I feel like a rock in the river of the Force…

[Darth Timoris]

She had not been back to Tython for a long while.

She stood from her cot and stretched. She reached for the ceiling and grabbed the bars she’d welded there herself, pulling up, breathing softly, then lifting her legs and stretching them out until she was horizontal to the floor. Her muscles quivered, and she breathed deeply as she felt the Force flowing through her, a vibrant, living thing. Mental exercise and meditation were fine, but sometimes she took the greatest pleasure in exerting herself physically. She believed that to be strong with the Force, one had to be strong in body.

The alarm was still ringing.

“OK, OK, I’m awake,” she said, easing herself slowly back to the floor, “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

The alarm snapped off, and her yellow maintenance droid ambled into the small living quarters. She’d updated it herself, capable of limited communication with a human master and other duties not necessarily exclusive to ship maintenance. She’d further customised it with some heavy armour, doubling its weight but making it much more useful to her in risky scenarios. She spoke to it, its replies were obtuse, and she supposed it was the equivalent of trying to communicate with a grass kapir. She had even named it.

“Hey, Meltch. You better not have woken me early.” Like most things she named, it was Darth Maul related.

The droid beeped and scraped, and she wasn’t sure whether it was getting cranky in its old age.

She had made many modifications and adaptations to the ship her sister gave her — to stamp her own identity upon it. She’d stripped out the table and chairs and replaced them with a weights and tensions rack for working out. Now, she ate her food sitting on her narrow cot. She’d replaced the holonet entertainment system with a flatscreen, which doubled as communications center and reduced the ship’s net weight. Beside the extensive engine compartment there had been a small room that housed a second cot for guests or companions, but because she had neither she had filled the space with extra laser charge pods, a water-recycling unit, and food stores. The ship’s laser cannon turrets had also been upgraded, and it now also carried plasma missiles, and drone missiles for long-distance combat.

She had also altered and adapted the function and position of many cockpit controls, making it so that only she could effectively fly the ship. It was hers, it was home, and that was how she liked it.

“How long to Tython?” she asked.

The droid let out a series of whines and clicks.

“The alarm was supposed to give me time to prepare, not tel me we were there.” She brushed a touch pad and the darkened screens in the forward cockpit faded to clear, revealing the planet of Tython looming ever larger. There was something so profoundly moving to the distance and scale of what she saw out there, and the Force never let her forget that she was a part of something incomprehensibly large. She supposed it was as close as she ever came to a religious epiphany.

She touched the pad again and a red glow appeared, surrounding a speck on the planet. The Academy she’d built. Twenty minutes and she’d be there.

Washed, dressed, and fed, she sat in the ship’s cockpit and watched Tython’s surface drawing closer. Her ship had already communicated with sentry drones orbiting at thirty thousand kilometres, and now the ship was performing a graceful parabola that would take it down into the surface.

She was nervous about visiting Tython again, but part of her was excited as well. It would be good to see the Academy — but she was unsure what reception she might face.

A soft chime announced an incoming transmission. She swivelled her seat and faced the flatscreen, just as it snowed into an image.

‘You are requested to meet Darth Carach inside the Academy. He is expecting you.’

She shifted in her seat, unaccountably nervous.

She switched the flight computer to manual, eager to make the final approach herself. She had always loved flying and the freedom it gave her. Untethered. Almost a free agent.

She closed her eyes briefly and breathed with the Force. It was strong this close to Tython, elemental, and it sparked her senses alive.

The landing zone was next to the vast lake that surrounded the Academy. She probed gently outward, and when she sensed that the air pressures had equalised, she opened the lower hull hatch. The smells that flooded in — grass, water, that curious charged smell that seemed to permeate the atmosphere around most temples — brought a rush of nostalgia for the planet she had thought she might never return to. But there was no time for personal musings.

She quickly disembarked and walked across the water. The steps were sunk just below the surface, forcing each visitor to look down to assure firm footing. It added to the sense of reverence, as each visitor was effectively bowing as they approached.

And she sensed the Dark-side aura waiting for her ahead, already in the Academy.

[member="Darth Carach"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

Tython. It was a world like no other. The Force was strong here, stronger than on most other worlds, stronger than Carach had ever experienced anywhere else - not even around the ancient Nexi that were scattered across the Galaxy. One could not compare a sentient-made construct towards the accumulation of a millennium's worth of growth in the Force. Carach’s reign as one of the Voices of the Dark Lord was long and strangely enough without much conflict: few if any had tried to challenge his position. It allowed him to shift his focus away from the endless, boring squabbling in favor of something far more useful.

Research. Knowledge.

To grow in the Force and eclipse all others. Neph was gone now, but he could still feel her presence pressing against his mind; one of the few things that had convinced him to not go off the deep end. Because there was a part of the Sith Lord who had wanted to break the dominion of the Dark Lord after Balmorra. Saner heads prevailed at the end.

“She has arrived, my Lord.” a soft voice called out, pulling in his attention.

Carach looked away from the window, a frown appearing and passing immediately. Right on time, right on… schedule. [member="Darth Timoris"] was a strange anomaly within the Order, she had requested access to the Bane Holocron in the past - because of her connection to his former Apprentice, Matsu, he had granted her that access.

