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
*Our transit to Keldabe featured marginally better progress in communication with Curcebithin. When I pulled out a half of Trogdor and ignited its blades, he pulled out a pair of curved-hilt lightsabers and did the same. Cool! We’re comparing weapons now, and I didn’t even need to explain what I was doing!
And then Ielyn informed us of the inherent risk of slicing a hole in the hull, of explosive decompression, and asked us to put the sabers out. After doing so, I muttered to Curcebithin that I would be able to survive a depressurization event thanks to the rebreathers embedded in the mask I’m wearing. He ignored that comment and I press it no further. We’ll spar later, I’ve decided. Start laying the foundation for what power really is in his mind.
All the playing around with our lightsabers brings to mind a forgotten detail. Tal’s saber is lying somewhere in the Korribanni desert, and there’s been not so much as a whisper about what sort of replacement he’ll be looking at making, or when he’s planning on doing so. Nor, indeed, is there any idea of where we’ll obtain access to a furnace, if he’s going to forge his own crystals and hilt. The Mandalorians are famous for their metalworking, but I doubt they’ll let us simply waltz in and get to cooking. Didn’t they declare war on Force users not so long ago?
There has been a lot to process, and a lot of planning that has surely taken place. It’s understandable that this novel gap in Tal’s power would have escaped direct attention, but given the destination’s reputation for their love of conflict, it might be worth a chat at the present.
At least we can prove that we’re paying everything its due attention.*
[/ul]
*There are some things that the Jedi got right. That the lightsaber is equivocal to your being is one of them. Actually, they didn’t think it out fully; it’s that your power is your life. And your weaponry constitutes a significant portion of your power. ‘Try not to lose it,’ what a good phrase! ‘All those who gain power are afraid to lose it,’ another good line. Even with those two pieces you can clearly see the interplay between strength, power, and life.
Of course, the Jedi failing to think things fully through is nothing new. In fact that’s the least surprising outcome of all, it’s so cliché that it hurts. You can see that in the uniformity that plagued the Jedi Order. Why is it that a single blade was the motif dominating their ranks for the vast duration of the era of the Republic? It’s because they were a military entity, and being in very nature regimented, expressions of individuality were harshly suppressed.
‘This weapon is your life.’ Oh, is that so? Then why does it look and function exactly like everyone else’s? No! If your weapon is truly an analogy to your life, then it should be different. No two beings are exactly alike, not even clones. And it’s a blatant lie to suggest that a single saber is the pinnacle of efficiency as far as weaponry goes. No, you understand the truth, don't you? It’s merely part of the uniform, for that’s all the Jedi cared to think of it as, despite claiming otherwise.
But we are different. The Sith are the ones who truly care about freedom. The Sith are the ones who care to empower each individual with the tools necessary to obtain freedom. Therefore we recognize that a man’s armament, being an extension of who he is, will be unlike any others’. We embrace it.
If you wish to become whom you desire to be, the only answer is to be a Sith. All other paths are laden with deceit. There is only one Way.
The Gamma-class shuttle plows steadily onward. Estimated time of arrival in Keldabe airspace, ten minutes. Plenty of time to devote to this topic, or not too long of a time to sit in silence. A happy medium.*[/font]
*The floating spacecraft wreckage of various makes from Mandalore’s shipyard production line catches the eye. To be sure, this is a fair sight more dramatic than the otherwise-empty space over Korriban (which is only a little bit my fault). The ships themselves are in various states of disrepair, with fragments and pieces littering our path with each step of the way.. Navigation through this debris-filled spacelane is a task I’m absolutely not envious of. Given my history with successful piloting, or the lack thereof, I think it’s safe to say we’re all quite happy that Ielyn is at the helm.
Because of the fact that I have donned Devient, I remain not fully aware to the true state of what has transpired and continues to elapse within the derelict vessels. The fact is that there are hundreds of thousands of plague-corrupted beings within, swarming over the ships and enjoying uncontested reign of the open space over Mandalore. One wonders how good at learning the emplagued are. If they could somehow manage to operate those battleships (and assuming that other naval production sites have fared similarly), then we non-infected denizens of the universe would quickly find ourselves outgunned. But then again, that’s starting to sound a bit more like the actions of an antagonistic parasite than a true plague. Probably nothing more than speculation at this point.
As we deftly weave through the hazardous route towards the atmospheric reaches of the planet before us, two questions are upon me.
