I know there’s a lot of Aristheron in this chapter, but he and Murlesson are inextricably linked in their paths and destinies, eheheheh. Also, level-grinding montage! Murlesson (despite being a classic warlock) would totally play bard in DnD: put points in random stuff and be ready for anything!
Now, I know why Bioware wrote the Skotia fight the way they did. The Trandoshan tablet relic was supposed to be indicative of the Inquisitor’s interest in objects of power; however, probably the real failing was that Zash just exposits at you what it is and what it’s for. I know she was the one doing the planning “for years”, but if the Inquisitor had been the one to find it, and find out what it was for, it would have been far more satisfying, given a feel that s/he’s smart, and, well, inquisitive, rather than a sassy meathead that just does as s/he’s told. So that’s what happens here, even if I decided not to get too deep into it (it’s only used for this one quest, after all). It does make Zash a bit less knowledgeable, and it still feels stupid, and Murlesson lampshades that it feels stupid, but it’s worse in the game imo.
Crazy Sith break-down music: 8D
EDIT: added when he gets his tattoos; he didn’t have any before this.
Part 4: Mud, Blood, and Artifacts
“How lovely to see you, apprentice!” Zash greeted him cordially when he arrived in her little office in the overwhelmingly massive Sith Sanctum. “How was your journey?”
“It was fine,” Murlesson brushed off the inquiry. “Are you acquainted with a big ugly half-machine Dark Lord? He had a message for you. Several, actually.”
“Damn Skotia!” Zash burst out. “What business has he, going behind my back, speaking to my apprentice? Trying to intimidate you, no doubt. Wretched cyborg monster, but dangerously powerful. Ever since I arrived on Dromund Kaas as an apprentice, he’s made every effort to stand in my way.”
<He is flesh,> Khem Val said. <He can be killed.>
Zash sighed and shook her head. “Ultimately, we cannot even begin the search for Tulak Hord’s ancient power with Skotia’s rattling breath on our necks.” Murlesson tried not to react, but inside, he perked up. Tulak Hord? Really? Khem would probably have a thing or two to say about this young-ish, devious Sith woman taking his illustrious master’s power. What did she even mean by ‘Tulak Hord’s power’? “So, you are going to kill Skotia for me.”
Murlesson blinked. Impossible task, right off the bat. But her attitude did not suggest she considered him cannon fodder…
“I cannot be tied to Skotia’s murder, you see. Brazen power plays make the Dark Council nervous. But nobody will believe that a mere apprentice could defeat Skotia. It’s impossible, and that’s why it will work. However, before that, I must determine the extent of your education and amend any deficiencies. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you haven’t had formal schooling, yes?”
“I have not,” Murlesson answered. Training for a slave was more about deportment and etiquette, duties and punishments, not math and science. He was constantly reminded of it when he blanked on what seemed to others to be the simplest of things, and Khem was no help at all. Aristheron’s slave, Vany, seemed willing to help him out, but she couldn’t babysit him, she had to serve Aristheron.
“I gained the impression from your teachers that you were remarkably well-read in Sith texts, but lacking in virtually every other subject. So: I have arranged for a tutor who will ensure that you are educated at least up to your age level. How old are you again? Your file didn’t say.”
“I think I’m sixteen…ish standard years, but I don’t know either,” Murlesson confessed. “Do I have time for that? It sounds like my other tasks will be more important.”
Zash shook her head. “I will make what allowances I can in the missions I assign you, but you must make time. Remember, every piece of knowledge has use, and you must learn as much as you can. For instance: I’m sure you have no idea how to pilot a starship, and under normal circumstances, that is not a problem. Many people don’t know either, and I’m looking into hiring a pilot for when you must travel away from Dromund Kaas. However, there may arise a situation in which you must fly a ship yourself; therefore, you must be versed in basic flight controls and astrogation.”
“Understood,” Murlesson said with no real reluctance. If every knowledge was useful, if she thought it so helpful to have the standardized Imperial education, he’d put up with it. He’d learn as much as was asked of him and more. Besides, he recalled how Aristheron had taken on the job of flying the shuttle in his last battle. He knew many useful non-Force-related things.“Where will I meet this tutor?”
“Your tutor is a droid I have sent to your personal quarters. It is not to leave your room in case of sabotage. You may also have access to my library for furthering your knowledge in Sith holocrons and books. Many of them you may have already consumed, but I do have a few rare ones that may pique your interest.”
“Thank you,” Murlesson said. “Shall I begin immediately?”
“I think that sounds like an excellent idea. I’m still putting the finishing touches onto my plan for removing Skotia. Check back tomorrow morning.”
He was about to leave when she called him once more. “Oh, apprentice?”
“Yes, master?”
“You are friends with that Aristheron Laskaris boy, aren’t you?”
“I suppose that’s one word for it,” Murlesson said, wondering what she was up to.
“If you wish to associate with him during your time here on Dromund Kaas, I am not against it. Strong allies can be very helpful. Towards that end, if you wish to take a break from studying and visit him this evening, you should.”
Murlesson squinted at her, but she simply smiled and turned away.
“Your master sounds more like your mother,” Aristheron said, when Murlesson met with him later. He’d told him about the droid, and the “high-school education”, as the droid called it, and the fact that it had been Zash’s idea for him to seek out Aristheron in the first place. “An odd demeanour for a Sith.”
Murlesson blinked. “Is that what mothers do?” And he certainly agreed on the second point.
