Zartilda's Journal (And Assorted Tales)

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 1: First Entry

I think that's about good, I've had enough of formatting for one lifetime. Xelan told me I should start a journal or the like to get my thoughts down, so I can keep track of the changes. I've been tired lately, and I'll have to check this in the future in case I forget. Where I came from, where I'm going. I'm on a ledge, soaked in rain, that I could either slip from, or cross to higher things.

Monhura, Sissuo... I guess this is weighing on me. He nearly died, Viren, trying to touch the sun. And he succeeded too, with armor I made for him. I've said that this is a man I'd die for in battle, but not one to bring around my family, and yet, somehow. This man that saw more in me than I saw in him, I've become close to. I would consider him a brother, yet there are things I wouldn't talk to him of. That's how a sibling is, though. He gave me a piece to keep, depicting his daughter. Sorzus Amanda Sekker. When I met him, the man was all but blind to love, but he found it with his closest friend, and they had a daughter. I guess Tse'kira and Viren have guided my whole path, though, from Acolyte to where I am now.

Waiting, I guess, or rather working at ascension. Going towards Sith, and probably beyond. His words stoked a fire I didn't have before, but maybe that's the nature of him. I'm rambling here, just writing down a stream of consciousness. I should get my thoughts of the past couple days out first. Fought alongside Naile for a while, that was really nice. He remarked on my change. I heard Rhave say that word, too. Vina, Vina, Vina. It was my word from her, it... didn't piss me off. Just made me a bit sad. Feels like I lost a lot of time there, but I think it maybe showed that I needed to grow some too. Move on.

Maybe I'll start some history for the next entry, as best as I can remember it. I'm realizing suddenly that me being tired and me drinking more recently is also tied with people doing their own things. Some kind of abandonment issue? That would only make sense. I'll really have to start from scratch then. I'm actually falling asleep now, insomnia's broken.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 2: From The Beginning

I guess I'm doing this like an essay. Wow that's awful contrast, I get the black and red theme but maybe not for reading. I'll leave it and see how I feel later. Read back what I wrote last night and that was... eh.

So, I was born a twin. Just like. Minutiae of difference in time, with my older sister Zolluxara being first. Oldest of what would grow into a bigger family, to Lord Zaruna Reshnel and Lord Chadzick Varrixon. Were they Lords then? I don't think I even remember, and I guess it doesn't matter because they're both passed. It was a couple years before they had Dizexa, celebrated with Zarrett, then it was a bit of wait for Xelan and longer for Zebinna, bringing up the rear. I think there were a couple miscarriages after, and my dad brought home Zeon to clear the air on that.

Mom was always insistent on our learnings. She was big, dad was big... both of them bigger than me and Zoll, both with big Massassi lines. She took on more work closer to home though, working with the IRS on Korriban while he did bigger things with the war at large. She used to kick the asses of both me and Zoll with a staff, at the same time, but she also ensured we were proper ladies, that we could dance, socialize, write. I remember her teaching me at how life was like a masquerade, and you sometimes hid the troubles so you could still have a pretty face throughout.

There were troubles though, weren't there? I had my learning problem, and Zebinna got the same. Dizexa had her blood thing where any smack could cause bad bruising, but that just made her want to learn medical. Xelan was considered a "late bloomer" on her Force Sensitivity, but even now, she can barely lift a glass. Zarrett is... Zarrett, I guess, my dad always thought it was because he was raised around so many women but he's good. I hate to see how he'll change.

I'm avoiding talking about Zoll. Zoll was perfect. She was the big sister, she was definitely the oldest. All I can really think of is how she died, but she was bold, ambitious. It was like she barely felt pain, too. Ah, the nerve endings - high pain tolerance. The one flaw among us that actually seemed beneficial. She was Sith before any of us could think about it, just telling us how to deal with things, being strong, not so much empathy. She knew what we'd have to do.

I killed her.

I was pissed at the time. My dad came home from fighting with Zakuul, and he was so much older for it, hurt. Kept telling us our mom died bravely, but it was a white lie, like a poison. I was angry, confused, young. Zoll and I had a fight, and I got so pissed, I was. Strangling her. Died with my hands around her throat, after open combat. My father put on his mask, called it a Rite of Sacrifice, sent me to the Academy because I was close to age. I think he couldn't face me. I couldn't face me. It's a blur to think of now, but there were days when I didn't know if I was the right or wrong twin, we were bonded.

