You may already have noticed that I changed the location from Taris to Yavin 4. That’s because I don’t think Taris really fits what the Inquisitor is trying to do, even if I realize the game has to go there for mechanical reasons. So… Yavin 4, which has a decent Legacy trove of lore to draw on. Hopefully this doesn’t clash with the expansion that I’ll probably never ever play, lol. And I have detailed criticisms of basically every part of the Taris missions. I could pick them apart for pages… or I could just post this chapter, and you can see my criticisms in what I decided to change (N.B. not all changes are criticisms, but all criticisms are changes).
I’ve really been looking forward to finally getting Ashara in here! I love her as a character. I don’t know what she’s like Dark Side, but Light Side she’s a bundle of fun.
There’s another scene here that I’ve been looking forward to which is exclusive to Murlesson; I’m sure you’ll know it when you read it. Here’s the music you should be listening to with it muahahahahaha… It’s written as a 1:1 cutscene with the music, so if you read super fast, it will line up if you press play at “He was a brave man to have penetrated these forgotten depths alone…” but I don’t recommend reading it super fast, I spent a lot of time on that part! XD
I was actually going to have this chapter out earlier but I got stuck on the fight scenes. (and lots of life events going on – I moved to a new apartment! Which event promptly kicked the mental stuffing out of me)
Part 12: The Maiden and the Assassins
He lurked in the undergrowth, prone, near-invisible with his hood drawn over his red head, near-invisible in the Force with his power shrouded down inside himself, reading while he waited for the target to arrive. Yavin 4 was surprisingly remote and untouched, for all that it was whispered that Naga Sadow’s true tomb was here. The knowledge should have filled him with geekish glee at the opportunity to visit the system, but while rare copies of the Sith Lord’s writings were floating about the universe, including in Zash’s library, it wasn’t recorded where the tomb actually was, as far as he knew. And besides, he didn’t think himself strong enough to go there yet. He was not as strong as Naga Sadow. Not yet. But reading the texts was a fascinating substitute for the time being.
Once on the moon’s surface and briefed by Zash’s local man – an odious toady by the name of… Maliss, something Maliss, a stupid name he wouldn’t have been surprised to find was fake – he was only surprised that only one ghost was being investigated. The world’s past was cloaked in mystery but there was so much to discover. It was a pity it was so remote.
The sun was warm on the tree-tops far above him, and a waterfall crashed down with a dull roar not far away. Revel yawned beside him, bored out of his skull. Murlesson hadn’t needed to bring him, but for some reason the pilot wanted to come on reconnaissance. Better to be bored on a mission than bored on the ship? Murlesson disagreed; if he didn’t have to go out on a mission, he would never leave the ship. That was where all his holocrons and texts were, and the holonet too. If Revel fell asleep and started snoring, he’d get poked viciously.
Murlesson heard footsteps crunching on the pathway to the waterfall and slipped the holocron back in his sleeve. She ought to be in this party. All his spying of the last five days couldn’t be wrong.
A group of Jedi marched into view, wearing light armour and not being particularly stealthy. And why should they be? Why should their guard be up on a simple training exercise, far far away from any Imperial installations? Murlesson did not move, willing himself to blend in body and soul to the forest floor around him, never looking directly at them for more than a moment.
One of them laughed and jogged forward eagerly on seeing the waterfall. “Finally! We made it!”
All thoughts of hiding his stares so as not to give himself away through scopathesia evaporated from his mind. He’d never heard a laugh like that before, but that was her. And… wow.
Tall, lean, energetic, with attractively-striped lekku, Ashara Zavros was a sight to behold. And she wasn’t too shabby in the Force, either, gleaming with a warm aura that waxed and waned unpredictably from moment to moment – but she was strong. The strongest Padawan in the group that now divested themselves of their packs and began arranging themselves in a circle beside the waterfall. She was the one he needed for his plans.
He had to restrain himself from lifting his head to see better, had to force himself not to stare, not to reach out. He was only here to observe. He remained motionless and listened harder.
This was pretty much his first time really studying Jedi; the few he’d killed and his brief meeting with the Rurouni months ago didn’t really count. So when they started with beginner philosophy classes, he paid attention. It was mindnumbingly basic, but he hoped it might give him insight as to how the Jedi actually used their code. He’d read it but naturally his teachers on Korriban had discouraged discussion of it… sometimes violently. But he’d never really liked how the Sith Code began with ‘Peace is a lie’; as if in reaction to the Jedi Code. As if comparing themselves forever to the Jedi. If they were truly equal, or even better, their basic tenets would stand on their own. But… it seemed that modern Sith were descended from Darkside Jedi, and tradition was difficult to change. He understood why it was written the way it was. He just didn’t like it. And he didn’t think it was time yet to write his own.
The Cathar Jedi was saying: “The Jedi Code states, ‘There is no passion, there is serenity’. Can anyone explain what this means? Yes, Ashara?”
Ashara put down the hand she’d popped high in the air. “It means that a Jedi must be prepared to think calmly even in intense situations. Passion is a tool of the Dark Side.” It certainly was… but he couldn’t gloat in his superiority now, it would give him away. “A Jedi needs to control any strong feelings they have. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace’. And the next line means Jedi should temper their intuition with wisdom. ‘There is no ignorance, there is knowledge’.”
She gave her answers immediately and without hesitation – they were easy answers to an easy question, barely scratching the surface, and he was already getting bored. Maybe his hopes had been too high.
Maybe she’d be interested in more challenging questions? She did seem restless, and like she wanted to talk more, but thought it might be rude to other students…? Or maybe she just didn’t like sitting still. He wondered if he were becoming a little too fascinated with her too quickly, considering he only needed to know her well enough to get on her good side for a few minutes.
Pfa, she’d never debate philosophy with a Sith, even if she did have an interest. At least not before he’d won a modicum of trust from her. And the Master… he could sense from here, the Master was too rigid to even contemplate speaking civilly to a Sith.
