To New Friends.

[Darth Ferus]

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Dromund Kaas​

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A planet long ruined by the Mandalorians from wars past. Once, the Sith made a mistake of angering them after bombing their homeworld, and in return the warriors glassed the whole mecca that was once Kaas City, as well as the rest of the planet. Here in these wastes Darth Ferox walked, surveying the ruin with mild interest. How long until the Sith would come back here and rebuild? Many already held their own planets. Yet none seemed interested in the past. Perhaps they finally moved to new things.

Or, perhaps they simply forgot the planet.

Of course, he wasn't here for planning the restoration of a long forgotten planet or the Sith Empire that had died. A long awaited meeting, one he had been planning for some time now. @Tidarius , a Sith Lord that remained ever in the background while others fought in the light. A man who chose to think over fighting. Politics over war. They were all smart choices in this day and age.

And Ferox could use a chat with a Sith about how to not go right into war for once in his long life.

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Ferox"] |​

Ruins of Kaas City, Dromund Kaas

A once shining metropolis, testament to ancient legacy, raised to personify all that an old Empire had sought to create, now a ruin, a silent ghost town of shattered glass, twisted durasteel, broken permacrete. The wind echoed through fallen buildings with a low whistle that served to send shudders up the spine, the voice of long-dead ghosts screaming in their final moments as obliteration rained down upon them, all pretense of power doing little to preserve them in that torrent of fire. Though an atrocity long forgotten by most, you could feel it as though it had happened just that morning, if you were capable of pushing aside your mortal sentiments and simply letting the ethereal screams pass through you.

Tirdarius had always despised Dromund Kaas - whatever it had once represented, it was the ultimate in Sith folly from ages past. An attempt to bring civilisation to the jungle, and what are you now? Merely a jungle of a different kind, artificial trees made from the ruins. The Sith had thought to tame the world, but instead had found themselves tamed by it: a cruel lesson in the realities that one could not truly battle the chaos and hope to win. We must live within the chaos, not seek to stand above it. Believing ourselves superior does not excuse us from our fate. The rubble of a once-glorious city struck him as testament to this.

It had not been his idea to come here, to set foot on a world he frankly despised. Many of the Sith avoided Dromund Kaas, preferring the ancient lure of Korriban, or more modern worlds upon which to take up residence. This place had too many ghosts, too many dark memories which would assail even those faithful to the Dark Side: the burning rage of those whose lives had been cut so short little distinguishing between living ally and dead foe. None are truly welcome here. But he had been asked here nonetheless, and no Sith would refrain from fear of a thing: better to step forward and face a danger than to allow caution to win out. Ferox had invited him, and so he had come.

The cool air assailed him from all sides, a howling desolation that allowed no true warmth. Lightning and rain were common here, nature's reminder that the power the Sith claimed was far smaller than that which the world itself might produce on whim. We chose this as our seat once simply because we felt it adequately reflected our own inner strength: power that might be unleashed without restraint. The world continued to do so even as the Sith that had once walked this place were long silenced. There was a clear lesson there, he felt.

Chunks of permacrete were crushed beneath the sole of his boots as he made his passage into the remnants of the inner capital, the paving having been torn up by violent blasts of energy that had rained down upon the city from above, leaving rubble and ruin in their wake. It was not the most civilised of meeting places, but undoubtedly Ferox had chosen it simply because the other Sith oft elected to ignore it, and thus it might leave them a modicum of privacy for this meeting. Certainly Tirdarius could understand that much.

The younger of the two was already making his way forward, easily tracked by virtue of the fact that he was not bothering to try and conceal himself, any more than Tirdarius himself was. True, the whole planet served as a nexus of Dark Side energy, but even so, the presence of the other man remained distinct and a natural homing beacon for anyone of sufficient capability to pick up. And so, Tirdarius had found himself heading towards the other Sith, knowing that they would meet quickly enough. Observing the red-skinned being not far now, moving into visual range, the older of the two increased his pace, moving to intercept with an agility that might have surprised another.

