Nar Shaddaa

The Wraith had meditated by the relic for some time now. Caught between the vergences she allowed them to pass through her like electricity through water. Before this, she had refreshed everything she knew about bending kyber crystals to the will of their wielder. Through nose-bleeding effort, the Force guided her once again, and her crystal remoulded into a slimmer, sharper form, its edges thinned to single particles.

EA7. Crystal Modding (Vicious #2). Mechanics. 2 Boosts (Zash's Data/Zash's Talent). 2 Dark Pips (Mask, Vergence): 2eA+2eB+3eD+1eF 4 threat, 1 Dark Side


[1 Dark Pip to Success, Rest to cancel 2 Threat, 2 Strain]
[-300 Credits]
[Third Modification: Vicious +1]

Drunk with success, she didn't even remember to take a breath. She stormed out of her sanctuary as soon as the casing of 'Passion' was sealed again and headed toward the load. There, she fired it up. Revelling in the malicious vibration at the edges of the ray she began her practice.

The morning had not fared well for Durasay's mood. He was normally a cold man, but the events of the night before, and the morning, left him like a pot of water over high heat.

Threatening to boil over.

His mind replayed the events over and over. Disgust held in his failure. He wasn't walking with any purpose or direction. Instead, it was something else, drawing him.

For some reason, his comm was in his hand. Flicking through his contacts, he found one, highlightwd red.

"Lady Sith. I need to talk to you." He didn't hide the edge in his voice. "You were right."

She was in the middle of a furious assault when the comm blipped. It took her a few seconds to process what had thrown her out of sync. She glared at the comm in fury but seeing who was it she channelled it into something else. Receiving the call and hearing Durasay's voice, taking note of its quality, her wry smile blossomed.

"I'm in my ship."

She gave him the number of her hangar.

Durasay clicked off his comm, heading to the indicated number. He was surprised at how close to it he was already.

Was this the will of the Force?

His bootheels clicked against rhe durasteel flooring, his feet falling hard with each step. A lance of pain up through his ankle, but he let that fuel his anger. He was surprised that on his approach, the hangar began to open. Narrowing his eyes, he walked through the hangar entrance.

"Whoa." He was caught off guard by the ship. Not at all what he expected. He couldn't say what he was expecting, but something not so... utilitarian.

For some reason, Moyr decided not to turn the sabre off. She didn't have it enough yet, the subtle change in undertones of its deadly buzz. So as the ramp was going down, there was a red light of her twin-blade, held vertically like a spear or a Zabraki zhaboka, illuminating the masked shadow standing at the top of it. She killed the red light only once the ramp hit the metal floor.

Damn, that's wizard...

Durasay was at the bottom of the ramp. His trench coat flapped subtly with the hiss and release of steam from the hydraulics of the loading ramp. He watched as the crimson blades disappeared into the handle ofnher weapon.

Similar to Jo'ren's, which effortlessly cut down so many cultists.

She'd almost be able to feel his simmering rage radiating off him, as he looked up the ramp. "I failed my test."

The hild had disappeared somewhere beneath her cloak. She gestured inside.

"And you live to tell the tale. It's not a bad outcome, if humiliating. You've learned your current limitations."

Her voice was not exactly condescending. Not even lecturing or regaling. Mostly amused, with a bit of personal satisfaction in the undertones.

The Pantoran stepped up the ramp, following the twi'lek into the hold of her ship. His arms were loose at his sides, his gaze fixed upon her.

"I wasn't nearly as effective as Lord Rath or the Lady Cortess. Yes, I could coordinate them to more effective positions. But the onslaught Azanak put on, even as we defeated his underlings..." There wasn't self pity in his voice. That cold anger, and something else. Envy, perhaps?

"I've always found my blaster to be useful, but watching those two with their Lightsabers. I was outclassed. I don't want to be outclassed again."

The masked woman stopped in the hold for a moment to look at him. She contemplated the confession during a thoughtful pause.

"This is understandable, Durasay. The lightsabre is a primary manifestation of how powerful and lethal a Force-user can become. But you surely realise its ritual significance that justifies the monopoly the Jedi have long imposed on the use of the sacred weapon in social and material terms. The monopoly only the Sith have managed to break, mostly through artificery, only to establish their own."

She tilted her head.

"You can have that power. But it most likely means commitment, at least until the time when you will be able to discard the tethers and stand on your own."

"When my mind is put to something, I see it through." That edge came through in his voice once more, his eyes locked onto the crimson mask. "Monopolies were meant to be challenged. They have their purposes, but I have my end goal in mind. What do I have to do, Lady Sith?" His posture straightened, calling back to his old military days. The stance of a commander, a solider.

One who executes plans to their final confirmation, and completes all tasks that needed to be done.