At least not without a great deal of persuasion. Idly, he wondered how easy it would be to get Jedi in general to trust him, until he was living among them like a canker that they themselves welcomed. They’d probably try to ‘fix’ him or ‘heal’ him, like the Rurouni had. He might be safe from Thanaton, though. For a time. Not forever. And that was useless to him. Hiding with the Jedi meant not gathering power that he’d need later.
His eyelids were drooping by the time the philosophy lesson ended, but the apprentices- er, Padawans were headed a little farther down to the waterfall, where a huge stone lay in the middle of the pool under the falls. It must have fallen from the top of the cliff at some point in the distant past, and now the Jedi used it to practice telekinesis.
What an opportunity for humiliation, to be forced to perform in front of one’s peers. Now he wondered why there hadn’t been more group classes at the Sith Academy – or had the Sith instructors not wished that acolytes gain too much of an advantage over each other by observing each other? Would that have made it too easy? Of course, the Jedi did not seem to go in for humiliation.
Humiliation wasn’t completely preventable just because they were Jedi, though. When it was Ashara’s turn to lift the rock, she made a lot of flapping gestures at it, seeming to strain unduly, and the rock moved not at all.
She sighed impatiently and turned to her instructor. “I can’t. I can’t do it. Y’know what? You want to move a rock, get a quarry droid.”
The Cathar watched her without reaction. “Calm, Ashara. Control your feelings. There is no emotion, there is peace. Try it again.”
“I tried. I tried already. I can’t do it.” And it wasn’t that she was weak. He’d felt her move the Force. She just hadn’t moved the rock.
How funny would it be if he nudged it a bit to help her? …What had gotten into him that he was even considering such a foolish action facetiously?
“Trust in the Force, and even the oldest and sturdiest of walls may be pulled down,” said her master placidly. Was that supposed to be encouraging?
She flapped at him now. “Forget this. There are Sith on Yavin 4. We should be training to fight them, not sitting here doing exercises.”
Ah. That explained a lot.
“Patience, Ashara. One must empty oneself of emotion and find the peace with which to act in the Force. But you may have a rest. Varek, would you have a turn now?”
A couple of the students actually moved the stone a couple inches into the air, and it made a little splash when they let it go – but not Ashara. He didn’t get to see Master Ryen move it, either, couldn’t see how easy it might be for someone who knew what they were doing… so he’d assume Ryen was at least as good as he was himself.
It was strange, he mused as they packed up and left. From what he understood, Jedi actually started their formal training earlier than the Sith, unless they were Sith lucky enough to be groomed from childhood like Aristheron or Akuliina. So how come this lot all seemed like rank beginners?
He waited until ten standard minutes had passed before getting up. He ached a bit from being in the same position for so long, but he was going to say… worth it. Stretching to the full length of his lanky frame, he walked out casually to examine the clearing through the Force, sweeping his long-fingered hand through the air before him, though it didn’t tell him anything he hadn’t directly seen in the last hour or two. Satisfied, he turned to go back.
“Aren’t you going to move the rock?” Revel asked.
Murlesson raised an eyebrow at him. “Why?”
“Just wondering.”
He’d been tempted, true, just to see, but there really was no point. “I was lifting things this big since before I ate two spirits. It would be too easy now. Besides, someone might notice.”
“Paranoid much?”
“Is it paranoia if they really are out to get you?” Murlesson countered, sauntering away. “We’ll come back next week. I need to see more.”
“Bet ya do…”
Murlesson stopped walking and gave him a flat stare. “If that’s all you’re coming for, you can stay on the ship.”
“All right, all right. But there’s no denying she’s hot, even if she’s not my type. ‘Bout the right age for you, though.”
“Shut up.” He ran a hand through his hair in irritation. It was so long now he could put it in a little ponytail if he wanted, and he was considering it – it kept getting in his way now.
“Ever hung out with a girl before? In real life, I mean, not the holonet?”
“I said to shut up, Revel.”
“Just asking.”
Same spot, different day, and they were finally doing a lightsaber exercise. Their skill level was more gratifying to see today; perhaps he’d formed his previous judgement of their inexperience too quickly. Ashara in particular was wonderful to watch, and really into it – too into it, according to her teacher.
“Ashara, relent! That’s an order!”
Ashara’s opponent staggered back from her heated blows, barely defending himself. He was weak; even Murlesson could have taken him down without using any Force tricks. She drew back and shut off her twin blades, huffing.
Master Ryen frowned and spoke slowly. “You must learn control. Varek is clearly not your equal yet. There was no reason to press the attack.”
Ashara protested shrilly. “We’re training for war. The Sith won’t surrender; we have to drive them back with everything we’ve got.”
“These are not Sith, they are fellow Padawans.” Master Ryen sighed and spoke more gently. “This is not sparring practice for you alone. You are helping in Varek’s training, and overwhelming your sparring partner teaches him nothing.”
She hung her head. “I understand, Master. Varek, I’m sorry I got carried away.”
“It’s… it’s okay, Ashara,” panted the other Padawan. “It makes me realize how much farther I have to go.”
“You show great potential, Ashara, but you must temper your fervour with patience,” said Master Ryen. “Would you help Varek with some review of Makashi form? I think it will help you both.”
“Yes, Master,” Ashara said, but she said it reluctantly.
They were holding her back to bring weaker students up to her level – students who might never get to her level. They talked about control a lot, but in the end, they were controlling her, and she was letting them… for now. Even though she really was bad at upholding the Jedi Code as he understood it, even though she would have made a good Sith…
This was all irrelevant. He didn’t care if she were strong or weak, Jedi or Sith, good or bad.
