Zartilda's Journal (And Assorted Tales)

[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.