The tale of Darth Bane, the greatest of the Sith Lords
"Those who use the dark side are also bound to serve it. To understand this is to understand the underlying philosophy of the Sith. The dark side offers power for power's sake. You must crave it. Covet it. You must seek power above all else, with no reservation or hesitation. The Force will change you. It will transform you. Some fear this change. The teachings of the Jedi are focused on fighting and controlling this transformation. That is why those who serve the light are limited in what they accomplish."
Dessel looked up from the book he was reading and took in the person who had spoken to him. He was a male Sith pureblood. An oddity. The tentacles on his chin quivered as he spoke again. “You will do so, my lord?” Dessel nodded absently at the Sith and looked back down at the book. The Sith departed.
“My lord?” Dessel looked up again, vaguely irritated. It was a Twi’lek.
“Yes?” Dessel frowned.
“Lord Kaan would like to see you.”
“Tell him i’m busy.” He looked back down.
“No, my lord. He would like to see you now.”
“He can wait.”
“No, my lord. To the contrary I have express commandment.”
“Fine. Bring him in.” Dessel said, annoyed.
“No, my lord. He would like to see you in his quarters.”
Dessel stood up quickly, and his chair rocketed back from the force of it. The Twi'lek stepped back. “You may leave,” Dessel said. The Twi’lek hesitantly departed. Dessel waited, them stalked out of the room.
“Welcome, my brother,” Lord Kaan intoned when Dessel arrived.
“Brother,” Dessel said. He did not bow, for Lord Kaan’s code prohibited it. In Kaan’s own putrid words, which Dessel had heard more times than he could care to remember “All are equal in the Brotherhood of Darkness.” Lord Kaan had chosen a false egalitarianism instead of a strong central rule. That was not the way of the Force.
“Brother,” Lord Kaan said carefully. “As you know, our grip is slipping. We have grown weaker. The Republic is becoming more wary of us. We must act.”
“And so we shall, I have arranged a series of events to counteract the very thing you speak of,” said Dessel. “Have you anything more to say?”
“No, but I would like to see this plan of yours take action.”
“It shall, Brother.” And he left.
Back in his quarters, Dessel considered what Kaan had said. It was what he had been
thinking about for many years. But his plan was different than Lord Kaan expected. He would create a new Sith order. One true to the ways of the Force. He sat down at his table and snatched up his book. It would help him with what he had to do.
In the months that followed, Kaan and his followers prepared for a final battle with the Republic. Hoth and the Army of Light had been weakening the Brotherhood in the past decades. It was the time to act. Though Dessel knew they could not win this battle, he did not tell the Dark Lord. He knew what he would do now. Now his own battle was beginning.
"True power can come only to those who embrace the transformation. There can be no compromise. This is the greatest strength of the Sith: it culls the weak from our order. Yet this rivalry can also be our greatest weakness.”
Reva looked up at his Master with awe. Zhar Lestin was waving his lightsaber around with such ease, parrying the bolts shot from the training orb. He then looked at Reva. "You try," he said. Reva unsheathed his own lightsaber and the orb turned to him. It shot a bolt and Reva felt a brief sharp feeling in his chest where it had hit him. He had now learned the lesson of pain. “Close your eyes, boy,” He heard his Master say. “Open yourself to the living Force.” Reva tried, but could not. His Master put a helmet on him. It completely blocked his vision.
“But, I can’t see!” Reva protested.
“Use the Force.” Reva again tried, and he felt more that saw the bolts from the orb. His lightsaber became a part of him. It cut through the air, and he felt the orb break, and his Master gasp in surprise. The mask came off his head and he stared at the orb smoking of the ground.
“We are done for the day, young Padawan,” his Master said hesitantly, and walked out of the room.
Reva stayed a while after his master left and wondered what had happened while he was under that mask. After a time, he left.
“Mercy, compassion, loyalty: all these things will prevent you from claiming what is rightfully yours. Those who follow the dark side must cast aside these conceits. Those who do not—those who try to walk the path of moderation—will fail, dragged down by their own weakness. Those who accept the power of the dark side must also accept the challenge of holding on to it. By its very nature the dark side invites rivalry and strife.”
Dessel found himself once again walking slowly to Lord Kaan's quarters. They had been preparing for the invasion for months, and Kaan had called him in for innumerable discussion sessions in that time. It had grown truly tiring and grating to Dessel's mind.
"Welcome," Lord Kaan said as Dessel arrived.
"Yes," Dessel said.
"I have decided to launch a full assault on Bormea immediately. Our army will embark immediately. You will stay. I will stay."
"Yes, brother." Dessel said, knowing that Kaan was being impatient. Bormea was at the heart of the Republic, and they did not have enough power to take it at that time. But he did not mention it. He left.
“All ships ready for takeoff.” Cried an electronic voice that rang throughout the hangar.
“Alright,” said Lord Kaan over the intercom. “All ships cleared to embark.” At that, the two-hundred and twenty vessels poured out into space, then, a moment later, they one by one jumped into hyperspace.
“Hello, Kaan,” Dessel said from behind him.
“Hello, brother!” Kaan replied.
“You made a mistake.”
“Your forces will lose at Bormea.”
“Yes brother. You advanced to far too soon.” To that Kaan did not reply immediately. He simply turned, then, just before he left, he said, “If what you say is true, the survivors will help us destroy the Army of Light on Ruusan. We will both be there.” Dessel sighed. None of them knew their place. Neither Lord Kaan nor his lackeys. An attack on Ruusan would be a last resort. A petty bite at the Republic. But his plan would have to execute there.