Crimson Flame [Tirdarius]

[Aiwaz Khath]

In meditative quietude, a red figure, clad in the attire of an acolyte, sat in disconnected solitude with eyes closed, his outer world cut off. Amidst the low, swelling rumbles and hums of the transport shuttle that carried him from the Sith fleet, and the distortions of radio chatter heard resonating around its small hull from the cockpit, the crimson Sith could hear nothing, for he was locked in deep meditation. Even the loud mouth of a particularly conceited human did not pull him from the intense contemplation he maintained. Deep within his mind, he focused on the Force. Though cocooned in a shell of metal, he could feel the throb of the planet he approached, the call of his home.

For it is widely known that Korriban holds ancestral origins for the infrequent Red Sith. Such are a proud race that one of this ancient bloodline would relish such opportunity to train upon their atavistic homeworld, the sacred land of the Sith. Thus it was that Kyros of the Fen line, student of the dark side, sat in waiting to return to his blood right.

"I can even shoot lightning now. The Coruscant Overseers taught me! I bet you worms can't even use Force push." The arrogant human spluttered into a guttural laugh as he inspected his fellow acolytes, one by one, all of whom shied away to avoid his gaze. "What's your deal?" came his voice again, as the silent Kyros maintained closed eyes and passive emotion. "Hey! I'm talking to you, Sith!" The mood within the ship turned unsure and sour as the Pureblood said nothing. "Too proud to talk to me? Typical of your kind, clinging onto nothing but the past. Pathetic, really. It sounds like to me you need to be taught respect when talking to superiors species, you little red worm."

The sound of a shiv moving against leather was heard along metal walls, and in an instant the Red Sith stood, a heavy fist smashing into the human's. The grip of the knife suddenly slackened and a sharp clash of metal on metal could be heard to break the horrid silence that followed. With his other hand, Kyros reached immediately for the human's throat and squeezed without hesitation. The acolyte's slight figure was no match for the sheer strength administered by the Sith, who had pushed his head against one of the walls to support his own actions. Kyros' deep crimson eyes watched as the human struggled for all of a minute before his face turned purple and his eyes bulged and weeped, and suddenly there was a silence once more. Kyros said nothing, yet as he looked in disgust at the body, he thought 'You are not a superior species.' The body fell limp to the acolytes' feet and Kyros returned to his seat, silent and calm, as those still in rest of the ship exhibited a range of emotional responses; shocked, terrified, satisfied, intrigued.

But minutes later, the shuttle wheezed and groaned as it settled down to Korriban's surface, dust beneath clearing frantically from the heat of the engines. There was a moment of cooled silence before the doors screeched into motion, allowing for the planet's scorching sunlight to fill the metal box. For a moment, Kyros' austere manner slackened as the sight of Korriban land inspired a deep sense of longing and awe within him. Finally. He was finally here.

He was the first to leave the shuttle - perhaps due to fear of respect given by the rest of the acolytes, though he cared not - and greeted by an Overseer of some description.
"Welcome to Korriban, Acolyte. I assume you are wanting to know where you need to go."
"I'm fine. Just give me a datapad," he urged in passive tone as his gaze remained distracted by his surroundings. The peaks of the temple could be seen behind the skeletons of tombs and facilities. He would be there soon.

As he walked, he examined the datapad's map, eyes flitting between that and the environment that engulfed him. The planet emanated with immense power of the dark side, matured through uncountable generations of Sith both true and pretender, as though it was a wine fermented in an age-old cask passed down from generations of winemakers. In silence he walked and he watched as the tops of the ancient Sith temple grew a mid-body and then a base, growing an entrance around him that evolved into the temple interior. Its inside was huge, and there was an intense concentration of the dark side to be felt within the colossal structure. His eyes flicked quickly along the datamap and he strode across the temple expanse to find the opening to the offices of Darth Tirdarius. In silence he entered.
"Darth Tirdarius. I await my training."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Kyros Fen"]

The door to his office parted with the softest of motions, the inner hydraulics offering a gentle hiss as indication of their movement, though the room's sole occupant did not even bother to look up in acknowledgement of this warning, focusing further on the datapad that rested in his hands, clutched by pale, slender fingers, appraising eyes concealed behind the thin dark cuboid held there, perusing words that were all but invisible to those that might stand on the opposite side of the polished homogoni desk behind which he sat.

Words intoned with confidence and authority, brashly projected in his direction. A faint curve of his lips served as the only indication that the Sith Lord had heard them, though he did not move to redirect his attention towards the one who had uttered them. A dangerous thing, to walk into the office of a being occupied with other matters, to demand that all be ceased in order to give the visitor what they seek. It was a presumptuous matter, to say the least, and in truth, he had half a mind to eject the one who entered with such reckless abandon, perhaps to return when manners did.

He continued reading for a moment, the arcane symbols of the text imprinting themselves upon his mind: the words of an ancient Sith monument that had been uncovered on an archeological dig far from native Korriban. It had always been his way to keep abreast of such things, in case something useful came of it - and with ancient secrets always buried in elusive fashion by Sith of past centuries, it always paid to keep an eye on the efforts to uncover them. Sometimes in order to learn from them, and at other times, to ensure that such knowledge remains buried, never to be sought out and utilised by unworthy hands. Certainly that was more appropriately deserving of his attention than a Sith brash enough to simply barge within his private rooms, demanding of notice.

