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It’s been a year and some days since I felt the need to speak to this journal. Darth Isilith frowns on verbal record keeping, preferring for me to practice my Ancient Sith by writing. But the events of today were so unique, that I wished to speak on it before the memories were tainted by time.

I met another Lord today, it should have been a cordial gathering. Immediately, I felt the work of my Master’s hand. I knew, almost immediately that my meeting this Lord was no accident. Perhaps a respite from our work at the Reeducation center. The Lord immediately drew down on me. No words were spoken after I introduced myself and in the back of my mind I could feel my Master’s joy at seeing me draw my own blade.

The battle was short. We passed once, the other Lord was not quick enough to strike me; my saber catching the other Sith in a dodge and glance blow from Form VI. Something I have memorized and practiced in my mind endlessly. I only heard him fall, the saber deactivating from a dead man’s switch in the hilt. It was an unremarkable encounter, but perplexing. I had to know why my Master wanted the Lord dead enough to set him upon me.

The Lord was one of Darth Malvox’s former apprentices. Darth Isilith killed Darth Malvox on my behalf to free me from my obligation to her. It was a risky move, more than I realized. Many political implications were involved as well as declaring a war between Isilith’s retinue and Malvox’s. But the most surprising revelation came directly from my Master. That Lord represented the last vestiges of Malvox legacy and with his death, Malvox is wiped away forever.

It is not my place to question my Master, I hazard to ask her anything blatantly. This was a very calculated move by her…and as usual I was her instrument….>>

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Vaiken Spacedock, Three Standard Months Later; after the events on Hutta….

Dressed in the uniform of her new organization, Mrysti stood off to the side. Never had she been so surrounded by power than she was in the Empire. She ran her hands down the stark white tunic, white being the color of high officers assigned to the Imperial fleet. Mrysti’s new commander, a Sith and friends with Darth Malvox, insisted that all personnel; including the lesser Sith Lords assigned to him wear the uniform. The Commander came from Imperial aristocracy, even before his Force prowess was recognized; some of that rigid military training bleeding through in his treatment of his subordinates.

As people passed her, some of them Sith Lords, they all tossed her an amused glance. Mrysti would simply nod at them as they passed, saying nothing. There was a big joke going on and Mrysti wasn’t in on it. Making her way toward the counter and taking the stark white cap off her head, her now bleached white hair fell to her shoulders. It blended nicely with the white of her uniform. The hair, a gift from her final match in the Arena against the man she was sure now, she once loved. That white, a stark reminder and penance for killing the one thing in the galaxy that loved her, not that it affected Mrysti in any way. She was still putting her pieces together, trying to recover a life that was lost.

The smaller, lithe framed Twi’lek moved in next to her at the counter casting a sideways glance at the large Mirialan, who seemed to be drawing amused glances from all the Lords and Imperial personnel around her. Mrysti seemed immune, it intrigued the Twi’lek as she stood waiting to draw the tender droid’s attention.

“Corellian Brandy…neat.” Mrysti’s rich voice echoed off the back wall. The Twi’lek turned slightly finally gazing directly at Mrysti. She ignored the stare, lifting the drink to her lips. All of it annoyed Darth Isilith. More that she had not been acknowledged; her anger rising, but she could sense in the larger woman an ignorance to protocol. A newness that she had only experienced when visiting the Academy on Ziost or Korriban. Isilith sought to break the ice and get a stronger feeling about the green behemoth of a woman.

“It is you that is drawing their laughter, you do realize that…do you not?” Mrysti turned her head slowly, looking down at the smaller woman, then glanced out past herself to the snickers and odd looks of the assembled patrons. She looked back to the small Twi’lek shrugging her shoulders.

“Must be an excellent joke, pity…I have no sense of humor.”

Isilith seethed at the rebuke, but held her rage at bay. Mrysti looked at her again. A wave of raw rage and energy hit Isilith like entering a wind tunnel. It poured off of Mrysti in wave after wave. Such power, such raw unfocused energy. Isilith crooked a bow.

“Who is your Master, young one…I would have words with him or her.” Isilith folded her hands neatly on the counter glaring up at the larger woman, her eyes slightly wider.