If I have to analyze myself, I guess... it's hard to write of her because we were so close. Like a mind and a half between two bodies, covering for each others weaknesses. She didn't empathize well, so I learned to. She was always aggressive, so I was on guard, covering her. We were two halves of a better. Calling that a Rite, then, is probably pretty accurate, because those strengths came together in a way.

"I never noticed you have my eyes", he told me. My saber in his chest, another Rite of Sacrifice. More recent, but he laughed at the end. Did he find absolution with the gods he taught us of? Or was he elated that I was making it through the pain? He slept for a long time, waiting for it, and I gave him a warrior's death. I laid him next to my mother, a Varrixon in the Reshnel tomb. Maybe improper, but they belonged together. Complimented each other like me and Zoll.

I should probably bookend this before I get too far off track. Sent to Academy after the big event, okay. Do I sign this off? How do I sign this to myself? Eh.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 3: Acolyte Days

So the underline's pretty nice, keeping that. Shouldn't type while my hands are Kolto'd but I should get my thoughts out. My father was a user of Dark Rage - he used to say it was like staring at the "Will of the Dark Side", and asking for just an iota of a blessing. Something he didn't want for me, but something I have an affinity for. Instead, he taught me that of my mother, Battle Precognition. Awakening a deeper aspect, my connection to the Force becoming as more potent instinct, trusting my senses to guide me.

For the first time, I saw what he must have when working at Sith Steel. And it was rude and burned the hell out of my hands. Hungry, all-consuming. Capitalizing on the tiniest mistake and failing me. One day, I'll get to quenching, and then it'll be angrier and I'll have to endure for longer. The amount of bleeding and burning for the art... it emboldens me to be better. Just need to adjust my goalposts as this became far more complicated than anyone else before Hazlem has described it.

There was something that seized me, though, back when I took Zoll's life. That dark part of me, like a sliver of that will, ready to drive me forward and consume me utterly while I watched. I'm deluding myself if I'm thinking it was something higher, but the potential made me afraid for a long time. Along with a broken mind, I went through the Kaas Academy still sorting myself out. Our minds had been linked - it was like I was trying to remember for both of us and forming a dissonance. In this time, I slowly fell in with a pair of girls, a cyborg and a Miraluka. The former with her own demons, the latter kind. She wasn't meant to be a Sith.

She put us to task, dragged us almost kicking and screaming, but it was that which saved us. And then, she was gone to somewhere else. My suspicions were correct, and she died in the end. All I could ever find out was that her heart failed her, word of "Failure" burned into the skin of her forehead.

I eventually came to House Horuset, and trained a while, kept to myself. When I emerged, it began a long career of questioning things or messing with Overseers and Purifiers, and getting slapped around for it. Or sitting on the whole Acolyte Alpha blade, training other Acolytes, and being a nuisance all around. I'm still a nuisance, but I'd like to think I'm better at it. Back then, we had the politics go into play just before our campaign to Dubrillion, of Sith Narazri versus Sith Arvanis for Lord.

I should stop while I'm healing. Bookending this or whatnot with the talk about Dubrillion.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 4: Becoming Me

Between Alsolun and Dubrillion, I think they formed a lot of who I am now. I lost sight of that for a bit, got into being an Overseer and was just sticking with it, thinking that doing it alone meant there was merit. I got too attached to that though. Still, got some valuable experiences out of it, and it helped me establish myself to those below.

So Alsolun. Crazy place, sandy planet that we all went to, investigating a tomb. People had gone missing from here, and sure enough, the first antechamber we entered, there was just blood everywhere. Signs that people had been grabbed in the middle of whatever they were doing, and dragged right into the walls and floor. We found these blind creatures, Sithspawn, that were viewing things through the Force. We got out of there after chopping some apart. Our next encounter was defending an outpost, and I held a doorway, just... chopping away. Limbs, torsos, faces, left and right and around and around. The first real time I had to hold a front, because focus on those with me diverted to a huge thing. But I managed.

Our final encounter, I saw some rather amazing things. Sith Narazri protecting several minds at once, a barrier that could block a wide passage like a wall from Lord Kalkoran. Something in there, the Queen of the Hivemind, made people go crazy from just seeing it. I helped Sith Narazri get out when we were all running, even though I guess I was technically against him at the time? It always struck me as strange. But the department that asked us to solve that problem provided a bunch of us with Bloodmarks, fitted with Hyperdrives. I've used mine since for some joyrides here and there.