The first and most pressing question is to what extent I must guide Tal’s rebuilding of his power. There is the obvious benefit of having my expertise in the arena of combat off of which he can quickly gain experience in whatever new styles he chooses. ...There must be more to it than that. It would be simple enough just to rent a simulation chamber for a month’s time, it’s not prohibitively expensive and we are both reasonably well-to-do financially (and there’s also the question of whether the owner is even alive, with the way the universe has plagued itself out). No, there must be some key, some insertion or intervention which falls to me and which I must not fail to notice and to address. That is, of course, the difference between clone and child. The path to freedom follows general rules, but the individual route varies wildly.
But I am peerless in my perceptiveness. I will not falter. I cannot falter.
The second question is what to do with these Irrukiine acolytes that we have been presented with. Abaddon, mountain that he is, does not seem capable of doing things with subtlety, or without purpose. I suspect that they exist as a primitive method of surveillance. They couldn’t possibly hope to defeat us, or to curb our actions if we choose to abandon or disobey the Order of Ruin. And Abaddon, being no fool, must know this. Droids are easy to trick, cameras can be deceived, and so it is far more reliable to commission sentient beings — especially those who you have been training, and especially those who appear less intelligent than they may seem — for that task.
Well, if it’s a ruse, so what? We are too powerful to be stopped. But as long as they remain nominally our wards, we might as well make use of them.
Radio silence has been the reply to Ielyn’s request to land for several minutes now, so rather than stay out here in the ship graveyard while awaiting permission that is likely to never come, he elects to pursue the route of forgiveness instead. Seems risky, considering the local reputation, but given the caliber of passenger he carries, it may not be the wrong choice at all. He drives the Gamma-class shuttle onward, and the craft shudders as it encounters the first vapors of the rarefied air some thousands of kilometers above the surface of the terrestrial site.
As our descent towards Keldabe begins, I break the silence by addressing Curcebithin.*
[/ul] *Whether because of a lack of comprehension, or for some other reason, all I receive in reply is a growl. We’re off to a great start.*
*The skies of Korriban bade us farewell as Tal’s Gamma-class shuttle erupts through the clouds and makes its way past the ionosphere, all in a much more controlled and predictable fashion than when we had arrived.
Mere minutes before, I had been in Abaddon’s presence. I was acquiescing membership into the Order of Ruin, unaware of the title of lordship which had been bestowed onto me, and with that there was nothing besides Tal’s short words of excusal; for Abaddon’s gaze had already shifted onto Corec Roke, the other presence who had shared that chamber with us. There was naught else to say.
And Abaddon had given us a pair of beasts, those four-armed monsters that had sought to seal off our exit had circumstances gone south for the Sith’ari. But now his insurance policy has been waived, and the two brothers are in our company now. Curcebithin, the elder, and Galbakhnor, the younger. As if it’s a straightforward matter to assess the ages of species with a vastly different morphology than what you are used to! We’d have never thought to figure that one out, but they told us, in the broken Galactic Basic they speak. If you consider them carefully, though faint, you can tell that they’ve got some latent Force abilities lying within their grasp. Tal and I will figure out something to do with this gift, however awkwardly given.
At the moment they sit silently and watch us. There are no quarters on this shuttle, no rooms to give us respite from each others’ presences despite how inclined I am at the moment to retire for a bit. Well, it’s a troop transport. What do you expect? Soldiers to get their own isolated space? A military that does that is just asking for insubordination in the ranks. So instead what we have is this spartan array of seats, and Ielyn in the pilot seat. I sit across from Tal, thinking carefully over what has been, and has not been, said. Between what transpired and what would have been expected, there are a few discrepancies that lead to interesting trains of thought and conclusions to be drawn from them; but these I keep to myself for now.
As the interior of the ship is set aglow with the light of Horuset while the shuttle orients itself in preparation for the hyperspace jump to come, I observe our destination as it is being typed into the ship’s navicomputer. Idly, I flip the private-channel comlink which Abaddon provided to me over in my hand several times, and then reach into my chest pocket. Letting the comm device drop into the cloth folds, I then extract Devient. She has been idle for quite some time, and that never bodes well for me. I calmly commit my face to the cruel inner surface of the featureless covering, and the fasteners activate to latch her on, one by one, a dull mechanical catch being heard as each drives home in turn.