At the words, Mrysti tilted her head slightly going back to the drink. She said nothing at first merely sipping the little piece of memory she had ordered for herself. Corellian Brandy, she didn’t know why she liked it, she just did. In fact, she knew she had always liked it. Isilith waited a moment longer, growing impatient; when Mrysti could feel the level of intensity rise she looked back over at the slight Twi’lek.

“That depends on who’s asking.”

Isilith grit her teeth, but her face remaining unchanged. On any other day she would have simply dragged an insolent Sith off to a dark corner and beat them senseless, but it was not an ordinary day. There was something there. Something elusive that the Force was trying to impart to Isilith that she couldn’t quite place a finger on. Isilith, extremely potent in the ways of the Dark Side of the Force, knew the subtleties that most Dark Lords missed. It was always speaking, always telling. Most Darths never listened. Isilith rose to prominence listening to those voices, following the leads the Force had given her and using it to increase her power. With a twist of her wrist, she could easily humble this large, green woman, but that was not the moment. Forcing a smile, Isilith nodded her head slightly.

“I am…Darth Isilith…Sphere of Imperial Diplomacy…” She left off the rest, expecting a response immediately. She got none as Mrysti shifted slightly. This was Mrysti’s lot in life and she was already unhappy. Months in the Arena had taught Mrysti many valuable lessons, when Death comes to you, it comes. This encounter was no different. Isilith could sense no fear in the woman, not a trace and it excited her. Typically, the mere mention of a title or the path to power was enough to make someone literally lose control of their bowels. It had happened on more than one occasion. It only helped matters that as the two women stood facing each other, both of their waves of rage and hatred were locked in a death struggle, each trying to gain the upper hand. Mrysti finally nodded slightly.

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Darth…” Mrysti purposefully acted as if she had forgotten the Darth’s name. Isilith smiled, finishing it for her. It was time to press the upstart.

“…Isilith…my name, Darth Isilith.” A wry smile that twisted into wickedness slowly crept across the pink Twi’lek’s features. She spoke offhandedly and on purpose. “You know, it is shameful what they are doing to you. Tall, broad woman such as yourself, made to wear the uniform of our underlings. That’s what they are laughing at you know…they are all laughing at YOU. Do you see any other Sith here wearing the Imperial uniform?”

Mrysti turned slightly looking at the crowd then turned back shrugging slightly.

“It is my current assignment. We all have our parts to play I guess…” Mrysti took another sip of the glass turning to look away and she heard the other woman scoff at her annoyingly.

“Then you are less than the lowest slime that crawls on the decks of a starship latrine and unworthy to be among creatures of power. Why not kill yourself…save the rest of us the trouble.” The hair on the back of Mrysti’s neck stood up, the comment angered her. She was no one’s lackey, no one’s fool. Her days of being a slave were over. Turning to face the smaller woman, her rage growing, Isilith smiled wickedly taking a step back. “Yes…that’s it. The slime has teeth. Perhaps you should show me.” Isilith made no move toward Mrysti save the step back as Mrysti took an angry step forward, the other patrons parting away.

Even without her lightsaber, Mrysti was confident that she could crush the smaller woman with only her genetically enhanced strength. The hate in her eyes said as much as Mrysti struck out a fist at Isilith with blinding speed. Mrysti was shocked to find herself frozen as Isilith lifted a finger. The battle of their Force auras already having been won by Isilith long before it even started. The Mirialan was powerful, but not skilled. Mrysti looked out of the corner of her eye as Isilith folded her hands behind her back walking to stand next to the now immobile Mrysti. Closing her eyes she seemed to inhale Mrysti’s rage.

“Such power…such raw and innocent rage, unfocused; ready to be unleashed on anyone and anything….” Isilith moved the finger again and Mrysti sailed toward the stairwell landing hard against the floor support beam.

Isilith moved toward her slowly and when she reached Mrysti she bent down. Mrysti lay stunned a moment, looking up at the tiny Darth. Murder in her eyes. She was about to get up, death or not Mrysti wanted to kill Isilith and that feeling excited the Dark Lord. But Isilith did not want Mrysti’s death.

