Sarkell - Curiosities

[Reddnn]

Sarkell knelt in front of the altar she’d put together where the source of a wafting incense burner centered her. The tug of the energies flowing around her like spools of thread begged to be used, bent and made to serve. Sarkell relented, though. She was not here to focus upon it’s potential, but rather to reflect upon the experiences that had brought her to this moment.

It had been a couple weeks now since her arrival, and her stumbling upon those she now surrounded herself by. It was a sudden, terrifying shift - to go from being a creature of discipline and isolation, to free and social. With how quickly she was growing into her own, it had become abundantly clear that Mother had been purposefully holding her back. Suppressing her true potential.

Sarkell pushed those memories of another aside, for this was not the time for those memories to cloud her perspective. The events of the last few days had certainly shifted how she would have to approach the future. Sith splintered between the Revan loyalists, and Malak’s followers - she cared little for either philosophy. What kept her here now, was the simple fact that she wanted to stay. It was odd, becoming so quickly attached to these people while simultaneously expecting them to morph into her next set of captors. Perhaps they already had, in a way. Yet… this time, she did not wish to run. Perhaps an aspect of her freedom to consider - that freedom is not detachment from all bonds, but rather the ability to choose that which binds you. This was her own choice, now. To stay and defend that which she had begun to realize felt right.

A shift in the flow of the incense, and she let her thoughts be carried away along with the smoke. Each day, she found herself becoming more accustomed to the roiling sensations within her chest, and the less she pushed them back down. Some of them felt strangely alien, yet familiar - like dreaming of a face you did not quite recognize, but you got the sense you knew them. It was… comforting. To gradually be discovering she was not a broken, black hole of emotional void. She let herself be carried along this river of genuine feeling, a spreading through her chest. There were familiar rapids, sharp jutting rocks of pain and fear - but the warmer, liquid sensations she flowed upon were just as real. The rush of sensations brought a small tug at her lips.

She smiled.

[Reddnn]

Pragmatic. Determined. A creature of convenience.

All of these were true, even when they came from differing individuals who only knew carefully crafted masks. Sarkell only veiled her face when it was required - for battle, or other reasons. Her face was another tool to employed by her body to be used, one so effective that it would be a waste to hide it.

At the time of taking them, Sarkell’s tattoos represented her sight. A perception of the world regardless of the limitations placed on the distance of that knowledge. A marred vision - tainted by the things she witnessed, or read in her studies.
Now, perhaps their meaning had shifted. A phrase uttered to her early into her newfound freedom had certainly stuck with her. They were no longer a representation, but a lens to view things from a new, free perspective.

Situations had grown complicated, and as a result her studies had slowed - her teachers busied by their own machinations and emotional struggle. A nagging feeling in the back of her head reminded her that she came here for progression, and if such progression found itself halting it would be in her best interest to find new ground.

Perhaps these were the attachments she’d been warned against. The ones that would latch upon ones limbs and drag to an untimely and undesired end. Sarkell was not valiant, heroic, or noble. She did not hold great ideals of changing the Galaxy and molding it into a shape befitting of a new, great Empire. If such a thing benefitted her desires - she’d help usher it along - however it was not her own goal.

Yet, here she remained. Living amongst those who held to such dreams, learning from them, and growing fond. She had not lied when she had said she stayed in large part to her dislike of Malak’s attempted murder of these people. They were good to her. Useful. To throw away such now would be a waste - certainly when she could see the potential for a flourishing among them.

There was also a softer spot, a slowly growing wound within the links of chain she’d thread together to keep herself safe. It frightened her, yet brought her such calm. She could turn away from it - there was plenty of time to do such - and yet, Sarkell did not want to. Perhaps this was one of such weaknesses that Mother had attempted to remove from her. Perhaps this was a way for Sarkell to spite Mother. Or perhaps, this was simply something Sarkell wanted for her own. It was a choice she alone could make, and to determine such was a testament to her freedom.