Today’s session was much longer – they were going to be out the whole day, he’d already learned, so he left Revel back on the ship and brought a lunch just like the people he was watching. In the afternoon, they were engaging in an elaborate combat exercise. The drill was the Padawans would split into two teams, and each team would split into two groups, a vanguard and a rearguard, and they would pretend to fight each other. There was little strategic value in such an exercise, but perhaps they weren’t at that level yet. There was not a lot of point in training the rank-and-file in tactics, anyway. The whole thing was strange to him. They’d never had any such classes on Korriban. Perhaps if they had, that one Sith who’d gotten himself killed fighting Kel Reu Giri on Alderaan wouldn’t have gotten himself killed.
Eh, he would have gotten himself killed anyway. Sith couldn’t work together in any group larger than two, not without an alpha, anyway. If Aristheron and Akuliina had to join forces, which one would cave first?
“Varek, Eli, and Cassius will be in the assault group,” Master Ryen was saying. “The rest of you will be support. Any questions? …Then take your positions.”
Ashara hadn’t gone off with her group; she hung around until she could get the master’s attention. “Master Ryen, I think you put me in the wrong group.”
Ryen shook his head. “You are in the support group, Ashara. You will provide backup to the assault team.”
She frowned. “That’s what I mean. I should be on the assault team. Varek can barely hold a lightsaber.”
Was it his imagination, or was she trying the master’s patience? “Learning to support your fellow Jedi is an important skill, and no less important than to defend your companions from the front. Varek is learning what you already know. You must learn every position on the battlefield, because you never know when you might be called to fulfill another role.”
“But Master Ryen!” she whined. Was she so short-sighted? Even he agreed with the Jedi; it seemed to echo Zash’s advice to him, which had been perhaps the most useful thing she’d ever done for him.
“Enough, Ashara,” the Cathar snapped. “You have received your instructions. Join the others if you wish to complete your trial.”
She huffed and stomped off, grumbling. Master Ryen shook his head. “She has so much potential… but she doesn’t see. She could bring peace to so many but there is no peace inside her yet. Too much ego even after all her training.”
Peace… what was peace good for? The Jedi lived in their own little unrealistic world. It was becoming more and more evident with every moment he spent watching them. Yet it seemed like their end goal was to bring everyone into that strange little idealistic world with them, which didn’t sound so bad… …if they weren’t so terrible about actually getting it done. Did they think with their supernatural powers they could end all suffering in the galaxy? Fine job they were doing so far. Just fantastic.
Master Ryen cast an idle glance towards the forest, and Murlesson stilled his thoughts; he’d been becoming careless and he didn’t want even a whiff of the Dark Side to draw Ryen’s attention. The Jedi weren’t wrong about a few things. His brain was made to be busy, and he would never be able to let go of all the hatred and fear and anger that defined his life, but all this discussion about ‘calming one’s mind’ really had made an effect on his concentration. He hadn’t done much practicing yet, but coupled with his new artificial power, wielding the Force felt so easy now. It felt good. And it was easier to hide his aura than before, which was good given how much bigger it was now.
Now he just needed to get that ghost.
He pressed further into the crypt, a lantern floating obediently by his shoulder, his eyes searching tirelessly in the dim light. A Sith Lord named Anathemos was looking for a particular holocron but was too busy to get it, Maliss had told him, Maliss the boundless source of Sith gossip and brown-nosing compliments. Gods, he couldn’t wait for his sudden but inevitable betrayal. But the tid-bit had been useful, and he seemed to have beaten Anathemos to the punch. Not that he was surprised once he’d arrived; the crypt was in a horribly inaccessible area of the jungle, so deep he’d had to ride his borrowed speeder bike for hours to get there – Revel couldn’t land the Viper any closer. And the terrain… only a truly desperate person would casually run in without preparing.
The Force was restless here, but there did not seem to be awakened spirits. At least, none that would reveal themselves to him. What there was was traps. Lots and lots of traps, mostly of physical activation. He dodged the few he set off, more nervous than a Sith Lord really ought to be – it wasn’t like fighting a person, and he still hadn’t been in enough tombs yet to really feel like an expert.
The deepest chamber had the most coffins, and the holocron he was looking for, among many other artefacts that he would have enjoyed studying… if he’d had the time. He’d just slipped it into his sleeve when he heard and sensed someone coming, and shut off his lamp, snapping the chamber into complete darkness. He backed into a corner and waited.
A Republic soldier rounded the corner, looking around warily in the light of the flashlight strapped to his rifle. He grumbled as he came: “Entire squad dead… Kriffing traps… How am I supposed to retrieve this tablet all by myself?” He was a brave man to have penetrated these forgotten depths alone…
And Murlesson recognized him, even through the uniform, the scars that marred his face. “T-Ten!?” Shock struck him to his core. He’d thought everyone dead!
Tenkobu swung his flashlight and rifle around, startled. “What- who-” He stopped as the light fell on Murlesson’s face; he squinted into the light. “Mur…lesson?” For a brief instant, they stared at each other, and there was the beginning of surprised wonderment on Ten’s face – there certainly was on Murlesson’s face.
Then a look of pure rage filled Tenkobu’s face and he hefted his rifle. “You!! What are you doing here!?”
“I… Ten, what are you…” Adrenaline rushed through him, and for a moment he almost couldn’t hear, blood pounding in his ears in panic.
“How dare you, you traitor!? I trusted you! They all trusted you! To their deaths!”
Murlesson’s mouth fell open. “I-”
“How could you!? You killed Nel! He was on that shuttle, you traitorous cowardly scum! So many were on that shuttle, and you killed them!”
“I- no, I swear, Ten, I did not! I tried to stop it-”
“Sure you did!” Ten frothed, taking a step closer. His rifle was trembling in his grasp, and it looked like he was going to shoot any second. “Thought you could make a clean getaway, didn’t you? Killed Netokos and went to run all by yourself like the son of a schutta you are!”
Murlesson was regaining control over himself; his body was very still, but tensed like a wire, ready to block the shot, jump out of the way, whatever he needed to do. The darkness seemed to grow darker around him. “There was another Sith Lord. She took me. I couldn’t do anything. I tried.”