Dubrillion was a huge campaign, though, and starting out, my reputation wasn't great. Got kicked from the Purifiers because I wasn't a fit, got looked down on and put down after. Still did work for Sith Tarimra, my master at the time, but that was secretive, and still usually ended in disaster. I think I'll go more into that in the next entry, since it deserves its own. The battles themselves, though, against the Republic? It was like slogging through mud the entire way.

No mapping, opposed scouting. Giant Ion Cannon messing up our fleet. Every bit of ground we gained, we paid for. And in the end, as we got to their command, all the local allies we'd made turned on our forces. We evacuated, and orders were given to glass the planet. It wasn't great, and the ripples through the Force were terrible. Expended so much, only to have the rug pulled from under us in the end. We found out who could command and not, during all of that, and the political maps were redrawn.

Yeah, I'll start the next one with the master drama.

[Theprettiestorc]

[The Precipice of Madness]

(Feat. Zartilda Varrixon)

Quiet halls. That's the first thing she notices as she steps in, rubbing her mask. To her left, where an Akk Dog would be awaiting to greet her as always, is just an empty bed. No signs of the two girls who lived here. She sent them away, because of fear. Not of enemies, but of herself. A change. Something... something. Hard to think of in words, mind going six rotations for everybody's one. Everything abstract. Her mask is taken off as she walks, showing deep red eyes that haven't rested, dark bags around them. Either she sleeps too much, or not enough, and she hasn't felt good at all.

Zartilda knows what it is, psychoanalyzing herself even as she goes through it. She's stated as much to a curious Acolyte, to reaffirm it. She's becoming like the others, the Dark Side catching up with her. She's suffering, living in two worlds. Wandering up the stairs, passing plants from different worlds, once cared for by a dead woman. Banners of the Empire and Sith, from a proud man. They left. Everyone's left. Everyone keeps leaving. She's alone. She did this. Sent the last two away with a pair of Twi'lek, because of pity.

Why, then, did she keep the last? Stepping through a ballroom where people once danced, she trails through a dining room that once held lively conversation. Now cold, quiet. A door is unlocked, and before the woman inside can think to react, she crosses the distance and swiftly punches her in the temple. Calculated, to knock her out cold.

----------

It's always strange to her, how the Statue of the Emperor could just be any figure in a cloak. Really, it could be Vitiate, Acina, or Vowran. It could be Darth Horuset, for all anyone would really know. Just that imposing stone figure in a cloak. And now, it has a decoration, a pink-skinned woman chained by the wrists, like a living Twi'lek medallion. Zartilda's cloak has gone somewhere, armor plates scattered, just in a suit of Synthweave and other layered fabrics from the waist up, and partly undone. The chinguard is loose, and the musculature is easy to see on the imposing woman, for the waking Twi. As is the amount of sweat beading on her.

She feels ill, but her mind is burning faster, going across tracks and ready to spill at any time. She takes a bottle of water though, ready - a tray set up just in front of the altar, where the statue looks down from. Different medical tools left over from all the equipment set up to preserve her father's life, now just scraps and sharp things remaining to remind her. That, and some of the medicines now running through the Twi'lek's bloodstream.

Words are exchanged. Huttese has to be used. Why is this happening, they already killed a murderer. A Jedi who killed both of their kind alike, all on purpose. No, he was good, he brought food, he offered shelter to ease a guilty conscience, at his own failings. Back and forth, until the pale face is streaked in tears. What is going to happen?

I don't know. An honest answer. The Pureblood stares, at the precipice of a change. This creature, this woman, at her mercy. No. Just parts. Skin, blood, bones, organs. Atoms to make that up. The room is comprised of metal, durasteel to withstand attacks in case of emergency, transparisteel to see through to the raining sky. The view which is clear to the woman chained up. My hands hurt, my hands are numb. I am a monster. I am a Sith.

Faster and faster, in her mind, aura roiling, bubbling in a crescendo, the Dark Side strong and growing. It always finds you eventually. That need for something, every good intention lost and twisted. Body corrupted, the Force wielded like a cudgel, or a knife. A knife. Knife. Her hands close around a pair of scissors, and a scalpel, and she lifts them up, everything halting.

Skin. Blood. Bones. Organs. She knows of it all theoretically. She's never really seen them though. Curiosity begins to buzz. A drone in her ears, a roaring in her chest all but unheard. She steps forward, straight onto the altar, crushing a skull underfoot. We need someone with a certain attitude. Marvelous talent for starting trouble.

Her hands hurt. All magic comes with a price. What is taken, must be given in kind.

