The Krath could still feel the blood on her hands as she rose from the bed. It was a strange place to be, and she was not even sure that she wanted to stay. Saskia had been offered the place she had created via the execution of Xathia, though she had little intention of staying for long. She needed some new contacts, and this was a good enough place to start as any.

The new clothing she had acquired was fitted to Xathia’s size, much more generous in the chest and hip area, and not quite long enough in the leg. She tried to pull things into place, but the first place she would definitely need to go was to the quartermaster to get something that adequately fitted whilst her only other set of clothes were being washed.

Walking in the corridor, Saskia felt uneasy, as though everyone was watching her with accusing stares. Ruusan was bobbing along beside her, making sure to keep away from the tangles in her hair as they tried to absorb the environment around them. A complex web of corridors lay before them, and it was easy enough to get lost amongst all the new faces.

‘It’s just a temporary stop, like everywhere else. Refuel, get some new clothes, new contacts and then move on once you’re ready. Just like every other time,’ she thought, taking some new clothing off the quartermaster and disappearing back up to her room.

She recalled the previous evening, a brief conversation with the Quaestor, a Zabrak called Cethgus. He had given her access to Xathia’s quarters after they had both frisked the dead body for her keys, and she had taken the Sapphire Blade and custom built lightsaber for her own use.

“Take her place. Assume her rank. No one will ask any questions,” he stated, standing up.

No explanation as to how things worked, what was expected of her or anything. She had sworn no loyalty to anyone. She was able to leave of her own free will, and she would as soon as she could. She was armed, and surrounded by people who apparently held no loyalty to anyone. That was her impression.

Opening up her files on the newly acquired datapads, she remembered that her biological father was also in this clan. Though with her knowledge it was also highly unlikely that he even knew she existed. Pulling the known files she had of Andrelious would give way to nothing new. She knew very little of his physical appearance, and only understood that he had once been a military man. He had nothing to do with bringing her up, there was no sentiment involved. Sentiment was what got people killed anyway.

She flicked through all the files on her datapad, including the information on what Arcona did as a Clan. She was quickly losing interest in the finer details of politics and instead decided that the antiquated computer would need work on to uphold her usual standards. The Krath had also picked up a vast range of new tools from the quartermaster, who had grumbled about complying with her demands. She would be able to upkeep her needed skills at least whilst here.

Saskia had already decided that socialising would not be in her foremost interest. This was the black hole of hiding places. Xathia had used it as such for numerous years, though she had also needed to escape an ex-husband at one point. Socialising would make things complicated as she slid under the desk, unhooking all the wires before getting to the components. Her thoughts drifted briefly to Celevon, an… interesting individual, who would come looking for her in time. The absence of his wife would indeed cause problems. Again, sentiment, a weakness that would ultimately lead to death.

Ruusan buzzed about, handing the tools to Saskia as she began to wonder who would notice Xathia’s absence, and that she had glided in. Her nimble fingers slipped out the old memory, surprised to see that it was still being used despite its age and obscurity. Nerves would do her no good. The Quaestor had said she would not be questioned, but who could trust someone who had just assisted you in a murder.

There would be questions once it came out. Why had she murdered someone who had only helped her get out of a dangerous lifestyle. The answer was simple. Xathia had been planning to go to Cirrus. That’s what she had been making plans to do. Acquiring the business that Saskia owned, something that the woman wanted nothing of the sort. Xathia had pushed it, and had even booked a meeting with Lord Talbot, one of Saskia’s guardians of the business. She had heard only what she had wanted from the younger woman’s mouth.

Saskia had no intention of letting anyone take hold of the business. She may have no interest in running it, but to sell it on was far from what she would even consider to her dying day. Xathia was going to buy it regardless of what Saskia wanted. She would not give anything up for anyone else. No one else could be trusted, and no one else would tell her what to do. It seemed like a ridiculous reason to kill someone, but it was out of necessity. Saskia would have no one telling her what to do. Her father had tried that before, by selling her to another family as a way of funding his own drug habit.

“Well, Ruusan, once I get this sorted, I think we might be able to make some money and new contacts. It’s a black hole at least. No one knows we’re here. Might be able to get ourselves sorted for a bit,” Saskia said, pulling herself out from under the desk. “Might even finally start understanding people, but that’s really doubtful.”

