoying herself. It had been a while since her more youthful side came out to play - indeed, it was a sight growing more and more rare with each passing day. "Meridies? I've not heard of this world." The name perplexed the young Sith, who struggled to remember if she could remember reading up about a planet with such a name in the past. "Ah", and finally she understood. The youngling was tossed here as some sort of baptism by fire, sent to either man up or drop dead. What an interesting culture, if not a very pragmatic tradition.

".. and Miss Slayne", she repeated, barely suppressing a laugh. "I can't remember the last time I've been called that. As for my dress, it's the dress fit for an acolyte from the academy, wouldn't you agree?"

His remark on the sage-generals they fought on his homeworld went unacknowledged for now, particularly because Alara didn't quite know what he was talking about.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

Warped and tainted by the promise of spirits that claimed to be gods. Enraptured by the shadows of the ethereal and far beyond the realm of redemption. These were the words used to describe the murderous hordes of the south whom spent so much of their time raping and pillaging their way across the lowlands. These were the descendants of those that were once called Sith; the beings Birethan's ancestors had put down in the great war. While their figureheads had been cuts, the barbarian hordes yet remained to this very day.

Miss Slayn did not resemble those hordes in any particular fashion, and that was what alarmed him. Many of the eternal enemy dabbled in forbidden magics, and came into battle bearing terrible mutations that let them rip normal in apart with little effort. So far as Birethan could tell, Miss Slayn bore no sign of mutation, save for the shimmering of her eyes.

Nonetheless, she claimed to be an acolyte. As Birethan had learned recently, the academy on this world claimed to spread the teachings of the eternal enemy's progenitors. They sought to revive that which had created the enemy that had ravaged Meridies for the past few thousand years.

Miss Slayn is one of their students.

He did not let the realization show. Instead, he chose to make his own judgement on this woman. The outlands were not like Meridies. You could not draw steel on someone simply because they subscribed to the false gods; not without finding yourself murdered or arrested. Besides, this was not Berithan's world; Meridies was infinitely more important. Meeting death upon this world would be a particularly meaningless demise, and despite himself, he found that he rather enjoyed her laughter, as seemingly out of character as it may have been.

"I came to see...well, the outlands. I will learn all that I can before returning to Meridies, though I admit this world was forbidden for travel by the High King. The traders that brought me here must have expected me to die, or perhaps it was treachery from one of the rival families," Berithan's brow furrowed. "It's something I've wondered at for some time now, honestly. Something I intend to resolve when I return home -- I'm sorry, cantina? You mean a tavern?"

He gaze her a quizzical look, his caution fading for the moment. Though raised to be both a figurehead and an officer, Berithan was still a youth. Whilst he retained maturity and wisdom well past his years in certain cases, in others like this...less so.

"Meridies isn't a place many know of. We sit upon the edge of this realm, and we rarely stray from our homeland. A war has raged there since long before I was born. If we left, Meridies would be conquered, and a great darkness would fall over the northern reach," he mumbled, his gaze shooting forward to meet her own. "Oh, I'm sorry-" his face reddened slightly. "Using first names is generally a courtesy afforded only to those that are particularly familiar where I come from."

The young man drew in a sharp breath, evidently rather bother by his perceived bluster. "And...yes it's very fitting - the dress, I mean," sighing, Birethan reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Through his fingers, he murmured. "So you're one of those Sith then?"

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

Alara payed no mind to this outlander's rather archaic manner of speaking, but what did strike her is what seemed to be the boy's story underneath the last millennium's lexicon. "A tavern of sorts, yes, if you'll call it that", she said dismissively after being caught completely off guard by the use of "tavern" when so far away from the nearest garden world. It invoked memories she'd not recalled for a while - the smell of ale and fruit, the familiar aroma of spiced meats, all very pleasant, but none to be found anywhere hear here. Simple pleasures, she thought to herself. There are far grander things in the galaxy than these.

From what [member="Birathen Aximund"] was describing, he seemed to hail from some sort of feudal world, or where the reach of mechanized technology had not yet bastardized the planet's seemingly strong stock. Rakata Prime came to mind, except the ancient "fish people" didn't make for conversation as well. "So this tradition then", she continued, "is designed to weed out the weak from the strong?" Corrupted as she already was, she was still young, and many a world and culture remained beyond her knowledge. She was attempting to draw an analogy closer to home, perhaps in the hope of understanding where the boy was coming from a little better.