She steps onto the small fence, that once separated spectator seating for the training area, the seats all kicked aside. I want to create. Give them all hell. I never noticed you have my eyes. A distinction worn with honor.

Her hands are numb. Assimilate the shadow. Power is power. Do not trust anyone.

She stares up, through bloodshot eyes, the background noise like hearing through water. Faint, mind continuing to churn, but in the background. A different side has taken over, now. Bastion. Titan. I will do these things, so others do not have to. But I must know. I have to know.

The first cut is the longest.

----------

Sitting in the bathtub, between the former bedrooms of her siblings, Zartilda looks over her work. Carved from wood, whittled with a knife that's been beside her for an age, is a bead. She recognizes it from an old toy - the Twi had been attempting to pass the time, took a sliver of metal to carve at it. Some kind of... Kalikori tribute? Her mind is foggy, but the information is just that. Some word, about some Twi religion. "Wisûtis an Ardasa" is now carved along the surface, High Sith: "Street to Hell".

The water is soaked a pale, transparent red, wood shavings floating on top of it along with a Gizka bath toy, something else she found in the room. Curiosity if it still floated. She wonders if she actually cleaned or if she'll still be bloody, but will it make a difference? She's already red, so very red. A red... Sith. It causes a giggle to erupt unbidden, and she rests her head back. She's tired. Her hands hurt. Her hands are numb.

She'll clean up her paintings from the room in the morning. Maybe. Where does one dispose of roughly eighty kilograms of skin, blood, bones, and organs? There's a few ideas, as her mind continues on.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 5: What They Deserve

Formats, bookends, have I really obsessed over this? It's like looking at broken pieces of a mirror, and I'm slowly gluing them back, so that I have most of an image of me. But there's bloodstains on the places I was cut, cracks throughout. Started this to not lose sight of who I was, but there's no going back. There's just emulation. Able to emulate Zartilda enough to keep going, and maybe what's lost will help me do what I need to do. Other people should get to feel things if they kill, but that holds me back. It's a chain, isn't it? One that's not dragging me, but one that I can choose to carry when the situation calls. Dragging a weight of responsibility, or else it's all for... no, that's not right. It's just simple efficiency. I wonder how many don't see that? The infighting that holds the House back from functioning? Fighting is one thing, but the methods are just improper, like nobody's been taught. It's not something you can teach, either.

"One day, Horuset will get what they deserve," she told me. "I know," I said, but I'm realizing now it wasn't fatalistic, nor was it some false glory-spouting. It's simply facts, numbers. Hell, a prophecy. As it has been, the House will eat itself from the inside. So my mission has to happen, to prop it up from the bottom and hit those who try to stop me. I don't care if I'll save forever, but maybe I can save it now. Even if I have to walk through the deepest pits of Hell for my actions, even if people condemn me, even if it hurts those closest to see me this way, and I'm the only one to see it. Even if I die doing it. That's the Sith way - if my path is strong enough, it survives, and the rest burns around me.

Still, I have a structure to these entries. Even in these moments, I learned quite a lot from two similar men. More credit than they deserve, perhaps, but credit where it is due.

I originally had an Apprenticeship lined up to Sith Saltaeon, and she had her Apprentice Tse'kira looking out for me just a tad. But then there was a fiasco, in which I was forced to fight three Acolytes back-to-back. The third time, I was too tired and I went down. It became another log that started a bonfire, somehow tying in to a fight between Sith Narazri and Sith Arvanis for Lord, and it brought the eyes of Apprentice Viren and Sith Tarimra. The two Masters and Apprentices called me to the Archives, to know what I wanted since that was the last key. My choice... was knowledge, the ability to know more about the Empire, Philosophy, my people, how to act. I was already strong. It's a strange irony to think about that they became the Saltaeons and the Sekkers, two married couples, out of all that - like a balancing act, two aspects of being Sith with me in the middle, a fateful choice.

I got to use my mind, my perceptions, and suffered for it. But also, it found use. Sith Tarimra used me to form dossiers on many, what I could see that others wouldn't notice, either fine details or big picture with trouble seeing in between. His obsession with knowledge ignited full-blown curiosity in me, and sometimes, I'd analyze just for the hell of it, make connections to jog my mind. It got me into trouble when I called out Nyrithe, Natsiji, for being functionally useless, and what do you know? She's still functionally useless, all this time later. I'm going to break her fucking shoulder one day and she can't stop me, because you can't stop truth and you reap what you sow. Should probably beat the hell out of Korditis one day and stand on him to tell him he's a living fossil one day, but maybe if it strikes me.

