A massive cataclysm has struck the universe, and destroyed most everything in its wake. The survivors are now trying to pick up the pieces, and figure out exactly what has befallen them. Gather together, lightsiders!! The darkness has shattered the peace and calm of the galaxy...and they will do anything to stop anyone from finding out exactly what has been done! This is our first sitewide RP plotline. Lightsiders, you are looking for the source of this massive event. Clues must be found, lackeys tracked down, and bits of memory discovered. Darksiders, you guys don't want that to happen....because of the one behind the whole thing is furthering his ultimate goal. Mandalorians, and non-force users, you guys can decide where you stand on this line....do you side with the Jedi, and try to discover the reasons behind the ruined universe, or will you side with the darkness, and protect those secrets. Will the secret of the cataclysmic reaping be kept under wraps? Or will the Jedi and their allies find out the truth? Your RP and writing will decide the outcome!
BATTLE ARENA
Welcome to The Saga Continues. We have a section called the Battle Arena. Here you can use your characters to fight other characters. Hone your skills and see what you are made of. Don't worry, anything that happens here, does not effect your characters in posts, so if your character dies, you can still use them over and over. Have fun and check it out!
The Saga Continues is the product of the mind of ADMIN ADI; all contents are copyright their original owners. All characters belong to their original creators, and may not be used or replicated without permission. All images are copyright their original owners. This skin Operation Mindcrime was made by pharaoh leap of Pixel Perfect and put together by ADMIN KRYSTAL
Abaddon laughed harshly. Andor pressed the questions like he was still the man in charge. Still the one who reigned in the Order on a whim. At one time, this had been 'his' Order and he 'had' that power. Perhaps it still was to an extent, but even so, it was only a fraction of the sway he'd once held. He'd been away for far too long to demand his full position back and even if he should, Abaddon was not of the mood to relinquish he hold on the order. The Sith Lord, Darth Sidious, had said it perfectly to Anakin so many years ago when he explained that all who gained power would never willingly relinquish it.
"Their presence is not your concern, nor is their identity. Just know there is an army to build and a Galaxy to cleanse and those who do not administer its cure will die from it." Abaddon wasn't just going to let Andor back into a position of leadership; he'd have to earn that. And . . . if he earned said position, then perhaps the Order had gained its Lord of Deception, a title only too fitting for what the man had once been.
*Andor rolled his eyes as Abaddon issued his retort. The Lord of Ruin had always been a bit... cocky. When Andor had met him on Thule, the Sith had thought he was some sort of God, a thought that Andor realized Abaddon still actively believed.*
*Andor walked over to one of the council seats, the one to the right of Abaddon's "throne", and sat down. Deep down, the Sith could feel a hint of frustration beginning to bubble. Andor could sense Abaddon toying with him, trying to manipulate him and bend him around his finger. Andor would play the game, but ultimately, he was only loyal to himself, as was customary of the Sith. But if it meant saving the galaxy from disease, then Andor would gladly sign-up.* "Well, I assume you wouldn't have summoned the Sith if you didn't have a plan. Every second we waste bickering only leads the galaxy further into sickness."
*His skeletal right hand reached up to massage his temples,* "Although the plague has started our work for us, there is much more to be done. You know my skillset, I'll go out for some reconnaissance, bring back some... recruits."
* With his last word, Andor's mind raced back to his encounter on Nar Shadda, where he had manipulated a young, defenseless and desperate girl into returning to Eriadu before transforming her into Darth Lura. Andor was manipulative, he was deceptive; he spun webs with his words and with the force to ensnare his victims and bring them to their knees. Andor had ensnared Lura during a conflict that had involved Jedi, Pirates, Jensarri, and others. He was unstoppable and he knew he could do it again, even if they didn't come willingly.*
"So you shall." Abaddon's words were simple and a direct response to Andor's offer to bring about recruits. An army would be essential to the Order realizing it true form and a galaxy reborn. "The Lord of Corruption is still about. Go. Seek him out and together you can forged an army to save the Galaxy from the weakness that threatens it. With weakness wiped from the galaxy, there will be no more hunger. No more famine. And those who remain will prevail into a strong society that shall not wither as it has for so long in this weakness."
