Cherm



"Your heart is without hatred, but through your misery we shall make you the embodiment of power! Tsawaktyûk!"

― One of the Magistari to an imprisoned Cherm



Cherm was a Sith Pureblood male and formidable Dark Side Telekenetic who functioned as the de facto assassin of the Progressive Union's ruling body. Failing to live up to the standards of his highly traditional and reclusive Sith family on Korriban, Cherm underwent a series of experiments, torture, and Sith sorcery that turned him into a being that drew on his own deep well of misery as opposed to the more passionate emotions such as hatred that would normally fuel a Sith's power. Escaping his captors, the Magistari of the Qo Midwan, he fled into the desert, surviving an incredible trek across the planet using the Force alone. He settled temporarily at Dreshdae, functioning primarily as a pickpocket before encountering Darth Doctrous and Darth Deeskor. Deeskor took Cherm in as her apprentice, utilizing him as a deadly and stealthy assailant that she would deploy when political rivalries became overly problematic.

Terror of the Citadel
Cherm spent the early years of his life surrounded by his family; an enormous host of Purebloods, all of whom were descendents of renoun Sith Sorceresses throughout Korriban's rich and ancient history. Brothers, sisters, cousins... as far as Cherm was concerned, these labels had very little meaning. His elders had long preserved a tradition of a unified powerbase, one that served the multiple century old matriarchs of his family, the mysterious and elusive Magistari of the Qo Midwan. A location known to very few outside the family, the Citadel of the Qo Midwan was the closest thing Cherm had to a home. Far from the Sith Academy, the Citadel was a structure so truly archaic that it had been almost entirely submerged in Korriban's shifting desert sands. Every morning, Cherm would be awakened and led out of his subterranean sleeping quarters and into an enormous spiral staircase. It was here that he would join the rest of the family's young ones on their march to the surface... to the training grounds.

Emerging from the dimly lit sanctuary and into the blinding sunlight of his homeworld's scorching sun was a memory that forever cemented itself in Cherm's mind, for it was his experience day after day for over a decade. It was there, in an open courtyard surrounded by collapsing walls, that Cherm and his fellow young acolytes were trained by their older siblings, men and women who were deemed worthy of priesthood by the Matriarchs. Their training was rigorous, and their teachers were unforgiving. Weakness was quickly rooted out and destroyed - whether that meant the annihilation of their own children was utterly reliant on the endurance of each individual soul. Even for a tribe of isolated Purebloods, the level of terror that permeated the Citadel was far beyond anything one would find in Korriban's Sith Academy. Every two years or so, the Kissai of the Matriarchs and their Overseers would take a handful of students they deemed inadequate to deeper levels of their family sanctuary than Cherm ever dared to venture into. Those few who returned were unquestionably more powerful than before, but it was almost as if a part of them was missing. Cherm struggled to channel his power into combative prowess, but he always had a special attunement to the Force. When he tried to reach out to those siblings who had presumably visited the Matriarchs, it was if a black void had encroached upon their hearts.

The Trial
Be it fighting in the Inquisitor or Warrior styles or channeling his hatred through the Force, Cherm found little passion in his training. In truth, his connection to his family was stronger than most others living in the Citadel, and watching as those he cared for were sapped of their joy and desire had crushed his spirits. Fear was no longer a potent enough motivator, and he was placed in a caste destined to be sent to the Citadel's undercroft. One day, as he trained besides the rest of his family, most of his friends corrupted either in essence or in spirit, activity in the courtyard completely ceased. From the depths of the Citadel, a Matriarch arose. For the majority of those present, this was their first time encountering one of the Sith Sorceresses that led their family, and she was far from an attractive sight. She had been immersed in the darkness of the undercroft for so long that her skin was an incredibly pale red where it should have been deep and vibrant, and it barely clung to her haggard frame. Her milky white eyes were sheltered by an ornate and ragged cloak which sat just beneath an ancient Sith headress. From beneath her robe, a long, spindly finger sporting an unkempt and dirtied fingernail pointed towards Cherm and the rest of his peers. Her entourage of Kissai quickly sprung to obey her unspoken command, working with the overseers to prepare the sparring court. The time for his test had come.

Cherm watched as the strong mercilessly put down the weak. In exemption to their loyalty to the family's leaders, all compassion for the individuals that composed said family had been driven from the victors. Relying either on a proficiency in the Force or well honed skill in lightsaber combat, the skill differencial was enormous between those who walked off of the court and those who could barely rise. When Cherm's time to fight came, he was almost immediately sent to sand-ridden obsidian floor. The grains scratched at his palms as he stood, training sword in hand, harnessing the last fragment of resillience left in his body to stand and face defeat. It was evident that his opponent intended to beat him into submission, and to all present it seemed obvious that his fate was to perish. All except one. "That's enough!" the Matriarch croaked, raising her hand to signal the conclusion of the battle. "This one is of tempered soul. We desire him." Almost as quickly as the event began, it concluded, and Cherm was escorted from the sparring court alongside the rest of his ilk; the defeated, the vanquished.