My time with the Purifiers was basically short, though, and even if it's mostly faded, I have this round scar on my forehead to remind me of... something. That I went against Sith Arvanis, maybe, and his opinions. He took Irizka's eye so maybe I'm lucky on that front, but it's no wonder everyone's broken off from him if he's all whip and no treat. I'm getting distracted.

There were several incidents, and I was basically on the outs. But I kept work up for Sith Tarimra, even helping when he brought Eddi Hozan back. I saw things even about that boy that let Tarimra handle him better, and I furthered the man's goals. So when both he and Arvanis were going to leave me to wrath for serving dutifully? At the time, I had many excuses, but I know now I was just lashing out, pure and simple. A natural conclusion. If you burn the keeper of your secrets, you should hope they take your secrets to the grave. I released absolutely everything, every dossier, every plan, and then let the Powerbase's ire take care of the rest. The phoenix burned for months, before he had the chance to rise from his ashes.

Honestly, I don't hate him, I think. I understand he's a product of his upbringing, of flawed Sith. I'm doing this so we don't get another one of him, so that people know their purposes sooner and simply don't waste time. His journey of realization was pretty inefficient, and I still don't think he's fully there. Maybe my message went across, because he pays more attention to his Apprentice now, actively cares, tries to teach. Found full rage in her misplacement. I returned to him advice that he gave me, something he had forgotten he said that I gave more meaning to. I created meaning to it, didn't I? "Trust, but verify," good advice that's guided me. Once it hit my ears, it became my own to do with as I needed.

At the end of it all, his masters both gave me advice as well, and maybe I took the parts more needed that he missed. I find myself under Lord Saltaeon again, aiding Tse'kira, advised by Sith Tarimra with Viren whispering in his ear. All four of these players in a balance, like a cycle, except we're all stronger now and either wiser or crazier. I'm going with the latter for the Saltaeon-Tse'kira block, and the former for the Tarimra-Viren block. But I've sorely needed the crazy in myself, too.

Structure, structure. Narazri and Vipion next. I'm forgetting there's a mess in my training hall, I'll be at it for days.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 6: Bonds Forged

Taking a break from doing some sorely-needed renovations to my apartment, changing out a few bulbs and panels and swapping out bunk beds for regular ones. Just what I can afford reasonably for now. I moved my sisters out already, and the animals, so it's just me. But I'm prepping for the idea that I'll have Apprentices, perhaps. Memories are abound throughout this place, but it's time to change it with the times.

I'm feeling refreshed, with an ordeal done. Sith Steel! It's a precious small thing, the ingot, but everyone close has informed me of the weight it holds for me as a person. I'm just glad to have finally finished getting my hands burned and my lungs assaulted. I've still got a bit of a rasp here and there from it. The mess in my training hall became inspiration for a new amulet, meaning I can retire my mother's training piece. It'll go alongside her saber and my dad's, so that I have something to pass to my siblings. Give them more than I started with.

That's a good lead-in. I didn't even know how to make a saber crystal until Sith Narazri sat down with me. Following Neophytehood and the conflict with Sith Tarimra, and the absolute mess of glassing Dubrillion, I was basically starting fresh. Myself, Neophyte Temekel Vipion, and Neophyte Viren Sekker formed a trio of doom, practicing with each other and advancing. Both of them are ascended now, all three of us different generations, but at that time, we relied heavily on each other. We performed tasks to get the Powerbase up to snuff, Priority Aurek, and there were a few low moments. Killing soldiers, killing Jedi initiates. Defining, ultimately, but they were low for me at the time, and I persevered. Sith Vipion and Sith Zevasa are still my close comrades, both with kids, and I'd murder for their sakes in a heartbeat.

It was after the Aurek things that Sith Zarchas ascended - so I hopped onto the opportunity with a slot. I told Sith Narazri, once a man I'd fought against, that I could see how strong he was. Honestly? Narazri didn't sell out or discard the people underneath him, so while Sith Arvanis started strong, he continuously lost allies and his support eroded. Narazri persevered, and even though the Lord title they fought for went to Sith Saltaeon, he endured. We talked about what kind of Sith I wanted to be, and I said I wanted to create. I wanted to make myself better, and others, by forge or by battle. I lost that a little bit along the way, but I got it back.

Between himself and Sith Vipion, I got into Alchemy. He taught me more firmly how to protect my mind, keep it safe. Ironically, he's the very reason I have a dislike of people in my head, but things always come full circle for me. He taught me that the ultimate goal of a Sith is freedom. And it's right there, at the end of the Code, that last little line. But most importantly, I've been able to use his forge and his Estate, which has been a mess for travel, but it's gotten me through.