A big, damn, hero.

"Where do I begin?"

She nodded, gesturing for him to step deeper into the darkness as they were heading toward the mess hall. There was something in the air that was banishing the utilitarian feel from before, something ritualistically sinister.

"It is possible to be a rogue lightsabre wielder for a moment, by stealing, scavenging or rogue construction. Each of these paths are rather perilous and may be ultimately not worth your effort. If you are not a part of any structure that legitimises its possession, the mildest repercussion when you are spotted using it would be confiscation. The likeliest, death. Challenging those monopolies is for those who have power, not those who begin to seek it."

She slowly explained.

"Among the Sith, if things are to happen according to the custom, you can legitimately possess a sabre once you are an aspirant in the Academy on Korriban or a Sith Lord or a Darth has otherwise accepted your service. In most cases it means you have to build it yourself. Constructing the hilt is not prohibitively difficult, though there are many shapes and designs which are a reflection of a personal preference and capacities of the wielder. It's a deeply personal weapon and is meant to express the Force-user's identity, though it is still meant to be made relatively early on your path. It usually falls upon your superior to introduce you to the trivia of the process. But the crucial part is the kyber crystal, the source of energy for the lightsabre, its heart that responds to the Force. These are usually acquired through personal quest or provided by your master, though in the end they could simply be purchased, and here on Nar Shaddaa at a relatively competitive prices. In fact, I know a good weapons dealer who could provide you with all the necessary parts."

The steps on the metal became dimmed as the darkness thickened.

"To simplify, if you want a lightsaber as quickly as possible, you need to find a Sith Lord who will accept your apprenticeship, and follow from there."

Durasay followed after her, his hands clasped behund his back. He felt that permeating feeling of sinister intent beginning to pour through his body. A certain sense of dread and unease.

An apprenticeship to a Sith Lord? Would it be worth it? What was the path that lay before him.

"Are you not a Lord, Lady Sith?" He raised an eyebrow, not quite dodging the question, but not quite answering it, either.

"Not yet. I am technically Sith rank and file still, if this term applies. Of my cohort in the Academy only Zeno Deathwright has been lorded, and it was mostly by politics and circumstance than by recognition of personal power that should be commensurate with the distinction."

She didn't feel it was a dodge, more like a natural question.

"The most natural way to become a Lord is to dispose of one of the incumbents. To the victor go the spoils, and upward mobility is ensured."

Deathwright. The name left a sour taste in his mouth. From the way the dealings had gone with the Pirate Queen. "Is that jealousy I hear? From someone who brought back the glory of the Massassai, and helped bring an apprentice of a Darth up?" He cocked an eyebrow, looking her in the eyes of the mask.

"I thought the Sith rewarded talent? That sounds like a problem that I have with the Republic." And then she mentioned the way to rise.

"A dangeroua game. What happens if those who usurp the Lord aren't as capable, but work to challenge said Lord through subterfuge and numbers?"

"Power comes in many forms. Whichever you employ to claim lordship and hold it with is a good one. Subterfuge and numbers, even if less elegant, are as good as duelling as long as they work. There are traditionalists who would say that it doesn't count if it isn't a duel or a kaggath, but the most you risk by more unconventional ascension is a bit less legitimacy and a bit more enemies."

She paused.

"Non-violent promotions happen, but Sith Lords very rarely step down to make space for the next in line. If you want it, you have to claim it, simple as that. And because of it, I am not truly jealous, I am calling things what they are. If I attempted to claim lordship now I would probably not hold onto it long even if I succeeded. Hence apprenticeships usually last quite a while, and work. There is a lot to learn from your master about the Force before you can stake your claim."

"Ambition and cunning hardly breeds patience, Lady Sith." He turned to face her as she paused, the slightest wince from the pressure on his ankle. "One way seems destined to weaken any organization. What happens if you end your master before they have taught you everything? Wouldn't that information be lost?" His voice was genuine in the questioning, as if he was weighing his options.

And what happens if you never felt you could be in a position to hold onto that power? Would you be a slave forever? That wasn't freedom.

"Making a lot of enemies is a good way for others to make sure that they stake their claim over the ones who aren't so legitimate. Wouldn't you be worried about the Sith as a whole collapsing upon itself?"

"It's about trade-offs, and timing. All situations are contingent, and in the end a right approach is sorted out from a wrong one by the result. Sometimes masters is no longer useful because they stall progress of their apprentices, feeling endangered. The ancient lore and more contemporary information and instruction can be found in holocrons or..." He could swear she was grinning under that mask as the lekku spread a bit. "...something as simple as a datapad. This is a very competitive and dynamic process that prevents stagnation. Is infighting destructive for the coherence of the organisation? Often. But it also yields very competent, cutting-edge elites. The Empire is mostly as good as its Sith."