Last he heard she had left the Sith though. Few people left them and were still able to breathe afterwards, but it only underlined that Timoris was special.

Perhaps she would be up to the task, maybe.

Royal Guards were positioned alongside the entrance of the Academy. They did not move or otherwise showed any acknowledgement of Timoris’ arrival; there was no need. A subtle, but insistent pull in the Force was already guiding her where she had to go.

 

[Darth Timoris]

The moment her feet touched stone, her boots announced her arrival — even if her aura hadn’t. She passed by the guards without giving them a second glance. The huge doors were opened, spilling light into the main entrance hall beyond.

She saw him immediately, staring to of a window. Her pace did not let up. Her steps did not falter. And given it was a long room, she covered the ground relatively quickly. She’d requested the meeting. Part courtesy and — in truth — a large dose of self-preservation made her reach out.

She’d been placed in a situation she detested. To make a choice. She hated to be put in that situation. She wanted both and settled on neither. It was, in part, the act of a petulant child. She realised that eventually. Forced to choose between the One Sith and the Black Rose she’d walked away from both.

But her loyalty was to the Dark Lord and that never wavered. So finally she accepted what mist be done. She expected a punishment might be in order and she would gladly show her loyalty to the Dark Lord in any way he designated. Or a test, or…anything he felt was appropriate.

Her desire was simple. It had never changed — it was that she previously hadn’t understood it. But in exile she realised. She wanted to make the Sith strong. And to do that she would train them. And what she knew was fighting, duelling. And she’d built this Academy for that very purpose, wondering which Sith Master would take it on.

And here she was…all this time later and she had wondered why she hadn’t thought of it before. And she knew this planet was under Darth Carach’s jurisdiction, and so she sought him out.

She was ready to return to the fold — as long as they chose to accept her back.

Finally she reached him. She stared straight at him. Her gaze unwavering, her face devoid of emotion. And she remained tight-lipped. She did not need to tell him she was here, he would know. And she was not about to babble an apology, it would show weakness. She was contrite but not cowed. She was a Sith Lord and her loyalty should never have been questioned. But she knew when to speak and when to remain silent — and now was certainly the latter.

[member="Darth Carach"]

 

[Jairus Starvald]

All of a sudden his presence in the Force magnified itself.

Back on the Republic’s flagship over Balmorra Neph had remarked upon it… it was almost akin to being touched by the Dark Lord’s power himself. There, he made a choice, picked the final road for his future destiny and with it… well. Let’s just say that every choice has a consequence. And power has the greatest of consequences.

Y̖̮̗̯o͉̼̠͔̬̫ͅu̖̯̺̘ ̳̮̣a̧͎̖̼ŕ̜̟̻̰̳͇͇è̯̹̣̘̩ ̱̤͙̕s̢i̮̝͔̹̯̪͞l̮͇en҉͉̳̼̙͎̯ţ̼̰̳,̧̥ ̜L̼̘̦̳͟ơ̪͖͔̠r͘d̪̩̬ ̱͚͕͜T͝ịm̸̥̳̺̠o̩̟̲̪̹̙͖ṛ̶̬̗i̞s̰̹͖͠.̝̪̦̝̳́ ̵̤̦̞̻͍Ẉ̰̱̙͖̞h̲a̧̠̠̞̮̰t͍̖ ̟̜̮͞i͉͓̭̟̝̟̘͠s҉̩͖͚ ̬͜o̫̬n ̴̦̜̩̮͈̙y̦͎͙͜o͓̻̻͎̻͡u̘͔r̲ ͇̩͇m̙͖̩̖͔̞̦͡i̠n̨d̼̟̙͜ͅͅ.̶̦

The Voice of the Dark Lord turned around then.

His voice was soft, it almost purred, but within it the echoes of thousands could be heard. Carach’s attention shifted from the window, to the room and finally settled on Timoris - there he’d wait.

[member="Darth Timoris"]

 

[Darth Timoris]

Melori stared at him. If he’d wanted her dead, she wouldn’t be here right now. If she was to be taught a lesson it would be a public affair and something to anticipate — an act that would send a message to others.

Not that she feared him or the Dark Lord. In part that was down to her arrogance, but the deeper and more meaningful reason was that, in her heart and mind she’d never been unfaithful to the Dark Lord.

She’d been tempted to act as a traitor towards others but had held firm. In her mind, a traitor once was a traitor once again. The right set of circumstances would replicate the act. If she had proven anything it was loyalty and that she should be taken at her word.

She was not naïve. Politics were rife in any organisation — yet she was peculiarly uninterested in them. All she cared about was the future of the Sith. To make them as strong as possible. She did not believe in mindless killing, but nor would she prop up the weak.

The unworthy were not fit to live — but would die only of their death proved of benefit. She had returned to sort the wheat from the chaff. But first she needed to convince the Dark Lord that she was worthy to return. Which in turn meant convincing the Hands and Voices.

So she stood there in her familiar and standard black Sith robes, her blonde hair tied back off her face. “Return.” Her first word was said without passion. Her baby blue eyes calm and focused on her fellow Sith Lord. “I seek to rejoin the fold. To serve the Dark Lord as he bids.”

[member="Darth Carach"]