I'm thinking I should do something with my hair, it's getting longer. Next thing to talk on... Overseers? Overseers.

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 7: Flying On Burning Wings

I'll start with the bookend first. My time with the Overseers - I went in as an Assistant Overseer, following my break from Tarimra, a position revived by Rikki Syndathik. There were doubts whether I could teach Philosophy, after all, but I began working with Acolytes in what capacity I could afford. Taking time to get to know them, document them... putting my profiling skills to good use. Naile and Korditis were also Overseers at the time, and we went into the Trials for Generation 13. That's when I had my first change of image, getting called out by Lord Saltaeon.

So I went into a large black coat and otherwise using that as my palette, began wearing a signature piece for me now, a chinguard. Changed my hair, and made an overnight call. The Acolytes were to face Gundarks and a juvenile Rancor. Instead, I upped the ante, and the myth, the legend, was born.

Huuuuuuuuuuubriiiiiiiiis.

I loved announcing that. A full-sized, adult female Rancor, who sat on an Acolyte and crushed them to death outright. Nobody had to fight her, they just had to survive, and it was telling overall. But after the Trials, and people ascending, Syndathik left. Naile and Korditis went inactive, and with changes in who was looking after the Department, I finagled my way to administration of the hub and full Overseer.

Generation 14 was where I really hit my stride. Ten ascensions! Most which have developed my now into impressive Apprentices. I made it my goal to prove that Kelsa's way had been far too heavy-handed, but in the process, I was far too easy on them, from what people said. I was focused on the teaching, not on correction, but Viren. Monhura, Purifier, he was the one who was doing that for me. Perhaps I should bless the short-sightedness of Sith sometimes because it allows me to get ahead, but sometimes, it's a curse, since nobody saw what we were doing. I'd do the teaching, he'd do the disciplining, and we solidified our bond in that way.

Eventually, though, it came to an end. During the Trials for that generation, Sith Arvanis stated I needed to do more punishment, and I basically told him to piss off. I was angry, that out of all my work, that's all they saw. That there needed to be fighting, artificial competition, the kind of things that come naturally and which aren't enforced at Apprentice. It was dumb. Looking back? It's still dumb, because the best rivalries I'm seeing in this newest generation are the ones that come about naturally, due to competition over trivial things. Sith Tarimra got on me for teaching Lightning to an Acolyte, and making his Apprentices look bad, and that really sealed the deal for me - I moved on, because I was holding on to something I wasn't fit for. Not in the House's view.

Ah, current time. Sith Tarimra... he was slain. A fight between him and Zarchas that went back and forth for months, that I was always in the middle of. I made possibly my finest work for the Sorcerer, too, a miniature amulet in the form of a Phrik ring. He cursed it later, and it was the first time I'd been used as a Siphon for any ritual. I'm seeing now the scope of my predictions, that I thought Zikarn had been leaking information to Tarimra, but it was the other way around. My guess was right that he was working with Zarchas, and such is what I warned about... and he became the key to luring Tarimra to his death.

It's interesting to me that this was a true fight between Apprentices of Narazri, really. I spent a lot of time analyzing him, and it all came to light: the public alliances, the private alliances. Loyalty, and where loyalty fails. Zarchas especially had his cunning, his ability to somehow pull a victory by letting his enemies tear themselves apart from within. I warned that Saltaeon's Sphere was a repeat of history, and indeed, it came to pass. Tarimra's gallant overconfidence, too, I saw influenced by Narazri, but it was youth yet untempered by careful planning and experience. I wouldn't have expected Naile to aid Zarchas, and what else don't I know about the enigma that was the half-mummified man?

Both gave me promises, but surprisingly, it was Zarchas who was forthcoming with them. Glory, recognition, power. Rewarding those who aid, recognizing efforts. Up until the end, Sith Tarimra had smoke and mirrors, yet to I find myself mourning him more than the other. Like a tragedy in progress, that you've tried wholly to prevent and ultimately failed. I realize one of my favorite phrases came out because of the phoenix, how a Sith goes through their power faster and dies young. "Flying on burning wings".