"It seems to me that with thinking like that, the darkness your people fear has already taken up residence inside yourselves", she said with a grin and a soft chuckle. "Not that that's a bad thing, stranger. There are merits to your strange traditions."

And then finally she came to the big question - she wasn't quite sure if he was trying to be impertinent or was using an odd chat-up line, as she'd always assumed that on Korriban, you assumed by default that everyone was a Sith, and thus kept your distance. She dismissed it however, remembering that this peer of hers wasn't from around these parts.

"Yes, I am. I've been in the order for about 2 years now", she simple chose to reply with a deadpan expression on her face.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

The great trial did weed out the weak, that much was true, much to Birathen's chagrin. His father had always described their people's age old tradition as a simple test of mettle, one all were intended to survive. Most worlds on the listing for these trials were dangerous, but not anymore lethal than the homeworld. No, Birathen's presence on Korriban was an outlier; the exception, not the rule. His people might have been divided, but they were not so savage as to send their lesser sons off to an assured death.

Were they?

"I suppose you could put it that way. Only the sons of noble birth are sent away. Most of us agree that a man can't rightly rule if he hasn't experienced the ways other cultures operate," the boy explained, "That, and I honestly think it's an excuse to send boys that don't want to fight in the war away. They don't ever see their families again, but then they aren't going to die in glorious combat -" the word rolled off Birathen's tongue with a venomous sarcasm that barely veiled his bitterness, " - and you can live whatever life you see fit for yourself. I can understand the appeal. Four of my elder brothers were killed in a skirmish last summer. Odds of survival aren't particularly high."

The son of Aximund chewed on the inside of his cheek, a quiet sigh falling from his lips. "I'm still returning though. Everyone here can touch the ethereal, but most people back home can't. We can't afford to lose anyone that can use the force, and I was lucky enough to have some of the old lord's blood. Enough to touch other people's minds, at least," the boy couldn't hold back a quiet chuckle, "Well, I used to say I was touching people's hearts, but that sounds a little cheesy doesn't it?"

Silence followed as she answered the question of her allegiance. Berithan had known as much already, but to have it confirmed made things a bit more real. A moment's concern flitted across his patrician features - a moment that was quickly replaced with a smile of genuine warmth. "You're the first one I've met then, Miss Slayn. I'll admit I haven't heard much about the Sith. They last one on Meridies died long before my grandfather was even a thought."

And the hordes we fight are their spawn.

"I'll admit," the boy cast a short look around Dreshdae. Seemed most of the folks that had been watching for a confrontation had given up by now. "My expectations haven't been met. Not in a negative way, mind you. I've just heard some old tales, and more recent once since coming here. Those big statues certainly don't help with the mysticism. I'm not particularly frightened by you."

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

Alara listened, the same way she'd intently read a book with the express purpose of accumulating all she could in the ways of knowledge or lore - a habit of her master's that seemed to be rubbing off of her at this point. On the surface the boy didn't seem harmful. But then again, if his end goal was to return to his homeworld and rule, then it'd only make sense that he'd be a lot more careful. "If the Sith on your planet died out, then it was the will of the Force", she simply retorted with a sneer, almost as if in condescension towards these fallen Sith from Meridies. "If they were weak, then you were right to cut them down." Her tone was spiteful, almost as if it shamed her to be associated with mongrels that would allow themselves to be snuffed out like that.

Wait a minute..

She then had a realization. "So this makes you in line for leadership back on your homeworld, doesn't it?", she then surmised out loud. "Huh, I guess that shiny little trinket of yours wasn't just for show after all", she said, referring to his longsword. "Tell me, how much experience have you had with that?" By estimates and judging from her tone she may have been coming on as overly aggressive or assertive, but as the pieces of the puzzle fell Alara slowly began putting it all together - to hatch a scheme that may mutually benefit both parties: one probably more than the other, but mutual benefit nonetheless. If she'd heard that right, that'd make [member="Birathen Aximund"] a Force User, and if his bloodline had a penchant for Sith-killing, she could definitely use that to her advantage - and he could definitely use the training.

"My apologies", she then said sardonically. "But not all we Sith are the phantom-like menaces you make us out to be. I feel that most of the galaxy misunderstands our philosophy. They simply seem to 'prefer' other points of view - ones that don't hurt as much."

And without losing any more time, she returned to her initial agendum. "So, you're here to train yourself, are you?"

