The Chronicle of Yutal

[Joslae]

The Cold Birth

In the long, dark, room there was a brittle silence. It seemed to almost manifest itself as a solid with the imposing works of art subconsciously intimidating all who were forced to wait upon its hallowed stone floors. Alcoves cut in the black granite walls provided the only illumination in the room in the form of sombre, deeply set, ever burning torches. An orange flicker then danced across the archaic looking runes and hieroglyphics that adorned the floor and walls. A cursory glance would tell any passes by that these were wards for good luck and prosperity, yet also that they suggested uncertainty. Long fingers tipped with straw gold softly caressed the edges of one such relief. With the tenderness one might reserve for a lover, his fingers seemed to take in more about the artwork than eyes ever could. Then, against the wall there  were intermittent statues of the greats of the past. Naga Sadow’s crowned face seemed to glare at all who walked through his gaze, even as a stone bust.

“If perhaps you had ensnared the Kressh supporters we wouldn’t be where we are now.” A voice mused, originating from the mouth of the one whom had been entranced with the carvings. His attentions were shifting around the room in search of distraction as he continued his sagely monologue to the crowd of himself. “Maybe if all of you had been more perfect, things would be so different.” He laughed, seemingly at the misery of the failings in the Sith of old. “Instead, we try and emulate you, time and time again, emulate failures who were the best among us. But, still failed. What hope have we, when we can barely tread the paths you did?” The man's voice, accented and soft, filled the room. The heresy he spoke against the paragons of Sith virtue seemed to fall on deaf ears, the busts remaining entirely in place and unresponsive to his jabs. A soft inhale suggested he might have continued, but a click and a hiss caused the figure to turn, his robes of black billowing beneath him.

In the doorway a doctor stood. His overalls were a crimson red, far more so than there should have been. His eyes, furrowed and tired as they stared into the unreadable and emotionless face plate of the individual who held the clinician's life in the balance. The doctor, to his credit, seemed unfazed as he gave his verdict. “There was a complication, it's why this took far longer th-” Before the doctor could continue the figure raised a hand. No words were said, no powers cast, yet the message and intention was clear. “They are in a stable state, you may view them, but it is unwise to actually visit for fear of infection.” The figure laughed for a moment and the doctor couldn't stop himself from gulping. The bristles on his neck from where he had missed a spot shaving seemed to stand on end.

“Fear, doctor? Nothing in that room could possibly bring me fear.” The doctor nodded his head.

“Of course, my Lord, I was speaking of their fear.”

“And if either of them wallow in fear then neither is of use to me anymore.” This response was more courteous, less mocking, but still filled with command and made with the authority of a person who was not to be argued with. The doctor really had no response and nodded his head, before gesturing to the door. Leading the Darth of the Sith down a far more clinical looking hallway. Here, septic white light blindingly reflected off well maintained walls and flooring. The transition was jarring, even for the medical professional who had made the change more times than he could count. Yet, as always the Darth who followed seemed totally unfazed. The tap of the gold tipped boots on tile was swiftly cut out by the beeping of medical equipment and the sound or orderlies hurrying to and fro. Coming to a long window, the pair came to a halt, peering in.

For a flickering of a moment, the doctor swore that the figure beside him was holding his breath. But, that moment passed and a seeming wave of indifference radiated as an aura. The doctor pointed to the medical bed on one side of the room. “Sutmua lost a lot of blood, she needs to rest. We did a blood transfusion, blood from the family stock as instructed. There was no impurity.” The doctor decided no more needed to be said. Inside the room, a thin pureblood female lay sleeping. Her hair, neat and tied back before, lay splayed out under her head as a black halo. Her hands and arms lay limply at her side, the pale blankets pulled up to her defined collar. The soft voice of the Darth spoke again.

“And?” This time the doctor pointed to the other side of the room, where a metallic casing with glass panels sat, hissing and beeping. The incubator allowed the two onlookers a look at a pale red writhing mass. Although the thing itself was silent, it’s mouth moved and bubbled whilst his fingers curled and uncurled. He was asleep, but it was not a serene time.