I heard Zikarn took his own life, and it doesn't surprise me. Naile is injured badly, and I find my interest in him has started to fade, after trying to get his attention outright and failing. Ter'asca Vesk and Charsette, two of my Warriors in a reconstituted Warrior Program, were involved as well. The former died alongside Zarchas, his master, and I was told "he died like a Warrior", and that Charsette tried to run. Two very different mindsets of my students, and I don't feel either was wrong. The battlefield is a hellish place, and many Sith die wanting for such a chance at being remembered. Some have things yet unfinished, business to tend to that they can't afford to leave behind and die before they finish.

Zarchas and Tarimra, a blight eagle and a phoenix. Two different figures which shaped my career in different ways, that I learned from. Saw their deeds, followed their path in history to learn more of them. One showed me how a Warrior isn't drawn inside a neat little box, how they can provide for others and fulfill a greater role - the other taught me curiosity, paranoia, how to draw on the endless wellspring of anger I once kept bottled up in fear of losing myself. Both of them supported my bid to Household Sith.

"All Magic Comes WIth A Price", indeed. Next entry should be on amulets and forging, I think, but I've found what to do with my hair.

**An image accompanies this entry, as if a reminder. A brazier, starting to go into flames - inside is a portion of cloth, like a flag or banner, just a square of it. A symbol of a hand with an eye in the center, the threads worked on by large fingers, every painstaking detail as she remembered it so long ago. And coiled around the portion of flag is a black braid with a pendant on the end, a symbol of a phoenix on the one side. Her own funeral pyre for the fallen.**

[Theprettiestorc]

Journal 8: Religion

It has been a long time since I have made an entry here. My time has been spent forging for the Empire, away from the House and politics in the wake of dead Sorcerers. I have come a long way since my first amulets, made of Bronzium and with decorations on it before I even enchanted them. The first is kept away, a training amulet with the gem of my mother, the phalanges of my first Jedi kills. Children. I almost tried to kill someone when they threatened to destroy it, as much as my mother meant to me.

I worked up to larger over time. Made a fantastic Horuset Sun with gold, for my Monhura. Viren Sekker, Sith Zevasa. I delved into the creation of Sith Steel - "keep it rare", Occularis told me. I started in the forges on Serenno, my Master's cold halls. Creating, creating, creating. Each time, the entity I found in that Steel, the Dark Side itself, deemed me unworthy. At a certain point, it was driving me mad, that failure. So much so that my mind snapped. I stared at a chained-up slave, and I didn't see a slave. I saw a bag of meat, the bones, the skin. The blood. Precious materials that I needed, and the only thing stopping my retrieval was this squirming thing. And so I made a mess of my training hall as I began to cut, curious about the contents of this thing, oblivious to the sounds of death.

Someone asked me when I became Sith. The betrayal of Sith Tarimra on Dubrillion was when it began, but this moment is when I feel the transformation completed.

I began to cut on myself, turning the scars, the burns, the lines of lightning that had bled me, into a ritual look. And then I continued. I made my own armor, forged my own sabers from the ground up. A couple tricks - everything I knew, I put into my appearance going forward. A Sith forged by her own hand, perhaps, as independent as I've been. And even though I still failed after that incident, I eventually got it - the Entity in my metal finally deemed me worthy of finishing this small, Alchemical ingot. Dense, strong. And I still have it for my first project, eventually.

Crafts aside, my return to Horuset was met almost... warmly? And with a bit of wariness. There were a few grudges I was unaware of, but I also had welcomes. New faces as Overseers, new Acolytes, the Warriors still continuing on and building on my vision. I'm not one to step on someone else's work, and I had a rare fresh start once more, so I moved to the Harbinger's office. Diplomacy. To which a few said was unusual, but even my Master admitted I may be oddly suited. We shall see.

Our newest deployment, to Anx Minor, has us assisting a group called ITEC that effectively strips planets of resources at the behest of the Dark Council. Our old enemies, the Axiom Powerbase, is covering us at Gravlex Med, and we're to keep the endeavor safe as they take every resource the planet has, and leaves it dry. It's on a trade route in the Northern Territories, too, so I suspect the idea is to leave it like Dubrillion, break some of the Republic hold in a twofold strike. We've been on the ships for a bit, now, jumping between supplying and changing Hyperspace lanes.

I sat down for a sermon, though, before we're landing. Led by Sith Vi'kas, Prophet. Luvane Vipion having carved his own crazy niche out. And as I sat there, listening to prayers to the gods beside me, waiting for the sermon to start with a collared and hooded slave ready to have her blood spilled, I was alone in my thoughts. Counting the beads on my rosary, my sins, my deeds. And as I heard the names, feeling the scars across my left palm, I began to think. Who did my father pray to, in those last moments? Zyantha or Mekath, the twins of war? Hezarkul the duelist, for the fight we had? Did he pray to the mightiest of gods as we so often did when I was small, Typhojem of the left hand, his palm more scored than I for the longer life he led? Urgak-val, to see if I would break past him? Did he pray to Marserha Jochor, for our family, for me?