Aristheron winced slightly. “Yes, it is what some of them do. Mothers generally look out for their offspring, and attempt to give them the best start in life possible. Is this your first time on Dromund Kaas?”
“How ever did you guess. It’s not yours, though, is it?” They were seated near a window in a common area high in the Sanctum, looking out over the city. Murlesson had never left Netokos’s estate before his ‘escape’, had not even seen the city on Commenor, and his life before that… had been mostly in a slave camp with a hundred other children, penned in, featureless and full of pain and fear. All this was new to him – the never-ending crags and valleys of skyscrapers, the pinpoints of bright light, the swarming streams of speeders. He couldn’t hear it right now, but he’d been assaulted by the noise of the city when he’d arrived, the constant sounds of engines and voices, the activity, the business, the urgency. The Force permeated all of it, uneasy, but lively. Korriban, despite its bickering population of acolytes, had been almost silent but for the wind, certainly out in the wilderness or in the depths of the tombs. Netokos’s estate had been somewhat isolated, and he hadn’t been sent outdoors much; it had been quiet there, too. It all made him feel very small and insignificant. Even if he were to gain power, even if he stood at the very top of the Sith Sanctum and declare his ownership of the entire planet, he would still feel small.
And Korriban had been dry: this place was drenched in never-ending thunderstorms. Murlesson had never seen so much precipitation in his life. It was astonishing to him that anyone had even built a city here.
Aristheron hardly seemed to notice any of the lights or noise. “I’ve been here a few times in my life so far. But Talcene is not too different, except for the rain. I hear it never stops here, but on Talcene, the weather is actually quite pleasant.”
“Is that why you’re ten times more civil than nearly every other Sith I’ve ever met?” Murlesson demanded. Zash was more than civil, but he certainly didn’t trust her. She seemed too open to be honest. Aristheron was either an even better actor, or too high-minded for scheming.
Aristheron snorted. “It could be. Though most Sith weren’t necessarily raised and groomed to be Lords. Many of them, even the ones who became Lords, are lacking a certain… finesse in manners. And philosophy. And self-control.”
“Hm.” Murlesson’s gaze zoned out, no longer fixed on the view. He had begun to formulate his own philosophy in the Force – not completely modeled after Naga Sadow’s example, he had a mind of his own. Manners, however, he had not considered to be of use in and of themselves. Useful for manipulating people into doing what he wanted them to, perhaps. Aristheron seemed to value them for their own sake, however; perhaps it was a noble thing. Sign of ‘good breeding’. Or perhaps there was something more there.
Self-control was certainly useful. Some Sith bragged about their freedom, how they could do whatever they wanted – as long as it didn’t offend a more powerful Sith – but freedom was illusory. He would never have been able to even attempt escaping from Netokos if he had been impulsive. And what he wanted right now, to run somewhere far away from all these Sith, to run and hide until the nightmares stopped, was sure to only get him killed. He had to follow his ambition, his will to survive, and that meant not doing whatever he wanted if it didn’t further his goals.
“Hey, master,” Vany said, appearing in the doorway. “How are you? I – uh, I got that thing checked out that you asked for.” She glanced at Murlesson, apparently unwilling to talk about her errand in front of him.
“Thank you, Vany. I am well.”
“You took her collar off,” Murlesson said, genuinely surprised.
Aristheron frowned at him. “I have freed her. I have no interest in owning a slave. Slavery is demeaning, abhorrent, and inefficient.”
“You don’t say,” Murlesson said, dry as Korriban.
Vany giggled. “You’re funny. Anyway, since I can’t exactly go back to the Republic, or even Ryloth, he’s employing me for the foreseeable future. I’m very lucky.”
“I’m think I’m jealous,” Murlesson muttered.
“You’re Sith,” Aristheron told him. “You have nothing to be jealous of now. Cease harping on about it.”
Except for the part where Vany’s life expectancy was far greater than his, no, he supposed Aristheron had half a point.
Aristheron looked up as if remembering something. “By the way, tomorrow my master’s asked me to investigate certain missing soldiers in the jungle not far from the city. Would you like to come with me? Assuming your master has no special tasks for you. You were certainly helpful last time, and perhaps you will get a chance to practice your lightsaber form in proper combat.”
“I-I would like that,” Murlesson said, his voice both stammering and cracking. What was that about life expectancy? Dropping by the moment?
It wasn’t so bad, it turned out. Slinking through the jungle was probably incredibly dangerous, what with the unfamiliar plants and animals – actually, most plants and animals were unfamiliar to him, and though he’d grilled his tutor droid on the local wildlife earlier in the day, in between math and physics, recognizing it under these circumstances was a little different. The rain poured down, and he was soaked to the skin through his robes, and it was dark, not that he could see more than few feet through the lush green undergrowth anyway. His footing was treacherous, over slippery rocks and fallen logs, or thick sticky mud. The scent of wet earth and raw plants was thick in the humid air, and that was probably the part he liked the least.
And yet he was ready for this. Of all the dangerous things that lurked in that jungle, yosusks, gundarks… he was one of the most dangerous. And he was not alone. Aristheron, of course, took a more open route, uninterested in stealth until a reason presented itself. Vany nervously stuck close by his side. But Murlesson was Aristheron’s secret weapon, just in case things didn’t go according to plan, and Khem Val was with him, revelling in the jungle more than Murlesson was.