Once my Force Sight readjusts to normal, and mere seconds before the jump to hyperspace is initiated, I comment.*
*Ah, movement. A refreshing sign, to be sure. Let’s be reasonable: I am powerful, but even I cannot imagine standing my ground against four opponents simultaneously. Maybe if one of them wasn’t him I might have a chance…
But it doesn’t appear that I’ll have to go it alone. There’s these guys, I think I overheard the one's name was Adi, and this other guy, 'not Mike', who's moving very aggressively towards the elevator as well. Very well. I have no qualms with fighting alongside Light Siders. The powerful are powerful, that’s all there is to it; light or dark is just a trivial distinction to make. The Way does not care. The Sith Code is the embodiment of truth, and whether you choose to embrace it or not has no bearing on its status as fact. They've both pulled out guns, so it looks like they'll try to launch a preemptive barrage on the elevator. Then it's on me to mop up the rest, I suppose.
I'm a large man, and though I don't block the whole span of the hallway, it should prove difficult for anyone to slip past. There's about a meter to either side of me, standing here in the center, so it's all within striking distance. Overhead, however, there’s plenty of space. This hallway stands a solid 4 meters floor-to-ceiling. Look at that: designed for accessibility by most bipedal races. This ship is progressive. ...Or maybe they’re expecting to take a lot of alien species prisoner. Racists. Point being, I'm confident in sealing off the corridor, given the appropriate support. Let them come; my power will be sufficient.
As the gunslingers ready themselves behind me, I struggle to find an appropriate way to verbally engage with my de facto comrades. The awkwardness of the atmosphere after a journey elapses over which you’ve exchanged no words and now stand expecting to fight side-by-side, to the death if need be, is real. Finally, they seem to have finished making preparations, and are talking strategy, and I sense that my time has come.*
[/ul]*I kind of wish I hadn’t said anything. So I retreat into the Dark Side for now, imagining that I will probably need to make a Force Barrier soon, and press the introductions no further.
As our enemies traverse the hangar far above us, it appears my initial assessment was correct. We’ll have to hold them here to buy time for the movers to get Nemo offship. I see that the cargo hauler designated for this purpose has arrived at the end of the far hallway, and its crew members are already hopping about, making sure that everything is in working condition before they begin to move it into position. Take your time, guys, but be quick about it.
Our shields can’t repel interpersonal relationship deficiencies of that magnitude.*[/font]
*None of Adi’s movements escape my Force-given sight, including the fact that his Force presence has been gradually strengthened compared to when he first arrived here. The same can be said for me, though; if it’s a grand Force assault he’s maneuvering for, then I’d be remiss not to bring my strength in the Force to play as well. Like coming armed with but a knife to a gunfight, were I to rely only on the saber skills in my repertoire, I could not hope to compete. And so I continue in what I have already begun, mentally delving further into the Dark Side, even while making a few physical adjustments.
It’s true that it is nice to have gained a canopy. I crouch near the front landing strut of the Fang Fighter, which is by the front of the nose. From this position, the cockpit section of the spacecraft lies fully between Adi and myself. And so the canopy I’ve obtained is good for shelter both from the rain and his prying eyes. Let me do some readjustments to my approach in peace here, won’t you?
I could just barely hear this last volley of words, and in reply I mutter the following statement, which is unlikely to carry through the rain, what with the ship in the way and all. But, I don’t know for sure, maybe he has really good ears (although if that were the case wouldn’t the pitter-patter of the raindrops just drive him absolutely insane here?). Meanwhile, I instinctively feel that Vol will do me no good in this situation. So as I verbalize my reply for the apparent benefit of no one but myself, I extinguish the blade of the cyan lightfoil.*
[/ul]
*While these words are being mumbled, I place the butt of Vol against the empty end of Trogdor, and reactivate the mag-seal to clamp it in place. I pass the combined weapon over into my left hand now, and draw Crisis from its holster with my right. Yes, you’ve got to consider your power according to the understanding that it came to you only at significant personal cost. Consequently, you are compelled to endeavor not to use it in a trivial fashion. The fatal sins against your power are overestimation — meaning that you do not wield enough power to overcome your enemies, the price of which is defeat — and underestimation — meaning that you use an excess of power to overcome your enemies, the price of which is atrophy.
But to what ends you use your power is for no one to dictate except you yourself. If others don’t like it, they can try to stop you. If your power is greater than theirs, then you have no need to fear. Might really does make right, it's an indisputable fact of life.