With his words spoken, Abaddon turned and returned to his crumbling "throne." There was still another whose arrival he awaited. A disciple of the Dark Side whose fury and lust for greater power rivaled his own and this man would be his Lord of Ravage whether he knew it yet or not. This man would arrive to answer the challenge; it was only a matter of time.
Silently, Andor nodded to Abaddon's request, as he stood up from his seat. He was tasked with joining up with the Lord of Corruption in building an army for the Order. Already, Andor's mind was racing with possibilities.
Brushing off his cloak, Andor made his leave, focusing on a presence in the Dark Side of the Force that he knew belonged to only one being.... the Lord of Corruption.
*The simple truth is that there was no wrong answer to that question. This is one of the secrets of the late-game stage of the Way of Lapay which I have come to discover. If freedom is truly yours, then you have by definition the liberty to choose which victories take you on the path to even more freedom. Freedom itself being the “ability to accomplish that which you desire”, and the accomplishment of “what you desire” being by definition victory, you see that victory is subject in and of itself to the bounds of your freedom. This is what sets you along a meta-recursive track. Done correctly, it is a positive feedback mechanism spiraling boundlessly upward into further and further growth. In that case, the right answer is merely defined as any answer which demonstrates the correct thought process, and Tal has done that.
This was indeed a pragmatic exercise; not only for its own benefit, but also in the sense that now we have articulated where we are going. To ignore all else in favor of the self, and to exemplify the Way for those who we leave behind, is a noble and unassailable aspiration. It could certainly prove to provoke an interesting response from this 'Abaddon'.*
[/ul]
*These questions I pose not to dissuade, exactly, but rather to probe a bit further into my son’s thought process. It is, to be honest, a slight surprise for Tal to tacitly admit that he will focus on himself at the expense of all else (but, as I said, I am here to help him recover his path — my freedom is to be found in following a parallel course, for now). The Tal I saw, and chastised, on Kamino was following a similar route. Less personally-focused, however: he was acquiring military might, and political prestige. If I am to read into things a bit more, I would say that the company of shadows and subversion, although familiar to him, will most likely be undesirable. For one thing, those strengths are already his, so what need has he of developing them further? And for another, when one undergoes the admirable task of cultivating fresh strength, one must introspect (which is a taxing effort when distracted by the demands of the lesser). So, how, now? Does he intend to lay plain his intentions here to the Sith'ari? Defy Abaddon to do anything about it? Or will he embrace his old habits, which by Tal’s own recognition led him away from the Way? Conceal his true self until the time is right, but in the meantime use the Sith infrastructure for his own purposes? And, in my estimation, risk compromising his newly-developed resolve?
This might sound like a harsh indictment of the path of betrayal, so I want to make clear that deception is in fact tremendously valuable, and to those who can manipulate and backstab, I encourage you to grow your power in that regard. But it comes with a word of caution: how easy it is, to maintain the easy route of convincing yourself that you will betray, and failing to recognize the moment at which which you should betray! And then it passes by, and you are left with regret and loss.
For Tal, who had freedom within arm’s reach, yet failed to recognize it as his, I imagine we must be especially careful in this matter, and it is well worth considering what options besides our typical modus operandi for dealing with other Sith we might avail our power to. It is all the more critical, if Tal wishes to establish himself in the time to come as a paradigm to which the tyros ought to rise to match, that he be overt about the path to true freedom. It would be hard to believe a claim of superiority coming from a hidden place.
In turn, I consider that there might exist others worthy to inherit the Way. I should pay careful attention for the potential, because — under the assumption that Tal is restored to his rightful place — one of the next logical steps which could present itself to me would be resuming expansion of the Way. Enlighten the universe, and so on. I've gone that way before, although only my True Son has succeeded in taking root. A testament to the difficulty of the Way, I suppose.