He was surprised by how dense the jungle was just outside the city. They were probably no more than a twenty-minute walk from the outer wall. But as a result, he was no longer surprised by the idea that some soldiers would go missing so close to civilization.
As Aristheron had explained on their way to the city gates, his master had ordered one of his artifacts moved to a private laboratory outside of the city. But it never arrived. The preliminary investigation, by ordinary soldiers, had revealed very little. There were signs of a recent armed struggle, but no bodies had been left behind, and no obvious trail through the jungle. Too many clues had already been absorbed, by the rain, or the plants. Even the most advanced scanning technology was useless.
But technology was a pale ghost of power compared to the Force. Both Murlesson and Aristheron could feel it when they had reached the spot of the ambush – surely it had been an ambush, from the lingering emotions – and there was still a faint whisper in the Force that led away from the site.
“Do you sense it too?” Aristheron asked Murlesson, who had come out of cover and was standing with his eyes closed and hands outstretched to try to sense it better. It was extremely faint, even so, more of a suggestion than an actual trail. Like trying to smell something when scent wasn’t your primary or even secondary sense.
“Yes,” Murlesson said. “I think it’s the artifact. It seems to… absorb emotions. It leaves a dark trail.”
“My thoughts exactly. No wonder my master values it, and no wonder others do as well. Shall we?”
Murlesson nodded and dropped into a crouching lope, a stance he’d found to work well in this slippery terrain, even with the Force guarding his footsteps. He slipped into the jungle parallel to the path, following that elusive feeling through the trees. Aristheron stayed on the path.
It led them several hours later to a bunker, of which the main durasteel door was recessed into the ground down a ramp. It was very dark, and it looked old and abandoned, except for the two guards at the bottom of the ramp. Aristheron and Vany regrouped with Murlesson and Khem just out of sight. Vany was munching on a snack bar, and seeing it reminded Murlesson he was hungry, too. He hadn’t thought about it since they left the city, and all that rapid walking had been tiring. He didn’t complain. He’d survive until they returned to Kaas City.
“Almost missed you in the jungle,” Aristheron said. “You’re difficult to sense when I can’t see you.”
“That’s definitely not on purpose,” Murlesson said, grimly sarcastic, but pleased. “That’s an ominous-looking door.”
“Security looks tight, as well it should, but not strong,” Aristheron said.
“Should have invited that Volkova girl,” Murlesson said, off-handedly. Of course, she was still training on Korriban, but from what he’d seen, she’d love to barge head-first into an enemy base. He assumed it was an enemy base. He supposed he didn’t have to think too hard about this one. It was Aristheron’s mission, not his, and while that didn’t spare him from all ramifications, he’d follow the other’s lead.
Aristheron shook his head. “I know of her. She’s a typical Sith, favouring bloodshed over finesse. I would rather not have her here.”
“Why does that matter?” Murlesson pried.
Aristheron blinked regally at him. “The same reason why we did not kill the Black Talon’s crew. These men might very well be loyal servants of the Empire. Would be a shame to waste them over essentially nothing, a petty squabble between Lords.”
“I see,” Murlesson said, wondering why Aristheron’s sense in the Force shifted when he said that, brightening and darkening at the same time. “I’ll follow your lead, then.”
“Actually, I was hoping you would duplicate your trick to remove the guards from the door,” Aristheron said. “We may have to fight inside, but no sense in tipping them off early.”
Murlesson nodded, and reached out. Now he knew what he was doing, could sense the minds before him clearly and how to grasp them. “They’re mine. We can move.”
He didn’t miss the alarmed look Vany gave him at how casually he had usurped their awareness this time, but it didn’t matter. Better that than dead, wasn’t Aristheron saying?
They walked into the base, the doors closed behind them. Aristheron walked ahead confidently, apparently just going to continue until he met resistance. They turned a corner into a large command room, and a pair of lightsabers blazed before them in the half-light. “Intruder!” called a harsh voice, and Murlesson saw that there was a dual-wielding, pale-skinned humanoid Sith there; he was unsure of the species but the feral way the man was snarling left no doubt that he was eager to fight. He heard the sound of running boots, and ten or so soldiers dashed into the room, guns already raised. It was not good odds… but they hadn’t had good odds on the Brentaal Star, either, and that had worked out. Time to turn victory from bad odds to certainty.
“We need not fight,” Aristheron said. “Give me what you have stolen and I will leave.”
“Who do you think you are, boy? You and your little girl face me, Kusaq, apprentice to Lord Madshe!” Apparently his Force cloak had worked on the frothing alien. Murlesson gave a wicked grin of his own. He would enjoy taking down this arrogant snot.
“Lord Madshe, I should have known,” Aristheron sighed. “I am Aristheron Laskaris, apprentice to Darth Emment. Give me the artifact, or I will rip it from your dead hands.”
“Emment’s certainly picked a sniveling coward for his new apprentice! I’ll rip your heart from your chest instead, boy!”
Not waiting, the alien lunged forwards viciously; Aristheron barely countered in time. Vany screamed and backed away, pistol out. “How very like a Rattataki,” Aristheron muttered, giving Murlesson a name for their opponent’s species.
Murlesson thought rapidly, constructing and discarding strategies to get them out of this. Aristheron didn’t want the regular soldiers killed, was that it? They weren’t going to have a choice regarding this Sith, but the others… “Khem, go keep the Sith busy.”