Though, she saw similar leading down a path to destruction among the others. Bricks from their carefully constructed tower shedding off with each injured word and passionate action. Eventually it would collapse, because they did not appear to be willing to accept such as a possibility in the first place. To be aware of a path to self destruction is the first means to avoid it, naturally. Sarkell had her lenses, however. She could remain impartial, even amongst her own body and mind. Perhaps a singular blessing from the torture of her training, though it made her shudder to think this was part of Mother’s plans for her.

For now, she would remain vigilant of both herself and the others. She had been given a task to complete after all - and Sarkell worked best with a clear objective in mind. Now was the time to push for progression to return.

[Reddnn]

Endure.

Things had not gone as she’d have hoped them to. Sarkell had done things as she’d been bid to, though she’d made mistakes. She was no puppet master, yet somehow, it had become expected of her. The truth was unclear and muddled behind layers, months, and years of lies and omissions that far preceded her. All she wanted to do was learn, follow the path she sought.

If she truly thought herself above these people, why would she stay? Risk her own life to ensure their survival? She could just as easily leave. Find a new home, new teachers. She knew how to, now. Perhaps some of them wanted her to leave. It was an ache in her chest, a wound that pulled at it’s own edges and tried to gape.

Nothing. Nothing. You are nothing.

Voices from the present and past. Melding together to become a beast that breathed hot in her ears, who’s drool dripped down the back of her neck and who’s weight crushed her spine.

You don’t need us.

She didn’t. Sarkell didn’t need anyone, not if she was nothing. Razor sharp teeth grazed her ear, the whispers of many in one. His voice. Her voice. Her voice.

You would do well to remember your place, child. You are nothing.

Reduced to the small, starving child who hid in the vents. Listening to the wails of the mad, of the angry. The snap of metal breaking bone as beatings echoed through the maze of metal she sought safety in.

Reduced to the girl who lay strapped to a chair, lightning coursing through her veins as she desperately gasped for a breath that never came. Staring into those eyes that held such hate and disdain - yet somehow also held that maternal softness she craved so dearly.

Reduced.

Endure.

Endure again.

[Reddnn]

It was an empty space. A room, unlit by any source. Sarkell’s eyes were used to the dark, and she was well aware that she was in this place alone.

Alone.

She’s not felt like this for some time. The month of freedom from this place had been a blessing she was unsure of how to accept. She’d feared it’s return, however. She’d been right. It was inevitable.

The voices spun around her like ghostly wisps. Whispers that batted at her ears as if they were sharp winds. Biting cold.

Alone. Nothing. Your fault. Worthless.

She lost time. How long she had sat there, enduring the verbal lashing. Believing in what they said. How could she not? She had nothing to show for her efforts.

What kind of student ran from her teacher?

What kind of student talked back?

What kind of student asked the wrong questions?

Sarkell felt that familiar, sickly heat on the back of her neck. That heavy, hungry beast that threatened to devour her. It offered her everything, yet took everything in return. It’s weight was oppressive, it’s maw gaping to consume her.

Don’t listen to them.

A new voice. Yet, still familiar. It was firm. Passionate. Angry, though not at Sarkell. She felt her heart rise into her throat, pounding. The cacophony of whispers that bit at her ears hissed at this new intruder. Threatened.

My voice. Think of mine.

No. You are nothing. You don’t need any of them. You will always be beneath them.

That pressure on her back increased, threatening to crush her spine. She gasped, desperately clinging to that one solitary, stalwart voice.

You are not nobody. You don’t need them. Your place is where you want it to be.

Sarkell pushed the beast looming over her away. She would not let it take her. She could not, for if it did she would be truly lost. Blinking through the smog, the lack of light she saw it. The ever so slight shimmer of a metallic sheen. She crawled for it, grasped it between her hands greedily. A chain. The end of a chain.

Behind her, the beast growled in disgust, in frustration. The realization came to her now, this was not simply a chain. It was a leash.

Hope.