"You choose an interesting place to meet," he remarked as he leapt lightly over a series of fallen girders, no doubt the structural mainstays of the destroyed building lying in ruins nearby. He landed softly, his boots making barely a sound upon the paving below his feet, throwing up a small brush of dust as he did so. "I suppose a casual drink in a local tapcaf would have been an inappropriate choice?"

 

[Darth Ferus]

Step by step the Zabrak went, until something in the Force shifted. Here on this dead planet it could only mean one thing, and as his blue eyes turned to where he felt the change, he saw [member="Tirdarius"] on his way over. A brow raised as he saw how quick the elder was moving. Had he expected him to be quick? No. Should he have? Yeah, he probably should have. A casual bow of his head was offered to the Lorekeeper as he spoke.

"I would say so. I believe it's roof is over there, ground level." There was a smile offered with the light attempt of humor. "But, I am glad you came. I know it's isn't the best planet for anyone to come to, but here we shouldn't be harassed."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Ferox"] |​

The thought of either of them being harassed was an amusing one: typically only those with a considerable predilection towards involuntary suicide would think to bother a Sith Lord, much less two of them. The Jedi tended to make themselves an exception to the rule, but they were easy to provoke, so the nuisance provided by their presence often offered an amusing diversion. Still, Dromund Kaas was not a place for anything other than ghosts of long-dead servants of the Sith Empire and for the beasts that roamed freely on a planet long since liberated from the presence of living Sith.

The Sith Lord slowed his pace as he approached his peer, long black outer robe swaying gently into stillness as he came to a standstill, taking a moment to observe a being that he had only ever encountered in combat prior to this - a moment where adrenaline flowed and injury or death was ever on the cards, intentional or otherwise. The Echani liked to say that you could only truly understand a person through their conduct in battle, but that was the naive, childish view of those who felt the need to justify their violent militant life. You don't understand the truth of a person until you observe their actions, true, but we Sith are ever beings of misdirection, so our actions do not always speak to who we truly are.

Of course, Ferox had a reputation as a warrior, one that Tirdarius had observed firsthand, so perhaps it was unlikely that the younger Sith would appreciate such a perspective: the Sith had ever been the type to cultivate such a creed, to instil a creed of the purity of combat as a test of the inner self, using the mystique of a warrior elite to create beings who would serve as weapons of war, showcasing the superiority of the Sith in the most pragmatic fashion possible. To many, that is all we are: butchers, murderers, psychopaths with insatiable bloodlust. A dangerous perspective, but one often cultivated to provoke fear. For is not the first principle of rule that a being who is both loved and feared will rarely be challenged?

A childish view, of course, but so few cared for the complexities that their focus only remained on the simpler psychologies.

"You do so take the fun out of it, my friend," he noted softly, an arch smile curving his lips, amused at the thought. It was indeed better to be here, absent distractions, but sometimes the unexpected allowed the ever-intense focus upon duty to be cast aside for the moment as the chaos of the real world intervened. "Still, you brought me here for a reason. I imagine you'd like to get to that. What troubles your mind?"

 

[Darth Ferus]

"I do try my best not to drain the fun. Most Sith these days seem obsessed with just that though, no?" More light humor, though it did hint at why he had asked [member="Tirdarius"] to meet him here of all places. The dead planet filled with so much hate from the dead only marked the true legacy of almost all Sith. A rotten end with a never ending nightmare of fear, pain, and hate. A wave of the Sith's hand brought some of the nearby ruble over, staking them in 'chairs'. No, they probably weren't going to be comfortable, but for at least the Zabrak it would be better than standing.