As it all went through, I prayed to them myself. For the first time, in my heart, I accepted them, that they should guide my blades, that I should prove worthy of their gaze and pay tribute in the blood of my enemies, that I would be a pinnacle of physicality and spirituality. Because at that moment, I realized that he had only prayed for one thing in the end, when it was just to be me and him, blade to blade. And for that prayer, I will continue his burden, I will pray to the gods in his stead so that he can have his earned rest away from all of this, that he can finally be without the rage that consumed his life.

That he can see my mother again, and that they never have to worry about me as a Sith. I pray for you both, now. In the immortal words of the Prophet: Hark.

[Theprettiestorc]

Miscellaneous: Raw Notes (From A Lesson by Lord Kalkoran)

* Small Scale Manoeuvres

Manoeuvres, Tactics, Strategies - order of increasing magnitude.
Don't suffer betrayals, put competent and trusted people in command of smaller groups. Delegate and command.
Keep orders simple, instead of complex. Command while leading, or you're just the first one in.
"Artikarza": Fast War, basically pierce through in melee. (Wedge Formation?) Second group to support and clean up.
^ Counterattack: Letting them through so that they get flanked from behind. This is why a support group helps.
"Tutsemia": Fortress, group defends entirely to provide cover for another, drawing fire to themselves and being a full defensive line
^ Breaks if you have a bad leader.
"Akdura": Anvil, group charges into combat to lock the foes up and hold them rather than simply dispatch them, can go against powerful foes
^ Holds a foe rather than a position, very short-term to allow for other objectives to be completed or other manoeuvres
"Kitsana:" Hammer, flanking around an enemy already engaged and pounding them from a second side, primarily combined with other manoeuvres
^ The counterattack above, basically, aiming to obliterate the enemy like an angry sandwich
In planning, be robust and adaptable - the core of any planning process. Every small change can change a big plan.
-Simplicity with vague contingencies, have a few tiers if possible, single-order adjustments (Move west from the bombing)
-Silent Speaker: 1. Handheld Explosives, 2. Bombing Run, 3. Orbital Bombardment

Takeaway

At the very baseline level, this is incredibly good stuff, and something which there's been a slight lack of. The Warriors are going to be practicing some of these, so that we bring them to standard, given my overarching goals that -every- field commander be at least above a certain bar. Meaning every Household Sith by the time they finish their Apprenticeship, regardless if they're "battle-oriented" or not. My question on planning reaffirmed my own style, at least, and that it's not so different from the Lord's own, so I'm on the right track. Mix of basic planning and keeping it open to adapt, bullet point objectives or fallbacks. Something learned the hard way through Acolyte Trials and early missions. Not everyone will have had those failings to learn from, though.

I wonder if there are some supplementary formations that could happen? Assigning orders based on a few powers. There's a few ideas tumbling about.

- "Mnirji": Blind, with Force Flash being a relatively simple ability. Have a group all use it at once, to soften a defense for punching through. Many are prepared for Flashbang grenades, but not for this. Would take some work to perfect, and that order assumes your own people are prepared to not stare directly at it.
- "Atsinasia": Artillery, making use of the Sith capabilities with Lightning. Effectively combined with Tutsemia, you'd have one group protecting another behind who focuses on Chain Lightning or simply Lightning all at once, to punch a group of people hard. The former's becoming increasingly more common, and to NFUs, would be devastating to have multiple at once.
- "Nairi": Fear, pretty self-explanatory with the vested interest in Mental Abilities now going around. Or things like Aura of Uneasiness, et cetera. A group dedicated to messing up the mental cohesion of a target group, causing them to panic or even flee, for easy pickings.

I suppose these are all more specific tactics based around grouping similar power-users to compound the effects of certain things. Additionally, they pretty much need protection while they channel, so it's situational at best. I'll have to put more thought into this before I start adding to the House Manoeuvere Playbook.

[Edit]

Did a lesson with Vesk, Ghul, and Winter, and this came to mind.

- "Andnoa": Tide, several conical Force Waves in tandem to completely knock back an opposing force. Like a tidal wave, aimed to send them down, tip them over, and force them to resettle while another force can overwhelm them.