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ladykfI wasn't expecting this particular quote to canonically come up for the Sith Inquisitor, but it's perfect for Saare, and demanded a little blurb. Tumblr post has the audio.
She was barely nine standard years when they came. Only one was a lord, leading an apprentice and some acolytes - all of them dead now, she’d made sure of that - invading Coruscant, eight years before the Sacking. Perhaps doing a bit of reconnaissance, she’d never cared to ask; by the time she was in a position anyone might have answered, she no longer thought it important.
By then, they had made her their own. Sith. She had come from Jedi, been raised Jedi, but she was strong in the Force and in the Empire you became Sith or were killed before you could become a threat. Little Saare chose early on that she would live, and Saare-ha was all the more adamant about her survival. They had enslaved her, openly at first and then under the subtler mantle of apprentice - still, she had a master. She lived at the whim of another. A new title, but still a slave.
With Zash’s death, she was a lord by rights. Lord Saare-ha. It had the ring of irony to it, but more importantly it was a little more freedom. Particularly if she could get Thanaton to leave her be.
Thanaton would have been her new master, she supposed. Amongst Sith, all were slaves to one higher. All had a leash held tight by the order, by expectations and woe to you if you stepped out of line. They had made her Sith, yes. As much as she loathed it, it was even clear in her appearance. Part of her belonged to them, in ways that were hard to explain even to herself.
She hated it, and she would never forgive them for it.
Saare-ha was tied in contradictions - she was and was not Sith. She had been but could never again be Jedi. She was the direct descendent of a long line of accomplished Jedi Masters and the lone recognized heir of an ancient Sith lord who had been a peer of the likes of Tulak Hord. So much history weighed on slim shoulders, threatened her with the ominous whispers of destiny and fate, and all she could see was another chain. Another master to enslave her.
No more.
They had tried. Her whole life, someone had always tried to define her, to tell her what she should and should not do. For the Jedi. For the Republic. For the Sith. For the Empire.
No more, I’ve had enough.
The light beckoned gently, even as the dark called seductively. She reached for them both; I am neither Jedi, nor am I Sith. I will not restrain myself to their limits.
She walked freely between the living and the dead, and would call the whole of the Force to bear. Lord Saare-ha may have been claimed by the Sith, but they would not be her masters. She would be master of her own fate, and any loyalties she gave would be gifts given freely of her own will to those worthy.
An irreverent spirit, unexpectedly wise and fiercely protective taught her how to stand on her own. A cunning youth with a sharp tongue and gentle hands taught her the worth of standing for others. A stubborn mirror of her broken past taught her that others would stand by her whether she liked it or not.
These precious few she gathered close, ties she wove of her own will, anchors in the chaotic storm of her power, reassurance against the trials she faced. For now, she was Sith, yes. But not only Sith. And she was her only master.
She was barely nine standard years when they came. Only one was a lord, leading an apprentice and some acolytes - all of them dead now, she’d made sure of that - invading Coruscant, eight years before the Sacking. Perhaps doing a bit of reconnaissance, she’d never cared to ask; by the time she was in a position anyone might have answered, she no longer thought it important.
By then, they had made her their own. Sith. She had come from Jedi, been raised Jedi, but she was strong in the Force and in the Empire you became Sith or were killed before you could become a threat. Little Saare chose early on that she would live, and Saare-ha was all the more adamant about her survival. They had enslaved her, openly at first and then under the subtler mantle of apprentice - still, she had a master. She lived at the whim of another. A new title, but still a slave.
With Zash’s death, she was a lord by rights. Lord Saare-ha. It had the ring of irony to it, but more importantly it was a little more freedom. Particularly if she could get Thanaton to leave her be.
Thanaton would have been her new master, she supposed. Amongst Sith, all were slaves to one higher. All had a leash held tight by the order, by expectations and woe to you if you stepped out of line. They had made her Sith, yes. As much as she loathed it, it was even clear in her appearance. Part of her belonged to them, in ways that were hard to explain even to herself.
She hated it, and she would never forgive them for it.
Saare-ha was tied in contradictions - she was and was not Sith. She had been but could never again be Jedi. She was the direct descendent of a long line of accomplished Jedi Masters and the lone recognized heir of an ancient Sith lord who had been a peer of the likes of Tulak Hord. So much history weighed on slim shoulders, threatened her with the ominous whispers of destiny and fate, and all she could see was another chain. Another master to enslave her.
No more.
They had tried. Her whole life, someone had always tried to define her, to tell her what she should and should not do. For the Jedi. For the Republic. For the Sith. For the Empire.
No more, I’ve had enough.
The light beckoned gently, even as the dark called seductively. She reached for them both; I am neither Jedi, nor am I Sith. I will not restrain myself to their limits.
She walked freely between the living and the dead, and would call the whole of the Force to bear. Lord Saare-ha may have been claimed by the Sith, but they would not be her masters. She would be master of her own fate, and any loyalties she gave would be gifts given freely of her own will to those worthy.
An irreverent spirit, unexpectedly wise and fiercely protective taught her how to stand on her own. A cunning youth with a sharp tongue and gentle hands taught her the worth of standing for others. A stubborn mirror of her broken past taught her that others would stand by her whether she liked it or not.
These precious few she gathered close, ties she wove of her own will, anchors in the chaotic storm of her power, reassurance against the trials she faced. For now, she was Sith, yes. But not only Sith. And she was her only master.