“It is a miracle he did not kill Sutmua. And a miracle really he lived long enough for us to perform surgery. Though, the wound in his heart will be a permanent weakness unless fixed with Sith Sorc-”

“Silence, doctor.” The doctor stopped at once. His eyes turning from the Darth to the wriggling pureblood. The pair just watched, waiting. Though for what the human medical personage was looking for, he was unsure. Even as the seconds passed, he was convinced he should go. The child was slowing now, his movements becoming more laboured, maybe he was finally tiring. The child’s father was totally unmoved, his arms folded across his stomach as though he were judging bantha on Tatooine. “If it starts to fade, do not resuscitate. I have no use for weak things.” The doctor was about to confirm, when there was a thud and cracking sound. The child had woken, with a start, the shock of which had caused him to send a wave of energy into the container, cracking it.

“My lord, we may wish to change his incubator, is that allowed?” Looking over he realised the Sith was already walking away. “Darth Vipion?”

“Do as you please, doctor, the glass didn't break. Yutal has already failed me.”

[Joslae]

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing

The mud squished under Yutal’s boots as he pushed his way through another wall of low hanging vines. It took a grunt of exertion before he could safely slip through without the vines swinging back and knocking him. The little bodysuit of grey thermoweave was already caked in thick black mud that stuck to the young pureblood and made it harder for him to push on through the jungle. Yutal was four now, his mind only a little older. He was exploring the jungles even though his mother had sworn him not to. What did she know? She spent every moment with his father and rarely had time for him. But when she did it was always in moments of pure bliss. Now she was back at the spire, likely speaking to another party of Imperials who had a complaint of the other. Yutal didn’t understand why they had so many things to complain about. They served the Vipions. The Vipions! They were wealthy, powerful and never wanted for a thing. All in all Yutal considered them rather like worms, always eeking out a slightly less pitiful existence. He missed the stories his mother had told him. Sutmua had spoken of the life on Ziost, where the Sith ruled absolute and even the Imperials there knew duty was the most important thing if the Sith were ever to be successful. The Sith had to rule the weak, or they could never be the most powerful beings. The force did not serve the weak.

As Yutal’s mind was away, he slipped on a particularly wet patch of moss that clung to the stretched out root of a huge tree off to his right. With a yelp he tumbled to the ground and put out his hands which only served to break the fall for his face, his arms came up aching painfully and drenched in yet more rain water collecting on the ground. Sneezing away a sniffle he pushed himself back up to his feet. Sith were strong. Sith did not cry. He narrowed his golden eyes and marched onwards. On all sides of him the creeping branches of the trees surrounded his advance, acting like an honour guard into the unknown. Yutal would not be defeated by nature. Picking up a stick almost as tall as himself from the ground he swung it about like a lightsaber. Thwacking the branches and vines that got in his way. In his mind he was a Sith of Old, walking amongst the stars and doing battle with the Jedi. As each flora fell he grinned at the excitement of another Jedi banished to the afterlife.

As Yutal’s mood soared, so too did his footwork become more stable. Where before obstacles might have toppled him, now they seemed to stand out from the dreary sodden grass and dirt of Dromund Kaas meaning he was able to avoid the pitfalls. His ecstasy in this grew as his stick saber become much faster in his two handed grip. Before long he was twirling through the jungle and screaming in delight, the skin of his face and buzzcut black hair flecked with mud kicked up by his dancing feet. As Yutal’s elation subsided into a happy aura of innocence he stopped and looked around. The spires that pierced the veil of the sky were no longer in sight and the sound of regular speeder traffic was gone under the soundtrack of endless rain. His eyes narrowed in confusion, then grew wide in childlike horror. Biting his lip he picked a direction and ran. Dragging the stick behind him he leapt over outcrops of rock and the rain whipped against his face in his fervor to find his way home.

Every way he looked there was only shadow filled alcoves in the walls of jungle, every where he listened lightning and the call of wild beasts was the only thing that could be heard above the downpour. Slowing to a stop Yutal looked around again, determined to do more than act like a fool. That would be what a slave would do. Reaching up with one hand he grabbed his temple. Rubbing his head he tried to focus. The force was coming to him, slowly, but it was coming and he had seen his father locate someone just by willing it before. Perhaps he could find a whole city if he tried as hard as he could. He’d been able to move that training dummy his mother had set up, why couldn’t he do this? Concentrating on the tapestry of the force he tried to expand what he could feel beyond just himself. What came back was a plethora of different feelings. Beings, alive all of them, in all manner of states. Some dying, some being born, some drinking and others hunting. It rushed over Yutal even more than the rain did and knocked him immediately back to his conscious senses.

