OOM: Of Mind and Matter

(OOC: Most of the dialogue is taken from canon.)

Korriban is a world steeped in passions and the Dark Side, one with which she has become very familiar in the past 7 years. Seven years of study, brutal training, treachery and blood have lead to this moment.

Ibani exhales, stilling her mind as she walks quickly down the forbidding halls of the Sith Academy. Today she meets her new Overseer and begins her chance at graduating to an apprenticeship with a Sith Lord. If she succeeds, she will have more freedom and more power than she has ever had. Failure will mean death.

She arrives later than the others in the group, as Overseer Harkun has clearly already begun his tirade.

"Lord Zash has tasked me with sorting through you refuse to find one worthy of being her apprentice, and I intend to do just that." He sneers at her, his presence dark and malignant with hatred. "Stay here, slave. The rest of you gutter trash already know your trial, so get out of my sight while I bring our latecomer up to speed."

That does not bode well. Ibani is accustomed to apathy from her instructors, even casual sadism and malice. But Harkun's hatred is a virulent and palpable thing as he moves close to her. "Now, slave, for your trial: There's a hermit named Spindrall who lives in the tomb of Ajunta Pall in the Valley of the Dark Lords." Harkun sneers again. "Spindrall's a lunatic, but Lord Zash sees him as some kind of prophet. Once you find him, he will test you..."

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Being out of Harkun's presence is a relief, even though K'lor'slugs roam the tombs and will eat acolytes if they can catch them. The choice of Spindrall as her first tester may be a fortunate one, as Ibani has met him before. "Do not be timid, girl. Humility is the attitude of a slave, not a Sith. Now go!"

The tomb of Ajunta Pall looks much the same as all the others in the valley, worn red rock shaped into imposing statues crumbling with age and damage. As Ibani enters Spindrall's sanctum, she sees several acolytes training and Spindrall on the dais, seemingly deep in meditation.

As she sets foot on the dais, Sprindrall speaks, his tone rich in bitter humor. "Slave. Welcome to my humble hole. You are here for your trial, yes? Learn the ways of the Sith from a doddering old man in a tomb. And hopefully to return to your master with the mark of my approval."

"Not at all, Lord Spindrall," Ibani replies with a smile. "I find the peace and quiet out here refreshing."

He gives her a LOOK for that bit of sarcasm. "Even I do not come to these tombs because I enjoy them, slave. We Sith come here for power, because we sense that these tombs hold secrets of the dark side." Spindrall smiles. "And they do - but before you can learn them, you must pass a trial of blood."

Ibani can feel the sudden, sharp hunger of the acolytes practicing behind her. "Survive, and I will give you knowledge and my favor."

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There are four of them, armed with warblades and quite intent on killing her. Ibani whirls, warblade hissing through the air to disembowel the first one. The second dodges, swinging his blade at neck height. She bends backwards, twisting to send lightning into his flesh. He screams, his muscles locking up even as she slices through his neck. The third draws her blood, harrying her backwards with his swings, but the fourth acolyte stabs him in the back to keep him from taking her life. The fourth....is good, but not good enough to do more than leave her spattered with blood, hers and his.

Spindrall speaks as the last acolyte's body lies cooling on the floor. "Excellent. These former acolytes wanted nothing more than to earn their second chance for glory by killing you and taking your place. But your desire proved stronger, and their blood became the mantle of your victory."

Spindrall paces, declaiming, "Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, power. Through power, victory. Through victory, my chains are broken."

Ibani keeps herself from frowning, wondering why her instructors always leave out the last line of the Sith Code 'The Force shall free me.'

"You know the Sith Code, but you must engrave it upon your heart, commit yourself to it completely. Return to Harkun and nurture your hatred for him. And use your fear of him to grow stronger. He may raise his fist to strike, but it is Lord Zash who determines where the blow will land. Now go! Leave me to my rest."

OOM: Plight of the Acolyte

(OOC: Some dialogue taken from canon. Warning for torture, murder and other such unpleasantness.)

Ibani leans her head against the cold stone of the walls in her quarters, trying to regain her composure. Kory is already dead, executed painfully in front of the others by Harkun. She knows the Overseer and his new pet, Ffon, will jump on any perceived weakness, eager to see 'filth' like her die. The second, 'special', trial ordered by Lord Zash was ever so much worse than the first had been.

'Learn to control others', such an innocuous phrase. But what it MEANS is torture, and no one in the Academy is better versed in it than Inquisitor Zyn. Inquisitor Zyn is always cheerful, always polite, always calls her acolyte instead of slave... and he tortures his "subjects" with unrestrained glee until they break.

She recognizes the acolyte strapped to the table, a student a year or so behind her named Alif. He witnessed the murder of an apprentice and therefore must be interrogated for what he knows, and the academy is insistent on 'traditional' methods such as force lightning.

She cannot afford the luxury of tears, of grief. She is, after all, a monster.

"Ibani? Why are you here? No, no! Please don't hurt me. I don't know anything!


"I can't tell you, he'll kill me! His master won't let him be punished!"




"I'll....I'll tell you! Stop! I'll tell you. Please! It was Esorr Kayin. Kayin!!"

Her stomach roils at the memory, gorge trying to rise. But that wasn't the end of it.

Inquisitor Zyn frowns thoughtfully at her and her 'subject'. "He's telling the truth!" Ibani insists, eager to stop this horror.

"Unfortunately," the Inquisitor agrees. "But the truth must, in this instance, bend to the....political realities of the situation. I cannot afford to antagonize Kayin's master, a member of the Dark Council."

A messenger beckons for Zyn's attention. "Apply force until he gives you a more suitable name, acolyte. I will return shortly."

The hatred of the Academy, of the Sith, of Zyn, and of her future master that had fueled her lightning had faltered at that moment.

She leans close to Alif, apology in her eyes. "I can't save you," she whispers quietly. In this moment, she hates her own weakness most of all. It's hatred enough to fuel one last burst of lightning, and the only mercy she can give. Alif's body shudders as his heart stops and he passes beyond the reach of any further pain.

Zyn chooses that moment to return, of course. "Oh. Oh my," he remarks, peering at Alif's body. "Such a problem with the young, they finish things entirely too quickly. But I will leave it to your future Master to teach you to temper your enthusiasm, we're always short of subjects for training as it is. And this little accident simplifies things, so you need not fear that I will fail to inform Overseer Harkun of your success."

Ibani leans against the wall, praying that one day she will be strong enough to break this system, to free the Empire from her fellow monsters.