Other questions burn within me as they pertain to Tal's specific ideas for strength, begging to be unleashed, but Abaddon awaits; and besides, I recognize that all shall be clarified in due time. To observe the process is enjoyment unto itself, and one ought not sully the metaphysical with mundane words.*
Well . . . events of such a grand scale, often did have a habit of bringing things out of the deep, black darkness of the universe. Recent events, it seemed, were without exception. For instance, names once revered as simply being no more than myth had now taken root in this new galaxy and proven to be far more than previously suspected. Darth Nexus. Darth Andor. Ishmael. Himself. Now there was another.
Although the identity of this person was unknown to the Dark Lord for now, Ryu's story - his legend - was not. A man that was the father of the "Way of Lapay" and paragon of dueling. He was not a man that shown for an overwhelming amount of strength, but was a tactician and master strategist. Or so had been the word and myth that surrounded the man. But alas, the identity of this new presence that graced his presence alongside Ishmael was alien to him. For now, Ryu did not exist anymore in this galaxy, likely succumb to the plague as Abaddon would see it.
The Dark Side of the Force filled the chamber as it had before, beating against the cold, stone door, that had now hissed to a close. It sought after a reprieve - an escape - from the chamber, but was fruitless in its efforts to do so. The dimly lit chamber seemed to shudder in agony as the large, hooded figure remained upon the crumbling stone of a sunken throne. But . . . it was more than just the three of them whose presence held the tension that lofted in the air. A pair of hulking and ferocious looking Irrukiine stood on either side of the entrance, having entered just after Ishmael and the stranger he brought here.
From the crumbing stone, the fingers of Abaddon's right hand tapped slowly and methodically against the stone as his left curled loosely into a balled fist. The red-orange glow of his eyes pierced through the shadow the hood cast over his face. He did not say anything, but instead took the moment gauge this man. Feel his signature in the Force. Survey his strength in it. Understand his allegiance to it. Much could be told of a man, simply by how they appeared in the Force and only a Master could manipulate their signature to such perfection as to completely veil where their intentions and allegiances lie. Was this man a master of such? Would he even disguise himself? Why had Ishmael - the Lord of Corruption - brought this man before him?
Ryu's question stumps me. Honestly, I hadn't considered Abbadon's reaction, nor weighed whether it was necessary to even broach the subject with him. But as always, my teacher's point is sharper than that, the question layered with meaning. No, it was not necessary to inform the Sith'ari of my intentions to focus on furthering my own goals, rather than his. I do not need his permission; being more powerful, I am free from his will in every way. The only possible consequence would be facing his wrath upon my return to Korriban, and that's a truly negligible threat.
But, it was important that I tell him for reasons other than possible backlash. Ryu's mention of my, 'usual fashion', while deserved, is like a slap in the face, and I know instantly what he means. Before his return (from an absence caused by my own betrayal, ironically enough) I had wandered, aimless and broken, a sad testament to wasted potential. My heart may burn with renewed passion, fueled by my own moment of clarity and Ryu's companionship, but how long before it was reduced back to a smolder, if I changed nothing? It is madness to attempt the same things, expecting different results. To grow, to do better, I must actually commit to doing so. It's easy to describe the big picture and finished product with pretty words, but the actual path will be littered with stepping stones such as this. Each new trial must be met with renewed vigor and revised tactics, else my growth will stagnate once more, and all will be for naught.
[/i] Sith on the path to victory and domination over the rest of the galaxy, so that they might remain when I deign to return. Other than that, they will lay claim to no other restrictions on my time or efforts."[/font][/div][/ul][/ul][/font]
I don't admit that, before Ryu's arrival, using this faction to further my own ends, allowing them to assume my loyalty and appropriate my power in exchange for their unwitting aid, had been my intention. I'm sure he suspects as much regardless, though, so I think I can spare myself the self-flagellation and instead focus on moving ahead.
