Public A Lesson in Failure : Sith Philosophy

[Sevrin]

Korriban's eternal winds had dulled to an uneasy whisper, swirling through the narrow ravines like a breath held too long. The path was well-traveled, a shortcut used by acolytes eager to bypass the safer, wider trails near the temple. Yet now, a shadow hung over it. Offering an uneasy weight that pressed into the bones of those who dared to walk its length.

Rumors had already started to spread.

Acolytes whispered in hushed tones about those who had gone missing: Names that had once been spoken with scorn or rivalry now muttered with uncertainty.

Did you hear? He never came back. No one has seen her in days. They said he was going to train in the canyons… and then, nothing.

At first, no one cared. Sith hopefuls were always vanishing—killed in duels, wandering into tombs they had no business entering, or simply failing to return after pushing their luck too far. But this was different. The disappearances were too frequent, too clustered in the same region of the canyons, and now… now there was something to see.

The first sign was the blood.

A crimson smear streaked across the rocky ground, a splatter pattern that told a story of struggle—of something being dragged. The trail was erratic, almost frantic, weaving toward the deeper ravines where the shadows pooled thickest.

Further ahead, just off the main path, something half-buried in the sand caught the light. A saber hilt, fractured and useless, its metal casing scorched and warped. It had been left there—not lost in battle, but abandoned.

The wind shifted, and for those with sharp enough senses, a faint scent lingered beneath the dry heat. The thick scent of iron, decay, and something stale.

Then, the eyes would be drawn up.

Dangling high on the opposite cliffside, personal effects swayed gently in the shifting breeze. A bloodstained sash fluttered like a flag. A pendant, its chain twisted and bent, caught glints of weak sunlight as it twisted lazily. Gloves, their fingers stiffened in a mockery of movement, hung like grotesque ornaments. They were displayed too deliberately to be accidental.


A kind of warning.... or perhaps, a declaration. Maybe even a Challenge.


And then—the bodies.

At first, they almost blended into the terrain, slumped forms half-buried in the red sand at the bottom of the canyon. But once seen, they couldn't be unseen.

Some lay where they had fallen, their robes still clinging to their forms, their faces turned skyward in frozen expressions of horror or grim acceptance. Others had been placed together, an unnatural heap of tangled limbs and lifeless stares. But the most unsettling part?

They all faced one direction.

Toward the ledge where the trophies hung.


Something had happened here. Something deliberate. Calculated. And yet—there were no signs of a battle. No footprints leading away, no lightsaber scorches against the rock. No visible enemy.


Only something unseen. Something waiting.

 

[Lord Ki]

A soft step echoed in the wind of Korriban, a planet that a particular man has walked along far more than he could count. The dirt between his legs felt rough, but not as coarse when he aged back in the day. The rumors of such...a terrifying situation had reached the Chiss as he made his pilgrimage from so long ago. Korriban was not only a home away from home, but a tomb world of acquittances and if brave enough to admit, friends of his own. The members of the Academy had long since been aged out and the older Masters have gone away, allowing the former Sith Lord to filter through without being questioned. To them, to the Sith Order, the Lord of Rebirth had long since died.

Walking a few steps as the dirt gave way to red sand, stained from the blood of whatever had taken the lives of those who sought for answers to this mystery. Each step brought more lingering questions, the pendants started to show, dangling along with wire that felt reminiscent of legends he heard from millenias past. Using the Force, a Pendant would snap into the gloved hand, gripping it with his left hand as it felt it over, trying to identify the purpose until his eyes finally gazed upon the gloves. The smell...he knew it to well, it was the smell of death, something he was far knowledgeable about in his life. The Force was indeed alive...and so was the songs of the dead.

The bodies were in view after a few more steps, the hands of the Exiled Sith would stretched out with fingers outstretched, feeling at the death that was caused on this field of battle...or slaughter. They spoke to him in whispers...begging to be let go of their life force, to move onwards. Some were wanting more than just an afterlife...he could feel their very anger on the fingertips and their hatred on the eyes. Giving a slow turn, glancing about, the red eyes of the Chiss began to glow as blood like tears would soon come out from his left eye as a helmet would materialize from the left hand.