“Before you rise to try your luck again, perhaps you should ask yourself…is it me you are truly angry at? Or is it yourself? Or is it the idiot who put you in a place to wear that uniform. A uniform that no self-respecting Sith would wear…” It dawned on Mrysti as Isilith smiled, reaching out to touch her head. “Oh…my child, you are NOT a Sith, not yet…” Isilith’s face was one of pained sympathy. Touching Mrysti, Isilith looked into her fevered brain. Briefly, she touched a fragmented mind and quickly drew her hand back as if it touched fire.

Mrysti bowed her head slightly, no longer wanting to rise. Reaching up under Mrysti’s arm, Isilith helped the large woman up with what seemed like impossible ease for her tiny size, smiling sympathetically. Yes, Isilith had to have her. She must have her. The decision was made the moment she walked up to the bar counter.

“I-I am sorry, My Lord…I have been told w-what I am expected to do in the presence of my betters. I chose to ignore it. I have no excuse.”

The words angered Isilith as she slapped the large woman across the face, before instantly getting the smile back.

“You will never say ‘I’m sorry’ ever again…do you understand, MY apprentice….”

Mrysti looked up slowly, her eyes meeting the orange orbs of the tiny Twi’lek, the wicked smile slowly forming across her scarred visage.

“Yes, My Master….”

Isilith smiled warmly in her conquest. Mrysti would be hers, she would bow to her whims and in return Isilith would gain a powerful weapon. A Hammer, to use against her enemies. Mrysti would love her, she would die for her. It was already foreseen the moment Isilith touched the larger woman’s brow. Isilith reached up to her new Apprentice’s level, placing a finger under her chin.

“Now…I will ask you again, my Apprentice…WHO is your FORMER Master. Tell me his name so that I may go and destroy him for allowing you to lay dormant in such a state for so long. Those responsible for your mistreatment must be punished, my dear…such is the way of the Sith. Such will be our way, to bring retribution for a life of suffering.”

Mrysti nodded slightly, gazing deep into Isilith’s eyes. A life of suffering, retribution; all of it sounded excellent and so very close to home. She gazed into Isilith’s eyes, all the pain and loss she suffered and still a long path of pain left to travel to regain what she had lost. Isilith could give that to her, Mrysti could feel it. More than anything, she was ready to walk that road…..

--

-- ‘The End’, Imperial Prison Facility…during the events of ‘Sides’….

The Dark Lord brooded. Having found the perfect vessel, the perfect malleable person in Lord Cornelia Usher. A fellow prisoner. Tormented and broken as Mrysti once was. They shared that past. Not the only thing the two shared; also having a hatred for the same person who sent them both to the prison. Vowrawn.

The source of the brooding was not in where they were or being held captive. Mrysti was long past thinking of those kinds of things. There was no doubt that at some point, she would escape and seek vengeance for what Vowrawn had done. Not only to her, but to Cornelia. The source of the brooding was doubt. Mrysti hated it. It was such a rare feeling and brought with it emotions she did not like to focus on. Doubt in her ability to train and mentor a new apprentice. There were few things Mrysti failed at. Born and breed to succeed and conquer. Training others had always been a source of failure. And on three different occasions she had failed miserably.

First it was the twins. Both turned on her her early on and Mrysti had to eliminate them. Trying to console herself in the fact that both twins were insane from the moment they were given to her. Part of the allure. To train and teach the impossible. But you could not teach stupid or insane. It was a hard lesson, but one Mrysti took to heart.

The next was Lord Mize. A person who still vexed her. He was still out there, somewhere. Most likely planning revenge of some sort and had nearly succeeded. All of it, all of the failures only reinforcing the fear that came with doubt. Mrysti had to purge it, had to get past the fear in order to focus on more pressing concerns.

Meditation was not something she did often. Harkening back to her Jedi roots; a secret she liked to hide from others. To them, it would be a sign of weakness. Getting on the floor, Mrysti folded her legs under her, crossing them and pulling them under. Letting out a deep breath and allowing her mind to flow. Releasing the tension and the fear in order to seek answers. The device attached to her was meant to sense and punish for the use of the Force. But Mrysti was not actively using her power. Passively using the Force to reach out into the ebb and flow. Escaping for the briefest of moments from the confines of the prison. Looking for ‘her’, seeking her own Master.