I open the doors to the Council Chambers, and Abbadon is waiting within. Has he languished within this festering lair the entire time I was gone? From the total saturation of the dark side, it seems likely. It's an oppressive thing, like humidity if you're willing to liken wounds in the living fabric binding the universe together to moisture, but I stride in to stand before the massive, red-skinned creature, crouching on the ruins of a throne like some ancient, feral beast.
I gesture airily to my companion.
[/i]and I thought it fitting that I bring him here to speak with you before we depart this place. Would you mind reiterating your manifesto for his benefit? I believe he'll find the theory interesting." [/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
*Proceeding up the hallway leading to the chambers, Tal moves to open the doors. I take the opportunity to drop a step back, and let him lead the way. So it turns out that I wind up standing between Tal and the entrants to the chamber who followed in our steps, eight arms in all. Though they do not escape my notice, and though the sensation of being followed is not among the most favorable of feelings, I permit no shadow to cloud my demeanor.
As Tal flourishes to introduce me to Abaddon — unfortunare incident, that's certainly one way to describe it, I suppose — I can clearly see the inquisitiveness of the Sith'ari's dark garnet-shaded aura as it spreads through the room; and really, there's only one conclusion to draw. Sure as stars, he has had plenty of opportunity to feel his way around Tal over the past weeks and months. The curiosity which has been aroused can only be attributed to me. Anyone with a modicum of skill in the sensory arts could feel it. And it's flattering, to be sure.
I tilt my head slightly to the side, considering the man enthroned before me for a moment. Isn't it only natural to be curious about those you encounter? To evaluate who has the edge? Indeed, I did as much as soon as we came to this place; now that I am in the very room, it's Abaddon's turn. We can say it is to his credit that he has not dismissed the unknown as irrelevant out of hand, as so many tend to do. It's hard to estimate for sure from the reclined posture, but he strikes a more imposing physical figure than I do. Taller by a few centimeters, more hefty by a few kilograms. Appearances are the easy part, though. After all, there is an expectation to his wordless interrogation, a quest for answers that is not intended to return empty; and besides, there is also a procedure and an etiquette to moments like these. You know what they say about first impressions. And there's a purpose to it.
My head returns to its original posture. Then, a pause. Then, I open the gates.
I freely immerse myself into the Dark Side which dwells so richly and deeply in this historical building. Compel it to my command, strengthening my footprint, fanning my crimson aura to the brightness of a roaring flame, summoning reverberating throes of potential energy, and in so doing, illuminating the most difficult facet by one judges a man.
It is neither threatening nor tame; it is neither aggressive nor defensive; it is neither hate-filled nor loving. It is solely — strength. Look, Abaddon. This is what I have at my disposal. This is a piece of my power. This is one of my weapons. I wield it as I choose, and with that, I am freed. Though my body remains still, the Force surges as a cosmic torrent coursing endlessly. The magnitude of what I exhibit is on another level entirely from what I used to emerge unscathed from the fall from orbit.
Tal invites Abaddon to give an exposition of his mantra. Therefore, apart from this silent reply intended to speak volumes on my behalf, I offer no further discourse, for now. And there's a purpose to it.*
Black robes billowed as he walked through the halls of the sith academy, amusing how many ghosts wandered these halls unseen & unheard. White eyes looking out at the structure through the force giving him a very different perspective on the appearance the force laden stone and metal. It was good that he had come to Korriban of his own accord when the summons was issued. He was curious to see who and what he would have to deal with and if the other remnants of the sith were in fact worth risking getting a lightsaber in the back or face. It looked like some of the others had arrived just before him so hopefully he wouldn't be too far behind on what they had been discussing.