"Such death...such reward. I shall give you what you require...but in steed, you are of my service."

The helmet exuded the Dark Side, it betrayed the natural order of the Force itself. Whatever it was capable of, it was far more than any acolyte could acquire at an Academy.
Sevrin

 

[Sevrin]

Lord Ki
As the Chiss man surveyed the desolate canyon, the only company he found was the dead. No movement stirred within his immediate sight, only the silent remains of those who had perished here. The air was thick with the weight of death, a presence that gnawed at the edges of his awareness.

"Such death...such reward. I shall give you what you require...but in steed, you are of my service."

The moment he spoke, the attack came.

Not from behind, nor from the flanks. Not from above, where the jagged ledges loomed like teeth. But from below.

The sand erupted in a violent burst, a figure lunging upward with the precision and stealth of a trapdoor spider striking its prey. One moment, the ground was still, the next, it betrayed him, unleashing a predatory being from beneath the shifting red grains.

And with it, a crimson saber had ignited, driving upward in a lethal thrust, aimed straight between The Chiss' loins.

The strike was a merciless, killing blow designed not just to wound, but to humiliate. The ambush however was not reckless. It had been calculated and deliberately laid out. The Chiss had only a heartbeat to react.

 

[Lord Ki]

The shifting of the sands came under him, there was almost no time to react. The distinct sound of a lightsaber...he knew it far to well. This was a trap he would have tried in the past. The past...when he was much older, more wiser to not stand in a place to be pounced upon. A literal heartbeat to react as the strike aimed at his loins, aiming to erase possibly his manhood in a sadistic way. That heartbeat was well thought out however, as the Chiss did the only thing that made since at the time.

The Dark Lord of Rebirth, threw his precious Helmet of Force Phantasm, down onto the lightsabers tip itself.

This was a mitigation factor all in all, he did not expect to escape this attack unscathed. The Chiss would watch the lightsaber become slightly inert from the top, it being made from Sith Alchemy by Lord Ki, it was made to be energy proof...including the plasma blade of a lightsaber. Did not mean that later on, he is going to feel the etchings this unknown attacker did in the inside of his helmet be uncomfortable. The helmet would move up with the lightsaber now, smashing into the groin area of one Chiss. If any audience saw this, many would react very uncomfortably if they were a man.

Lord Ki, one of the deadliest Sith of the New Sith Wars, could not admit to anyone that he had not only been outplayed, but is now suffering from potentially a horrible pain. It was better than being stabbed but this was almost no better, the Chiss only having a couple of seconds to do his next actions. Forcing the pain aside for now, he gripped onto the helmet for support and shoved himself away from the attacker...albeit a bit bowlegged as the other eye began to tear up with blood with his left hand behind his back with the right holding the bruised area.

"Ohhhhh...I won't live that down for a while."

If the unknown attacker tried to strike forward, the left hand would reveal quickly a lightsaber that seemingly came from nowhere, activating both blades as they began to curve. Holding it with one arm defensively, he would start to regain his composure as it became apparent that he was not amused on being humiliated in such a manner...and not having his helmet made it worse right now!
Sevrin

 

[Sevrin]

It seemed as though an entire man had burst from the very veins of Korriban itself, as if the planet had spat him out in contempt. He emerged, draped in a second skin of sand, his entire form wrapped in a tawny-colored film of dust, making him seem more specter than mortal. Grains of crimson-tinged sediment cascaded from his shoulders as he straightened, his movements fluid—too fluid, like a shadow cast upon shifting dunes.

A low, snickering laugh slithered from his lips, dry and sharp as a blade scraping against stone. His voice was a rasp of amusement, thick with mockery.

"Congratulations..." He twirled the crimson saber in an almost lazy flourish, the blade humming through the thick air as if savoring the moment. "You're the first to survive."