As Yutal stared ahead of him two dimly lit white eyes stared right back at him. Yutal blinked. The eyes did not blink. From the shadows a lithe creature would emerge and begin to prowl from side to side. It was a young looking vine cat, relatively speaking probably no older than Yutal was. An infant. It’s teeth dripped with saliva as it stared hungrily at the young pureblood. Yutal lifted his stick in front of him. An incredibly weak attempt at the Shii-Cho opening stance keeping the stick up right in front of him as the end wobbled in the pureblood’s hands. A flash of lightning would crack as Yutal then flinched, as he looked back the young vine cat had already closed three quarters of the gap and was leaping up to attack him. Yutal did the only thing he knew.

He threw his hands forward.

The stick flew at the vine cat which caught it mid air and landed before it got to Yutal. Biting down as the stick then shattered into a million tiny splinters. Yutal scrambled back and fell onto his rear, clawing at the dirt under him to carry him faster. Rocks and twigs ripped his gloves and drew blood, which only seemed to ril the vine cat up even more so as it gave a horrid whiney roar. Yutal meanwhile was clenched in the throes of fear. But he was Sith, he would make something of this fear. He would not die today, he would defeat this beast. Gritting his teeth he put both his hands up, aiming them at the vine cat and attempting to do with it as he had done before in training. The force came to him lethargically, but it came. A surge of energy hit the vine cat and pushed it back. Not far enough, though, as it buried its retractable claws into the ground and slowed itself. Pacing forward again the creature's muscles bunched, only this time so did Yutal’s.

The pair then both moved at the same time. The vine cat once again straight for him, meanwhile Yutal darted to the side. Avoiding the snapping jaw by a hair’s breadth before he used the force to hurl a barrage of rocks and sticks at the creature. Another whine, this one in pain, escaped the maw of the beast and Yutal snarled in his own victory. The beast eventually turned and dropped to the ground. It’s head sagging onto the mud as it faced away from Yutal. For a moment Yutal continued, throwing all manner of the environment that he could see. But then he stopped. The thing was still, not even it’s chest rose or fell. With a delighted giggle of glee he skipped towards the vine cat. He wanted it’s teeth. He would show them to his mother and then she would see he was not such a foolish child that he could not go out alone.

As Yutal stopped beside it, the trap snapped.

The beast flicked around, vicious death in it’s eyes as it roared in it’s own victory. Yutal’s delight was replaced with his own terror. A large paw smacked Yutal to the ground, ripping open the chest of his bodysuit and revealing large gashes where the claws had torn open the flesh underneath. The beast then stood over Yutal, triumphant in its hunt as it prepared to feast. Yutal lifted an arm weakly and called out. “Begone, beast. I am Sith.” But his voice was as brittle as his body, nothing but paper under the weight of this vine cat. As it opened its enormous mouth over Yutal’s frame he screamed, or maybe he didn’t. Yutal didn’t know. All that he knew was that he was going to die, in the jungle at the hands of a mindless beast.

The blur of red would cut down in front of Yutal, a hiss of steam as blood quickly scorched and the head of the vine cat went from looking vicious, to confused and then lifeless before it simply fell away from the body that slumped down. Standing over Yutal a young female human would glare down at him. Her lithe body was heaving deeply as she reached down and grabbed Yutal by the scruff of his bodysuit, carrying him through the forest which she carved a path through. It was not long before Yutal was thrown onto the mat on the entrance level of House Vipion. Standing before Yutal would be Darth Vipion, his black robes billowing in the breeze from the open door. “You were slow, Rez’maa. I expected him back here ten minutes earlier.” The female would bow her head.

“I am sorry, master. I got held up when it turned out he was deeper than I thought.”

“See that you don’t get held up again, it is no excuse.” Rez’maa bowed her head at Coduno’s last words and then stood off to his side as Sutmua pushed past Coduno and grabbed Yutal.

“My boy! What were you thinking? Oh, look at you.” Sutmua Vipion, Yutal’s mother, doting in her affection and the warmth in the world of coldness. “Come on now, let us get you cleaned up.” Her strong arms lifted him to his feet and a tender hand led him towards the elevator. Meanwhile his father, Coduno, watched him silently.

“That boy seems to dissapointment me yet again, apprentice.”

“He is but a child, master.” Rez’maa offered by way of an excuse.

“So his failures should not be so blatant and obvious then, they should be under the notice of his betters. Yet here we are.”

“But he is your heir, master? Surely his failures can be nurtured into success?” Rez’maa queried, genuinely interested.

“”He is not my heir yet.”