“I don’t believe you!” Ten took another step closer, teeth bared, tears running down his face – and froze, glancing at Murlesson’s belt, where his lightsaber hung in plain view. “You… you’re…”
Saying ‘it’s not what you think’ would be a transparent lie, and incredibly ineffective. But he couldn’t think of what to say to make Ten stand down. “Ten – please, listen-”
“You’re one of them!” Tenkobu roared. “You always were! You were never what I thought! How could I have ever trusted you- You’re no better than Netokos-”
“Enough!” Murlesson cried, straightening to his full height. The shadows crawled around him menacingly, sliding around the stones and coffins to surround Tenkobu, bearing down on the small light of his flashlight. One small light in the darkness, about to be overwhelmed and swallowed up.
He’d not been through everything just to be dragged down again by a weak, ultimately-insignificant piece of his past.
Tenkobu froze, fear beginning to blossom on his face. But not enough. With a snarl, he lifted his rifle and began to shoot.
Murlesson blocked the first shot with his bare palm, dissipating the energy with the Force; the second and third went wide; the fourth never came as he ripped the rifle from Tenkobu’s grasp with a flick of his wrist. The flashlight went flying, casting only a faint ambient illumination of the chamber from the corner where it spun to, just enough to see movement by. Wind began to whisper around Murlesson as he took his own step forward. Tenkobu cried out in rage and charged him, apparently intent on attacking the Sith Lord with a combat knife and, if it came down to it, bare hands.
Murlesson bared his teeth just a little as he redirected the Force, and Tenkobu was flung backwards into the wall. But he picked himself back up and kept coming. Just as stubborn as ever, but no longer possessed of the steadiness that had distinguished him as a leader among the slaves; it had been replaced by a reckless darkness that rivaled Murlesson’s own. But he didn’t have power.
Murlesson seized him in the Force and lifted him into the air as he struggled uselessly. The wind wailed in the enclosed space, and Murlesson let out a laugh that was half a snarl of his own. “I never asked to be a Sith Lord. Even if I was always different. But now I am, and if I falter for even one moment, I die. So many of them want to kill me just for the crime of existing.” He laughed again, hysterically, voice cracking, then coming back in a deep hoarse hiss. “You’re right, though. I have become them. I have become them to destroy them. I will be the very best one, the most cunning, the most powerful. I’m going to kill them all. Every last one. And not one person is going to get in my way. Definitely not you.”
This wasn’t a fair fight. It wasn’t a fight at all. Ten was so hopelessly outclassed, and yet he’d been brave enough – or stupid – to attack anyway. But this… was murder. Worse than murder.
And he had no choice. Ten was a loose end that would absolutely definitely one hundred percent come back to haunt him at the worst possible time.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
“Mur-”
He crouched on the floor, shrouded in complete blackness, his face in his hands. Ten’s body lay somewhere over there, empty. He took a shuddering breath. For the first time, he was really doubting himself. He had to do it. It was necessary. But he… he was half-broken to start with. At what point would his grim vocation shatter him entirely?
Not all the energy from the blaster shot had bled into the Force, and the burn mark on his palm throbbed in time with his heartbeats.
Well, it was probably the last time anything like this would happen. He had no more connections to his past. He didn’t intend to get attached to anyone else. If he someday had to kill Khem, or Revel, or even Rylee, he would do it with no outward remorse.
In the dark, all alone, no one could see if he was crying or not.
It was no trouble at all to sneak past the Republic forces waiting outside. On his way back out he’d seen the bodies of other Republic soldiers, no doubt the rest of Ten’s squad, killed by the traps. He left the tablet Ten had come for in plain view by the entrance and slipped into the woods. He turned back and projected his voice. “Hey you. Present by the door.”
The soldiers immediately started pointing their blasters at the undergrowth around them, and one of them approached the tablet warily, like it was a bomb about to go off. “Show yourself!” another one shouted.
“Your recovery team is all dead,” Murlesson told them. “Don’t go into the crypt. Unless you feel like being stupid.”
“Who are you!? What are you doing here!?”
He didn’t answer, watching them silently.
“At least we have the intel,” the one with the tablet said to his superior. “If the voice is correct… the team won’t have died in vain.”
Murlesson scoffed miserably to himself. People died in vain all the time. In a year, ten years, a thousand years… no matter how the ripples of destiny rolled, who would remember these tiny life-and-death struggles? What was the point of it all? Life was vanity, ugly and futile. Anyone who said otherwise hadn’t felt the weight of its atrocities on their back.
And yet he would continue fighting tooth and nail to keep living as long as he could, like a cowardly hypocrite.
He ran. Frakking drukking Sithspit! He’d underestimated how long it would take Anathemos’s assassins to find Zavros, and monitoring Republic comms had been his only clue that he was late. Anathemos had made no real attempt to coordinate, probably content to have his stupid holocron. If the girl died, Murlesson would be very angry with him. Never mind, he was already very angry with him. He should never have listened to Maliss, should have done the entire thing with his own resources. The only really lucky thing was that he’d been able to respond to her distress call before any of her Masters did. “Zavros. Can you head east at all? I’m headed to your position.”
“No can do, Kallig,” she panted in return, clearly running somewhere. “I’m cut off. Across the bridge, by the cliff to the north.”
“Hold on,” he pleaded with her. “I’ll be there soon.”
“Roger!”
He ran like he’d never run before. Curse this planet and its semi-impassable forests! It was going to be impossible to keep his hood on – not that he needed it in the rapidly gathering twilight.
Ahead, across the bridge she’d been talking about, he could hear the hum of lightsabers. There she was, blazing defiantly with her twin blue sabers against four assassins in dark armour. He crashed through their line and skidded to a stop by her side, lightsaber out, defending her. “Sorry I’m late!” His voice cracked on the word ‘late’ and he blushed as he panted for air. Crap. If he hadn’t been late, he wouldn’t have this problem.