They entered the mess hall. She invited him to take a seat with a gesture, and reached out for a bottle of whiskey.

"I am not worried about myself. I have my own path, and I'll know when my time comes to reach for my lordship. If an opportunity arises earlier, I'll probably seize it though. "

"Lethal meritocracy it is, then." He slipped into a seat as she offered, looking to her as she sat. She'd see that his eyes were once again drawn to her lekku, though he could feel that devious smile in her words. His posture as he sat was military straight, respectful of her domain, and the allowance of he, a relative stranger, to her domicile.

"I'm sure your impact on the Galaxy at the point will be felt for generations, Lady Sith." His arms rested on the table of the mess, his hands unclenching, relaxing as he breathed in. "You strike me as someone who doesn't let opportunities just slip through your fingers."

She poured for him and for herself, then sat opposite to him in much the same way as she had sat back at the restaurant. The lekku slowly slithered back to her shoulders from the bosom they had fallen at.

"To be fair, my priority is like yours, to be truly free. I have come to understand that it cannot be accomplished in a day, nor without reshaping my environment which impedes attaining freedom for one such as I. As a xeno, and from a race that is unequivocally associated with slavery I have to be doubly resourceful to make progress, even if it is just a step at a time. But I look out for openings I can exploit, and take the risk once they appear. There will be time to ponder my legacy if I succeed. Right now, I am focused on the process. How to beat my enemies at their own game."

"Thank you." He bowed his head slightly as he took the drink. Holding his glass, he let the amber liquid swirl in it.

To beat enemies at their own game... He liked the sound of that. A slight curl to the edge of his lips. He listened to Wraith intently, not wanting to interrupt her. Yellow-amber eyes followed her mask, showing his intent.

"And how would you go about beating them at their own game?"

She lifted her mask again a bit to take a sip. Before the glass concealed her lips they displayed a wry, amused smile.

"You are not my apprentice, Durasay, so I should not be giving away all my secrets, should I? But you mean Azanak, I suppose. In that case, I picture him as a creature driven by a set of beliefs or commitments, with a twisted sense of honour and observant of some rituals. It may be that those are tied to persons or places. I would find what he reveres and strives to protect, and threaten to unmake it. You have the power over what you can destroy. After that, you should just lay a good trap. It might be more effective that chasing the shadows all across the Moon."

She paused.

'And better yet, make another one the figure of it while you preside over a backup plan, since Azanak will try to thwart forcing his hand."

In that brief moment, his eyes fixated on her crimson lips, the way they curled. He had to shake his head. "No, I suppose you shouldn't. I don't even know your name, or your face." He took another drink of the whiskey, licking his lips.

"You may be right. Laying a trap would certainly be less stressful. The last fight, they weren't expecting us. But it was still on his ground." He paused for a moment. "I already did put another one the figure of it. I can't keep asking... though perhaps Lord Rath..." His mind began to think of various scenarios.

He couldn't put Alysele through more than he already had.

"And... if I were your apprentice? I know you said you weren't a Lord. But hypothetically?"

"Then you would know my name and my face." She smirked before taking another sip, moving her lekku slightly to the back with the movement that came from their base. "And I think I'd like working with you for our mutual benefit, for my instinct tells me our agendas might be converging to a good extent. My insights, contacts and resources would be progressively made available to you, and you would have a place in my endeavours. Still, I'd have to relinquish you for about two months needed to complete the training on Korriban. Later on, once you would endanger my own position, I'd probably avoid killing you by trading your services to a Darth for a favour, enhancing my reputation as a groomer of assets. Deprived of the direct conflict of interest, we would be able to cooperate further, building on the prior rapport." She seemed entertained by the vision, twirling her index finger around the tip of her lekku as she spoke. She may or may not have been entirely serious. "Everything hypothetically."

"Strikes me a bit odd that you'd worry I'd endanger your position so soon in such an arrangement." His eyebrow cocked as he finished the liquor, letting the spirit coalesce within him. "And two months on Korriban? Is that really the full course? Or just a crushing boot camp?" He leaned forwards slightly at the table, wishing he could read her expressions, other than the indeterminable movements of her lekku.

"I am glad you think you'd enjoy working with me. It's an improvement from our first meeting."

"It's not worry. It's risk management. I constantly reassess, don't allow myself to fall into easy patterns that would make me predictable to my enemies. I suppose the fact that I don't underestimate you and entertain you with this conversation is the best proof of it."

She laughed at the mentioning of the boot camp.

"Korriban is very intensive, the learning curve ruthlessly sharp. I was nearly killed twice on my first day, obtained my crystal from a rogue apprentice and made an enemy out of his former master. From there, it never really slowed down."