A Monster's Return

[Lark]

Lark sat on a small ridge overlooking a crucible of depravity and lechery, and had memories of his home.

Myrkr, the forested world where he was raised, was not dissimilar to Phaeda, the useless rock he currently found himself on. They were both hives of horrible things, smugglers and pirates and slavers and all sort of wicked beings. He was here on a mission, one that he had been on for over a year now. When he was a child, Lark's sister was taken by an unknown group of men, whom he had eventually concluded were slavers, and his father was subsequently killed. Then his mother killed herself, leaving Lark alone with his older brother. The two were inseparable, and despite the fact that they were still children they thrived within the slums of Myrkr. They were all the other had.

And then his brother left, leaving him all alone, left to beg under a bridge.

Lark often pondered whether his brother's departure was what caused him to turn in to what he was today. Or was it his sister's kidnapping? Or perhaps maybe he had always been this way, and those events only triggered his inner evil. The monster inside of him only grew stronger, and he finally decided that he needed an answer. Were his siblings still alive, and why had his brother left him?

And so, one night, Lark slipped away from The Sith Empire without a word. He had no ill-will towards them, and he remembered his time spent training with his master and sparring against his fellow acolytes fondly. But they could not help him with his current quandary. He wasn't sure what the Empire's reaction would be, he was only an acolyte and he did not intend on making any move against them. Would they come after him?

He sighed and stood up, enchanted Sith blade swinging on his hip as he did so. The sword and the dagger hidden in his sleeve were a gift from his master during one of his first training sessions, and his constant companions. He gazed out at the city below. Just like all of the other cities and planets he had visited in his search, this one had proven to be worthless. There were only a handful of other leads he had, he was running out of-

He sensed something approaching from behind him, something dark. The enchanted weapons were not the only gifts the Empire had bestowed upon Lark. He might have not had any formal training in some time, but he had kept his skills with the Force sharp. Lark had to fight and kill numerous times during his journey, so he was not idle prey. He kept his back to whoever or whatever was approaching, and held his hands harmoniously behind his back. He would let them make their intentions known before deciding on what to do next.

[member="Tsisaar Taral"]

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar was, for one of the few times in his life, distracted.

He'd come to Phaeda with the same goal he'd had on various trips; acquire certain technologies that would be useful for his efforts, find any loose artifacts or writings that some ignorant trader might have happened upon, the purchasing of slaves who could prove to be useful assistants, gene donors, or experimental bases. While some worlds were in territories where he would be best served concealing his identity, Phaeda was not such a world, nor was he so timid as to insist upon a facade anyways.

So he'd pulled through with some contacts within the empire, found himself put in touch with a man on Phaeda who had a hand in numerous of the dealings that Tsisaar wished to engage in. All was well, until Tsisaar was placed with his guide. The guide was eager to please, although the falseness of his demeanour reeked so strongly through the Force that it was all Tsisaar could do not to visibly recoil at the stench.

The man was currently, as he had been for the last hour, rambling on about various different topics. Who would be best to see, how best to bargain, how to act towards certain of those he should meet with, where to go, what to do, what and who to buy. The chatter was grating. Moreover, Tsisaar had noticed something else throughout the rambling. At times, the information was contradictory. Stories didn't match up. Explanations of who owned what business freely traded names as though they were credits in a stock market. And as the rambling went on longer and longer, the route of travel became more circuitous, Tsisaar's suspicions grew.

Eventually, the man had—supposedly—arranged a meeting, on the edge of the city, near an overlook of sorts. The Sith Knight, meanwhile, guessed that what was actually said was heavily steeped in code, and was more an order for assassination. The voice that came through the commlink, audible to Tsisaar's Force-heightened senses, certainly wasn't that of the man who supposedly employed the guide.

So Tsisaar followed, letting the rambling wash over him.

"Now, you'll need to make sure to speak respectfully to the slave traders," his guide went on, still rambling. Still, Tsisaar had to admire the man for one thing: he'd grown so adept at the constant play of thoughts and words that it was impossible to determine exactly what the man thought or felt at any single moment. Not without splitting open his mind and ripping everything out forcibly. "Haldor is especially prideful, and while I don't doubt you could defeat him in combat, it would be bad for busi—"

Tsisaar stopped abruptly, and the guide did as well. For once, he ceased speaking, the surprise evident on his face for a millisecond. Tsisaar, meanwhile, had sensed something else, a while ago, and now he noticed he was approaching what he had sensed. Another presence, more akin to his own; the Force offered no warnings as to that presence, though, none more than the ordinary. Never trust another Dark Side adept. Tsisaar returned his black gaze to the guide.