Were it not for the bulk of my attention being devoted to the Dark Side, I would have launched an attack by now; but the Force has a way of making one act methodically, slowly, while attention is fixed on it. I extend my right arm until the muzzle of Crisis kisses and comes to press against the rain-soaked underside of the Protectorate’s hull, to where only the sight of the blaster is peeking past the edge of the ship, and begin to adjust the rotation of my wrist slightly to start to get the pistol pointed and properly aligned towards Adi’s resting form. Otherwise, still concealed, still ready, still concentrating in the Force, still prepared. Still talking to myself, I guess.*[/font]
*What rumors may have preceded my arrival, I’m not sure. I haven’t paid any attention to that sort of thing, nor have I had much to do with many other beings as of late; and besides, I’ve far less interest in what people perceive me to be than in my own evaluation of my power. By the same token, I knew little of Abaddon prior to the brief exposition which Tal had given to me. What I’m saying is that the impression he is cultivating in me now hasn’t been dyed by any presuppositions I had about the man, since none existed.
Abaddon is a boulder. He weathers the events taking place around him, responding in appropriate course with a bluntness appropriate to his form. Firmly grounded in his convictions, he does not shift except in the most extreme geological circumstances. All those who come across him are given no recourse but to acknowledge his presence and adjust their course accordingly. Mighty and rigid, ancient and cold, that is the man who sits before me. A monolith of this sort relies on its apparent characteristic mass, and indeed seems at first glance unassailable. Yet, it can be overcome. Not often through sheer might (although certainly that is possible), but more often through circumvention, through avoidance, through exploitation of a single fault line, or through wise application of leverage. Despite all of the impressiveness of its awe-inspiring appearance, when one comes across a boulder one cannot help but imagine all of the different ways by which it could be moved or broken. A powerful symbol is not one that can be ignored. It inspires either awe or defiance. That is the man who sits before me.
I am struck by the forthright request for my aid. It is rare to find among the Sith: that, first, one would openly ignore the Rule of Two so historically embraced by our kind (which I reject). That, second, one would request as opposed to manipulating or maneuvering to secure servitude. That, third, one would be so prompt to incorporate a man he has only just met, when our kind is so well-known for their infighting and deceptiveness. Very rare indeed, to come across a specimen with this degree of bluntness! But that is who Abaddon is, clearly: one who simply is, and merely by whose existence draws those he encounters in, forces them to behold that existence, and thus imposes the burden of reaction on them. A massive boulder stands in your path, he says. What are you going to do about it, he asks.
There is a refreshingness to this which is also rare to be found among Sith. So many are so powerless that one can simply disregard their entire existence. Irrelevance has been the hallmark of many of our kind. Abaddon denies that term in the utmost.
Yes, he asks it of me to help him to vanquish that which opposes his will. And so immediately my own resolve is put to the test. Can I, having lauded Tal so lavishly for the virtuousness of seeking to increase his own power, do anything but give Abaddon the same applause for doing exactly that? Acquiring strength can only come from the admission that you need more strength. Acknowledgment of weakness is itself not a weakness. Rather, it is the first step towards true strength. How could I find fault with anyone, Lapay by name or not, who seeks to increase their overall strength? Even if, by the compounding growth of their power, a man could one day rise to threaten my freedom, how could I be persuaded that that is an outcome to be avoided? No! Instead it means that I, too, must never falter in my steps towards an ever-increasing power.
And so, having considered his words for some time, I finally reply.*
*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]
[/ul] *The words escape me in a tone which is best given as some mixture between relief and anticipation. My leg restlessly taps the terminal chassis which has served as my seat for the last several hours. When I first gained passage onto this ship, I couldn’t help but feel like no one else thought that I belonged on this mission. To be fair, one usually doesn’t welcome a Sith onto a team intended to prevent the escape of a criminal. Especially not a criminal so strong in the Force. Tends to arouse suspicion, you know? Even if it is a textbook example of discrimination 101. But the captain was given my letter of recommendation, signed by some important politician, I forget who, and I was granted entry onto this vessel under the sole condition that I assist the transfer team in escorting Nemo to his ‘final destination’. Captain’s word goes.