Have I got the gauntlet for you.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

Her thoughts on the subject didn't seem particularly appealing to Birathen. He did not voice that, of course. He was here to learn all that he could, and expose himself to whatever cultures might be waiting in the outlands. That included cultures that particularly disagreed with his values. Besides, even if he disliked the words, they had some level of merit. The mongrel hordes had a habit of abandoning their people when they failed in a particularly spectacular fashion, which usually freed them up to cause further chaos in another location. By that vein of thought, Birathen could understand Miss Slayn's words; he could entertain the idea without accepting it. That was, above all else, the true sign of wisdom, or so his teachers had led him to believe.

"You're rather sharp behind the pretty face," the boy mused, "Not unlike my sword, I suppose, and no, it's not a decoration. We have very few projectile weapons on Meridies. Combat with weapons that we can repair with ease is far more common," he reached down to tap the hilt of the sword. "As to my experience," he folded his arms behind the small of his back. "I was raised to understand war, as most men of Meridies are. I like to think I can hold my own, though I don't kill unless I absolutely have to. I was caught up in two battles," his brow furrowed. "They...weren't very pleasant."

The Sith may not have been phantoms, but that didn't change much. Birathen had known there were shades other than that of the void; he'd only not met one until now. Where Alara sat on that scale was anyone's guess, but the young warrior was rather confident he was beginning to figure it out.

"Most would rather avoid a philosophy that promotes bloodshed," he added, evidently not one to shrink away from her standoffish behavior. No, if anything, he thrived when faced with adversity, even if it was not that of a true enemy. "Train? Yes, I suppose I am," he affirmed, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I wasn't intending on staying on Korriban much longer, but..." He trailed off, quirking a brow at the girl. "I may stay a few more days. Did you have something in mind?"

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

Ah, this one's got some fight in him. Perhaps not the lost cause I made him to be.

"Sharp, among other things", she said in reply, her tone of voice seeming to suggest that she actually agreed. "Most aren't as comfortable in dealing with our kind, but that doesn't mean they can avoid it." She then took another quick look around before turning back to [member="Birathen Aximund"], except now with what seemed like a cheeky expression on her face. "If you came here to learn about this world, then I know of no better way than to take you along with me. As destiny would have it, I've been sent on a little mission - nothing of merit, but it's something that has to be done. Beyond the ruins of the old Sith temple, there's a cave network in the canyon just before the Valley of the Dark Lords. I'm told there are a few rogue students from the academy hiding out there and refuse to stand down. I've been sent to deal with the situation by any means possible."

She then smirked. "Basically, in any way I want to."

And with that, Alara turned her back to him, letting him decide for himself whether he wished to partake of it or not. She didn't really see the point in sticking around to dabble in philosophy. If this one wished to learn, he'd learn more than he'd ever need to be a proficient leader of his people.

She didn't shake or head or make any gesture, but away from his youthful, masculine gaze her own eyes gleamed a sickly yellow. "Leading one camp against another will always resort to bloodshed. That's the essential truth of all life. If you'll want to lead, son of Aximund, you'll take heed of what your enemies have to teach you. History will show you, that people who will not move on their principles are the first to drop like flies." A quick, partial turn sidewards to turn back at him would have shown him her corrupted eyes - unmistakable and clear as day.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

The way she spoke made his stomach turn. It promised of blood and slaughter; it carried the tones of the warlords, albeit hidden by a soft voice and youthful features. She did not look the part of a barbarian, but then looks rarely reflected matters of the heart. A large part of him wanted to simply turn her down, to have nothing to with whatever it was that Miss Slayn had been planning. The other part, the part that had taken to her unspoken challenge wanted nothing more than tag along and prove just how capable he was. Many of his rivals would have wished to prove themselves to such a woman. There were few youthful girls available for marriage, and many young men found themselves married off to strangers for the sake of political alliance. Securing a wife that might provide healthy heirs was a priority most young men of the homeworld shared, and while Birathen had never truly concerned himself with such matters, it would be a lie to say such did not play into his thought process.

The fact that she reveled in the ruinous powers made that unattainable, of course, but it was not beyond the young man to allow brief fantasies. Fantasies that were banished from his mind the moment she turned, eyes glistening with the light of heresy. Birathen met her gaze with neutral portals of gray, his expression impossible to read. In silence, he stepped alongside her, his cowl now having been drawn over his face.