"I tire of your dissembling," he said mildly. "I know you plan to kill me, or subdue me; I'm sure that by the time I return to the city, my contact will have since been assassinated as well. Really, you should have chosen a better day for this than the one I arrived." He glanced placidly down at the city, his eyes quickly picking out the location of the one legitimate business the empire's contact ran. "I sense no others like yourself here. I imagine your employer didn't actually intend for you to kill me; I'm sure he found you just as annoying as I do. I'm sorry." His eyes returned to the supposed-guide, whose face was flushed with indignation and embarassment.

"So, get on with it."

The guide cursed, and with a quick flick, a hold-out blaster slid out of his sleeve and into his palm. Before he had a moment to even aim it, however, a gesture of Tsisaar's fingers sent it flying off to the side. A more overt gesture led to the assassin falling to his knees, clutching at his chest in pain. The red face soon transitioned to white, and the expression of anger to one of anguish. Tsisaar, then, spared a moment to glance upwards, and caught sight of another being, a little distance away. The source of the other presence he felt. Ah.

He returned his eyes to the assassin, who by now was blubbering for mercy in between gasps of pain. "Those who beg for mercy are too weak to deserve it," he replied, paraphrasing one of the older writings he had read. Darth Bane, he thought. His hand tightened slightly. "By now, you'll feel how much your heart is struggling against the force levied against it. It cannot expand as much, it cannot pump as much blood through your system. I'm given to understand this is extremely painful." He tightened his hand further.

"Of course, this leads to a faster heart rate, though as I tighten the grip, any benefit from that diminishes quickly." The blubbering had transitioned into strangled sounds of terror. By now, Tsisaar imagined he'd gotten the attention of the other being in a different way. "Soon, the heart will begin to fail entirely, and with it the rest of your body. Of course, I don't have to prolong it to that point." He breathed in for a moment, studying the face of the assassin. Savoring the terrored expression.

"I'll be merciful, though not in the way you hoped. You weren't so annoying that I'll make this take forever." His hand balled into a fist, and he nearly heard the wet squelch of the assassin's heart being crushed into a paste. The man scarcely had time to cry out one final time in surprise and pain before his body was sent tumbling down the ridge towards the city below. Then, Tsisaar turned, looking back at the other being who was walking along the same area, and began to approach them.

"I assume," he called out to the other once close enough to do so without falling into a coughing fit, "That you and he were not compatriots." He nodded with his head back in the direction where he'd sent the assassin's body falling. Now that he was closer, he could make out more details of the man's appearance—including that of the weapon that he carried. A Sith sword, if Tsisaar's instincts were correct. His eyes narrowed.

"Odd, though, to find somebody with a blade such as that out here. Care to elaborate on how you came to own it?"

[member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

Lark watched the exchange between the two unknown figures with a cautious gaze. He couldn't make out exactly what was being said, although he could hear what sounded like faint sobs to be coming from one of them. And as he listened more intently, his initial suspicions were confirmed. One of the figures quoted some ancient Sith Lord, which meant that the Empire had finally found him, intentionally or not.

Lark continued to watch the show that the Sith put on. It was a familiar one, a show of power that he had seen several times before. During his very first training session his master had pit him against another newcomer, a sort of test to judge whether or not the two showed any promise for what was at the time The Sith Ascendancy. Lark had passed the trial, but the other newcomer behaved remarkably similar to the man begging for mercy not far from where he stood today. And they would both meet the same fate. His body was tossed away like a broken toy, scavengers would find it before anyone else.

The figure approached Lark from the short trail leading to where he stood, and began speaking to him. "I assume that you and he were not compatriots," the figure began. As the newcomer came closer, Lark could feel his wariness grow. "Odd, though, to find somebody with a blade such as that out here. Care to elaborate on how you came to own it?"