<With pleasure,> Khem said, and snarled as he sprang at the Sith.
“There’s more of them! Kill them all!” Kusaq yelled, but Murlesson was pulling at a catwalk overhead, dragging it down through sheer force of will, slamming it down between the dueling Sith and the soldiers. It teetered ponderously, and he let it fall backwards onto the soldiers. It wouldn’t kill them unless they were very unlucky, but it would incapacitate them for quite long enough to finish the Sith.
“You useless cretins!” Kusaq jumped back from Khem, and as the first couple soldiers began to squirm out from under the catwalk, he beheaded them. Murlesson felt Aristheron’s anger surge, and his friend charged forwards, beating Kusaq back away from the other soldiers. “I’ll kill you all myself!” Kusaq screamed, his face contorted in a horrible snarl.
“You’re not worthy of being Sith!” Aristheron cried, slashing through Kusaq’s counterattacks. “You treasonous wretch!”
Murlesson felt something churn in his stomach. No Sith had a moral high ground over any other, not even himself. But he was going to be very satisfied when this particular monster stopped breathing.
Kusaq hissed like a malevolent insect, backing up and into the next room. “Fine. That’s how you want it?” He flung something small at them with the Force, and behind them, Vany cried out in pain. Murlesson ran after him, but Aristheron turned back to check on his underling. So much for coordination, Murlesson thought sourly as he suddenly found himself alone in front of the Rattataki. There was a shallow pit through the next room, a deeper corridor crossed by a narrow bridge, and Kusaq was backing across it, grinning maniacally. Probably thought he’d herded his enemies into a choke point.
There wasn’t much choice but to press the attack – holding back meant giving Kusaq more time to prepare. So he slashed forwards, double-blade whirling, humming like a hive. He’d never fought a dual-wielder before, and every ounce of energy was concentrating, anticipating, barely remembering his lessons of a few days before and what practice he’d managed to shove in since then.
“You’re slow, boy,” Kusaq said, still grinning, and Murlesson glared as one of his enemy’s blades nicked his robe.
He flicked his saber end-over-end, still unable to pierce Kusaq’s defences. “How come I’m not dead yet, then, bantha-paws?” Kusaq snarled, baring pointy teeth, and Murlesson barely blocked his next strike.
Something sailed by overhead, and Aristheron landed cleanly on the other side of the bridge, already swinging at Kusaq, who laughed, and jumped off, down the five meters into the corridor below. Aristheron and Murlesson glanced at each other and followed, Murlesson sending a bolt of lightning before him. Kusaq blocked it with his lightsaber.
The Rattataki landed on his feet, blades high in defence; Murlesson landed and rolled to one side, sending more lightning zapping out at him. Aristheron attacked from the other side, and Kusaq blocked them both, giggling.
Then his expression changed, and he looked up, swinging his off-saber just in time to block a blaster bolt from above. Vany stood on the bridge, holding her hip where she’d been struck, Khem beside her. Murlesson threw more energy, more violence into his next lightning, and Kusaq was hurled against the wall, wreathed in it. Another shot from Vany and he fell to the floor, smoking.
“Well done, Vany,” Aristheron said, sheathing his saber. “Your wound does not hurt too much?”
“It hurts a bit, but I’ll live,” Vany said, smiling painfully.
Aristheron nodded to Murlesson. “The artifact is close.”
“I feel it too,” Murlesson said, jumping back up to the upper level, letting Aristheron take the lead to a locked inner door, where the sense of the artifact was emanating from. Aristheron was about to draw his lightsaber to destroy the lock when Vany handed him a keycard, so he swiped the door, entered – and stopped short.
Murlesson hurried after him. “Vany, Khem Val, guard the door,” Aristheron ordered, and the door closed behind Murlesson as Aristheron knelt in front of a terrified Rodian slave child. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The child shivered, too frightened to speak, it seemed. The sense they had felt was his Force-sense, a silently-screaming ball of agony, spreading into the depression that filled the base.
“Is that…” Murlesson said, revulsion boiling up in his stomach, hatred bubbling into his hearts. He’d been mistreated as a slave, but he’d never experienced anything like this.
“That appears to be the artifact,” Aristheron said, his voice low and hard. “This was unnecessary.” The child’s rough tunic had slipped down one shoulder, revealing something metallic embedded – implanted in his chest. Aristheron reached out with one hand, but it was an invitation, not a command. “Come, little one. We want to help you.” Now his voice was gentle, sincerely gentle, and with it his Force sense…
“Aristheron,” Murlesson said suddenly, “are you… Light-sided?” He had only sensed Aristheron’s power before, strong but neutral, but now, in this moment, unguarded… his friend was gleaming, almost glittering to his mind’s eye, his sixth sense.
Aristheron didn’t move, but his posture suddenly seemed wary. “Am I going to have to kill you for finding out?”
Murlesson ignored the spike of terror in his own body and turned away, pretending to be unconcerned. “Unlike everyone else in this Empire, I really don’t care which side of the Force you use. I only care about one thing: are you going to hurt me?”
“I won’t hurt you unless you betray me,” Aristheron said evenly.
“That was rhetorical,” Murlesson grunted, but managed to relax a bit. “I won’t say a word.”
“I’m sorry, little one. It was nothing to do with you. Come, now. We must get you to a medical facility.”