[Reddnn]

Lord Anantasari’s Library

Lifting her hands from the desk, Sarkell rubbed at her sore eyes. She’d been focusing hard, perhaps for too long. It had been some time since she’d studied a language - though it certainly was not her first attempt to do so. Languages were pleasant to learn. They had strict rules, guidelines. They made logical sense - and that pleased her. However, no language she’d studied before left a shiver that skittered up Sarkell’s spine after each session.

ur-Kittât

The Old Tongue. Sith. A runic language. The package that the Lord-Overseer had sent to Sarkell for her studies had proved bountiful. A proper primer for the language was likely a far more rare find, so she had to settle for piecing things together from the ancient texts that had been provided to her, and the little she knew from Mother.

Determining the rules of a language were the first step, given her lack of a primer. It had taken a fair amount of time, but she felt confident that she’d broken down it’s written form. 37 total glyphs; 6 vowels, 2 diphthongs, 17 basic consonants, and 12 consonant clusters. The language was beautiful, in it’s own way. The vertical strokes into barbs and hooks that constructed much of the writing were artistically pleasing.

Yet, it was odd in a way. As if the words did not wish to be deciphered. As if they had a will of their own. However, they spoke to Sarkell in some small way. It would take her a great deal of time to fully be able to understand this ancient tongue, but perhaps her time with Mother had granted her in some small way a glimpse into the secrets of ur-Kittât.

At least, that was her best guess as to why some of these strange runes seem to almost whisper to her.

Sarkell ran fingertips over the page, from left to right, following the flow of the runes, punctuating the diacritics with soft taps. Even her adoration of learning could not prevent the creeping dread as memories came to her like ichorous bubbles. The sight of that plaque in Mother’s personal study. She saw these glyphs there, their beautiful, horrid curves and lines.

Her finger paused on a word.

Woyunoks

”Little one.”

One of the few she knew, and recognized. The name that Mother had called Sarkell, with that cold, foreign, yet always maternal tone. She could practically feel the embrace of Mother wrapping herself around her - burning her with that ever electrified touch.

She pushed herself up and away from the table, the chair spilling out onto the floor behind her. The clatter of wood on stone sounded like thunder in her ears, heat and blood rushing in a start to her head, her body swearing in all it’s instinctive reactions that she was in danger.

Nobody was there. She remained perfectly alone. With heavy breaths, Sarkell pressed a fist to her chest and felt the heavy pounding of her hearts. Something had truly frightened her, though the cause of which remained… unknown. The book she’d been looking through remained open on the table. Completely still. Non-threatening.

She closed it with a flick of her hand, and turned to right the chair she’d knocked over. The moment she turned her back, that prickle on the back of her neck turned to a sharp sting, and she spun back.

The book remained closed.

Perhaps she was tired. She’d been studying for hours, after all. A break, perhaps a walk along the beach and she could come back to the books tomorrow, with a fresh mind.

She gathered her things, ensuring she did not forget a single portion of Xo’s lent package of materials, and left.

[Reddnn]

Always a little cruel, that sweet-smelling smoke.

Fog.

There was a persistent fog - a haze - that layered over top of Sarkell’s memories. She often tried to meditate on them, to blow the cloud that lingered and obscured them aside. They did not cover everything, but it was moments like these that she grew increasingly frustrated with it.

She sat within an arc of books, papers, and other materials that were part of the package the Overseer had lent her. She’d added her own notes to it as she studied, having elected to splurge on some classical ink and paper. The scratching sound of each stroke of the nib was pleasing. Besides, there was no keyboard of the language she was studying.

She’d been learning how to guide the ink pen along the page, creating those horrid, beautiful barbs that grew from each rune. They reminded her in some small way of cranial horns, extensions of the skull - of the bone underneath the skin. There were aspects of many of the runes and words that were just barely familiar to her, though that rolling smoke in the back of her mind obscured any glimpse she felt she might catch. She reached to the ink well she’d acquired to refill the nib.

Plop.

As she brought the pen overtop the paper, a droplet fell gracefully onto the center of the page. Sarkell stared at it, a strange wonderment overtaking her as the ink spread from it’s center. Like that ever shifting fog inside her mind, it formed into vague shapes, memories, ideas, thoughts.