"Nothing can match the daemons that assail my home. Having faced them, I can't find it in myself to be intimidated by people, Sith or not," he remarked, though there was no challenge posed in his words: only resolute fact. "Is that what your people do with those that disagree with their teachings? Deal with them?" He paused, "Or is it only because they're squatting in your ruins?"

A hand settled upon the pommel of his longsword. "There are ways to deal with people who disagree with you fundamentally without murdering them," he added, "Sometimes not, true, but I find that most men would rather preserve themselves than their ideals. It's the rare few that value a cause over their own life, contrary to what most would have you think."

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

"What I find interesting", she began in reply again as she began to walk alongside [member="Birathen Aximund"] down Dreshdae's hallways, "is that you choose to put your own enemies on a pedestal, yet willingly place limits on your own capabilities. This is perplexing." At no point did she feel the need to make eye contact again to emphasize or prove anything, and simply kept walking and assumed her peer would follow her as they headed for the outer gate which lead out onto the planet surface, with the Sith Academy just beyond.Her light, black robes danced lightly just above the durasteel flooring as she strode with a confident gait. Perhaps once she'd been the sweet, innocent Ysanna many people presumed her to be, but that Alara seemed to be lost to the dust of Korriban, and the limestone of Malachor. Now she was a bitter, cynical and Machiavellian little thing, who even at such a young age already only shook hands with a concealed dagger, proverbially speaking. "Only you can dictate what your boundaries are. Sure, there are natural limitations placed on you by nature, but why set the bar any shorter than what you were born, bred to do?"

"My kind do what we wish, simply because we will it. To be Sith is to be master of yourself, first and foremost. The weak must die because the strong must live on. Is that not the reason batches of trainees are allowed to swell to such numbers, in the hopes that a handful of them will go on to become champions of their craft? It is the same with everything. The only excuse for the expense required for the maintenance of so many weaklings is so that we can find the diamonds in the rough. Is this not true where you're from?" Alara seemed to say all of this without any sense of remorse, nor did she seemed bothered by all the ethical gray areas she opened up with such a proposition. Or, rather, she just didn't mind the costs.

As the two continued to walk, other apprentices and presumably lower level academy staff appeared to move aside, preferring not to deal with Alara and an even larger companion who looked like he could easily rip a student's head off with his bare hands. The crowds of people also appeared to grow smaller and smaller as they approached what appeared to be a large blast door. Already the familiar sawdust-y smell of sand filled the air, and in corners little grains of crimson sand could already be seen, dirtying the otherwise chrome-cast floor.

After about a minute of silence, not of the awkward kind but rather because there was really nothing left to be said further, Alara remarked, "We Sith do what we do because it is what is necessary. People who flaunt their principles would have you believe otherwise, but it is only in contest and in conflict that we ever grow. We are all links in a chain, and if you allow the weaker units to persist, the whole link shatters, compromising even the strongest. This cannot be." And as the gates slowly began to open, letting the hot, blazing Korriban sun in, coupled with the dry, sand-blasted winds of the planet's surface, Alara briefly turned to him again, "If you make yourself to be a good leader, Birathen, then it's even more important that you learn the lessons you need to make sure you stay on your throne one day. You may sacrifice yourself for your people, but you're no use to anyone when you're dead."

 

[Birathen Aximund]

"What's the point?" He asked plainly, his expression utterly neutral. So far as Birathen was concerned, people were inherently good. It was only the influence of outlying malignant forces that brought them to conclusions and immorality. The Sith philosophy was unsurprisingly quite similar to what the barbarian warlords promised their people. Indeed, such promises of succession of the elite had brought many young warriors into their ranks that would have normally fought in defense of civilization. Birathen had never been swayed by such words himself. The boy was difficult to influence, and the values he believed in were held close to his heart. Even still, he gave Alara's words legitimate consideration.

"If you build a civilization solely for the strong, it won't last. I understand there is satisfaction in accomplishing base desire, and fulfilling your own whims, but governments lacking in a compass of morality to reign them in always overstretch. Their people end up ripping one another apart, and everything they might have created becomes worthless. Treating the masses well and giving them standards to live by beyond laws ensures unity and peace, rather than dissent." He espoused, "Point being that I understand the appeal of living solely for oneself and those you might consider your equal, but casting aside those you consider weak will leave you with little but the legacy of a tyrant."

His words were spoken with the neutrality of a politician, though his visage did not reflect them. He cast a suspicious gaze from one student to the next as they past, the bottom of his jaw tightening anytime they drew a bit too close. He accepted Miss Slayn's company for now, but only hers.