Memories flooded back into Lark's mind as he tried to remember whether or not he had crossed paths with this particular Sith before during his time with the Empire. He was normally very good with faces, and he didn't recognize the one before him. Based on his questions, it almost appeared as though the Sith didn't expect to find him here. The sword, however, could certainly be used to identify Lark as a Sith.

The question was whether or not Lark should tell the truth about the origins of his weapon. Would this Sith know that an acolyte had left the Empire? Did he know Krest? Would he attempt to strike Lark down for his departure? Things appeared to be amiable for the moment, but Lark knew that with the Sith that could change in a second.

"I can assure you that he and I were not associates," Lark started. "I was just as surprised at your approach as you were to me. I came to this desolate spit of rock in hopes of finding something, but I'm afraid my hunt has been in vain." Lark's eyes turned downwards to his frost-colored blade. He decided it would be best to tell the truth, and let whatever happened next manifest itself afterwards. He knew that the Empire might one day come for him, and he had prepared for that day. Maybe this Sith didn't know who Lark was. Maybe he didn't care. But Lark had to be ready for anything.

"As for this sword, it was a gift given to me some time ago. An award from Lord Krest, for passing a number of trials he put me through." Lark spoke wistfully, he'd be lying if he said he didn't miss the Empire. It was such a drastic change from his time on Myrkr, times were always interesting. "Now then, what brings the Sith to a place such as this?"

[member="Tsisaar Taral"]

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar listened placidly as the other man began to speak. Still, beneath the tranquil appearance, his mind memorized every detail of the man's words, appearance, and tone; nor was he entirely unwary. It would be extremely unwise to let his guard down around this man, regardless of any immediate hostile intent. Never trust another adept. That was a maxim that had kept him alive so far, and he would never ignore it.

The following information, however, was more important, and more a confirmation of some of his suspicions. "Lord Krest, you say?" he asked after a moment, though not ignoring the man's wistful tone. "He's been gone from the empire for quite some time. As have you, it seems." Merely a statement of fact. While some of the more hotheaded warriors within the order might have been inclined to attack the man as a perceived traitor, Tsisaar knew better than to assume such things.

After all, he hadn't been without his own tendencies towards extra-territorial adventures.

"I came in search of materials," he answered ambiguously. "Machinery, manuscripts, men. My search was unfortunately delayed by the man you saw just back there." He glanced up and down the erstwhile acolyte before him, taking in the details that he could, both through his senses and through the Force. "Though I suppose it's not been entirely a failure, has it?"

He brought his hands together within the sleeves of his robe, giving a short nod. "I am Tsisaar Taral, Knight of the Sith, and Inquisitor of the Saaraishash." Hidden within his sleeves, he brought his lightsaber into his hands. Just to be safe in case the confirmation of identity led to his getting attacked; if he had to guess, however, from how the man had spoken of the empire, that seemed rather unlikely. "Might I have your name as well?"

[member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

Lark didn't let his surprise show when he learned of Krest's departure. The Zabrak had been his master since his very first training session, and they had worked together on a slew of missions across the galaxy. They had formed a tight bond, and was one of the only people Lark had a modicum of respect for. On the surface it had always appeared as though he took the Empire's value to heart, was that all a facade? Or did something happen after Lark left? Did he come looking for me? He had never told a soul about why he left, never gave any indication that he would. Did his master leave in search of him, or did some other plight cause his withdrawal?

He supposed it didn't matter. Lark stared coolly as the Tsisaar Taral identified himself, and declared himself as a Sith Knight as expected. The rank of Knight did not bother Lark, he had fought against Knights before in training and managed to hold his own. He tilted his head at the mention of the Saaraishash. Lark admittedly wasn't all to familiar with the group, but as someone who left the Empire he would be wise to be leery towards them. As far as he knew the Inquisitors dealt with anyone who was perceived as a threat to the Empire, which included turncoats.

But Tsisaar had only been cordial since confronting Lark, and based on the way the Sith spoke it truly did appear to be a coincidence that the two met. He didn't miss when Tsisaar took out his lightsaber, but that might have been a precautionary measure in case Lark decided to attack as opposed to a threat. Perhaps they could settle this peacefully.