She gasped, horrified, backing away from him. “Sith! I should have known this was some kind of trap!”
“It’s not a trap,” he argued, lying baldly, trying to keep his eyes on all four assassins at once. “I really am here to help you.”
“You’re not really going to protect me against your own people!?” she cried, but she hadn’t stabbed him yet.
“Surely the idea of Sith opposing other Sith isn’t that surprising to you?” he asked sarcastically.
She snorted, taking a more battle-ready stance. “No, now that you mention it. I guess it’s not so unusual for villains to be at each other’s throats.” He rolled his eyes.
The assassins had pulled back slightly on his arrival. He didn’t know what their exact orders were, or whether they even knew about him. “With all respect, my lord, we have orders to see this girl dead. Please don’t make a fuss.”
A fuss? He planned to object strenuously. And violently, if necessary. “If you want this Padawan, you’ll have to go through me, first.” That should be dramatic and white-knight-ish enough for her to approve.
“My lord- you’re not seriously going to- This is treachery! Lord Anathemos will hear of it!”
“You heard him!” Ashara cried, stepping forward until she was almost protecting him. “We’re not going down without a fight!” There was something… endearing about the person he was trying to save stepping up in his defense, really.
What, they were seriously going to fight him? To the death? If they didn’t fall back after crossing blades with him, well, that was on their own stupidity. And Anathemos for not briefing them properly.
They lunged. He twirled his saber and batted away the two on the left, then stabbed towards one of the ones on the right; he knew Ashara was good with her blades, but he’d never seen her in real life-or-death combat before, and these were, after all, assassins. The more pressure he could take off her, the better.
But fighting two-and-a-half opponents was more than he’d handled himself since that one dire moment on Korriban. In the moment was only ducking, parrying, counterattacking, lightsabers singing an angry chorus through the trees. His boots slid between stances on the earthy ground, raising the smell of trampled moss, and the Force surged around him, pushing them back, pressing on their minds, weighting their movements. They were still unreasonably agile, and well-coordinated with each other, spinning away from him when he got too close, locking blades with his with a venomous buzz as lightsabers scraped against each other.
They weren’t giving way. They really were serious. Well, so was he. He hissed, jabbing forwards, hastily backpedaling, spinning his blade to counter the other one he was fighting. They were trying to manoeuvre the two of them so that they were separated; he pivoted instead, placing Ashara behind him. He could feel her presence flickering like a flame in the wind, flaring bright with conviction and then wavering with fear, heard her breath come uneven and gasping. Ha… fear gave an edge to his own power, and he made a spinning slash, lunging low, and one assassin fell, failing to parry. He felt Ashara stumble backwards into him and after a brief moment of panic managed to steady them both, sweeping up to block his remaining enemy’s strike as she used him to push herself towards her opponents again. A moment later he heard a scream; she had struck true and now it was two on two. But now the two against them were enraged from their losses.
He twirled his blade as he drove forward again. Somewhere inside him, he vaguely hoped that she was impressed; some part of him was showing off a little now that he was confident of victory. He wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t even able to watch him, she was fighting for her life maybe for the first time. He certainly didn’t want to distract her now. The assassin rallied with rage, assaulting him with a rain of blows – but though he was slowed, he didn’t stop, parrying, blocking, waiting for the instant he could turn the tables- In a blink, his opening had come, and he’d already slashed, spinning his saber over his head and down across his opponent’s chest. He spun to help Ashara deal with the last one, crashing into the middle of the duel with a shin-kick and a stab. She’d been holding her own, but now they would fight him together.
The assassin fell back, all his aggression melting as he realized he was alone, trying to disengage and flee. Murlesson wasn’t allowing any of that, hounding him until he knocked the lightsaber from his enemy’s hand. “Please! I relent! Lord, Jedi, don’t kill me.”
“Of course,” Ashara said at once, sheathing her sabers. “The Jedi way is mercy.”
Murlesson’s face hardened. The others were all dead, his standing with Anathemos couldn’t get any lower, and he did not need this filth getting away to whine. “I am not a Jedi.”
He swung, and the Sith screamed as he died. Ashara winced and looked away, though she’d been fine with killing the other three. “You even kill your own kind without remorse,” she said with disgust. Disgust didn’t bother him, even if he didn’t understand it.
He shrugged, checking to make sure they were all really dead, though he could feel it in the Force already and it was difficult to see in the sudden darkness from the lack of lightsabers. “He would have continued chasing you if allowed to live, or his master would have killed him. Surely you know how relentless the Sith can be… because they must.”
“Because they must?” She snorted. “I’m pretty sure half of them do it for fun. Sadistic psychopaths…”
“You’re not wrong, but I at least must,” he said. “Ever since they caught me escaping slavery and forced me into this life, I only do what I must to survive.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding genuinely surprised. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know… I guess I thought… I don’t know what I thought.” She paused, then rallied. “What do you want with me, anyway? What did they want with me?”
They were all dead, and he stood up to talk to her properly. Time to pull out the charm, of the sort he thought she would respond to – naive and awkward – and stopped short, staring.
“What!?” she demanded, hands on her hips, looking like she was seconds away from drawing on him again.
“Er… sorry,” he mumbled, only half-acting. “You’re even prettier than I… nevermind.” He’d thought she was rather pretty from a distance, but she was very pretty up close in the faint moonlight, and he was a little bit thrown. Was this a blush he felt? Since when did he blush at a girl?
She blushed and crossed her arms and huffed. “Shut up! You haven’t answered my questions yet.”
He coughed awkwardly. At least all this embarrassment was helping his act. “Right, yes… I’m afraid we were after the same thing – the ghost in the Jedi enclave.” He retied his hair back in its little ponytail, trying to look presentable. It might actually be getting too long if it kept falling in his face in battle.
“The ghost?” She squinted at him. “What good would the ghost be to you?”