A Burden of Sorrow
The Matriarch and her servants led Cherm and eight of his young family members down the spiral staircase of the Citadel. Below his living quarters, below the torture halls where punishment had often been dealt, and further still. As their distance from the surface grew, so did their fear, and so did a sense of darkness the children had never encountered previously. They had reached the Undercroft. It was here, much to Cherm's surprise, that he parted with the others. The Kissai split from the sole Matriarch, leading the group away and leaving him alone with the ancient sorceress. "Follow" she croaked again, beconing Cherm to stay close to her side. He wasn't aware of it, but Cherm was one of very few to descend to the lowest levels of the Citadel, where the Coven of the Magistari had made their lair. He was led into a room filled with alchemical equipment and dusty scrolls, as well as the four Magistari he had yet to meet. In Cherm's small world, these witches were the grandest and most influencial beings in existence. If he had any will left to appease them, or do anything for that matter, he would have fallen to his knees before them.

"You have intrigued us, Mwintuska hâskûjontû. Your weakness is not derived from physical or mental limitation, but from a lack of hatred itself" one of the Matriarchs said as she readied the restraints on a torture table. "What you lack is fundemental to all of our kind - it should boil in your blood! So proclaims the Tsisajak... for you are of Tsis blood, not that of Grotthu. What has grown in place of your beautiful hatred? We shall uncover it." For how long Cherm was there, he could not say... years, a decade... strapped to a wooden table in terrible anguish. Their sorcery, their horrific rituals, infusions of potent magic in his blood... the Magistari tapped into what he could not, altering his body and mind by forcing him to draw not from hatred, but from his endless anguish and misery. Yes, misery was what brought him power, and in the blackest reaches of the Undercroft his misery was multipled tenfold. Over time, Cherm became more powerful in his despair and resentment than his family could in their hatred of one another. Dwelling in a pool of his own sadness, Cherm's connection to the Force was bolstered beyond belief, and in a moment of clarity, he broke free of his bonds and slaughtered the Kissai that maintained his corporeal body. Only one of the Matriarchs stood beside him at this time, and she cackled with excitement at his strength. "What a marvel we have made you!" He ran from her, up the spiral staircase and out of the Citadel. Few tried to stop him, but those who did were quickly tossed into the chasms below. As he fled into the vast desert of Korriban, the wicked laughter of the Magistari echoed all him.

Becoming Something More
Few could survive the trek he made across half of the planet without food or water. He was sustained by his misery alone. Eventually, he reached the settlement of Dreshdae. He was overwhelmed by the diverse crowd of the city's Spaceport. Beings like him seemed to rule the area still, in garb he hardly recognized, and alien creatures roamed the streets whose physicality he could barely comprehend. Needless to say, the young man was overwhelmed. Cherm survived using his power to steal from the unwary, beginning to grasp a system of economy the longer he stayed in the settlement. In time, he would make friends with the other unfortunates of the town, not bogged down by a sense of class or racism like the majority of Sith in the galaxy as such ideas bore no weight at the Citadel. This would change as he began to realize the power of the Force wrought even greater benefits here, and that access to other worlds was a possibility. As a Sith of significant power without the understanding to make use of it, he began to amass a small following of lowlives and criminals, eventually growing the confidence to steal from other Sith who visited Dreshdae's cantinas. One particular Twi'lek Lord was unamused by his stunt, chasing him and his gang back to their hideout and erradicating what little he had built in a matter of moments using viscius torrents of Force lightning. Cherm had naturally seen this power before, and was not intimidated despite being the last man alive in the scrappy alleyway he had called home. "What a waste" the Twi'lek said disappointedly, igniting his red lightsaber.

"It would be one, yes" a woman's voice called out from the street behind them. "I wasn't aware you were fond of making messes, Doctrous. Seeing as we're here on a mission of recruitment, perhaps we can use our little thief here to our advantage" Darth Deeskor said, approaching Cherm and Doctrous. "He is certainly powerful... and uncharacteristically brooding for a street urchin" the Twi'lek named Doctrous replied, sheathing his blade. "He'd be amusing to have around, at the least." Darth Deeskor explained that she and Darth Doctrous were travelling to Sith-occupied planets in an attempt to spread their political agenda beyond Dromund Kaas... one which was in defiance of the reigning Emperor's will. This, or course, meant absolutely nothing to Cherm, however he was interested at the possiblity to get offworld, and so he elected to follow Deeskor. Deeskor saw increasing potential in the young man, and before long, would take him as her apprentice. He desired to learn how to conduct his power, and she required an unknown to act as an asset. Cherm became versed in the politics of the galaxy as well as trained to use the Force to enhance his combative skill. His ability to achieve significant feats without utilizing passion or hatred was an enigma to Deeskor, and she found his lack of fondness for a lightsaber to be especially useful as she began to discreetly send him out to eliminate her political rivals (as it left no evidence). As the Progressive Union gained in popularity, so did those who opposed Deeskor, and as such, so did Cherm's bodycount. Although he suffered as a result of the Magistari's alterations to his being, Cherm still felt positive emotions to some degree, and became fiercely loyal to Deeskor. Although she used him to her benefit, she was a master that respected his boundaries and presented him with knowledge and opportunities to practice his skill. Whispers of a silent assassin that would kill and leave no trace behind began to ripple through the Sith's elite classes, and a loose connection to the Progressive Union and absolutely no proof tying these deaths to Deeskor was precisely the combination needed to allow the political party to flourish unhindered.