"My name is Lark," he said in response to Tsisaar's inquiry. "As you noted, I am a former acolyte of the Sith Empire who departed over a year ago in search of some demons from my past." He didn't divulge anymore than that. He was adamant that no one could ever find out about his past and what he had done, although he had shown Krest a piece of the horror he unleashed on his hometown. "I know not whether you have tracked me here or if it is simply a chance occurrence, but I can promise you I bear no ill-intent towards the Empire, and plan on making no move against them. The Sith can assist with many things, but I'm afraid my pursuit was not one of them."

He didn't know what affect his words would have on Tsisaar. But perhaps this meeting was more fortuitous than he first thought. "If you intend on striking me down, I would not hold it against you. If I was in your position, I very well might try to do so. But my search has been fruitless, and it does not appear as though that will change. I could keep looking, but in all likelihood I'll only discover long dead corpses."

"In all honesty, I would not mind returning to The Sith Empire. Whether that is possible or not, I truly don't know. But I am willing, if they would take me." Lark spoke softly, and took out his sword, not in a show of intimidation, simply in response to Tsisaar's lightsaber. "If not, then carry out your duty."

[member="Tsisaar Taral"]

 

[Shade of Decay]

The lightsaber remained lightly grasped in Tsisaar's hands as Lark spoke. The more that the man spoke, the less Tsisaar felt he would need it; however, it would be extremely unwise to replace it and let his guard down in the front of another man. Sith, former Sith, or anything else. So he stood and listened, his alien face emotionless. Even when Lark actually drew his blade.

"My duty, as you say it, is more dependent on your choices than you think," Tsisaar replied, otherwise standing still as a statue. "You say that you would be willing to return, and return you could. I cannot guarantee it would be easy," he warned. "I'm sure there will be an interrogation. A short period of quarantine, making sure you can't leave again. Should it become obvious, however, that you aren't a traitor, instead merely a stray, then I imagine no trouble should truly come to you." He lifted his eyes back to those of [member="Lark"], after studying the blade for a moment.

"Even then, traitors have been readmitted to the empire, in the past. Their memories might not have been intact, their identity replaced with one more useful to the empire's interests...but they were still brought back into the fold." Admittedly, Tsisaar knew of only one time when that had happened, shortly after the Battle of Gree; however, it was still an event that had occurred. "Even then, that is unlikely unless you've truly acted against the empire and its interests. If you feel you haven't, then you have little to fear, and you can surrender your weapons and be free to join me on the walk back to the city. I'm sure I can inform you on what has happened since you left."

Then Tsisaar shrugged, revealing his hands again and gesturing at Lark's blade. "Or, if that is not amenable, you can attempt to kill me. Knowing of your existence, I am required to bring you back, one way or another; failing that, I should at least report your existence and last known location. But, the choice is yours, not mine. What shall it be?"

 

[Lark]

Lark listened with sharp ears. He hadn't betrayed the Empire, stray was an apt word to describe him. Of course he would have to explain himself, hopefully he could do so without revealing to much of his past. His beliefs, for the most part, still were in line with Sith values. If the words of [member="Tsisaar Taral"] were true, then there really appeared as though there would be few issues for Lark. And even if the Empire deemed it necessary to forge a new identity for him, that would be fine. He shifted personalities and identities all the time, what was one more mask?

Before handing his weapons over, he took one last look out towards the city. Did my sister ever pass through here, moving from one slaver to another? Or my brother, doing whatever it is he does? They were the only strings connecting him to his previous life, and yet despite how little he cared about life he couldn't help but wonder about theirs.

That was why he needed them to die.

During his hunt, he realized that the only way the monster inside of him could grow larger would be to sever any connections he had to his past. That included them. But the monster would need to find other nourishment to sustain his hunger. Perhaps he could find that by joining the Sith once more.

He turned from the city, cloak trailing behind him. Perhaps his siblings would intrude into his thoughts once more in the future, but for now he put them out of his mind. For now, he was focused on rejoining the Empire. Lark walked towards Tsisaar, and stuck his sword in the dirt in front of him. He even removed the dagger hidden in his sleeve, and offered it to the Sith. He still didn't trust Tsisaar, this could very well be a trap. But this might be his only shot at becoming a Sith once more. "Lead the way," Lark said with a warm smile. "And, if you're aware, do tell what happened to my old master."

 

[Shade of Decay]

Beneath his tendrils, hidden from the view of the other, Tsisaar smiled.