Sarkell blinked, and it was but a singular droplet once more, slowly soaking into the paper. She shook her head lightly, squeezing her eyes shut. They felt dry, like she’d gone a while without blinking. How long had she been staring at the ink?

Within the void behind her eyelids, the shifting behind her began once more. The weight, that heavy presence that brought a shiver up her spine. Her consciousness reached to her side, and found that smooth, cold metal. In a swift motion, she grasped and pulled the chain taught - the weight lifting and giving way.

I am in control now. You will obey me.

A rumble within her mind and chest as the beast lay still, biding it’s time. It would try again, and again, but Sarkell was not about to let the result change. Even as the beast grew, her control would grow. It’s muzzle would remain.

The fog began to roll in, consuming her vision. Opening her eyes, the silvery wisps recoiled gently like a breath from the edges of her sight. Taking a small rag, she dabbed the remaining dampness of the ink blot away.

[Reddnn]

Truth.

Sarkell had made a discovery.

Despite the limitations of the materials she was working with and the seeming stubborn nature of ur-Kittât, Sarkell had begun to piece together words she’d previously not known. She’d become familiar with words she’d heard Mother speak before, like Woyunoks, Jidai, and Qotsisajak. Though her known vocabulary had certainly extended, especially as she’d begun to learn how much of the language frequently put agglutination to use. The derivative suffixes that could result in whole phrases becoming singular words. Perhaps the reason so much of the language felt alive, it’s capability to morph seemingly limitless.

This came with the discovery that had been keeping her awake, however.

Sar.

The root of the word Saarai. Truth.

Surely a coincidence, Sarkell had thought. She’d always known her name was not traditional Zabraki, as her fluency with the language had proved. Sarkell was simply the name she’d been given on Dathomir by the wardens. Right? Yet, she could not recall a single instance of the wardens calling her Sarkell.

She was not sure, now. The fog that clouded her memories was thick in the portions before Mother took her. Feelings, both physical and emotional were the majority that remained, broken up by experiences that left her trembling.

Truth

What truth? It nagged at her gut. Right, but wrong. There was something in her that called to this word, though it was unfinished. She would learn what the truth of her name was. There was power in ur-Kittât, this was clear. The incantations that Mother had performed were so obviously the Old Tongue.

Sarkell chewed on her lip, drawing a sliver of blood as her canine pricked the skin.

People had begun recognizing her newfound confidence, which had brought her a sense of pride. Lhevra had said she held herself differently. Fears she’d held of expressing her desires to Skyva had faded. Her capability in the Force had grown to an extent that she could only have dreamed of, and it was far from complete.

Yet, a single word brought her such terror.

Mother was still out there. Sarkell had no doubt of this. Recalling her lessons with her new Master, Sarkell knew what must be done. Her terror would continue to grip at her until she proved to herself that she had the power to stop what brought her that pit of dread within her.

[Reddnn]

Pressure.

That was the first feeling. Then raw, freezing terror that cascaded down Sarkell’s neck and spine that send her ridged. There was only one thing, one person that made her feel like that.

”Saraaiderriphan.”

Mother had arrived, had found her. The panic that had stricken the moment the realization hit her had been far worse than she could have imagined. The sheer weight on her mind felt like her very existence was being crushed beneath a heavy piston. Not only was she on Viscara, she was angry.

She’d grown bold in her time on Viscara. Sarkell had called her a liar, told her to shut up. Things she could never have imagined she’d ever say to the woman who raised her. It was all she could do to shut out the memory of the immense pain in her head and chest, the sticky damp heat of blood running from her eyes and ears.

There was a tomb Mother had locked herself within, and she was drawing power from it. How had she known? Was it the tomb she was here for, or Sarkell? Either way, she was far too powerful for them to attack without a proper plan, and had guarded herself with a number of traps including security droids.

“How I punished you before will be NOTHING compared to this!”