That panicked the little Rodian into screaming, cowering away from Aristheron. Murlesson flicked out two fingers in the child’s direction. “Calm. We want to heal you. To make it stop hurting.” Though his voice was impatient, his suggestion wasn’t. He just wanted the silent noise to stop. Probably a medical facility was where the kid had had the implant forced on him. But it wasn’t like they’d be able to just yank it out without going back to one.
The Force-suggestion worked far more easily than it should have, and the child sagged forwards into Aristheron’s arms, the pain bleeding into the Force dropping by half. Still murmuring soothing words, the tall man carried the semi-comatose child out. “Call a speeder, Murlesson. We must make haste.”
In the common area they’d been in the day before, Murlesson crouched in a corner, his hood over his head, trying to process everything. His robes were nearly dry, thanks to the high-pressure heated fans at the entrance, though still dirty, but he’d left a muddy trail behind him. If he was to become a ghost in the halls the way he had been on Korriban and Commenor, he would need some way to work around that. Janitorial droids and slaves were no substitute for not leaving a trail in the first place. But those thoughts were pushed aside by other concerns. What was this artifact? Who had made it, for what purpose? Who did it belong to now, and what were they using it for? Would any of it impact his survival in the near future?
He was interrupted by familiar Force-senses approaching. “Hey,” Vany said, leaning over him. “I know you’re brooding all broodsomely, but we brought you some hot chocolate.”
He wanted to ask what that was, but he didn’t really care, absently accepting the cup Vany gave him. She had one of her own, too. He sniffed it and was instantly overwhelmed by the richness of the flavour. How much better would it taste to drink? But it was hot, like she’d said, and he decided to wait.
Vany sipped hers carefully. “Have you had it before?” He shook his head. “Hope you like it, then!”
He took a tiny sip, too, and his eyes widened. Vany grinned at his reaction.
Aristheron did not have a cup, standing in the centre of the window, gazing at the city with his hands clasped behind his back. His Force-sense was as it had been, neutral as far as Murlesson could tell at the moment, no sign of that glimmering Light peeking through. “The child’s in medical. The prognosis… is not good. It seems that artifact is a conduit for Force energy, but the direction depends upon the strength of the user. In the hands of a strong user, they can take its stored-up energy. In the hands of a weak one… it saps their energy to store. And to implant it in a child… Why implanting? Just giving it to him would have been just as lethal, there was no need for physical trauma as well.”
“You know what they would say,” Murlesson growled. “A slave-child is nothing. Particularly a scrawny one like that.” Perhaps there was something about Force energy taken with violence that made the artifact work better. He’d believe it of something made by the Sith. He wondered if his nightmares were going to get worse after this. “Anyway, what’s the difference if it’s a child or not?”
“Senseless cruelty,” Aristheron said, and for all his smooth noble voice remained calm, Murlesson could sense anger simmering under his skin. “A life wasted, and for what? Even a slave’s life is worth something. And the young have more to live for.”
“Where were you when I was a slave?” Murlesson said bitterly. Vany made to put a comforting hand on his shoulder and he shifted away quickly, spilling hot chocolate on his hand. He made no reaction to the burn, only wiping the liquid away with his dirty robe. She didn’t try again.
Aristheron glanced sharply at him. “I am no saviour, Murlesson. I refuse to hold slaves personally, but I will not go out of my way to ‘rescue’ them or acquire them for release. I cannot personally halt all the cruelties of the galaxy.”
Murlesson looked away sourly. It was perfectly true – and yet to be told so in such a blunt manner made his blood pressure rise.
“But I will pass judgement on those whom I can,” Aristheron went on more gently. “That surgery was not fresh. I have strong suspicions.”
Suspicions of whom? His own master? “If you want… assistance…” Murlesson offered. Maybe it would be a distraction from dealing with Zash and her schemes, but if Aristheron found himself in over his head, it wouldn’t be very helpful either. He needed all the allies he could get.
Aristheron inclined his head, tacitly accepting. “Drink your chocolate before it gets cold.”
Murlesson suddenly remembered the warm cup in his hand and bent his head to it. It shouldn’t be possible that a warm drink should make him feel so much better, but it did. Maybe his nightmares wouldn’t be worse.
If only it was that simple. Run away to some distant, forgotten planet and drink chocolate for the rest of his life. Ha.
Over the next few weeks, he blasted through the studies the tutor droid gave him, even the stuff he found annoying like chemistry, and the stuff he found painfully out of his depth, like astrogation. He downloaded the texts into a datapad and kept them with him always, reviewing them constantly. His memory was excellent, but he still needed to catch up to everyone else who’d just known this stuff for years. The ‘homework’ was the devil itself – why did he have to show his work to show he understood? It wasted time from going on to the next new thing. He didn’t know how much time this stable, ‘quiet’ period would afford him, but he wanted to finish these courses before anything crazy happened. He was already almost finished most of them, even the ones he’d had to start from scratch in – chemistry and astrogation aside. His tutor expressed artificial surprise at his progress, but really, most of it was pretty straightforward, especially if most people his age were supposed to know this already.
He was practicing other skills, too. He’d been learning to shoot guns with a Mandalorian named Jeik – every skill was useful – and though he’d never be great at it, he could probably hit an unsuspecting target moving in a predictable path, which was better than nothing. Aristheron showed him how to drive a speeder and ride a speeder bike, even though technically he was under-age by Imperial law. Aristheron didn’t need to know that. He asked Jeik to show him how engines worked, but though he understood the theory, he nearly broke Jeik’s speeder and decided that was not going to be something to invest in just yet. Vany showed him how to pick-pocket even without the Force and how to make hot chocolate and other simple cooking.