His lightsaber was replaced, and instead he held out one hand, receiving the dagger. The other grasped the sword, lifting it up. "You have chosen wisely," he remarked, holding both weapons carefully. Then he turned on his heel, walking away, with Lark close beside him. While he may not have found what he intended to, it still seemed to have been a beneficial trip. Returning an acolyte to the empire would be good for his standing within the Saaraishash.

"Krest, you mean?" he asked in response to Lark's request. Leaving off the honorific title, and not by accident. "The most I can confirm is that one of his former apprentices rose up and killed him. More than that, however, I can not confirm." He walked a little further, musing over what more to tell. It could potentially be unwise to mention what else he had heard, lest the newly-returned [member="Lark"] leave to rejoin his old master.

Or, it could prove a useful tool to convince the boy to remain in the Sith.

"There have been reports, however," he started slowly, carefully focused on Lark to watch for his reaction, "That Krest managed to survive. Or, perhaps, reincarnate himself, as I'm given to believe Darth Carnifex has done. If that is the case, however, he has not chosen to return to the fold of our order." His features twisted in an expression of contempt.

"I'm not sure if it was due to fear, arrogance, or ignorance, but instead, the reports indicate that he has been consorting with our enemies." He sighed. "A pity. He was able to train various others well, even one such as yourself, who left the empire on their own personal search. Not seeking any other allies, not looking for protection, you simply engaged in what you willed. Krest, however—or at least the man who has taken his name—seems too weak or fearful to exact his own revenge, so he relies on others to do it for him." He looked down at the sword he held, turning it about, inspecting its details in the light.

"As one strong enough, daring enough, to not only leave the empire, but also voluntarily rejoin it, I imagine you must be disappointed in the news." He glanced back to Lark.

"Perhaps you might even take the opportunity to test yourself against him, in time. Tell me, how complete was your training by the time you left?"

 

[Lark]

After turning his weapons over, Lark walked alongside [member="Tsisaar Taral"] back towards the city, listening to words he thought he'd never hear. He didn't interrupt, his expression didn't change. If Krest did betray the Empire, that might provide a great deal of trouble for Lark.

Krest didn't know who Lark truly was, not really. But during one of their final training sessions before he disappeared, Lark had shown Krest a glimpse of his past. Krest knew that Lark's mother had committed suicide, and that as a boy Lark might have had something to do with it. The Zabrak also knew that Lark's hometown burned to the ground and that he was the only survivor. So his former master was aware that as a boy Lark might have done some horrid deeds, but that wasn't really uncommon amongst the Sith.

But Krest knew enough. If the man had remained Lark's master, that wouldn't have been an issue. But now that he was a potential turncoat, there was one more person out there who might expose what happened that fateful day on Myrkr. There are now three, Lark thought. My brother, my sister, and my master. If they aren't dead already, they will be soon. Anyone with ties to my past must be cut down.

"I am disappointed," Lark said truthfully. His mother and brother leaving him set him on the path he was on now. Years later, someone Lark thought he could trust had left him.

Again.

Is there truly no one I can trust?

"From what I could tell during my time training under him, Krest had always seemed firm and steadfast in his ways. He was a great teacher, in all honesty, whether he was killed or turned tail and ran both seem equally unlikely to me. And consorting with our enemies? That is not the Krest I knew. For his sake, I hope he was killed and some poor fool now masquerades around with his name."

"But rest assured, if he does live, I hold no loyalties or devotion towards him. As I said, he was a wonderful instructor. He trained me well in various fighting styles, and while I won't claim to be half the swordsman he is I did manage to hold my own against him and other acolytes and knights during my time training at Bastion. He laid the foundations for my skills to grow. My skills with the force are admittedly a bit lacking, which is something I hope to amend once I return. Krest taught me how to channel the Force within myself, making me faster and stronger, as well as how to properly handle lightning without harming myself."

"He also taught me how to pry into the mind of weaker beings, and I was able to control a number of beasts and dullards using this power. On my own time, I managed to become semi-fluent in the Ancient language of the Sith, as well as creating a number of Sithspawn with permission from Krest. During my time away I've attempted to continue using these skills as much as possible, although I was preoccupied with my own mission."