He looked away, pretending to be hesitant. “Where to start… Hm. Do you know of Darth Thanaton?”
“Yes, and…?”
“He’s trying to kill me. And I’d really rather not die, so I’m looking for all the strength I can find. I’m actually a history student, or would be if people would stop trying to kill me – and the ghosts of ancient Force-users know a lot. And I know you’re the only one who can summon it.”
She frowned. “I don’t think this ghost will talk to you, even if you were able to enter the Jedi enclave.”
He looked at her with pleading eyes, or as pleading as his dour yellow irises could get. “I don’t mean you any harm, any of you. All I want is to talk to the ghost. Or try to.” He clasped his hands and half-bowed towards her, almost overdoing the meekness. “Please. Please let me try. This is my only lead right now.” That, at least, was true.
She sighed and frowned and walked in a little circle; the moonlight gleamed on her horns and lekku. But she’d let most of her guard down around him. It really was quite astonishing. Her masters wouldn’t dare do that. “I don’t know…” He waited. “Well… you saved my life, even if I still don’t trust you. But they’ll never let you in, you know, even if you did save me. It would take time for you to prove yourself.”
“I don’t have time,” he begged. “He doesn’t know where I am right now, but as soon as he finds out… I’m dead. I promise, I won’t hurt anyone.” Except in self-defense, but that should go without saying.
She sighed again. “Sith-”
“Murlesson,” he said.
“Huh?”
He’d mentioned his name when he’d answered her distress call; names helped establish trust. “My name is Murlesson Kallig.” In case she just forgot.
“Um, yeah, I’m just going to keep calling you ‘Sith’ for now.” Rejected. Oh well. “Anyway, fine. I’ll talk to my masters and see if they’ll make a brief exception. You pull anything funny, and they’ll stop you.”
“They’ll kill me?” he asked pointedly. No euphemisms. She should realize what she was saying about this person she seemed to feel a little sympathy for.
She winced. “I mean, yes, that’s normally how we stop Sith. So no Dark Side stuff!”
He put up his hands. “I’ll be good. Promise.” She was already warmer to him than he’d hoped, so this was going pretty well. “When do you want me to come by?”
“I’m not going to ask how you got my frequency, but I’ll call you,” she said. “Expect an answer tomorrow.”
He nodded, and tilted his head. “I think the Republic has finally come to save you.” He could hear soldiers approaching, noisily. “I’m going to make myself scarce. Please don’t forget me.”
“How could I?” she asked sarcastically, as he stepped back into the forest and faded from sight.
She called him the next morning. “My masters say you can make your case to them, as long as you come alone, but they really don’t think it’s a good idea. You sure you want to risk your life like this?”
“It’s risk my life with the Jedi, or risk my life with the Sith. The odds are pretty evenly against me,” he said. “At least the Jedi are more likely to warn me before they try to kill me.” Sith knew better than to do that.
She was silent for a moment. “You suffer a lot as a Sith, don’t you?”
This was suddenly a lot more personal than he was happy with. “I’ll be there in an hour. Alone.” He realized they were probably preparing for him, making sure that they would be able to kill him if he seemed even slightly suspicious. He was going to have to fight for his life at some point. Whatever. Mondays.
He was there at the appointed time, approaching the ancient structure of the enclave alone with his hood up. Jedi and Padawans glared suspiciously at him in his worn black robes. He tried to make himself look weak and inoffensive.
Ashara met him at the door. “You actually came. I’m impressed.”
“I don’t have much to lose,” he said, looking down. At least he’d impressed her with something. No, irrelevant. “All I can do is ask, can’t I?” It was a much easier plan than conquering the enclave by force, and Ashara would never agree to assist him then – and she might even resist him to her death. Now if only the Masters could unbend for half a minute… he might not even have to kill anyone today. Wouldn’t that save everyone a lot of effort?
Master Ryen came forward with a human Jedi, Ocera, looking even more miffed than usual. “The Jedi Enclave is no place for a Sith.”
He bowed. “All I ask is an interview with your ghost, Master Jedi. I have no quarrel with the Jedi or the Republic.”
“We shall see,” Master Ocera said. “The Darkness within you…”
Murlesson let him trail off, waiting patiently. Could he detect his true power through the veil he kept it clamped under? Probably not.
“What is it you truly seek?” Ryen asked. “What will this ghost grant you?”
“Power,” Murlesson said. No point in dissembling, even if it was the most stereotypical answer he could have given. “As your Padawan no doubt told you, I am being hunted by Darth Thanaton. I have found the knowledge of the dead to be very useful in staying alive.”
“And should you stay alive, you eventually intend to kill him?”
Murlesson shrugged. “It’s him or me now. If he catches me… I will try.”
“And should you kill him, what will you do?”
Murlesson narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re trying to gauge whether you’re releasing a worse scourge on the galaxy than Thanaton if somehow I happen to win. Yes, the Darkness within me is heavy. It always has been, and always will be. I have no intention of giving it up. But on the other hand, I’ve come here alone, as you asked, I saved your apprentice- er, Padawan, and I’ve been nothing but polite.”
Ocera growled. “We will not be manipulated, Sith. And your kind are known for lying and betraying.”
“What good does lying do me here?” He hadn’t told them the whole truth, but really, honestly, as much truth as he’d told them was the best way to get them to do what he wanted. He hoped.
“This way,” Master Ryen said finally. “We will be watching you. I know you have not told us everything.”
He inclined his head respectfully and followed.
They came to a deep chamber under the enclave; it might have been a tomb once, but now it was simply empty. Master Ocera flipped the lights on, and Ashara stepped forward.
“I’ve only done this once before, and it was an accident, so… fingers crossed, I guess,” she said, and knelt in the centre of the room with her hands clasped together. The lights flickered. Ryen and Ocera took a place on each side of the chamber’s only door.
The lights dimmed, and a ghostly shape flew at Ashara. “Child! I thought told you never to summon me again! Leave me in peace! Keep your Jedi away from my grave!”