Zash also took a personal interest in his education, often asking him to her office for long talks about the ancient Sith Lords, their lives and deeds, their philosophies. He tried not to give away too much about himself through his opinions, but it was so alluring to actually have someone who was genuinely interested in the same things he was. Other times she helped him practice his lightsaber forms, or to hone his Force techniques, offering advice to enhance his rapidly-improving talents. And while sometimes she showed her anger to her servants, she was oddly patient with him, and he responded in spite of himself. He still figured she was up to something that wouldn’t necessarily end well for him, but her entire focus at the moment was on ending Skotia, and he could get behind that.
And on his own, he would sneak into the jungle to lurk, to climb trees, to hunt out gundarks and fight them to the death. He didn’t even take Khem. He didn’t want a safety net. Only his own skills, speed, tenacity, against these hulking vicious beasts. Having someone save him would only encourage him to be sloppy. He often didn’t even draw his lightsaber; it was loud and bright and only attracted attention. Even blaster fire or lightning was a bit much. No, far better in this situation was to lurk in a tree and use telekinesis to crush throats, snap necks, and hurl stones. Very satisfying was the one time he managed to pull another tree down on his target, but it was rather inaccurate, only useful against large targets. He opted not to use it the time a gang of Sith apprentices followed him out of the city, intent on getting even for the insult war they’d started… that he’d finished. Instead, he picked them off one by one in the darkness and the rain. He let the panicking leader, the last survivor, get within sight of the city before knocking her down with a rock, and came to loom curiously over her, listening to her beg insincerely, before dispatching her with a blaster shot.
And even if he didn’t exactly enjoy the intense danger, he was starting to thrill to the feeling of choosing to take his life into his own hands, of purposefully challenging creatures that could easily murder him, of setting up battlegrounds and executing strategies. Even when they went wrong the first time – they never went wrong a second time – the feeling of adrenaline zinging through his body, tense as a wire, reflexes firing on a hair-trigger, it made his old life look like actual death in comparison. He wasn’t free, but at least he was alive.
He even had the opportunity to make changes to himself. Zabrak his age were supposed to have facial tattoos signifying a coming-of-age. He’d never had the opportunity as a slave, but not having them now would make him stand out. So he found a place that would do them for him. It wasn’t a traditional place; run by a rather shady Twi’lek Mandalorian, but Jeik recommended him there. He found a design he liked in a book about Zabrak culture, got his face covered in black markings that made him look like a skull.
It was uncomfortable, and he was told to take care of it tediously for at least three weeks afterwards. He hoped it was worth it.
Of course, with everything happening all at once, he barely rested. Aristheron accidentally introduced him to caf and he practically lived off the stuff, but it did nothing for the bags perpetually under his eyes now. At least with his skin colouration, and his new tattoos, no one could see dark circles like they could on fair-skinned humans or Chiss. It made him even more grouchy and sullen than before, but no one really noticed – he made an effort to be civil for Aristheron, Vany, Jeik, and Zash, and anyone else stronger than him had no interest in talking to him, and no one weaker than him mattered. In all, being a Sith was far more difficult and dangerous than being a slave. But no one was beating or electrocuting him anymore, and it was also far more interesting.
But even if he didn’t directly suffer physical punishment, even if he was finally mentally stimulated to a degree that agreed with him, even if he had the appearance of autonomy, he was now as trapped in this life as he had been in the life before. He dared to push the boundaries more than ever, gently, cautiously, and found walls far more invisible but just as unyielding. “Don’t do that, Lord So-and-so won’t like it,” was a common refrain around the Sith Sanctum, and he had to watch his step around other apprentices. If he wasn’t careful, he might get stabbed in an alley from some glory-seeker looking to test themselves on perceived weaklings. Namedropping Zash only helped a little. If he stayed out too late, whether in Kaas City or the jungle, Zash would inevitably appear in her speeder, slightly concerned for his safety, and slightly cross that she’d had to come fetch him. How she kept finding him, he wasn’t sure, probably a combination of security cameras and the irritating Force-bond that tied master to apprentice. He was reasonably sure he hadn’t been implanted with a tracking device, or else he would have freaked out for certain. It was very irritating anyway. And visiting the spaceport was right out. He’d heard stories – if he was found lurking around there without a proper reason to be, security would return him firmly to his master. It seemed he was not the first who wished to leave without permission. Even if he managed to leave, how long would it be before someone found him and killed him?
He wouldn’t be getting out, it seemed, without a really strong plan. Right now, he would watch and learn, rather than try to escape as a half-baked Sith.
“Apprentice,” Zash said to him one day, “I have a mission for you. Skotia’s hiding something, and I want to know what it is.”
“Consider it known,” Murlesson said. “Where do I start looking?”
She beckoned him to her console to show a capture from a security camera. “There’s something hidden away near the base of the newest monolith. This is one of Skotia’s military minions, Lieutenant Shrevald or something like that. This security camera was newly installed yesterday, and he probably didn’t know about it. Watch.”
The lieutenant glanced from side to side as he approached a seemingly-ordinary stone wall. He leaned in close to the rock and seemed to say something – and part of the rock slid aside, revealing a standard Imperial door.
“Now how about that?” Zash said, gleeful. “Doesn’t that just scream of intrigue?”