"To wait suggests a patience you have not so far displayed," he said, speaking with a quiet, vaguely disdainful tone, not bothering to look at his guest, grey eyes continuing to peruse the text that his mind was in the process of silently translating, runic pictographs slowly coalescing into written word. "If you would learn anything from your time here, it should be that haste and reckless action frequently results in unpleasant consequences, both for yourself and the others who might get caught up in such foolishness," the Sith Lord continued, his hand flickering in gesture towards one of the seats that rested on the opposite side of the desk. "Be seated and take a breath. Gather your thoughts more appropriately before you open your mouth."

He wasn't oblivious to the nature of his guest, of course: though his eyes were occupied, his senses within the Force were always at work, and had sensed the younger being striding purposefully towards his office before the door had ever opened. The Force energies within the Pureblood swirled with impatient restlessness, anxious to be put to use. And then there was that simple taint that he carried like some ill-chosen perfume: the righteous anger barely held in check that spoke of violent passion but recently unleashed. Here stands one who has but recently harmed another, perhaps even taken life.

"I wonder: what impulse caused you to act to harm another, as you have recently done?", Tirdarius asked, dark eyebrow raising inquisitively, seeking satisfaction as to the other's motivations. "When you stained your hands with the blood of your victim, what was your intent in their suffering? Was it merely to salve an ego bruised, or was there true purpose to your actions?"

 

[Aiwaz Khath]

A shock of flame whipped up Kyros' spine to his cranium, a rush of an undeveloped, immature vexation. There was an urge that pulsed inside him, that compelled him to wish to do harm to this man. Yet his intellectual awareness, quite immediately brought sense to his asinine compulsions. He took a silent breath, followed by a long, subdued exhalation as he acknowledged the invitation, rather the order, to sit.

"I wonder: what impulse caused you to act to harm another, as you have recently done? When you stained your hands with the blood of your victim, what was your intent in their suffering? Was it merely to salve an ego bruised, or was there true purpose to your actions?"

The Sith Lord's questions caused an aggravation that was difficult to suppress. He would not understand, for as powerful, intelligent and revered as he was, Darth [member="Tirdarius"] was also human. Proud he was of his heritage, of his species, of his blood, and a human could never quite understand to what extent. The acolyte's fists clenched on his lap as he maintained a still face.
"He considered himself above his station. He was in dire need of being put in his place." He spoke deep, calm, yet with malicious undertones. It was a truth, yet only one half of a fact. Should he really need to tell this man everything about him? He chose not.

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

[member="Kyros Fen"]

"You take much upon yourself, to teach another one submission," the Sith Lord remarked, lowering the datapad that rested still in his hands, letting it sit now upon the desk before him, giving the both of them a fully unveiled look at the other. He already sensed much about this being before him: the anger that rushed through his system like an adrenaline that simply could not be quelled. It amused him, in truth, this anger. Such a weak emotion. Perhaps he wishes to act on it even now? That part would be truly amusing.

He'd seen beings of this type before, of course, though very rarely in the flesh: those that termed themselves 'pureblood' Sith were off-spring of that most ancient race that had all but died off many centuries ago. The handful that now remained were not truly purebloods: at best, they might be termed 'hybrids', a bastardised version of their ancient noble predecessors, having cross-bred between species as was so common in the modern era. How else might they survive, when their numbers stand so diminished?

"You do not teach a being their place by extinguishing their life," he noted, tone still perfectly calm, if directed in a somewhat cold, disdainful fashion. "If it is their submission that you wish, you must make yourself worthy of it: why would they follow one that only brings harm to those that serve? A stronger being does not to persistantly demonstrate that: if I killed all that were weaker than I, there would be very few left with which to build an empire," he concluded, shaking his head at the thought of it.

Yes, it was true that he stood alone in some respects with these beliefs: all too many among the Sith were quick to anger and quicker still to violent action. With such acts, do they believe themselves strong, their ego reinforced by the fact that they might engage with another and come out on top. Perhaps even this young one before him had felt that way as he had subjugated another adversary: that rush of power, the thrill of superiority, justifying his violent acts with simple, unsubtle ease.

It was clear enough that a true Sith lesson might be needed here: not one of violence, as was so often believed, but rather the sort that might cut quickly without leaving any fatal wound, yet cause deeper scars that one could reflect upon in times to come. Otherwise do we but release monsters on a galaxy that will fear every dark corner, lest something be waiting there to strike out at them?

"So, I ask again: what purpose was struck in your lesson?"

 

[Aiwaz Khath]

Kyros was silent a while, contemplating the Sith Lord's words. He spoke with conviction, authority and a certain wisdom. But as his words may have resonated with a truth - a resonance that provided a certain insight for Kyros to dwell upon - it still proceeded to cause his to blood boil. It was as though this man, another human no less, looked down on his species. Was it so? Such paranoias twisted into him like a rusty knife, and yet he attempted to dismiss them as an exception for Darth [member="Tirdarius"], for he was truly a powerful man, and such strength could and did inspire. Yet, his question was an unwelcome judgement.

"It is so, lord, a lesson cannot be learned by one absent of life. Yet this was not a lesson for him. I shall be on this world for some time, I suspect. My witnesses shall surely talk about the event that transpired, hushed like gossiping children amongst their peers. My time already in the Sith has taught me that reputation means much within the order, and indeed across the galaxy. Would you not agree? Quite, the man pushed me, but more benefits may arise in time. People will know who I am."