Stepping through the doors remaining silent as he took in the others he had at least heard of Abbadon but the other two he didn't really know much of which left him at a disadvantage. Being a loner who has never taken an apprentice he tended to be out of the loop on things unless it was needed for whatever his current venture was. Moving away from the others enough that he would have time to raise a defense if attacked but not so far that he looked as if he were planning to see them all spontaneously explode. It was as one of the others was talking that he recognized the voice which left only one that he had not met or at least heard of, Ishmael was one to be wary of in his own right though that didn't mean there weren't ways to deal with him or others seeking to be like him. One thing he loved about being on Korriban and among other sith was the plentiful variety of darker emotions for him to use to bolster his powers. Feeling the ebb and flow of the dark side of the force as it washed over him gave him a feeling of excitement but also made him more on edge. This much darkness, anger, fear, pain, and hatred was bound to stir those same emotions in the sith who walked across these hallowed grounds.
Ah . . . so this was the great Lapay No Ryu. The father of "The Way." This was the Sith Abaddon had only every known of through rumor and legend. However, rumors and legends could often be misguided and given far more credit than they were due. Would this be true here? Was this Ryu the man his legend foretold him to be? Or had time warped and misconstrued his feats and abilities? Legends and tales could be enticing and fun, but were about jaded and filled with lies. Only the events to follow in time would clarify his legend's accuracy.
Abaddon's left fist un-balled, allowing the palm to lay flat upon the cold stone. Likewise, the fingers of his right ceased their rhythmic cadence and fell to a position that mirrored his left on the opposing stone surface. Around chamber, the two aura's circled and danced, neither overpowering the other. Neither was aggressive nor permeating with emotion. Simply two great powers circling, yet not blending, as they swung with seemingly choreographed movements. A unique event and one that truly balanced two overwhelming forces as they were pitted upon one another.
This Ryu had once been the Master of the order's Lord of Corruption. Ishmael's mentor and instructor. His guide though the path of "The Way" as it was known. Something must have driven the two apart, but yet now fate had brought them together. But why had Ishmael brought his former teacher here? Was it to join the Order? To aid in the administration of the galaxy's cure? To drive out the weak? Help in freeing the galaxy of this vile sickness? Alas, time would be the great orator of this outcome. Of how "The Way" would be written into the pages of the galaxy's next chapter.
"Datar mis ziji ar ri tidana tsari katisi.[1]" The words were of High Sith language, spoken in and soft and chilling tone.
The red-orange orbs rose to meet the face of this Ryu before he would speak further. "Society has coddled the weak for too long. Its has festered and spread like the disease it is threatening to destroy the galaxy with it. And . . . just as is the nature of any living thing, the galaxy has fought back to inoculate itself of this vile contagion. This plague, as it has come to be known as, was the galaxy's attempt to heal itself, but all it has manged to do is treat the symptoms and not exterminate the disease. The weak must no longer be coddled and be allowed to perish, paving way for the strong to endure. You see it is only those that consider themselves to be the intelligent species of the galaxy that have allowed for the disease of weakness to fester as it did. It is only those that at considered intelligent species, that have stepped outside of the galaxy's will to protect the weak and even promote them. The galaxy has left it to us to save it and saving it from this disease is exactly what must occurred. The weak must die in order for the strong to survive."
Abaddon's speech was far different in wording this time around than it had been any of the times before, but carried the same message. In order for the galaxy to be saved, it had to return to state where the strong and fit survived. Where the coddling and protecting of the weak was left in the past. Weakness was a taint that needed cleansing.
I am not oblivious to the posturing going on between Ryu and Abbadon, but I do elect to ignore it. The force rages around me as both Sith bare their power levels before one another, but my own aura remains serene and confined to the area immediately around me. To swell my own power now would be the equivalent of rudely forcing my way into a conversation, and so instead I turn my attention to the cloaked and hooded being that had entered only moments after Ryu and myself.
The Sith'ari's words faded to a drone as I watched him move off to a respectful distance- it was clear he was waiting for the current conversation to wrap up before he announced himself. Quite a rare display of manners, coming from a dark sider. Ah, but I've had my fill of Abbadon, and lack anything to add to the conversation unfolding- I've heard his spiel already, after all.
I suppose I should introduce myself.