"Next time I'll be sure to have us meet in a place where we can have actual chairs though." More humor. If there was anything the Sith had in shortage, it was a good laugh or two, and honest laugh. The red man stepped his way over to one of the chairs, his footsteps soft and almost silent despite the unsettled terrain the pair were on. Training from his time as an Assassin that never went away. "Anyway, I asked you here because unlike all the other Sith I know, you use your head. You think of options that don't revolve around war or battles. All my life I have been brought up and trained as nothing but a warrior. A second to leaders of the Sith, and nothing more. I no longer wish to be the second to other Sith. I ask you to show me other ways of the Sith."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Ferox"] |​

​

Tirdarius did not bat an eyelid as the other man used his energies to draw forth impromptu seats for them both: smooth rubble that might serve to hold their weight and allow them some respite, not that either of them likely needed it. Hikes of the kind that had brought them into this ruin of a city were natural to them both - few Sith would survive training if they found themselves exhausted by a mere walk, no matter what the distance. Privation and strain were natural to them, as familiar as the breath entering their lungs. To deny it was to deny what they were, and that was simply absurd.

The request itself came as something of a surprise - most among the Sith preferred a balance between the physical and the contemplative, more often the former, since such was a very visceral means by which to touch the Force: few felt so alive as they did when they were in combat, or engaged in rigorous exercise that pushed their bodies to the very limits. It was only natural that they would apply that same pleasure to their personal ideologies: better to battle the Jedi, to battle Mandalorians, or even democracy, to take to the field and use their superior powers and capabilities to crush the enemies of the Sith.

It was all very short-term thinking, if it could be called that at all. Face one obstacle, then another, and then another. The list would never end, but the focus would ever be on the next enemy, and nothing more.

Ferox was known to be a clinical individual, direct and contained with his destructive force, seemingly preferring to take one life rather than a hundred, the sort of practitioner that had evolved combat into an artform that did not require cities to be levelled to see it well practiced. Still, his admission was startling in some respects: very rarely did the weapons of the Sith see beyond the confines of that box, wishing to become more than that. So many are simply satisfied with the destructive powers they wield, not seeking out the longer game. Still, a man of subtlety such as Ferox might easily find that boring, so perhaps the request made a certain kind of sense.

"The reality we face is a simple one, my Lord Ferox," Tirdarius remarked cooly, grey eyes observing the assassin carefully, knowing well that there might be more to the request than had been aired between them thus far. "Many of our brethren focus upon the moment, upon the nearest goal to be achieved, the next Temple to be brought down. To them, the Sith advance with every Jedi that dies, with every world we capture, with every insidious action we see accomplished." The Sith Lord shook his head, wondering if the younger of the two saw the problem inherent in this. "Bloodlust becomes a hallmark of the path, not merely a means to an end."

It was a reason he spent so little time among the others: arguments or even civil discussions often ended with blood being spilled, if only because the ego demanded satisfaction when challenged. To many, the Sith demanded that the strongest rule, so if a challenge was made and a life ended, it mattered little: the strong would remain. But, ultimately, the Sith are weakened as our numbers are thinned for no reason other than our own vanity. It was the insanity of the short-game: the only where none looked to the future, and the deeper struggles ahead.

"We fight a war against the Jedi, but they are not our enemy: they are merely that which stands in our way." He offered the slightest of shrugs from his seat, knowing that many would view such an opinion as heresy - the millenia-long conflict with the Jedi Order being the focus of so many. To them, the Jedi had to be eradicated, and all other concerns were secondary. "We must ask ourselves a simple question: what is it to rule? What happens when we succeed, the Jedi are cast aside, the Galaxy stands ours for the taking. What do we do then?"

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Many would choose to find a new foe. Focus our attention on the Mandalorians, Iron Empire. Even the First Order." It's what Ferox would do, at least as his first thought. Being trained as a fighter, he would need to find another battle to continue to exist. Without war, what was he? But, he had asked [member="Tirdarius"] here to help him find that exact answer. "But that only prolongs the inevitable. The people of this galaxy view Sith as nothing more than monsters. No Sith, no matter how powerful, can't control a Galaxy that will rise against them. Too many have chosen to become these monsters, myself included, but all it leads to is ruin. The New Order, lead by Darth Vulcanus, my master. I served second to him and watched the Graug Hordes become the villain of the known Galaxy. When the Republic and Mandalorians were to fight he chose to strike, and his empire crumbled. The One Sith war machine, where I served as the Shadow of the Dark Lord, once more chose to embrace being a monster. The Galaxy feared us, and at the height of our power the monster was shown, and the public turned against us."