His head tilted slightly, his unreadable gaze fixed on Lord Ki with something between curiosity and predation. The light of his saber cast jagged reflections over his face, illuminating hollowed cheeks and sharp, wind-cut features. The dust coating his skin cracked slightly as he smirked.

"Tell me, did you feel it?" He took a step forward, deliberately slow, savoring the way the sand whispered beneath his feet. "The weight of inevitability? The moment before death reaches for you?"

Another step. The wind howled low between the canyon walls, with a mournful wail.

"They never saw it coming, you know. The others. They thought themselves untouchable." A chuckle. A slow shake of the head. "But you..." He gestured vaguely toward Lord Ki's still-bruising form, his saber never ceasing its slow, hypnotic spin. "You felt it, didn't you? That creeping whisper at the edge of your soul?"

The holocron's gatekeeper had warned him of failure in no uncertain terms.

Sevrin had memorized its pitiful soliloquy, and recited it thusly as he closed in upon the sith.

"Failure is not a moment. It is not an act. It is the slow rot of purpose, the crumbling of will beneath the weight of hesitation.

If you falter, you are not bested, you are claimed by the one who does not hesitate. Your enemy does not defeat you. They erase you. Your name will not be remembered, your purpose will not persist. You will be less than nothing. A whisper lost to time.

And should you survive in disgrace, know this, what you lost in that moment will never return. Power abandoned is power stripped away. You will not recover your strength. You will become lesser. A shadow of what you were meant to be. And the Force does not suffer weakness in its chosen.

Failure is not just the end of you. It is the end of your right to exist."​

 

[Lord Ki]

"The first? I am surprised...."

The helmet must been discarded, he could not see it anywhere. That lightsaber flick must have sent it flying off into the distance...he will have to do a ritual to retrieve it again later. Seeing the jagged edges of his face, he watched as what he would assume is a crazed person out of his position in the Academy, ruthlessly as he would predict, caused a majority of all the terrors that must have gone in the grounds of the Academy. Watching the one he must now call a crazed man of the Dark Side creep closer and closer, the Chiss turned his lightsaber forward and activated both blades as they began to curve, humming with purpose. The Exiled Sith began to slowly spin it with his right hand, almost in boredom as he listened to the other and answering as both were now spinning their blades.

"The inevitability of dying? Quite, Death and I have a strong relationship in terms of how it works. I feel Death and the Souls whisper to me, they know when my time will come."

Then came what he could only say was a prepared speech...though where it came from, he did not know. With his other hand slowly pulling away from his groin, giving a small stretch of his arm as it made a loud pop in the are, he would lower it down to his side and stand straight up. These words...he had heard of something familiar beforehand. It slowly dawned on him that it was an ancient sort of wording though changed from when he had heard it. The lesson that failure was the last thing anyone can do before Death was something the Sith had tried to engrave upon him. The lesson of losing power was something he knew extremely well, more so when he watched an entire group such as the Sith Empire of his past evaporate into pure nothingness.

"You speak of Failure as the end...let me tell you a tale now."

In that last word, the voice amplified as the use of Force Bellow was used, increasing the sound of his own voice. The Chiss had stopped stooping, stopped looking more frail but now looked as if he had turned into an entirely different person in personality. From earlier, he looked to be someone curious, more older, more frail in terms of not wanting to move quickly. While the man of the Dark Side, one jagged in deformities tried to intimidate, the Chiss seemed from being bothered by the aspect of death itself.

"I was trained by the Jedi, one Master Wilot who saw potential in a soldier to become a spy. Spies never last long...while my Master died on the ground, I threw two Apprentices out of a transport ship. They discovered our deception...and I sought to rectify my mistake. It did not take long to find a way to create a division in the Sith, driving them amongst each other. In the end, I had my revenge in exchange for my very life."