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar nodded along as [member="Lark"] described his skills and training, listening intently. The man had come fairly far along the track, at least in the realms of a warrior's focus; the lack of facility with the Force was something that could be easily ameliorated with time. As well, it was a good sign that he was so frank with his self-analysis. There were too many acolytes in the order who thought to oversell themselves, overstate their abilities, in the hopes of getting better assignments, better masters, better classes.

Of course, those acolytes rarely survived once they got what they thought they wanted.

"It is good that you know all this," he replied slowly. "It is good, too, that you don't hold any undue affection for your former master." Unlike, Tsisaar thought, how Azriel acted towards him. The boy needed to be broken, and reforged into a proper apprentice. "Now, it means you know everything that you need to work towards. To better yourself, to break your chains, as the code suggests." The ultimate goal for all Sith; breaking their chains, achieving perfection. Though it came easier for some than others.

Even as a full Sith, Tsisaar still felt behind the curve at times, given that he'd never had a proper master. All that he had achieved, he had done so on his own; for somebody who had been away from the resources of the Sith for a protracted span of time, catching up might take far too long. Of course, Tsisaar already had one apprentice.

But, despite the danger of training two, if the rivalry could spur the other into a more proper mindset as a Sith, and if Lark could progress more quickly and become a full Sith himself, the danger might be avoided.

"It seems you don't have far left to go, before you can be fully inducted into the ranks of the order," he stated, revealing some of his thoughts. "Especially if your talents and preferences lie more in the realm of being a warrior for the empire, then your skills with bodily augmentation, lightning, and such should suffice, with more practice. If you should pass your reentry with no troubles, I would be happy to finish your training; or, at least, augment your knowledge in any areas you desire."

 

[Lark]

As they entered the city limits, the duo began to pass by other scoundrels and scum going about their illicit activities. Bars, clubs, and establishments that somehow managed to be less reputable than those littered the town. The Sith were given a wide berth, which was a wise decision. Although he was without his blades, Lark was more than a match for any common thug that might be to drunk or headstrong to realize who his target is.

He took Tsisaar's offer very seriously. It was true, most of his time spent training under Krest was devoted to the different fighting styles as well as Force powers that would be useful in combat scenarios. That was all well and good, and essential skills for any acolyte to have. Given the methods in which he was trained, Lark could make a solid warrior for the Empire. His body might not look it, but he was deceptively strong, and quick on his feet.

Lark held his hands behind his back, considering his options. Now that he and Tsisaar had more time to speak with one another, Lark got the impression that the two of them were quite alike in temperament, at least with Lark's current persona. It was always amusing to watch how people handle his shifting personalities, especially after only a few meetings. "If the Empire has need of warriors, than that path I might take," Lark began. But he couldn't help but think that there was a better use for him. "Perhaps it is not my place to inquire, seeing as how I'm only an acolyte, and a runaway one at that. But if I'm speaking honestly, I believe I might be of more use to the Empire as a Saaraishash, or perhaps a Sith Assassin."

"I understand that those positions might be out of reach for an acolyte, and if I'm being truthful with myself, I think I still have quite some time left before I personally feel as though I'm ready to take the next step forward." There were still skills that he wished to have a greater grasp of, especially mental powers. His words could be dangerous enough, and he did learn how to dig into the minds of weaker beings. But if he could use to use the Force to affect someone's mind on a greater scale...

"As for your offer to assist with the completion of my training, I would happily accept, seeing as how my previous master is either dead or a traitor. Perhaps you could teach me what he couldn't, if you're willing."

[member="Tsisaar Taral"]

 

[Shade of Decay]

And so the deal was set.

"Willing I am," he replied. "My specialty is with the Force, not the blade, so it seems you'll be getting a well-rounded education. Training from specialists of either side." He smiled beneath his tendrils, pleased with himself. Lark already seemed to have a penchant for alchemy; if he had the gift for sorcery, as well, he could prove helpful to Tsisaar's other projects. And, of course, he could pit [member="Lark"] and Azriel both against each other; further honing the skills of the one, and hopefully forcing the other to develop a more Sith-like mindset.

Just so long as they didn't join forces to destroy him, instead. A worthwhile risk.