For so long the Zabrak had been ruled. All to watch them die out. What was the point to rule if it was only temporary. What was the point to rule if you had to hide? "I feel you already know this, but the Sith cannot rule if everyone thinks we are monsters. The public needs the illusion that is peace to be properly ruled, or a common foe to turn against. The Sith are that foe, and that needs to change. The question is, how? With those such as the Butcher King striking fear everywhere, how can we?"

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Darth Ferox"] |​

True, many viewed the Sith as monsters, but much of that was a matter of war: conflict was the natural axis upon which the Galaxy turned. But Sith in peacetime? That was a very different matter, something few had any real experience of - even in Palpatine's time, when the Galaxy had aligned under a single ruler and a single Empire, conflict remained a constant, the old embers of democracy having new life breathed onto them by dissent and rebellion. But we are monsters with good reason, for only a true monster is not afraid of the Dark. What better to do battle with the darkness and establish the order from which peace might come?

Still, Tirdarius felt that Ferox had missed a simple natural point: beings like Kaine Zambrano were often the face of the Sith, but their brutality led the way for a rebirth. Ultimately, the Jedi would fall, the decadent corruption of democracy would be exposed for all to see and feel outraged for. Every power needed executioners, warriors, beings that would go forth and do those deadly and atrocious things to see that the body remained intact, the cancers fought and eliminated that health might be sustained. The monsters of war would become the guardians of peace, in time, when the war was won.

"We are not alone in having monsters in our midst, my friend," he noted gently, knowing well enough the image that the Sith projected. To be feared is better than to be loved, by many among us. "The Jedi have theirs, the Mandalorians have theirs, ours are simply more frightening," the Sith added with an arch smile, amused by the thought. "But what turns a monster into a protector? Simply the nature of that upon which it is set."

He had learned that simple truth decades ago: that those who purported to serve truth and justice were often used as a blind authority upon which a corrupt body might be supported. The Jedi had been used as pawns for centuries: their natural perception as protectors of the weak and servants of the Force thus being used to conceal the bloated democracy they protected, one invariably controlled by those who sought only to aggrandise themselves and gain glory while hiding behind the notion of collective rule. The monster isn't the one who commits atrocities, but the one who stands by while another does so.

"Reframe your question: what gives us the right to rule? To what end?" Tirdarius shifted slightly on the rock upon which he sat, observing the younger Sith Lord with his ever-unblinking stare, grey eyes narrowed slightly in thought. "We have power, insight, the belief that we should rule because we are strong enough to craft a society in which order and discipline exists, where all work in service to the greater benefit of all." Strength gives power, and power is the foundation of rule. "And, given the opportunity to rule, what might you do with it?"

Silencia had always taught that the vagaries of politics were more complex that they might appear on the surface, but had also been quick to remind him that a flood might wash away even the strongest of foundations, moreso if they were eroded. The Republic, the Galactic Alliance, the First Order, the Mandalorian Clans and the hundreds of governments which had stood and fallen: these were all built on strong foundations that were slowly eroded from within. And, so, our duty is to be the flood: to wash away the decay and rebuild something that can withstand even us. When the Sith had built a Galaxy that could stand for itself, only then would they no longer be needed.

"You must acknowledge the pragmatism of the moment." Reaching to his belt, Tirdarius removed his lightsaber, activating it so that a meter-long beam of dark-blue energy emerged from the blackened metal, casting bright shadows around them. "Here is a weapon: death to our enemies, protection to ourselves, a shield to those we would defend. It does not serve but one purpose, but many, depending how it is wielded." He deactivated the lightsaber, the light vanishing within the blade, allowing him to return it to his belt. "The weapons we use, to create fear, to enforce our will: can you not envision a brighter purpose for them in the future? A monster is only dangerous as long as he is feared as one."