Well, we all know that Nemo’s not going to stay there, right? Even if it weren’t already my intention to test my power against that man’s, no one can reasonably expect a manmade prison to hold him for long. Even if you were to cast this man beyond the event horizon of a black hole, the entire universe would half expect him to manage an escape. So naturally, I’ve got to put an end to his life myself, for unless I do it by my own hand, I would never believe him to stay dead.
And I can’t help but think that the other members of this team are distrustful of my motives. Well, let them be. Or so was the thought; it’s not going to make any difference, I told myself. And then we got word from the captain that the ship had been intercepted — pirates, was the sensor team’s assessment — and that we were to make preparations to move the prisoner.
I wondered if it was a sign that I should accelerate my plans. But no, no...the captain’s orders to relocate the prisoner were accompanied by suspicion that this might have been an orchestrated attack, and not just some random highway bandits looking for a quick looting. Even if they were, to stumble upon Nemo would be a treasure surpassing their wildest imaginations, if they knew what they were looking at. Still, as the space theater developed, it became clear that there was indeed some covert data that had leaked out, and as the invader’s shuttle came to land in the hangar some floors above us, I am able to monitor their progress with my Force Sight. And I could tell that the time was not right to make my move; these guys were probably going to muck it up, somehow. Best to be patient, and let the excitement fade.
I can see Nemo, too. The containment field has disrupted his connection to the Force, so he’s almost invisible to me, but not quite. He sleeps, for now. Though, as the impressively wing-spanned ship starts to come to a landing in the hangar area, he might just notice it and awaken. These are some special men who’ve come for him, aren’t they? I can see them. And among them, I’m sure I haven’t mistaken the hue of his aura…
Fortunately, though not full-fledged members of the ship’s crew, we have all become familiar with this space. There’s two ways in or out of this detention level. Since the enemy shuttle is making its way to land in the hangar, on the one particular side of it, it’s almost guaranteed that they’re going to arrive via maintenance elevator, on the far side of the detention hall. There’s that valuable intel, again; if they came by the main route, they’d be detained by blast doors and security measures galore. The service route is effectively devoid of all decor, save the elevator and the hallway itself. Until you get to the main room, of course, where there's desks and computer racks galore.*
[/font] *I thrust my right arm in its direction.* “Seems as though they're heading that way. We’ll have to arrest the lot of them.”[/ul] *I bet we’ll actually have to kill them. But that’s one of those things you just don’t say to light-siders, if you’re trying not to sever whatever little trust has developed amid this fragile alliance that has been developing up until now. Look, I’ll even demonstrate some self-sacrifice. Jedi love that kind of thing. I hop from my seat and stretch my legs a bit to drive away the numbness.*
[/font][/ul]
*From my belt, I retrieve with my left hand the phrik basket hilt of Vol. I take into my right hand the fully-connected, double-ended triple partizan lightsaber, Trogdor. Gripped mid-haft, he will help me to secure the hallway. Better for me that I demonstrate my commitment by holding off the intruders on the front lines, anyways. Saurez is clasped about my right forearm, and with a twitch of the wrist, he projects a brilliant orange energy shield, accompanied a split-second later by the familiar hiss of Vol’s blade igniting and casting its complementary cyan glow. My twin blasters adorn either side of my hips as well, comfortably holstered and unlikely to leave; better to have them prepared and not needed than needed yet nowhere in sight. The opposuite is the case with Devient, who, though she suits me well, has a certain rudeness and alarming appearance that tends to give trouble when making new friends. So I left her in a locker back on Coruscant. She’ll never forgive me, but that doesn’t matter for now. As I conclude my stretching and make final preparations, I stride idly to the mouth of the hallway. Finally, as my steps come to a halt, four scarlet blades on one end of Trogdor flare to life, erupting ceiling-ward with their unstable flicker. For the moment, I rest the other end on the floor. Thus am I set to receive those whom I now attend.
Some ten meters away is the mouth of the elevator shaft, from whence there’ll soon be a great deal of clamor no doubt spilling into our laps. Good. It’s been a boring conversation anyways. The best is yet to come. As I monitor our foes’ movements with Force Sight, I say no more; there’s only so much that needs be stated. The powerful are powerful, that’s all there is to it. And it’s on them where my gaze is now fixated.*[/font]
[/i] about why demonstrations of power are of value? Could it be that you want to become one of the Lapay?”[/font][/ul] *Is that what he means when he says that this won't turn out like I think? Yeah, gaining another son here and now would certainly fit the bill of 'unexpected' to say the least.