"Civilization is built upon agreement of the people; shows of strength are needed, yes, but you can't run an educated society by treating the populace like cattle."

The gates parted, and the scent of detritus filled Birathen's nostrils. His nose wrinkled at the familiar scent, though his attentions did not waver from his companion. "People don't think this way without some kind of hurt," he murmured, his tone taking on an almost empathetic sound. "All men and woman are born inherently good. It is their surroundings that sully such qualities," the lord's son paused, turning to face the Sith Acolyte. His voice fell to a quiet, private candor. "What hurt you, Miss Slayn?"

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

"Perhaps", Alara replied in similar nonchalant fashion as the two stepped out onto the hot sands of Korriban. "I won't lie, there certainly is an appeal to the thought that truly rational and ethical society can be built upon rationality and ethical governance, or that a responsible, educated citizenry is the product of attempting to always reason with them, but unfortunately, son of Aximund, it seldom turns out that way. The leaders who've always left the galaxy with the most change, whether that impact was for better or for worse, have always been the ones dedicated to good ends, and not necessarily good means."

"We will speak no more of this subject", Alara then followed up, obviously not interested in discussing her history before joining the Sith - everyone that came here had a tragic story to tell. Of abandonment, of heartbreak, of desolation, all these things. Bringing it back up again now would only lure out the more tender and sentimental of feelings, which was unnecessary. It was enough that she could produce the conducive negativity she needed from them, which was all she needed as a baseline for her practice of the Dark Arts. She immediately understood that evading the topic would make her look defensive or as if she was hiding something shameful, but truly she just didn't see the point.

As the two passed over the ruins of what was the old Sith Academy, Alara didn't so much as bat an eyelash or look around. Where people would normally pay respects to venerated sites, this Ysanna would have none of it. No words came from here during then 5 or so minutes it took to traverse the ruins, and by the time they reached the other side they were standing before the narrow canyons that would eventually open into the Valley of the Dark Lords. Into the maw of the dead beast, she whispered to herself under her breath. There was a hint of sarcasm somewhere in there, as like many still do today, she before made the pointless mistake of fawning over all these tombs. At some point one realized that it was the equivalent of fawning over an urn, or a vase. So menial.

"We're almost there", she said as she turned to [member="Birathen Aximund"] and continued walking, until they reached the mouth of a hole at the foot of the canyon's left flank.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

Birathen quirked a brow at her dismissal, but he did not press the matter. He knew better than to press for personal information. It normally did not end particularly well, as he had learned trying to get to know the other young men on their trials after leaving the homeworld. Most had just grunted at him; others had been outright hostile. Instead, the young Aximund opted for silence, opting to take the time of quiet for reflection.

Korriban's remnants were not as he expected. He had though tot see great ruined buildings; a forgotten city hidden amidst the dust of a ruined world. Instead, he was greeted with empty tombs and gutted architecture. The terrible beauty this place might have held in the past had long since been replaced by the detritus that was promised by time. Unkempt, the tombs had been robbed, and the holy land was trodden upon by those the ancient Sith might have considered heretics.

Even still, the ruinous powers gathered here. Every speck of dust was permeated with the promise of oblivion, and they all whispered at the back of Birathen's mind. It felt like a thousand tiny mouths chewing on his skull, like a nest of insects that wanted nothing more than to tear the boy apart. He did well to lock such feeling away, blocking them with a mental wall that served as his faith. This was the dark promise of the false gods that he had been warned about so many times; the gods that Alara had chosen to swear fealty to. He would not be so swayed.

"If I wasn't filled with the existential dread that seems to be this place's primary attraction, I might say it was peaceful," he remarked gesturing all about toward the empty valley. Not a soul lingered to greet them, and why would they? The tombs were just that: a graveyard.

"So," he opted to cut through the tension that had built between them in their silence. "You know any of these students? Boyfriends scorned? Daemon ridden cannibals?" He flashed her an amused little grin as they came to the mouth of the hole. He seemed to have little fear of what lay beyond, judging by the way he stepped forward into the darkness. "Maybe a ghost or ten? Can't say my sword'll do much good against the ethereal - I suppose if we see one we can just bore it to oblivion by inviting it into philosophical discussion." He turned his head to look back at her, the corner of his mouth uplifted in a playful grin.

A gloved hand was outstretched toward the girl. "Shall we?" The act was meant to distract him from the presence of the tombs, and it worked. It's hard to brood when you're trying to make someone smile, after all.