 

[Darth Ferus]

The Zabrak remained silent as [member="Tirdarius"] spoke. Already the lore keeper was offering points of view Ferox never would have known existed from his training. A monster turned into a protector. The right to rule, and what anyone would do with it. Well, what would Ferox do when it was his word that became law? Already the Zabraks looked to him to lead Iridonia, and already certain events were put in place to ensure his throne was his. But, what would he do with it? Fight the Jedi? Mandalorians? Echani? And should be be beaten, find someone else to fight?

Wasn't there more to leading than just on a battlefield?

"I, personally, would unite my people under one banner. Recreate the Iridonian Legions and preserve our way of life as we always have, through bloodshed. But that, that is a selfish desire. We would slaughter our foes, only to become hated by outsiders. I.. I have only known war. Hate. I can only see battle, only understand death. I am this monster of the Sith, and I cannot see a brighter purpose." A sad chuckle escaped the lips of the red man as he leaned back into his seat. He had become a perfect Sith. But to be ruled, not rule himself. Perhaps playing second was all he was destined to do.

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Krest"] |​

Yes, and that was ever the quandary, wasn't it? How does one turn to something other than violence when battle is all you have known? Still, Tirdarius wasn't wholly convinced: Ferox was known as a dangerous assassin, true, but that very nature meant he was able to comprehend the function of purposeful violence. The kind that would be enacted when necessary, but directed as lesson, example and execution, the death of the individual while the whole was left untouched. He was no Kaine Zambrano, to level a planet to get at one person, so he clearly recognised that there was a need for distinction in your targets.

Still, it was ever the Sith way to wield weapons of varying design and purpose: Ferox had been moulded into one such weapon, created with singular intent and ruthlessly efficient at it. But to look beyond that, to see the grand plan, to understand where his role might be in it? Yes, he might find that harder to grasp, but even so, it would not be beyond him: Ferox would not have survived as long as he had done without being smart. But such ruthless intelligence has been put to use against our enemies. Now he must learn to use it on behalf of our friends.

"Have you ever played Chess, my Lord?", Tirdarius asked, waving his hands in a peculiar but very particular pattern, weaving the energies around them into a tapesty that slowly started to coalesce before them: the image of a table carved from a dark marble, a depression in the surface patterned with black and white squares, upon which were arrayed a series of intricately-carved pieces. A simple illusion, but one that served his purposes now.

"Take note of the pieces: Queen and King, side by side. The Queen is the strongest piece, capable of moving in many different directions, a deadly and vital component of play, a weapon superlative in her purpose." Another negligent wave of the hand and the board changed: the pieces had moved now, several removed from the board, the others now evidently in play, an illusory recollection of one of his own games. "And yet remove her, such that her presence no longer remains, and the game remains in progress. It is the King that keeps it going, the one piece that must be kept secure at all costs, lest the game be forfeit."

The board changed again: now the two of them were observing the game in sequence: the white pieces moving, then the black, an exchange made, a sacrifice produced, the slow attrition of one's pieces until few of them remained, a clear and evident picture coming into view: one player's position clearly stronger than that of their opponent, carefully positioning their forces to place the enemy King in a position which might shortly end the game.

"So it is with our path," the Sith Lord continued, waving his hand to dismiss the illusory board and the pieces upon it. "Our weapons may strike at the enemy, might even win the battle, but they might be sacrificed, expended in order to preserve the whole." Lowering his hands to his lap, Tirdarius exhaled a soft breath, pausing for a moment and allowing his energy levels to return to their normal after that short but abrupt expenditure. "The key pieces in the game are not the ones that can do the most damage, but the ones that would end the game if they were lost. Without a stable foundation, any actions you take places the whole at risk, and removes you from the game that much quicker."

 

[Darth Ferus]

A game of chess huh? His blue eyes focused on the board, listening to [member="Tirdarius"] . Yes, he knew the game of chess. Never a fan personally, but he understood the importance of moves. He was trained to lead armies in the New Order, and to understand the different pieces needed to win. And yet, as he looked at the board, he couldn't help but wonder which piece each Sith thought of themselves.

And which piece he was himself.

