Chapter Text
The difference in atmospheric conditions is what he noticed most as the shuttle set down on the landing pad and prefabricated shelter used as a spaceport. Interplanetary travel, no matter the type of craft he flew in, always left him feeling cold; the vast expanse of space diminished his sense of the Force, and the mental comprehension that his entire existence depended on centimeters of durasteel remaining intact always made Illven Mor’esh uneasy. Ziost and Dromund Kaas, the planets of his birth and training, had been feverishly humid and warm; the former despite the massive glaciers and ice walls covering half of the planet, the latter’s due to the extensive jungle from which Kaas City rose.
As the shuttle descended, first from space into atmospheric orbit, and then through the atmosphere of Korriban, Illven’s ears popped. Imperial Navy Shuttle pilots weren’t trained for the slow and gradual descents that he knew as common on the more civilized worlds of his youth. The quick plunge left many in his shuttle feeling slightly queasy, but not Illven. He concentrated on the glory won in a similar landing during the last war with the Republic – when Darth Malgus and his strike team had stormed the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. He smiled at the thought; his Father had gained a well-deserved reputation as a Sith fighting on the front lines, and a greater one for his part as a member of that strike team. Illven felt his equilibrium shift and tightened his grip on the hanging support off above his left shoulder. As the repulsorlifts activated, jostling most of the shuttle’s passengers, he grimaced and waited for the tell-tale sounds of connecting landing gear on the Sith Academy spaceport’s designated landing zones.
A careful observer may have heard multiple humanoids cursing the pilots’ families and ancestors across a variety of languages. All such comments were mentioned in half-whispers, and the greater number of murmurs kept firmly within their minds. The shuttle’s cargo remained wary of one another, wary of revealing too much of themselves to their future rivals. They had all been schooled well by their Masters before their journey here, to the homeworld of the Sith – show no weakness, for only the strong survive Korriban to become Sith. The shuttle door opened with a hiss of escaping compressed and recycled oxygen and the metallic clang as the door was caught in its hydraulic locks. The passengers quickly unloaded themselves, eager to begin proving themselves worthy to advance beyond the world of the Sith Acolyte and join the Sith Order in full. Illven waited, watching his competitors, and, once they had all mostly filed out, he reached overhead to recover the single possession he had brought with him: his own war blade, slightly dulled from years of training under the best Sith bladesmasters his Father could find. He fastened the harness and sheath around his torso, secured the weapon on his back and moved to the shuttle’s entrance.
He descended deliberately from the craft, refusing to feel hurried even as his fellow passengers ran forward to the various crowds of newly arrived acolytes forming around the robed Overseers and Instructors sent from the Academy. The dry heat from Korriban’s desert, mountainous landscape settled into his flesh, and the sunlight caused his crimson skin to shine. Even more than the heat, Illven was lost in the rapture of the Force on Korriban, and momentarily paused once he’d completed his descent of the boarding ramp. Where Ziost and Dromund Kaas had teemed with the Force for all of the vegetation and life that lived on them, and space had been only bearable due to the presence of other life-forms in that otherwise barren expanse, Korriban radiated the Force more strongly than its sun radiated its light upon the unforgiving world. He embraced the light’s burgeoning caress and smirked as he moved more fully into Korriban’s brutally dessicated environment. “Yes”, Illven thought, “I was born to thrive here. I was born to be a Sith.”
He determined that he would not be as sycophantic as his fellow passengers, and slowly proceeded beyond the edge of the boarding ramp. An Imperial Trooper stepped up beside him, turned, and gave a short, formal, and very militaristic bow. “My Lord, please move away from the shuttle. It’s due to return to the fleet shortly and we need to complete the final checks.” The impersonal, electronic voice stated with slight exasperation. Illven spared a glance for the trooper before moving towards the spaceport’s reception bay.
He looked again at the acolytes running forward and clumping themselves around the various overseers. He laughed under his breath, shook his head, his facial tendrils briefly waving as he did so. “Eager to die, aren’t they? Half of them won’t even make it to the Academy. The other half won’t survive much longer.” He was intercepted along his route by another Imperial trooper, who redirected him to a shaded spot to the left of the entrance; there an Overseer stood quite alone despite the efforts of a few brave hopefuls to fall under his tutelage. Illven took the redirection well and walked forward confident with his back straight.