Lord Anantasari had directed her to a couple of volumes within her library specifically on the hidden power of Sith Tombs, and their potential while Sarkell waited for her master’s return. It had been exhausting every moment she was on Viscara, desperately trying to keep her limited mental barriers up while taking breaks to drain what energy she could from the various wildlife.

She could have very easily become unraveled the moment Mother’s voice reached into her and found purchase. Her sleep had suffered, even from within the safety of her home on Mon Cala, and the bags that had begun to form were only growing deeper by the day.

Until she could find a way to grip her fear of this woman, she clung to the only thing that remained stalwart. The promise of a future with the means to control and bend as she deigned.

”You’ll kill her.”

[Reddnn]

”We can only depend on eachother.”

Something had changed recently, shifted in a way that had been subtle enough for it to go mostly unnoticed. Yet as Sarkell stared up at the metal plates of the ceiling, the realization of this difference came to her.

It was almost like an electric current, a vibrating hum so slight that she only noticed it when she paused to listen and feel. For each exhale of breath, she could almost feel the air leave her chest, only to fill once more. It was an odd sensation, a duality of feeling. For a time, she let herself sink into it. Two sets of breath, three vessels pumping life through veins.

When had this started? She could not recall. With a shifting beside her, the trance was broken as she opened her eyes. She could make out in the lack of light the shape of her, still and content. Still asleep, just having turned over.

Sarkell had changed quite a lot. The self she’d known a matter of months ago would have been disgusted, and scorned her. The self she’d own then did not know the truth, however. Of all the lies she’d been fed and gladly swallowed like an infant bird. The irony of her name was not lost on her, and it almost felt like a triumph to take it, and make it her own.

Whatever this new… change was. It was hers. Theirs. It was not something that could be stolen away. Despite the dangers present in her waking life, this was something that could not be severed so easily.

[Reddnn]

Just like that?

Mother was dead.

Or rather, Hadzuska was dead. When she’d spoken her true name the shadows had formed around the breath of her words. Sarkell had known that the words of the old tongue had power to them, but to see it take physical form had been unexpected. Even then, such a powerful being - twice as ’dense’ as Xo, had been felled by mere blaster fire. She had not even tried to stop it.

It did not feel like a victory. There was no lingering presence in the Force when she’d died. An empty husk of a body, completely void of any signs of former life. Perhaps this was a unique aspect to the true Sith, or perhaps something had consumed her.

She had planned to consume me.

How could consuming Sarkell - whatever that meant - have given her the truth of the darkness? Sarkell knew there was something more, something strange. Yet for all the questions and opportunities to study what remained; she felt none of the excitement of discovery as she had thought she would. She felt sorrow. Loss. Grief.

She’d not gotten to take her revenge on Mother. She’d not gotten to show her how much stronger Sarkell had gotten. Not how much more of a Sith she’d become, and how she was going to tear Mother apart piece by piece - make her suffer tenfold for all she’d suffered.

She had not gotten to say goodbye.

Why did her hearts hurt so deeply when Mother’s body had been flung backwards, and crumped to the floor? Sarkell had lept forth in pure desperation, an emotion that had come from the absolute carnal depths, nearly as deep as her fear that sought survival. A rawness now cut at her, as if a piece had been stripped away and she was missing an organ she’d never realized she had owned.

”Do not hide from it. Confront your emotions.”

Sarkell pulled from her robe the broken and malformed kyber that had fallen from Mother’s saber. It was twisted and wrong, but it was also the closest thing she had left of the woman who raised her other than a cold, lifeless body.

Curling herself around the crystal, holding it to her chest - she wept.

[Reddnn]

Mother,

I am writing this letter at the suggestion of others, though you would likely scorn me for listening to voices other than your own.

I am unsure how exactly to format this, given I know you will never read it. So for perhaps just this once, I will forgo perfection and instead attempt to spill my thoughts and feelings into writing, which will result in a smattering of grammatical errors in likelihood.