Ruusan beeped back tunefully, whilst bobbing up and down in the air.

“Sentiment would be the death of me if I started liking people. I can’t see that changing after over twenty years.”

File in RTF. Hope you enjoy it! :)

*Where are they taking me?*
*What is to become of me?*
*Is this to be how my story ends?*

Kryy uneasily stepped off the shuttle that had so generously housed him and several other Force wielders of varying races. One in particular had caught Kryy's eye. A Sith Pureblood who had sat next to him on the short traverse across the unknown planet. it left Kryy with a sense of unease to add to the feeling in which he felt already. To what a Sith Pureblood and he should have in common was enough to set Kryy's mind wondering unto many different scenarios...

Two large monuments stood guard on either side of a large archway that did little to invite one inside. The group was ushered along by several men in dark grey armor, all displaying Empire insignia. Just what had Kryy gotten himself into...? As they entered the large building - which Kryy could only presume was an Academy of some sort - a shadowy hooded figure stood above watching from a viewpoint that juttered out of the wall. He stood there, his face enveloped in darkness and watched as we were marched into a lecture hall of some decsription. An assorment of chairs organised in curved rows. Each row being a little longer and a little higher up.The group was then greeted and welcomed to what was known as the "Shadow Academy". A source of knowledge like few in the galaxy. A place of learning and of power. They were the newest recruits and they upheld the responsibility of learning all they could and doing the Empire proud. The sudden role placed upon Kryy startled him and he began to freak. What if he couldnt do this? Could he really be a tool to the Dark Side? Could he abolish the teachings of the Jedi and start anew as an apprentice of the Dark Lord himself?

Not everyone was forced into silence. One disciple, another Human like Kryy stood up in a rage and demanded why he should be brought here and made to perform on the whim of others. His sentence was broken only by himself. He began to gurgle and gasp, grasping at his neck in terror. The class looked on in horror as with a loud *crack*, the body of the boy fell silent and limp before finally collapsing to the ground. The Grand Master had entered the room... The class fell silent, all eyes on the hooded figure. The figure proceeded to remove his hood revealing a man of distinct feature. The clean facial hair and scars indicated a man of age but gave no insight into just what number. His cloak his much of his attire but the light glistened of numerous hilts. All of which may belong to the man himself or serve as relics of his adventures. The figure introduced himself as, Muz Ashen, Grandmaster (GM) of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. The man to his left who had addressed us first was the Headmaster of the Shadow Academy (SA). We would answer to the Headmaster for all of our training within the halls and our grades would be bestowed accordingly after grading from the Headmaster had taken place.

All of this was alot to take in in one instance. The arrival on an unknown planet in which Kryy was yet to find out the name of, to the albeit sudden welcoming into the DJB. The looks across the room were enough to cause a crease of concern upon the Grandmaster's face. Did he believe that the group had what it took? The thought did little in the way of helping Kryy sleep that night...

Kryy Vitaan

The young man that called himself Nicholas awoke with a start, bumping his head on something that was cold and metallic. It had felt like a earthquake, and he dimly remembered a event from his childhood. No, he said to himself. That person is dead, those times are over. I do not need that. He thought these things to himself slowly, words from himself coming to himself as if through a fog, and then he began to open his eyes, only to see nothing. He then at that moment remembered where he was. He was on a transport shuttle to the Shadow Academy on Lyspair. Lyspair, a planet he had never heard of, but then again none of this he even knew of weeks early. Recruited by the Dark Jedi Brotherhood, or as he thought to himself, forcibly enrolled. Though, he thought to himself, this is not that horrible. That thing I always felt, that strength I always desired...That balance I sought, I can feel myself beginning to head in that direction. Yet, at the same time, something bothered the young man. It felt to him in the pit of his stomach that their was some sort of, darkness. What bothered a part of him more though, was that he desired the darkness.
As he was thinking that, he began to lay back down. Then the lights on the bulkhead came on, revealing the cramped room he was in. Five bunk beads of metal carved into a metallic wall, with people in filthy clothes laying in them. Room enough for only one person to get out at a time and leave the room. Trapped like insects, Nicholas thought to himself. Then, his stomach lurched, and everyone jolted. This must mean we either got hit by something and are about to die, or are landing. Yet a feeling in his stomach yet again told him the latter. A feeling of darkness power began to permeate the air, and then he realized this, and perhaps the others did as well. They had arrived to the Shadow Academy.