However, there was the other mention that Lark had made. Tsisaar thought on it for a while, considering what would work best. "As to the assassins," he began slowly, "I do not know how one is inducted into their ranks. Few do; while many of us know of their existence, they operate outside the bounds the rest of the empire does. They choose you at their own will, and I cannot sponsor you. As for the Saaraishash, however..." Tsisaar glanced around the street he was at, taking a quick turn before continuing to speak.

It started taking them away from the spaceport, but Tsisaar had to see if his contact was still alive.

"Even warriors have a place within the Saaraishash, and with your seeming intent to round out your skills into a more balanced set, I imagine you would be a good fit. We even have assassins of our own, after a sort." Another turn, heading towards a well-sized private estate. "Once you pass your background check, I can sponsor you as an initiate within the group if you wish; given that I'll be training you, I'll likely be assigned as your overseer, as well."

He fell silent, waving a hand lightly. The gate that locked off the estate opened, and Tsisaar continued along the path to the doorway. Inside, he could sense numerous beings; he closed his eyes and focused further. As he thought, none of the presences were ones he recognized from earier in the day. More than that, he could smell the stench of death, both through the Force and his nostrils. He turned to Lark before opening the door, and held the man's sword back to him.

"It appears that my contact has been assassinated, as I imagine you overheard my suspicions earlier," he said, referencing the man he'd killed just before meeting Lark. "Now, you've told me of your skills. Inside this building are numerous assassins, likely heavily armed, but based on what I sense, all lacking in the Force." He grinned beneath his facial tendrils.

"Perhaps, as a demonstration—just to humour me—you could eliminate them? I doubt it will prove a challenge for you, though I am curious as to how effective you'll prove."

 

[Lark]

Lark smiled softly, as a cold wind blew his hair back and leaky pipes dripped water down into the maze of alleyways they weaved through, before coming to a more prestigious manor located closer to the center of the city. Compared to the dens they had been passing in the poorer district, this manor could almost be called a castle. It was only three stories tall, but it towered over any other structure in a half mile radius. Places like this were common in a number of slums he had been through, a shining beacon of light amidst heaps and heaps of filth. And from his experiences, those who lived in these beacons of prosperity were far more vile than any slaver or pirate.

But he'd never know whether that rang true for whoever owned this estate, because these assassins had the pleasure of meeting him first. Lark and [member="Tsisaar Taral"] passed through the gate, silent as stone, before approaching an ornate door with stained glass windows on either side. Lark could sense that something had happened here somewhat recently, probably around the same time that the other assassin brought Tsisaar to the ridge where Lark had been resting.

And then, Lark was faced with a test. Kill the assassins inside, prove that he was as capable as he promised. He took the sword, slowly twirling it and letting the familiar weight return to him. He closed his eyes, seeking out the dark signatures the assassins put off. There were six that he could distinguish, three were patrolling the hallways, or perhaps they were searching for something. The other three remained in a room on the third floor, possibly where the kill was made. It shouldn't be to difficult, but they did assassinate a Sith contact, so it would be wise to take caution regardless and not simply charge right in. They could be highly trained assassins or local hitmen.

But in order to properly dispose of these assassins, Lark might need to make a change. He'd need an attitude and personality to fit the situation. So, he did what he had been doing since he was thrown onto the streets. He adapted. It was a small shift, barely noticeable at first. But if one looked closely they would see that something in Lark changed. He wasn't the same person Tsisaar had been conversing with moments ago, not quite. There was something more feral about him, and his eyes gleamed with a dangerous glow.

Kill.

Lark strode towards the front door, breaking the knob and quietly pushing the door in. The three patrolling guards were on the second floor, so Lark ascended the stairs like as quiet as a wraith and as graceful as a dancer. With mute steps he entered a bedroom, where one heavily armed guard was rifling through a cabinet. Lark ran his sword through the man's neck, and used the Force to gently guide him to the ground.

Another guard turned into the same hallway, and when he passed by the open door into the bedroom, Lark Force Choked him, at the same time dragging him into the room with invisible hands. His quiet struggle was soon put to an end, and he met the same fate as his fellow assassin. Lark made his way to the lone assassin on the second floor, who was in a small kitchen area. He was dead before he hit the floor, and before Lark made his way up to the group of three, he grabbed a cutting knife from a rack above a sink. He hadn't gotten his dagger back from Tsisaar, but in truth he didn't need it.