I miss you. I did not think I would, as I did not when I first ran. I relished every moment of freedom away from your influence and savored the experienced you had stolen from me. I grew to hate you with every fiber of my being, fantasized about dragging you back to the training - no, torture - room on your ship. How I would strap you down to that table, and how I would make you scream like you made me. No - worse than how I once did.

I fear you. I still do. I probably will never stop fearing you. Yet I would have and will take any chance I can to confront the terror you bring me. You wished to consume me, and learn the truth of the darkness. Perhaps you could have - but you were weak. You underestimated my will, regardless of how you thought you had broken me. You wanted to make me into something powerful, and then take that power for yourself. I understand this now. Yet you made a mistake - you neglected to realize that you are not the only one who will consume the truth. You made me into what I am now, and for that I thank you.

Despite all you did to me - you are my Mother. You led me to the path of a Sith, a new, truer kind. It is not love I feel for you, but you were more than a teacher. You were my existence for a very long time. I have my doubts that you are truly gone, and I will likely come across you again. You will haunt me even when I do eventually extinguish you from existence - but that haunting is what gives me my power.

I will not forget you, nor will I ever be you. I will surpass everything you have been and ever will be.

Your daughter,

Saaraiderriphan

Standing on the shoreline of the lake, Sarkell clutched the paper in her hands. Her puffy eyes stung with the chill of the brisk wind. As the words she’d read out were lost to the air, she began tearing the page, crumpling it into smaller pieces.

Sarkell ate every single shred.

[Reddnn]

It had been some number of months of reprieve from the taunting voice of Mother, from others. Sarkell had come to enjoy the silence of her mind, the complete control she had over her consciousness.

Naturally of course, this couldn’t last.

After returning to her actual bed, she’d slept well into the day following her mission to Korriban. She’d not heard word of any further injuries from Teth or Andrala - so she took the lack of news as a positive. She likely would have preferred the silence of this alone time, and spent it working on her Kittât Primer, though she felt his gaze over her shoulder.

”Your living quarters are so… paltry.”

The seemingly sentient hologram of Darth Kulgrich had been hovering about behind Sarkell from where she sat at her writing desk, her recently re-attached left arm resting in a sling.

“There are better things to expend my resources on than pointless posturing of my personal space.” She’d retort, rather blandly. The past few hours had seen moments of what -would- have been blissful silence with similar judgmental remarks as the Hologram produced itself at it’s own will.

”Yet you find the time to tend to… flora, of all things. Where are your slaves for such menial tasks?” Kulgrich muttered, indignation clear as day.

Sarkell rolled her eyes as she pulled back from her keyboard, turning to face the Darth. ”I prefer not to rely on slaves for things I would prefer not to perish under an unskilled hand.” While it was not the entire truth - it was not a lie either. Sarkell refused to entertain the idea of owning slaves, but this Darth was from a much older time, and getting into a pointless argument over morality they did not share was only a waste of effort.

As she turned however, she jostled her slung arm, and winced as a shooting pain ran through her nervous system.

”There are ways to fix that in a more swift manner. They follow along with the request you initially made upon our bargain.”

With a mildly irritated grumble, Sarkell stood and stepped to face the Hologram, it’s ever so slight red glow washing over her pallid skin. ”Then what are you waiting for? Tell me.”

What followed was a distortion of time within Sarkell’s memories. She recalled every second of it, though some of it felt more like old memories, and others felt like a vision of the future. Kulgrich’s tutelage did not come without it’s fair share of sweat, blood, and pain - but the results were more than satisfactory for what Sarkell had endured.

She held her left arm in front of herself now, blood from a sacrificial Nerf coating it’s fingertips, but where the crimson ran free she could see the dark, void-filled veins beneath the skin. It did not hurt as it had previous, though she had been assured the soreness would remain for a time.

The part that spoke to her, and fascinated her the most was the near-constant tingling at it’s fingertips, a sense for the waves of Force around it. Previously, this was a sensation she could only grasp when entering a meditative trance. Now, she was fully awake and conscious, and she could feel the connection to the power at her fingertips.

It was intoxicating.