The newcomer is at the far end of the ruined table, not quite out of earshot but far enough away that we could converse without being distracted by the other conversation going on, so I elect to meet him there rather than beckoning him over.
[/font]"It seems more Forcefuls survived the plague than I originally thought. I take it you received Abbadon's summons?"[/font][/ul][/ul] I took a moment to study him closely- both physically and through the force- but it's no use. I don't recognize him. Either he traveled in different circles before the Cataclysm, or he was of such little renown that he had gone unnoticed. Either way, the simple fact that he is alive and standing here before me today makes him significant, does it not? After all, many of the more famous Sith and Jen'jidai's corpses are decomposing in ruined temples across the universe at this very moment, yet he not only survived the plague, but possessed sufficient power and agency to travel to Korriban and seek out this convergence of dark siders.
It was interesting to watch the two clearly alpha males size each other up and to find out what it was that Abbadon actually wanted to do. The speech was long winded for just making the statement that he wanted to reinstate the rule of survival of the fittest throughout the galaxy. While his keeping his distance was out of wariness towards the others gathered here it wasn't out of any sort of respect. To him it was just a room filled with people who would murder him to advance their own agendas if he stood in their way somehow. His attention shifted to Ishmael when he approached him, and started to try and analyze him. It wasn't like he wasn't doing the same thing with the others and should be expected from all involved.
"Many things survived though I suspect that isn't the true intent of your comment. I'll give you a little of what you seek regarding me. My name is Corec Roke and yes I'm not one of the well known of our brethren. I sought to keep it that way though times have dictated that I step from the fringes and show myself."
His own senses were inspecting Ishmael as he spoke seeing what all he could gather about him. He never liked to base his views of another on rumors and speculation. Rumors on their own tended to get warped the more they were spread as information was distorted through the telling, this was even more of a factor with the sith. Power is everything to them and if nothing else a reputation could give you a slight edge should you face another in an attempt to gain renown for defeating or having faced them. He can tell when he is outmatched physically like with the other two in the room, in a straight up physical duel he would lose to them every time. This one was trickier to figure out much appeared to be shadowed about him leaving Ishmael marked as a higher threat than the others for now.
*Although I can recognize that Abaddon is a member of the Kissai species, the High Sith language is unknown to me. When his first phrase fails to draw any sign of comprehension from me, he continues on. That’s good; it’s only by mutual understanding that we can make any headway (although I daresay it might already be termed a productive meeting, on the mere basis of having established contact).
To speak of headway...as I am delivered the statement of purpose, my brow furrows slightly while I consider the words. So much so, that I give barely more than a passing thought to the unveiling of Corec, and Tal’s stepping aside to greet him.
Without a doubt, there is solid basis in much of what has been said. I can’t say much for the part about the plague, or the interpretation of its emergence as the galaxy’s solution for the weak, but by the same token I can’t contest that assignment, either. There is, however, just a little bit that is...off. Missed the mark by a hair. This close. Without slipping from my reverie in the Dark Side’s power, it takes a moment for me to compose my reply.
*Probably the same thing I would say to Tal, if he had said as much. But unlike with Tal, the rapport does not exist yet between Abaddon and myself. So the usual smile that would rise to my lips is absent. It’s a flat, grave tone that echoes throughout the chambers for a moment before I continue.* “The weak are weak, and the strong are strong. One survives and the other does not. Your intentions are perfectly valid in that regard. But...to suggest that the weak have the capacity to impede upon the lives of the powerful, or that the existence of the strong is contingent upon the removal of the weak, is incorrect. By definition, the weak can have no such effect.”[/ul]
*It’s true. A weak man cannot stop me from doing as I please, that’s the very basics of the Sith Code. Through power I gain victory. It therefore has no meaning or impact whether he even lives or not; nothing he could do can negate my chance of victory by an iota. That is what it means to be powerful, and to be weak.
There is something else, though. Abaddon knows it, he said it himself. The protection of the weak, in defiance of the natural order. Society. That is the real target.