“Attention. We have landed. You will also discard your clothes, and will be given new robes to wear. You are expected to follow in a single line, one at a time and assemble outside of the ship. Those that ignore any of this will be killed.”

The voice boomed throughout the ship, nearly rupturing the young mans ears. Then after this, he laid his head back down. He twisted his head to the left, and saw one person leave, and then another. The following events were that of like a machine. They undressed, found time for some cleaning, dressed, and left the ship, and aligned outside. A robed figure awaited them, and appraised them. He then beckoned them to follow, and then at this moment, Nicholas saw the Academy that lay before him. A massive pyramid structure, with towers surrounding it and a bleak sky, cloudy sky. Ahead of him he saw two doors, and something told Nicholas that if he walked away, he would not have to face whatever that lay inside. That it would be better to no go, that it would be better for him to just wait outside. He felt foggy, as if compelled to go. No, I must go on. I must move on, no matter the cost, no matter the price. Anger flared up in him, anger at this...Childish fear. The feeling vanished, and he then realized something. The group of eight had become a group of five. The three others were laying on the ground, and then from the Academy walls, a stone or two moved. A blaster appeared, and the three were shot dead. Did they deserve that?, Nicholas thought to himself. No, I cannot concern myself with them now. No matter how afraid I am, if I let one seed of it blossom, I'll die just like them. I have to be strong right now.

The figure led them into a bleak black room of the shape of a circle. Engraved into the walls were robed figures holding up the ceiling, as if they were...Puppets, being crushed. Then Nicholas noticed the man, women, or something leaning on the wall in the far corner, as well as many of the other students, who were mostly silent, if not for the few occasional whispers. The events that followed afterwards were of little importance. As I reflect upon these events, one student spoke out and was made a example of for his stupidity. A few others were led away, not being strong enough, yet not as weak as those who fell outside. The remaining were addressed, given datapads, assigned quarters, and given a general tour. Of course, I can remember one thing I felt during those past events, one thought. “These people are the embodiment of cold hearted practicality. They must have no souls, no compassion, no caring for other people, no sense of morality!” Yet, funnily enough, at that thought Nicholas saw one of the robed figures turn to him and lift his hand....Nicholas , as I called myself then, and yet, sometimes still do...I, no he, no it was I...Turned and looked into the cowl, and I muttered these words, not understanding why. I will break myself. I thought I heard a chuckle, and then I heard these words. Words that chilled me then, and yet I realized how very true they were. “You shall burn, time and time again. Stripped of your wings and cast down. You will begin anew, and fail. You...are nothing.” Yet, as I thought now, the lesson was not a insult...It was a lesson of the fundamental nature of the Dark Side and self, the nihilism the universe may be, and moreso, a chain to shatter, something to become. I however have gone on to long.

He, Nicholas, was guided through the temple. Early in his life had not been attracted to people. They were simply, different. He concerned himself with books and of that sort, and then he saw the archives. Archives he would gain access to if he could pass his first week. Books, and as he was guided on his tour, he dimly heard the word “exams”. He thought to himself that he would set a record for test taking, as he had done before he had dropped out of School on his home world...Yet, it was no longer home. He had no home, I have no home. He was later returned to his quarters, after a long, grueling tour that was as he realized it then, a test of physical endurance, one that he had nearly failed. The light was fading, and it would be night soon. Yet, as he had passed the archives, he had saw a small few pages of paper on the ground. A small book, something to study. Something the other students did not, and I reflect on this now, was I chosen? The same robed figure turned to me, looked at me, and left. I looked at the small book, perhaps more or less a pamphlet, and took it. They were simple words, a code. I reflect on this now, all those that follow, or say they embrace the dark side believe they were chosen. Yet, names...Sith had always renamed themselves, to become stronger, better, to forge a new identity. What would I call myself? I was given Nicholas, but now, I will take a name with my own fist. Nicholas thought back to his enjoyment of the various forms of Art, particularly gaming. Art...Artors. Artorias...Artorias, yes, that will be my new name.

Yet that night, my last words...Burned into my soul now, and perhaps another obstacle to overcome......Peace is a lie, there is only passion.