"Do you know what failure is to me? It means that I am to die and try again...to die over and over, to relive pain after excruciating pain in an endless loop! I found the answer to death, I found the very meaning to get my revenge and exacted everything I had ever desired! I seen men like you exist for centuries and millennias, each claiming to be the next of the great Sith but in reality, know nothing of how we work!"

"Do you even have an Inkling of who I even am? Do you have ANY idea?!"

The sands shifted a bit as the skies almost seemingly stopped as the lightsaber would become from a staff lightsaber into two separate lightsabers, one glowing of orange and one of red. Holding them downward as he crossed his arms, reminiscing of his time dueling among the students that he had once taught. Speaking aloud even more proud than before, the crackling of heat lightning exuding from the clouds.

"This is what I am called! I am the Old Man, Life Giver, Taker of Souls, Battlemaster, Lord of Rebirth and Soldier of the Ninth! I am the Creator of Lore, the Father of the Sages, the Endless Death! I have as many names as the planets we had conquered and as many names as the ways I have died!"

"My Apprentices were of Necrid and Vorfahr, Deception and Strength! My Spawn were of Neia the Worm and Nosola the Nuna! My tombs are numerous, I Am-"

"Darth Renatus!"
​

The entire sands for a moment shook in his declaration of his old name, breathing out for a moment as he exuded a tremendous amount of power as slowly the clouds started to reform back to their shape and the sand began to settle. It was as if speaking of it, almost tired him out to even speak that long. Slowly with a stare forward, he flipped his blades forward as he aimed both of the tips directly at the supposed Dark Sider, trying to catch his breath as his many deaths had indeed, sapped power and time had never been to kind.

"Now...show me who you are, not your name, but who you really are and what you want to become!"

Sevrin

 

[Sevrin]

Lord Ki

Sevrin doesn't attack immediately—not physically, at least. He watches and studies the man. Let's Ki sit in the silence of his own proclamation as several long moments stretch painfully awkwardly so. Then a low chuckle came in a slow rasp of disdain.

He lets the moment breathe before finally speaking, voice laced with something subtle and hard to place.

"You really believe it, don't you?" He tilts his head, as if examining something utterly pathetic. "All of you do. The titles. The legacies. The ridiculous, bloated egos wrapped up in old names and half-remembered victories."

Sevrin takes a s step forward. The wind howls through the canyon, rattling the bloodstained trinkets overhead.


"You all fight for power like mongrels scrambling over a half-eaten corpse. And for what?" His saber twitches in his fingers, the hum barely audible beneath his words. "To sit on a throne someone else will eventually tear you from? To claim dominion over something as fleeting as fear?"

His lips curl into something resembling a smirk, but the expression doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"You think you're different, don't you?" His gaze flickers over Ki, the amusement barely concealed. "You think your resurrections make you special? That calling yourself 'Rebirth' is anything but another desperate, tired attempt to make the galaxy remember your name?"

Sevrin snorts. The sound is genuine.

"The Sith don't rule. They compete. They claw at each other like starving animals, convinced that if they just kill enough of their own, if they just stand on a high enough pile of corpses, they'll finally—finally—be untouchable. But the so called Sith of this era are never untouchable. They are predictable. And yet, you all act so proud. As if the cycle hasn't devoured every so-called Sith Empire before you.

This? This is what your grand philosophy amounts to. Bodies in the sand. Trinkets hanging from cliffs like decorations." He gestures to the bloodied gloves swaying in the wind.

"You think you are different. Because you've lived. Because you've died. Because you have names to rattle off and an old cause to clutch like a child's favorite toy....I do so wonder oh great and powerful Lord of Rebirth, how many times have you died believing you were important?"

 

[Lord Ki]

The Chiss would stand silently, not wanting to speak for several moments as he would let the man echo out his own thoughts. There was something interesting in the mans words, something slightly familiar as each next sentence seemed to take another approach. The man was attempting to rattle him, every word seemed....awful to say the least. Trying to get rise out of the old man was all the Chiss could think of at that very moment. The lightsaber of Lord Ki would be in view, holding in front ignited as he gave it a gentle twirl, pondering on the words.