One would be forgiven for believing that Lark moved like a machine, but in truth there was a thoughtful precision to nearly every move he made. He entered the room quickly, since all three were so close together he wouldn't be able to take them out quietly like he did down below. It took the assassins a moment to realize what was going on, clearly they weren't expecting anyone to show up. In that second of hesitation Lark threw a knife into one of the assailants necks. The other two drew their vibroblades, and ran at him. Lark used the Force to pull them towards him, causing them to stumble. Lark cut another down as he tripped, but the other managed to duck under his swing. They both turned and faced each other, and the assassin lunged at Lark with a quick and well-placed strike. Lark stepped to the side and quickly flicked his blade upwards, cutting of the man's sword arm. After a sudden cry of pain the man's head left his shoulders.

The assassin who Lark threw a knife at struggled on the ground, choking on his own blood. As Lark walked over to the dying man, he slowly shifted back to his previous personality. Not his true one, that beast rarely elected to show its face. He wiped his blade clean, and removed the knife from the assassin's neck. There were a few spurts of blood before his eyes glazed over, dead. He offered his sword back to Tsisaar, who had been watching silently. Indifferent and casual about the massacre he just committed, he stepped over a body, admiring a painting on the wall.

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar followed placidly behind Lark, observing the carnage that the man wrought. The change that came over the man was an interesting one, and something that Tsisaar would make sure to study when he had the later opportunity. Overall, though, he found himself being impressed with the quick and clean nature of Lark's disposal. It was very efficient.

He certainly didn't seem to be of the same stock as numerous of the marauders within the Empire, who wanted to cause as much carnage and destruction as possible. His disposition definitely seemed more suited to that of the assassin. Quiet, efficient, and thorough, leaving no survivors who could attempt to report the murder. I shall have to see if it is possible to get him some extra training from the assassins within the Saaraishash, he thought to himself. He could never guarantee entrance to the more secretive group of assassins within the Empire, those that officially didn't exist, despite the fact that many knew of them. Within the Saaraishash, however, he held more pull.

Tsisaar retrieved the blade, glancing down at the last dead man while Lark moved to observe a painting. There was still a small spark of life in the body, though it was fading quickly; Tsisaar reached down, grasping at it, breathing energy back into it. The man shuddered, his eyes regaining a moment of clarity, despite the blood pooling around his head. With that clarity came back his mind, and Tsisaar dove into it, piercing whatever meager defenses the assassin may have had like a spear through cloth.

He didn't bother to be delicate with the man's mind; he was going to be dead no matter what. So, Tsisaar rummaged through the man's psyche with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, tossing aside memories like garbage as he searched for the information he sought. Relatively quickly, he managed to find it, after burning through anything that didn't relate to what he wanted to know; the name, face, and voice of the man who had ordered the attack.

"Good," Tsisaar said, both to Lark and in response to what he had found. He withdrew from the man's mind, draining whatever little thread of life remained in the body. Once Tsisaar was done, the body lay in a pool of its own blood, somehow even more of a lifeless husk than the other two next to it. "I can see why you're interested in taking the role of an assassin. You'd be well-suited for it." He stepped back towards the entrance of the room.

"Well, [member="Lark"], I do believe that concludes our business on this planet. Shall we make for the spaceport now?"

 

[Lark]

Lark idly watched as [member="Tsisaar Taral"] tore into the dying man's mind, truly a beautiful art. The mind was often one's most powerful weapon, it could be used to enforce your will on anyone susceptible enough. It was a testament to the Sith Knight's ability, how easily he was able to invade a mind like a parasite invading a host body. It was a skill Lark had begun practicing towards the end of his tenure with the Sith, and one that he planned on honing once he returned.

The duo walked out of the house, it was time they ditched this wretched crucible of violence and despondency. As their surroundings became a bit more urban and the nearby populace was only slightly less shifty than before, Lark began speaking once again. "I won't lie, I find myself looking forward to rejoining the Sith, providing all goes well with my re-entrance tests. This mission I embarked on was important to me, but it grew a bit dull, overly monotonous at times. I was never bored within the Empire. With every passing day I'd uncover something new, awaken some wonderful power within me." More often than not those powers he'd awaken were horrible, something a man like him was never meant to experience.

But that was the fun of it all, really.