"It is a difficult game to play when there is already more than one opponent. Even more so when your own pieces can turn and remove others." Perhaps that was the advantage of the Assassins. They were bonded by cause, and would not turn on one another in a way that would jeopardize their mission, and their goal. In a way they were what many Sith wanted. Unity. "I know not what piece of this game I am. What I do know is that this game has many Kings, and as we all know only one can win."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Krest"] |​

Ah, this was where their point of contention would undoubtedly arise: Tirdarius had never believed that the Sith was filled with 'Kings', the chess piece that was most utterly important. No doubt many of the others would contend that they were the smartest, the strongest, the most cunning, but such claims were irrelevant: all that mattered was the survival of their Order. It was a vanity among their kind that one or the other had to be at the top of the pyramid, when all that really mattered was that the pyramid stood and remained strong. If the Sith remained powerful and focused, there was little they could not achieve: and their enemies knew it, which was why they served to foster resentment and jealousy among the Sith ranks, so that in-fighting would keep those forces unfocused.

That is why the Sith vision has never truly come to fruition. There had been moments where Tirdarius had been able to envision it: the Empire rising above all, taking true control over a Galaxy that sorely needed the direction, but infighting and conflict within the Sith ranks had always led them to lose focus, allowed their enemies to worm their way in and divide the Sith, so they invariably fell to their own weaknesses.

"Isn't that our failure, to assume that only one can or should rule?", he asked, raising an eyebrow inquisitively, eyeing the other Sith in that calm, dispassionate way that was his default. "We spend so much time maneuvering, so much time trying to be king of the castle, forgetting that we have won nothing worth fighting over. And so many get caught in the midst of our struggles..." He shook his head, exasperated by the thought. Silencia had warned him of it, decades ago, but it never ceased to irritate him. "We teach our students that evolution and adaptation is the path to survival, but we never think to apply it to the greater cause."

It was errant foolishness, in truth: a complacency of the form that they had often accused the Jedi, a weapon they had wielded against that ancient enemy, since the latter had never been able to learn the limitations of their own methodology, falling back time and again on those weary doctrines that had only ever served to get them killed. And yet, in truth, the Sith were much the same: fighting amongst themselves for ascendency, thinking of their own aspirations above and beyond that of the Order as a whole. And so we all fail, because we ultimately cannot embrace a broader vision.

"Where do you fit into the game? You tell me," he instructed his peer, his expression darkening slightly. Yes, Ferox was many things: Sith Lord, Assassin, Warrior, Leader. But he was one of those that felt lost within the darkness, adrift because he had no flag to rally behind, no cause to follow but the vague aspirations that all Sith were taught to look for. "We have always held a simple truth: you must carve out your own path, decide your own destiny rather than have it decided for you. What role do you want to play with? You need not simply fit into a pre-determined niche."

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Well, I suppose if I get to pick which piece I'd like to be, I wouldn't pick any of them." A sly smile formed on the red mans lips as the puzzle clicked together. [member="Tirdarius"] had a wisdom many Sith lacked, and for Krest is was enlightening. "I'd pick the player." Why be a queen, useful but ultimately sacrificed, or a king, needed but weak? It's not the king or queen who controls the game, but the man sitting in the background controlling them all. It seemed so simple, but it was a task few were successful at doing. Manipulating the pieces so they may fall the way one would intend.

"What say you?"

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Krest"] |​

Now he's thinking outside the box, Tirdarius noted with pleasure. This was what it was to be Sith, to his mind: to be the ones who looked beyond the confines of what was, and to reflect on what could be. Ferox was clearly feeling that strain himself: he had painted himself into a corner, and now wanted to become something more than what he had defined himself as. To be a piece is to be of importance to the game, but to be a player is to define the game itself. Clever approach, one he could well respect.

It made sense, of course, but that alone was not sufficient: the player had to comprehend the game, understand how all the pieces might be used, and what plays might be offered using them. And that alone was not sufficient to equal mastery. That was where so many went wrong: power and knowledge went hand-in-hand, much of the time, but that alone did not mean you were fit to rule, or capable of wielding those things to any true effect. Many Sith Lords of the past had found themselves in such a position: powerful, poised to win the game, but then ended by a play they had not foreseen, never observing the mistake in their strategy until it was far too late to reverse it. And thus they lose, because they understand the game, but they have not the wit to truly play it.