It is nothing short of senselessness to spend one’s hard-earned power on …‘easy prey’, shall we say. A chef who has spend decades of his life in pursuit of his craft is not satisfied to accept employment as the galley-master of a diner. A specialist in droid programming would not be found as a junkyard handyman. When you devote yourself wholeheartedly to the pursuit of something, in the manner that we have in acquisition of power, along the way you develop an understanding of the value of what you have obtained. And when you properly appreciate its value, then you reserve it for only that which deserves it. The weak are too cheap to deserve our attention, or indeed any allocation of our power.*
[/i] is what is truly the enemy of your freedom, and the flourishing of the strong. That is the enemy worth destroying, for if you annihilate the weak, yet allow it to escape, then, in time, the population of the weak will rise once more under its auspices, and your efforts toward that end will have been erased.”[/font][/ul]
*And it is best not to underestimate it, for that very reason. Though it sounds benign enough, the very fact that it has the potential to erode the effect of all which was wrought by a powerful individual is in fact a testament to its own power! Can’t really call it weak, in that case.
Can call it a worthwhile effort to go about dissolving it, in that case.*[/font]
Indeed. Abaddon had never been good with words as he was a figure he preferred action. Words could be warped and manipulated to mean anything, whereas action delivered the precise message. But . . . what action would lay before them with the four Sith gathered within the room and the two disciples holding steadfast by the door? Was there anything? Anything at all that would not lead to the complete and utter destruction of the academy here on Korriban. Between the three known figures in the room, enough power could be amassed to level a large area. Nothing could knowledgeably be added with the addition addition of the four Sith in the chamber as nothing was really known of the man for now. Needless to say, there was a great deal of power and strength gathered here in this very moment.
He lifted his gaze to directly meet that of Ryu, peering deep into the blackness of his heart, though not overstepping boundaries, and spoke once more. "Jedi are but a symptom of the greater issue. Society 'is' the true target. The established order of things. The coddling of the insignificant. The comfort in societal norms. You see it as well as I do, leaving us with a final question. Will you help reset the path of true freedom and cleanse the galaxy of its infection or will you impede progress and allow it to fester?" He was finished talking for now as Ryu's next actions would determine that future to unfold before them. In one hand Ryu had the option to join the Order and should he choose to do so, find himself in a seat upon the council. With that seat, he'd be allowed to continue in any fashion he so desired so long as it forwarded the vision of the Order. No micro-managing. No coddling. The position would be granted due to the power he bore. A power that rivaled that of Abaddon himself. However, in the other hand, Ryu could choose to turn away from the order. To challenge and defy and in the end be hunted by it. He'd be marked for death much like the Vastator figure that had arrived just days before. But alas, the choice was Ryu's and Ryu's alone. The invitation had been delivered and was awaiting either acceptance or denial. Which would it be.
Abaddon allowed a crude grin to distort the features of his face. The red-orange orbs set upon it flashed and the dark side auras continued to dance with much gusto around the enclosed chamber. The tension and suspense was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.
I nodded solemnly, oblivious to the drama unfolding only a few feet away.
[/font][/font][/font][/ul][/ul]
Amusing, isn't it? Even after all that has happened- our kind scattered to the wind, the utter ruination of the galaxy itself- darklings (and perhaps Forcefuls in general; I'm not familiar with many Jedi) still rely so heavily on pretense, intimidation, and conveying the desired impression. Not a one can be persuaded to speak plainly, it seems.
I suppose old habits die hard. That's something I know a lot about.
But, I suspect there is more to this Corec Roke. At least, that's what my instincts are telling me. And I mentioned, didn't I, that one's mere survival was enough to grant them some modicum of significance these days? In that case it's regretful that he will soon be abandoned here, at Abbadon's mercy, but I'm confident that the Sith'ari can't afford to waste resources, regardless of their power or talent. Even a Forceful foot soldier should be valued in this day and age, and Roke seems to be much more.
But as I said, only time will tell.
[/i] out of desperation?" [/font][/font][/font] [/ul][/ul]