As it becomes clear that the man who means to oppose me considers it adequate merely to contest my return indoors to Tipoca City, by holding his ground on the bridge back over, I maintain my fighting posture for what turns into an awkward amount of time, while my opponent has yet to ignite his saber.
Sure, there's zero chance that I can close this gap between us before you'd have time to light it up. But still, it's the principle of the matter.
Anyways, since we're talking about power now, I must admit that that's always a subject that's worth discussion, regardless of circumstance. So as the next steps formulate in my mind, I let out that breath I'd drawn and continue that line of thought. Having increased the distance between us, I am compelled to raise my volume somewhat. The threat of danger will be gone from my voice now; I'm calling out to be heard, and we're back to that pleasant tone I opened with. This is the best stuff to talk about.*
[/i]. Everything that matters, anyways. And if you never get around to measuring the water level, so to speak, then you can neither rely on your power, nor can you tell if you have been growing as a person.”[/font][/ul] *I loosen my right hand's grip to allow the half-section of Trogdor which I hold in my right hand slide further towards the ground, restoring my hold on it at the back end of the shaft, where there is a mag-seal mechanism. You see, my double-ended trident poses me slight vexation when it comes to transportation; with forethought in constructing it, I realized that it would need to be able to split in two or else it would just be an impracticality; that mag-seal is what connects them when I use the whole beastie. But I've only got one of the halves on my person now.
As I continue my explanation, I begin to delve into the Force, drawing its power unto myself. Adi has given me the gift of time, and it would be rude to waste it.*
[/i] the means to an end — any end — and that's just the way things are. If you'd like to do anything in this universe, you must have the necessary power to accomplish it. It even requires power to make the choice not to fight, as paradoxical as that sounds.”[/font][/ul] *It's going to take a lot of power just to maintain your senses, probably. My lectures can get a bit long-winded and you've gone and said one of the magic words. Try not to fall asleep, this stuff matters a lot to me.
Having readjusted my grip, I straighten up and take a few more steps back. On the fifth step, my left foot drops behind my right. I raise my right hand, lifting the blades of that half of Trogdor skyward, and then sweep it across my body, reaching to full extension on that side without breaking stride.
This action interrupts my words, naturally, because with a delightful flash and accompanying wail, Trogdor's teeth sever one of the exposed landing struts of the Protectorate starfighter standing here beside me.*
[/i] been realized.
Now, if I'm here to do something, and you come along and say don't do that, then clearly that's a situation where we have two opposing goals. Who gets the right of way? Naturally, the one with greater power! But the problem is that you haven't got a clean grasp on the true definition of power, that's why you're convoluting it with things like killing and destruction: it's a symptom that you haven't completely considered the full scope of what power is.”[/font][/ul] *Another pause, as the leg-ectomy that I've just performed bears fruit. With only two legs left to stand on, the starfighter gradually overbalances and crashes onto its right wing-edge, now standing on with the two remaining struts propping it that direction. Not to worry, owner, wherever you are; I think that it's still flyable. Also, that's why it was important that I didn't break stride. Had to get to a spot where it's not going to crush my toes before it tumbled. I'm sure it would be painful when that happens.
So after the reverberation of the starfighter ceases its clamor, I resume, all the while still stepping backwards.*
[/font][/ul]
*Even now, I continue to strengthen my readiness in the Force. And then, with a few shuffle-steps to the right, the lean-to shelter fabricated by lightly-damaged Protectorate starfighter (seriously, don't worry about it, leg strut repairs are super inexpensive, I know a guy) interrupts the line of sight between Adi and myself and I'll have a bit of optical privacy from which to contemplate how this proceeds from here. Still gonna chat, though, if he keeps bringing up interesting subjects to talk about.*[/font]
*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.*
*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.*
*He's here. I turn to face him, and immediately take several steps backward, breaching the perimeter of the circular landing pad.
I had elected not to scout him out with Force Sight while he was yet far off, although it would have been well within my abilities to do so. It could wait. So I waited. And now that he's here, this close? I see him well, and I feel like I'm getting a flashback to my youth. To my custody in the tutelage of Brijus the Hutt. This guy gives off that same vibe.
Brijus was a skilled fighter and a cunning warrior, and a man who always seemed to deny the gravity of certain situations and actions. And, a Gray Jedi. And a friend of my father's, himself a model of Sithood. (It just goes to show: faction allegiance only carries so much weight) I learned much under him, especially of the value of innovation in one's armament. But as I came of age, I saw the fallacy in that Gray philosophy. It sounds quite reasonable, until you think it through. Doesn't it just make sense that opening oneself to both light and dark would offer more strength than either alone?