Little known factoid, the Lord of Reborn enjoyed these kinds of conversations, philosophical and in many ways, unusual ways to defeat an enemy. He would admit, some truth was in those very words though hearing that being called Rebirth is a desperate attempt made a small smirk as he spoke over the snort before he could start the next sentence.

"That is what my EMPEROR called me."

The Chiss had never spoken about him since his recent rebirths, the Emperor had he followed through some of the darkest times till he himself had to decide what was right for the Galaxy. The Dark Lord of Rebirth would simply listen, the lightsaber still gently twisting in the wind as the hum would be audible but it seemed oddly muted. Hearing about the grand philosophy of the Sith, he would slowly shake his head as he spoke loudly, as if echoing the words in the wind.

"You know nothing of what the Sith truly stood for...your philosophy is thinking that bodies will bring you towards the grand gate, the Throne. Twice I was important...the day I learned how to become what I am now, becoming a Sith in full. The other day...when I accepted my apprentice was lost and must be killed."

Making a small gesture with his left hand before reaching behind the back of his body, he would ensure it was still a saberstaff as he gave a soft spin on the right hand.

"I never sought the throne, why would I? The backseat has almost just as much power and not as much sight for others to see. The Sith Code never speaks of killing each other, rather it is a guideline...to our very nature, our survival and why we will always return."

Almost on pure instinct, the Sabestaff stopped spinning in the center of his chest. The voice become a bit proud, recital almost as the red eyes stared forward for a moment, feeling a bit of blood pooling in his mouth as he forced himself to swallow it. Rituals are a pain but he was already pushing it slightly but tried in vain with perhaps one last attempt to get some reasoning through this one.

"Peace is a Lie, There is Always Passion. Through Passion, I gain Strength. Through Strength, I gain Power. Through Power, I gain Victory! Through Victory...I break my Chains. The Force Shall Free Me."

"Do you understand it? Do you know you have broken the very first line? Peace is a Lie....but you act as if it is constantly broken. Look at the bodies, you just kill...kill...kill. Do not get me wrong, they are clean but you are blinded by how you...pardon my words but kriffed up ways of attempting to become the most self absorbed, unimportant speck of nerf *&@$ that only Dark Jedi could relate to before they are killed by an inspiring Bounty Hunter to become another useless story in the Galaxy."

At that moment, the helmet would be revealed again in the other hand as he breathed outward for a moment as a small red mist escaped his mouth. That...really hurt. Whether or not it got the new blood angered enough to attack him or not, he merely held the helmet as the eyes would give a darker red glow for a moment. It probably did not help that his patience waned halfway through as he started to learn of other Acolytes in the hundreds he had to teach...and at times, slain to get the point across.

"I grow weary so let's get this over with. Come to the Academy and learn properly of what a Sith stands for...or try to strike me down and potentially let the ghosts come out to play."

Tags: Sevrin

 

[Sevrin]

Lord Ki
Sevrin watched the old Sith with something caught between amusement and contempt. Then, with a slow, deliberate smirk, he tilted his head.

"You put so much effort into clawing your way back from the void and yet for all your rebirths, you still reek of something long past its prime. Perhaps reincarnation would suit you better, oh great and powerful, Dark Lord of Rebirth...

His saber twitched in his grip, an idle movement, as though the thought of ending this farce outright wasn't entirely off the table.

"I think I shall expedite the process and toss you straight into Chaos myself. Who knows? Maybe this time, you'll come back as something worthwhile... though if I were to place my bets—I'd wager on something far lower. Perhaps a worm, writhing in the dirt, fit only to slither and be stepped on. Then again—" his voice dipped into something almost thoughtful, mocking in its faux consideration, "—I hear 'Worm Emperor' has been fashionable within the last century. "

Sevrin sprung forwards with an attack suddenly with and aggressive strike aiming for the man's exposed neck.