“Please, I’m sorry,” Ashara stammered, trying not to shrink back in fear. The ghost was a Togruta, like her but male – family relation, perhaps? Awkward that he was a Sith, as his armour seemed to suggest. Either that, or Jedi fashion had changed a lot over the centuries. “This Sith needed to speak with you.”
Murlesson stepped forwards, but he could sense already – the ghost was on the verge of snapping. Perfect.
“Your apology is worthless!” shouted the ghost. “You must die!” It coiled to strike.
The Jedi masters lit their lightsabers, though what would that do against a ghost? Silly Jedi conditioning. Murlesson flung himself between Ashara and the ghost. “I won’t let that happen!”
“What – who are you!? What are you-”
“Calm down!” Murlesson cried, hoping to have the opposite effect.
“Calm!? Calm!? You miserable little- Aaaagh!”
Murlesson gritted his teeth and pulled the ghost into himself with a desperate wrench. Pain shot through him, searing his soul, and he screamed – he hadn’t set up the ritual properly in his haste – hadn’t planned to set it up properly, he needed this to happen before anyone realized it was happening. But… gods… He was going to be torn apart, even with the strength of the other two ghosts, and his not-inconsiderable personal capabilities…
He found he was lying on the floor, curled into a ball, hissing through his teeth as the pain left him. The Jedi were standing over him, the Masters with lit sabers, Ashara with a worried expression.
“Sith… what did you just do?” she asked softly, tremulously.
He dragged himself to his knees painfully. His whole body ached. “The only way I could think to save you was to bind the ghost to myself.” He affected greater weariness than he felt; power was already beginning to surge through him, mingling with that he’d already taken, making him light-headed, even though it also made him ache more. “It’s not what I wanted, but… it has happened on occasion. And… it is power of a sort. I might be able to survive Thanaton now.”
“Power you cannot be allowed to take,” Ryen said, raising his lightsaber. “You were permitted to talk to the ghost, not take it with you. You are too strong now. We cannot unleash you on the galaxy.”
“What, you want to exorcise me?” he demanded sarcastically. “Oh, no, my mistake. You just want to kill me.” He suddenly lost control of his frustration – allowed himself to lose control of his frustration. “I’ve done nothing against you – nothing! Could everyone in the universe just stop trying to kill me!!” He spun fluidly to his feet, double-bladed lightsaber sweeping into his hands, robes swirling around him. “I didn’t want to fight you! I don’t want to fight anyone! I just want to be left alone, is that so much to ask!?”
“And now we see your true colours… Be silent, Sith,” Ocera commanded him, sliding forward on the offensive. “Your suffering will be at an end soon enough.”
“You sound just like Thanaton!!” He found tears in his eyes, tears of outrage and resentment, even though he’d expected this to happen. “You shut up! Leave me alone!”
“Ashara, go,” Ryen said, and she hurried away – though not far, he could tell by her aura.
His own aura flared through the shroud he normally placed on himself, swelling monstrously with the new strength he’d stolen. They hesitated, eyes widening as they reassessed him – and he crashed down upon them with a storm of betrayed hate. The flagstones of the floor splintered with the force of his Force as he stomped forward, jabbing at them both, driving them back. “Leave me alone!”
Their inner light was shining, calm, trying to penetrate his cloud of darkness as they countered, far smoother and more confident than anyone he’d fought since Kel Reu Giri. But he was thrice as strong in the Force as then, and their powers could not touch him. His hatred surged forward, black and cloying, though it couldn’t overwhelm them either. The buzz and hiss of lightsabers reverberated in the relatively small space; now there he was outmatched heavily. He had no time to think, beset on both sides; could only duck and spin and thrash like a trapped serpent, striking out at any opening that presented itself.
His recklessness was about to get him killed, but he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t have their experience, their training. All he had was wild desperation, so he let himself fall into it, incoherent and gasping convulsively for air. “No, no, no!” He wheezed and blocked; Ocera had come within a hair’s breadth of slicing his arm off, and he lashed out in return, kicking him in the knee. He’d barely expected to connect, but the knee bent sideways and Ocera fell with a yelp of pain.
“Ocera!” Ryen cried, stepping forward to defend his fallen ally. “Stay back, Sith!”
“Make me!” Murlesson fell back briefly, then snarled and lunged again. Ryen had lost his support, but if Ocera were able to heal himself and rejoin…
Ryen was pushing him back now, using his greater weight and experience to force him into the wall. Murlesson growled and pivoted, trying to break free, to give himself space, and won it. High, low, their sabers batted back and forth, trying to find a weak spot. Ryen locked sabers, leaning in, physically pushing him down. Murlesson screamed in frustration in his face and shoved him off, trying to catch him with the back blade, and as Ryen drew back to try another angle, he shot forward, as if to headbutt him, and stabbed.
Ryen choked, breath rasping from his throat as he stood frozen in pain. Murlesson, also rooted in shock, forced himself to move, withdrawing his blade and jumping back well out of reach. Even if the Jedi had been struck a deathblow, he was still big and strong physically and in the Force, and there was no telling what he might do with his final moments.
But Ryen swayed, eyes closing, and fell heavily. Ocera was trying to drag himself to his feet against his still-dislocated knee, sweating profusely. Murlesson advanced on him, weathering the Force push that blasted past him, and stabbed him too.
And then he slumped with weariness against the wall, sliding down to the floor like a puddle of darkness. Ashara was still out there. A whole enclave of Jedi was still out there. But he needed a breather. He was shaking with fear and adrenaline. He’d survived, just a little longer. Now if he could just keep from crying about it…
There was a gasp from the door, and he lifted his head to see Ashara staring, stricken, at her fallen mentors. “Master Ryen… Master Ocera!” she cried. “You killed them! You killed them both!”