The overseer was not dressed in the typical robes of an Overseer or Instructor at the Academy. He wore the shoulder-plated armor of a battle-hardened Sith, and the lightsaber on his belt looked well-used. Illven’s mouth began to move even before he reached the Overseer, but the Overseer’s voice drowned out any initial comments he could’ve made.
“At last you’ve arrived. Good, good. There’s much to do, and every moment we have must be used wisely. Time from now on is critically important, Acolyte.” He was an older man, with dark skin only further darkened by Korriban’s sun, and creases set firmly at the corners of his mouth, and low on his brow. His black, curled hair was thoroughly flecked with clumps of grey and white hair, more especially towards the lower edges. But it was his eyes that convinced Illven of his knowledge and experience in the dark side of the Force. Those clear eyes were tinged with the amber of one long steeped in the practices of the Sith Order.
He continued speaking without pausing, not even waiting to breathe. “I am Overseer Tremel. For decades I’ve administered and overseen the trials that prove who is and who is not worthy to join the Sith Order. The trials are to weed out the weak. Those who face them either survive and become Sith or die.” Tremel raised a hand to prevent the young acolyte in front of him from speaking. “I know who you are, young Illven Mor’esh. The only son to a decorated Sith – your arrival here has been anticipated for quite some time. Yet you are here ahead of schedule; I am responsible for this. I expect you to obey. You face your trials, you serve me while you’re here, and I will make you into the most powerful Sith to have been trained on Korriban.
“There are many acolytes here at the Academy who aspire to become apprenticed to Sith Lords. More dangerous to you than the trials I will set for you are these acolytes. One of them is named Vemrin. He’s your enemy, and he will try to kill you. We must prepare you to deal with these threats.”
“Can he be reasoned with?” Illven interrupted.
“There are no deals to make with a…creature like Vemrin. We must strengthen your bond with the Force to match his. Give me that blade you’re carrying.” Tremel held out his hand, and Illven reluctantly unsheathed his blade and handed it over to the Sith before him. Tremel took a few steps back and swung the blade experimentally, then tossed it back to Illven. He stretched his hand out to the side and pulled a separate blade from a weapons rack to his hand with the Force. He took a moment to adjust to the feel of it in his hand, glanced at the acolyte, and said simply, “Defend yourself,” before bringing his newly acquired weapon down towards Illven with an overhead slash.
Illven blocked the first and second attacks by instinct rather than intentional defense as his stunned mind briefly struggled to catch up to the sudden assault. By the third offensive stroke, however, he was mentally engaged, and Tremel’s fourth attack gave way to a counterstrike that stopped just short of injuring the Overseer when Tremel blasted Illven backwards with the Force. Illven landed roughly, and his saber rolled out of his grasp when his back hit the far wall.
Tremel called the dropped weapon to his hand. “Get up acolyte. I am impressed. Few could have turned that around as quickly as you did.” Tremel said as he turned his gaze onto Illven’s saber, and examined it once again. “This practice blade you brought with you: it is insufficient. The blade of a lesser acolyte, perhaps. For you a more dominating blade is required. Your first trial is this: Ajunta Pall, an ancient Sith Lord who conquered Korriban and took command of all the Sith upon it, was a bladesmaster. His subjects created a tomb and placed many of his personal weapons in armories within the tomb itself. Go into his tomb, find the armory, and obtain one of his old war blades for yourself. Once you have your new weapon, leave your old blade behind; you will have no use for it after today.
“I must warn you, the tomb is thick with danger – K’lor slugs, one of Korriban’s deadly and savage creatures, infest much of the tomb. Be speedy Acolyte but be careful. This tomb has been the end of many an Acolyte. Once you’ve acquired the warblade, spend some time bloodying it. Get used to the feel of it before you enter the rest of the Academy. Then come to me in my chambers. The Academy is on the far side of his tomb; I expect I shall see you there shortly.” Tremel finished.