Not knowing if it was real or only her own mind answering the questions, Mrysti saw the image and presence of Isilith from and turn toward her. A look of disdain and disappointment on her face; the Twi’lek turned and walked toward Mrysti. Raising a hand gently, offering as she always did. For a price.

“You’re not a child anymore, Mrysti…” The image spoke lovingly, like a Mother. “…you’ve been long past being an apprentice. And your fear…it is unwarranted.”

“But….I failed Master. So many times. This one is different. I can feel it, we share so much in common. Perhaps, that is where the fear comes from. That I will lead her astray. Do or say the wrong thing. That I am not—”

“—strong enough?” Isilith laughed. Her ghostly voice echoing far beyond the confines of Mrysti’s mind. “—my child, YOU are the strongest I have ever seen. The Empire’s Hammer, my hammer. I am and have always been extremely proud of you. My greatest achievement…grown far beyond even my own expectations. If not you…then who?” Isilith answered the unspoken question with on of her own, not waiting for an answer. “Your fear comes from a place deep inside. A place that most do not have the strength to look upon. Cornelia…is YOU. And like you she will grow, far beyond your reach and expectations. But that will never happen if you don’t do what you know only you are capable of.”

“And that is, Master?”

Smiling, Isilith turned to walk away. “Darth Retuvisa…I ceased being your Master long ago. You taught me as much as I ever taught you. And you will do the same for her. Only you can take her to the next level. A pain and experience you both share will be the bond that allows you to teach her what she needs to know. The girl needs you. And you will instruct her in the ways I instructed you. The chain, will never be broken…”

Eyes jerking open, Mrysti looked up to see the young tattooed Cornelia looking at her. Wide eyes and fear at having interrupted something; her hand was on the cell threshold. Holding the door frame as she peered inside. Standing resolute, Mrysti stood to her full height and looked down. Placing her hands on her hips, Mrysti gave the girl a scrutinizing gaze.

“So….Master, have you decided?” The way she asked the question, Cornelia was still not completely sold on the idea. Mrysti having offered to teach and mentor the other woman at a moment of weakness. Looking past her, Mrysti narrowed her eyes. Outside, the hustle and bustle of activity. Insignificant gnats of individuals who lived their daily lives inside the confines of the tiny space. Outside of that, even further; the elusive forces already at work. Plotting, scheming to bring about the end of Mrysti. She felt it all. Knew it all. And looked down at Cornelia angrily.

“Yes. The decision is made.” Saying nothing more she stepped past Cornelia. The younger woman quick on her heels.

“And?!?!”

The way it was asked and the tone; it made Mrysti turn sharply. The shadow closed in before she did. Mrysti closing in and looming over the new apprentice.

“From this day forward…you will cease questioning me. Trust in me, I have made my decision and we will execute according to my design…” Mrysti placed her hands on her hips and glared. Watching in failure as the first of many lessons came to pass. And watching in disappointment as Cornelia failed.

“Y-yes, Master…I’m sorry for questioning you.” Cornelia bowed her head in shame. Mrysti quickly reached out, slapping the woman hard across the face. In shock, Cornelia looked up. Rubbing the cheek; gazing at her Master in confusion.

“You failed. Listen to me…questioning is not a bad thing, Cornelia. I tell you this, unlike my own Master never told me. To give you a sense of self, more than I ever had.” Reaching down, Mrysti grasped Cornelia on both shoulders and looked at the other woman intently. “You will never utter the words, ‘I’m sorry’ ever again. You are never sorry. A decision made, good or bad is still a decision. You stand by it, stand by your questioning and insight. Seek it, discover what you don’t know and insist on learning that which is elusive. Be mindful.” Releasing her Mrysti stood over her again. “Sith…do not apologize for what it is they do. That is everyone else’s problem. We…are Masters of the Force. This galaxy is ours to do with as we will. Never, be sorry for that….”

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