“I’m sorry,” he choked out – he wasn’t sorry at all, but social lubricant, even in this dark and miserable situation. He still needed her in order to get out of here. “I had no choice. They attacked me. Why would they do that? I wasn’t going to do anything to them.”
“Wh-what have you done… What have I done!?” She raised her hands to her face, looking like she was going to cry herself. “Th-there is no emotion. There is only peace. Th-there is no death… only the Force.”
He raised himself to his feet, leaning on the wall still, tired to the bone. “What now? Are you going to try and kill me too?”
She gave a wretched non-laugh. “If my masters couldn’t, how can I? Oh… Force. I don’t know what happens now. What are you going to do?”
“Leave,” he said shortly. “I have all I came for.”
She stiffened and blocked his path. “You manipulate me, kill my masters, and then just leave? My life as a Jedi is over!”
“What am I supposed to do about it?” he demanded.
“Take me with you!” she cried, getting in his personal space.
Even upset, she was really pretty; those brown eyes were so clear and earnest and he’d never seen them this close before. But his personal space was his. He took a step back, let himself consider the notion that he’d held out on actually thinking about since he’d first seen her. “I… guess I could do that. Seeing you fight… I think the Jedi were only holding you back. You could be so much more than you are now.” He actually really wanted her to come along. She was so fascinating, and intriguing, and temperamental, and – he still had to admit she was really pretty. There was no logic to it. She was a Jedi, was stubborn enough to go on being a Jedi even around him, and he had no interest in converting her – he honestly didn’t care as long as she didn’t try to kill him – but a Jedi with a Sith was asking for trouble from everyone. And he still wanted her to come.
Ah well, it wasn’t without precedent; Aristheron was also making it work somehow. “But… you trust me enough to come with me?”
She sighed. “I… don’t. But… what choice do I have? Once the others find out what I’ve done, I’ll be… I don’t know. Exiled, I guess. And I don’t know what I’m doing outside of life in the enclave, I have no experience. I’d rather stick with you. You seem… You really were going to keep your word, weren’t you? If you’ll have me along… wherever you’re going. ”
“I wouldn’t mind,” he said, looking sidelong at her shyly. “You can come if you want.”
“One thing first,” she said. “I won’t go against the Jedi teachings. If you want me to do that, to become fully Sith, you may as well kill me now.”
He turned away, completely disinterested. “I could not care one bit less what teachings you follow. Though I expect we will have some very lively discussions, if you were willing to talk about it.”
“Let’s go, then,” she said, apparently not willing to talk about it yet. “Let’s get out of here before we get arrested.”
“Follow my lead,” he said, and shrouded himself in the Force, willing anyone and everyone to pay no attention to him, or Ashara behind him. It didn’t work quite as well on Jedi as it did on the average sentient, but all he got was dirty looks like when he’d walked in. Absolutely no suspicion as to why the masters were not with them anymore, no moves to stop him or the Padawan following him.
It was awkward that he only had the one borrowed speederbike; she had to sit behind him, clinging to his waist, and it made him nervous even though he didn’t know why. And once they were on their way, she was full of questions. “So what do you do, fighting Darth Thanaton like that?”
“Right now I’m going around, looking for ghosts to consult and/or consume, and building my power base. He doesn’t know I’m still alive, I think, but that can’t last.”
“How do you get around, do you have a ship?”
“Yes, she’s called the Viper. I have a pilot named Andronikos Revel. He’s a pirate, I think.”
“That’s exciting. Anyone else on the ship?”
“A Dashade, Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord, devourer of the rebels at Yn and Chabosh, consumer of the Dromund system,” he recited in a mocking sing-song voice. “He’s actually… it’s complicated. He’s now sharing his body with my former master, who tried to steal my body in a ritual that, fortunately for me, went horribly wrong.”
“Uhh…”
“I told you it was complicated. He’s a monster, but I’m fond of him, though of course someday he’ll try to kill me. Zash, my ex-master, is a scheming witch, and we hate each other intensely. She’s still compelled to obey me because of Khem, though. She’s still useful to me, and I don’t know how to separate them, so this is the situation, and they have to live with it.”
“That is super weird,” she said. “Do they take turns, or do it both at once?”
“If the voice sounds like a Wookiee gargling rocks, it’s Khem in control. If it’s in Basic, it’s Zash. I also have a pair of rather dull apprentices named Kaal and Corrin, although they’re away on assignment right now, and…” He stopped. She didn’t need to know about the cult or the office yet. Maybe after she’d gotten a bit more adjusted, or maybe she’d leave quickly and never need to know. “Anyway, do you like history?”
“I actually really like it, but I always liked martial arts better.”
“Maybe we can help each other, then. I’ll teach you Sith history, and you can help me with my combat skills.”
“But… you killed…”
“I rely a lot on my power in the Force. I only started learning to fight with a lightsaber a few months ago. I’m not actually that good, and I could really use the help.” Force forbid he ever encounter the Eye of Tulak again, or anything like it.
“Huh. Okay.”
“And if you like history, you’ll find life aboard my ship a lot more interesting.”
“Got it! …So, what do you do for fun?”
He snorted. “What’s ‘fun’? I don’t have time for ‘fun’.”
“Really?” she gasped. “That really is terrible. No wonder you’re so stressed out.”
“I’m kidding,” he grumbled. “I watch holodramas so that I’m not completely out of the loop on all this ‘pop culture’ stuff.”
“You’re really weird,” she said. “I don’t think any other Sith could be like you, and I’ve only known you for a few minutes.”
He was silent for a little while. “No, I don’t suppose they are.” He paused again, on a different, less introspective track. “Although who’s to say other Sith don’t watch holodramas? Maybe Thanaton is secretly passionate about model spaceships and cake. You don’t know.”
She managed a giggle. “I guess I don’t.”
When they finally returned to the Imperial base, Elios Maliss stood in the gate, smirking. Probably in the process of betraying him, if the soldiers and lesser Sith with him were anything to go by.
Murlesson sighed. Mondays.