“I guess,” Murlesson said. “I’ll be back by dinner. Probably. Unless I’m dead.”
“Shoo, then. Try not to do that last part.”
Breaking into the facility was not really hard. Now he knew where the camera was, he could stage an accident, have it short out for the duration of his investigation, and lurk until someone entered or exited the door. He had to wait a few hours, but patience got results, and he could finish his chemistry homework while he waited.
Eventually, he got lucky, and someone exited the door. He snuck in, cloaked in the Force, before it closed. Now to find what was in here. He entered the first room and stopped short.
Jackpot, as Jeik would say.
It was a storage facility for everything Darth Skotia wanted to keep secret and safe. His wide eyes wandered over crates full of mystery, armour stands covered in ornate or heavy armour, racks of strange weapons, shelves covered in strange relics – the part that interested him most.
First things first – he had to make sure no one saw him sneaking about like a rat. Would the security system be local, or remote? Maybe none of the few guards would see him, if he made himself unimportant enough, but cameras would, and Skotia would know who he was on sight. He did the slave shuffle across the room and to the next, and the next, forcing static into the cameras he could see. No security station. Damn. He’d have to be quick, then; too much static would be suspicious. What was that?
The Force drew him to a large golden amulet that lay on one of the shelves, the bulk of it shaped like a Trandoshan’s head. Weren’t Skotia’s bodyguards Trandoshan? Did this have something to do with them, or had Skotia just squirreled it away because it was shiny? He didn’t seem the type. He picked it up, slipping it into a pocket, looking around for something he could substitute so its disappearance would not be noticed immediately. Half-hidden nearby, a shiny mechanical sphere. He moved it over and beat a hasty retreat to find out what it was he had pilfered.
It took a lot of digging through the non-human section of the Sith Sanctum’s public library, but he found it – a sub-sect of a Trandoshan cult venerated this particular amulet, or one that looked just like it, as a gift from their god. It had been stolen from a temple twenty years ago and its whereabouts still unknown… to everyone but Skotia and him, apparently. And now just him.
How did this help in any way? He asked the Force, which gave him no answer.
“Brilliant, apprentice!” Zash exclaimed when he told her all he had found, and showed her the amulet. “I had thought he simply hired them, there are enough Trandoshan mercenaries in the galaxy. But I should have known he would take more precautions than that. This will make your task much easier. Do you know why?”
“No.” He frowned in confusion. It must have been related to why Skotia kept the amulet in the first place. Perhaps he was holding it hostage to ensure their cooperation? They wouldn’t be able to fight a Sith Lord for it.
“We had been planning that you murder Skotia’s bodyguards before dealing with him, yes? But with this, you will be able to control them, instead.”
He blinked, skeptical. “Why would they do that? It’s just a piece of metal. I’m not a Trandoshan.”
Zash wagged a finger at him, smiling mischievously. “Never underestimate the power of blind religious fervour, my apprentice! This was given to them by their god. If you have the power to hold it, you have to power to command them. Order them to run away, order them to kill Skotia, it will work.”
“Hm.” He ran his thumb over the face of the amulet. “Worth a shot, I suppose. It’s not like I’ll be less dead if it fails.”
He crept along a branch of a large, spreading tree overlooking the road, waiting for the convoy to arrive. It was showtime for his first big mission. He’d left Aristheron behind, he couldn’t be linked to this. Zash was at a party, being visible for anyone who might wish to see. Khem Val was his only companion out here in the jungle.
Skotia was travelling between Kaas City and his private estate, and it was near enough to the city he was travelling by landspeeder. Zash told him it was set up inside as an office, and moved at walking speed to allow his bodyguards to maintain pace with it on foot. Murlesson did not have a landspeeder; he’d had to set up hours ahead of time.
The first challenge was going to be the Trandoshan bodyguards. They were resistant to the Force, and they were reputed to be keen hunters, able to smell targets no matter how difficult it was to see them. They were also able to scent explosives, able to scent danger in general. On the other hand, he’d also heard they were rather stupid. The artifact he’d found would seem to reinforce that assessment.
There they were, the Trandoshans walking two before and two behind the armoured speeder. He waited until they were nearly below him, then lightly dropped the twenty-meter fall to the ground, braced his feet, and pulled with each hand. His pre-prepared logs ponderously collapsed on the road behind him, blocking the speeder from proceeding. The Trandoshans raised their guns.
“Hold,” he ordered them. “Have a look at this.” With one hand, he pulled the amulet from his robes and held it high; lightning flashed in the sky, reflecting off the golden surface. His hearts were beating wildly. What if they didn’t obey the person with the amulet? That was stupid, right, to just blindly obey the ‘holder of the magic rock’? Wouldn’t they just kill him for laying his unbelieving hands on it?
But their slitted eyes went wide, staring at the amulet as if entranced. <It has the amulet,> one of them rasped. <Brothers, we must obey it.>
A powerful feeling welled up from his stomach, making him giddy. “Glad you know your place in the universe.”
The door on the side of the speeder slid open, and the hulking cyborg form of Darth Skotia squeezed through it. “What makes this slave so bold as to block my way? Tell me, slave, are you insane, or do you have a death wish?”
Murlesson bared his teeth in a half-crazed laugh. “If you think this is bad, you should meet my other personality.” Fear was coursing through him. Skotia was big, very big up close, and his Force-sense was a cloud of malice before him, rooting him to the ground.