Anything to keep the bugs out.

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

"Trite", Alara replied with an equally mischievous grin as she looked inside. "Unfortunately today's hunt won't be anywhere near as satisfying as hunting Force ghosts. Students are a lot more like nerfs. They already cower in fear before you've even hit them. No fun in that." Her yellow eyes stared blankly into the darkness, as if somewhere deep inside her, she still had to prepare herself mentally for the act of killing other people. She could think she was as far down the Dark Side as she liked, but she was still a youngling with much to learn. Such was the hubris of the Sith, that they often fell for their own illusions of grandeur.

Simple looking at the strapping young man's outstretched hand but not exactly too thrilled at being patronized, Alara simply let out a grunting chuckle as she took him up on his offer and went on ahead. It'd be a few steps before she finally had to ignite her lightsaber - a brilliant, red beam of light that cast an equally grim color onto the cave's crimson socks. "Someone's in here alright", she mumbled as she carefully watched every step - taking care to avoid stepping on any of the mynock corpses and skeletons laying on the ground. "Blaster fire on some of them. Someone hasn't been learning their lightsaber techniques", Alara mumbled again as she moved deeper and deeper in, assuming again that [member="Birathen Aximund"] would be following her close behind. On the surface at least a lot of her hubris seemed to fade away when in in more intense situations like this, or it could be that she just got a different kick out of combat.

After a while, and occasionally passing the small Kyber crystal formation that would brilliantly reflect her lightsaber's own glow, she stopped just short of a large opening in the cavern network, and turning back to Birathen said, "You may want to draw that weapon now. I see five people up ahead." She then pointed to the small column of smoke up ahead, where it escaped to the planet surface through a small crack in the ceiling through which the light pierced through.

 

[Birathen Aximund]

The passage was not as Birathen had expected. he had though to be assailed by creatures more suited to a child's tale than reality, but it seemed those creatures had already been dealt with. He nudged one of the Mynock corpses with the tip of his boot, his brow furrowing with disdain. It was not that he had been hoping for the fight - quite the opposite actually. The people ahead had weapons that could kill, and that made them more of a danger than he had been counting on. They were armed, and now they were going to be cornered. People in that situation generally didn't take all that well to words. Still, that wasn't going to stop the young man from trying to resolve the issue without drawing steel.

"I'd rather deal with a sword than a gun," he grumbled in reply to her examinations. Even still he listened, more or less. He drew his longsword quietly, the blade glittering in the faint light of the cavern. It was longer than the standard blade, and Birethan took it by the dull haft of the blade just above the hilt, holding it backward for the moment. "Five you say?" The son of Aximund murmured, his voice naught but a quiet tremor now. A hand fell to the shield generator on his belt. The generator came to life with a simple click, and a dull blue aura flashed over Birethan's figure twice before dissipating.

"My shields can take a few rounds before they fail. I'll get their attention - see if I can't convince them to stand down. While I do that, you can find a good position to pounce if they decide not to listen to me. That an alright plan to you?" He asked, his fingers tightening around the dull point of his blade. The motion hurt, but that slight pain gave him a certain amount of focus - kept his head in the here and now.

(Would have posted sooner, but I've been busy all day.)

[member="Alara Slayn"]

 

[Alara Slayn]

Alara simply rolled her eyes, choosing to give the outsider a chance as she deactivated her lightsaber. Almost instantly the sound alerted the five up ahead, hunched over around a small fire as they turned and raised their heads immediately - like frightened animals startled by a sudden noise. The discernable sound of three lightsabers igniting.

"Only because I'll enjoy watching them grovel a little more before they die", Alara gruffly said under her breath as she gestured with her head at [member="Birathen Aximund"] to move ahead. "I have seen what the Force holds for cattle like them - slaughter." Somewhere in her mind, she already knew that the five were going to die - and even if the boy was going to be able to negotiate a peaceful end to the confrontation, what awaited deserters back at the academy was a fate worse than death. The cruel irony of a peaceful conclusion here would be a lesson to Birathen should it come to that - the only difference it would make was where they'd die.

"Who's there? We'll come back there if you don't show yourselves!", one of the students up ahead yelled - wearing their grey training uniforms and brandishing their lightsabers and vibro-weapons. The one that called out seemed to have a Twi'lek'i accent to his speech, while in the back the unmistakable banter of an Ithorian could be heard.