Ferox, by virtue of his training and behaviour, had consigned himself to being a piece manipulated by other players: he was the sort of being that reacted rather than acted, the piece that you left waiting in the wings for the right moment. Once unleashed to proper effect, he had the power to change the game and even win, but otherwise was often considered unremarkable, not the mainstay of one's strategy. And in that, we do him a disservice. That much had been apparent merely from listening to him: here was a pawn that evidently wished to be something far more, and was not intending just to reach the other side of the board to become a slightly stronger piece. He would prefer to smash the board and play for keeps.

"To be the player, you must envision the board and see beyond your pieces," he observed softly, his expression the sort of thoughtful one he might adopt when contemplating his next move. "Not simply your moves, but that of others as well. You must envision not just the next move, but the one ten moves ahead." It was, in some respects, why Tirdarius had always taken a back seat: to allow situations to develop and for opportunities to appear that otherwise might remain closed. "And you must also play from the mind of your opponent, not merely the board as it exists."

 

[Darth Ferus]

To be the player was to be all rolls, and more. The unaccounted pieces, the foes pieces. The foe itself. A pure, genuine smile formed on the lips of the Sith as he listened to [member="Tirdarius"] . The task he had just assigned for himself was monumental. A path he had never been taught, one filled with more danger than the path he currently walked. The unknown was a dangerous thing. But, part of him was thrilled. A new challenge, a new path to become something more.

"Complicated, but I don't think I've felt this much excitement for a task since.. Well. Ever." He wasn't lying. "I have a favor to ask of you though. You seem to be the player yourself. I wish to learn, and I was hoping you would allow me to.. Shadow you."

 

[Teynara Jeralyr]

| [member="Krest"] |​

An odd request, and not one he had ever before received from another Sith - particularly not one of Ferox's standing. Few Sith cared much for how the others played the game, focused as they were upon their own strategy, their own machinations. True, it was hard to ignore some of the players, intent as they were not only on winning, but smashing the board in the process, but even so, their observation of such tended to be a more passive process. What Ferox asked...that was something else entirely.

What would Tirdarius show him? The entire galaxy was their board, the pieces myriad in nature and complexity, each with their own purpose, some to be sacrificed, others to be guarded. And every player involved possessed of their own agendas: that they shared common name and allegiance did not necessarily mean that their goals were the same. Indeed, many shared very contrary intent: many among the Sith sought to be the only player left standing when the game concluded, and thus played only to win. And I? I play to ensure that the game continues, whatever the outcome. Few Sith cared for that perspective, but it was his nonetheless.

"I have little training to offer - my role has only ever been to offer perspective," he said in response, his own expression slightly guarded, wondering at the purpose behind such a request. Sith were notoriously egotistical, and the concept of one learning from another invariably ate at that perspective. After all, if you have something to learn from me, am I not better than you? It was absurd, yes, but that was ever the thinking. "The perspective you seek is broad indeed."

What to show him? The Galaxy, to note each move of the game as might pertain to planets and their populations? Would it be better to show economic movements: the ways stocks and shares intrinsically moved as events around the Galaxy fluctuated, to the ruin of some and the benefit of others? To show the build-up of military forces, the rise of political ideology, the balance between decadence and humility that stood at the heart of the modern democratic states? There is so much to learn that a lifetime is not even a drop of water in such an ocean.

"And you are used to being one that changes things, creates ripples in the pool," the Sith Lord observed tartly, recalling well that assassination was so often the sharp end of the diplomatic arsenal. True, Ferox might not be the type of Sith to walk onto a senate floor, or into a council chamber, but he was the kind of man that knew how to use the sharpness of a blade to change the fates of billions. "Are you capable of stepping back, to watch, to allow the Galaxy to move around you and without you, until the right moment comes to move yourself?"

That, he felt, was the one thing that all the Sith needed to learn, and few would ever both to acknowledge, much less master.