“Heh. Skeesk, kill him.”
The Trandoshans did not move. <It has the amulet,> repeated the first one.
Did he order them to run, or go all out and order them to kill? “Skotia has never had the authority to command you. Strike him down for the Scoremaster!”
<As you wish, master.> He watched in a sort of awe as the four Trandoshans moved swiftly to take aim at their former master. They would obey even the most suicidal of commands?
Skotia drew his lightsaber, blocking the flurry of shots without any seeming difficulty, then lunged at the Trandoshans. It was only a few moments before all of them lay dead, their hunter reflexes worthless against a Sith.
Skotia turned to him, slowly, deliberately. “ You must think you’re very clever, you and your master. You shouldn’t have done that. The bodyguards – they’re nothing. Show. But you subverted my authority, took my slaves from me. And that… makes me angry. Killing you… will be over too soon.” The half-metal face split in a fierce grin. “No… I think you’re going to have to suffer, first.”
He had no witty come-back for that. Move, idiot! Fear boiled into hatred, and his nervous grin morphed into a snarl. He dropped into a combat crouch, lightsaber held loosely in his left hand, his soaked robes clinging to his skinny legs, dropping the now-useless amulet in the mud. Skotia deliberately stalked towards him, lightsaber in hand, cybernetic limbs humming with power. His tread seemed to shake the ground.
And turned to block the strike from Khem Val’s cortosis-edged blade. Murlesson’s eyes gleamed. For the first part of this fight… he didn’t actually intend to fight.
Khem was vicious, and hungry, but still recovering from his thousands of years in stasis, still weak and slow. Skotia was pressing him back easily, the lightsaber scraping sparks from the sword, and Murlesson could feel his servant’s frustration and rage reaching a boiling point. He darted forward, and Skotia backhanded him without even looking, knocking him back head over heels. He scrambled back to his feet, rushing forward again, different angle this time, zig-zagging, skidding across the muddy road. He didn’t have to strike, just get close enough to…
…slap his secret weapon onto Skotia’s arm and duck away, flinging himself bodily to the ground to avoid a lightsaber swipe. Before Skotia could rip it off, he found the power button for the device on his belt and hit it.
Skotia cried out in rage and pain as the specially-designed cyborg-neuro-disruptor EMP ripped through his limbs, taking out both arms and one leg, and probably a good deal of his internal organs as well. He tried to move, teetered, staggered with his good leg, and fell backwards, bouncing off his speeder with a thunk. “What is this? How… did you…”
But it wouldn’t last long, his internal circuitry already rebooting even against such a powerful and personalized attack. Murlesson rolled to his feet, flinging lightning with his right hand, lightsaber blazing in his left, determined to milk every second of advantage he had. If he hadn’t had that device – a device he’d killed a man for – he would have been dead already.
Skotia twitched his head towards him and Murlesson was tossed into the air, his throat constricting; he flexed the darkness within him, and the grip loosened, dropping him back to the ground. His enemy was no push-over even losing control of three limbs, it seemed. Khem slashed at Skotia, carving a deep wound into his chest and shoulder; the backswing sprinkled blood on Murlesson’s face. Murlesson jumped to one side as he saw Skotia’s head move again, but this time it was Khem who was pushed back, and pushed back much farther, toppling into the ditch at the edge of the road.
Skotia was struggling to get up again, his robotic limbs moving jerkily, his right hand still mechanically clutching his lightsaber. Murlesson had to close with him now. He jumped, unnaturally high, blasting Force energy before him as a shield, and landed with a splatter of mud toe-to-toe with Skotia. He felt an invisible grip closing around his body, saw Skotia trying to raise his lightsaber with his disabled and injured arm, and blasted darkness outwards, throwing off the grip, slashing downwards.
Skotia’s arm fell to the mud, the lightsaber deactivated. Skotia gritted his teeth, snarling in hatred up at Murlesson, hatred he was pleased to reciprocate. “Zash! Zash! You’ve killed me…”
Murlesson hissed back, raising his lightsaber. “Don’t blame Zash. This is all me.” He struck, all his hatred flooding through his saber, plunging it up to the hilt in Skotia’s chest, melting through the armoured speeder’s side plating behind.
Skotia’s face contorted and he coughed. “Mindless… you don’t know what Zash can do. She will kill you. Just like… she’s killed… me.” He sagged to one side as Murlesson pulled back his lightsaber, and with an explosive rush in the Force, his sense evaporated into the twilight.
Murlesson looked down at the body, breathing hard with venomous energy. “When that day comes… I’ll be ready for her.”
He turned away, back to the city, sheathing his lightsaber, then stopped. His body was beginning to shake. The darkness in his mind, in his belly was churning with fierce emotions; the temporary release of tension hit him like a piledriver and he swayed as he shook, falling to his knees. He was covered in mud, in droplets of blood from Khem’s strike, could taste blood in his mouth from when he had been backhanded. He’d just… He’d killed, killed a Sith Lord far stronger than he had any right to. Either he was one step closer to freedom, or one step closer to death. Maybe both. The realization swirled around his head.
A giggle forced its way out of his chest, his voice cracking as he lost all control and it erupted into hysterical sobbing laughter, peal upon peal of wild cackling. The sound echoed sharply around the trees surrounding him, spreading eerily into the jungle. He was alive, and he had power. He’d tasted real power this day. And he wanted more.
Darkness and exhaustion took him first.