No, that's wrong. Because the fact of the matter is, no one has ever come close to plumbing the full depths of the power of the Force. We are, all of us, limited, while the Force is infinite. Since the Force is infinite, then both the light side of the Force and the dark side of the Force are infinite as well. Thus your perspective is completely flawed if you look at it from the stance of 'using the true nature of the Force,' because the truth of the matter is that no one can fully handle any single side of the Force to begin with. And therefore, since we are left with the finite resources of a mortal being, devoting to 'light' or 'dark' or 'both' is just a question of how you are allocating those resources, with no means of artificially expanding their quantity. At best, you have the exact same result any which way you go; more perniciously, and more likely, by devoting yourself to the jack of all trades approach, you deny the single-mindedness needed for genuine mastery.
That was all in the past, though. I had left Brijus, alive (as a sign of my gratitude), went from Toydaria to Ison, and gave him nary a thought more until now, when this guy has come along spouting weird statements and reminding me of those days. How quaint. Let's let the past die, shall we? Focus on the present.
There are probably many who would take offense to Adi's assertion of apathy to my identity. That, however, is not the most grievous element of his greeting. I call out to him through the storm with a pleasant tone, as he approaches to just over six meters' distance between us.*
*My right hand tightens its grip on the phrik hilt of that half of Trogdor, and my tone drops to a softer, deeper, more dangerous timbre. A slight curl of my upper lip, a slight upturn of my right eyebrow.* “...the responsibility falls to you to demonstrate to me that your power is worth my respect.”[/ul]
*Another five steps back (did you know that Force Sight allows me to see all around me? Being blind has its perks, like walking backwards without worrying about tripping) and I find myself situated centered between the two starfighters, about a meter in front of their triple-engine arrays. I stop with my right foot dropping back, slide it slightly such that the toes point to the outside, and flex my left knee. My left shoulder is forward to Adi. Both of my elbows are flexed to just slightly less than 90º. The man before me is built almost the same as me, maybe a hair shorter and a few kilos lighter. Not much information to glean from the three cylinders he carries on his belt — one clearly a lightsaber hilt, already being caressed, and two smaller ones, unrecognizable to me. This could develop in any number of directions, and when faced with the unknown foe, one must have absolute confidence in their own power. We shall see how true that rings for my opponent.* [/font]
*The winds blow and the seas rage, yet I remain. On stranger tides I have come to Kamino, and it has come to my attention that there is old business in need of wrapping up. Also new business, in need of my efforts.
The old business? Tal made a mess, that’s what the old business is, from way back when he controlled this planet. And yet, as he continues to develop his power, an idea struck him which depended on some of the after-effects of his residence on this world. And since I am committed to seeing him through to freedom, I accompany.
Then I received a premonition, a summons through the Force, and so I walked here, alone, to this platform, where sit two sleek fighters (I confess I'm not familiar with the make or model of these bad boys), and I've come, alone, to attend to whatever caused this beckoning.
...Not alone. For I am accompanied by the members of my armament.
My left hand is adorned by Vol, the phrik basket-hilted lightfoil. Her long, thin blade casts a teal glow which washes recklessly over the vicinity in this rainstorm. On my right side, with the hand snaking around, I grip one half of Trogdor, mid-haft, with all four unstable red blades ignited and pointed towards the ground, the un-bladed end touching the crook of my arm. Trogdor's flames will spell ruination for all who oppose me. Also on my right side, clasped around the forearm, is the dormant energy shield emitter, Saurez, housed in a bracer. Though he sleeps for now, I know that I can draw upon his strength at a moment’s notice. Held in a holster on my left hip is Crisis, my LL-30 blaster pistol. It is reluctant to strike, today, but I may find a use for it nonetheless. And lastly, guarding me somewhat from the rain which so eagerly seeks to caress, my trenchcoat Freedom soaks in the atmosphere.
Once more I assert: I am not alone. The Force is at my command.
I stride up the center of the main walkway, casually noting the two fighters have been parked in reverse, engines facing towards Tipoca City. Either the pilots were showing off their maneuverability, or, more likely, they are preparing to make a hasty departure. Wouldn't you do the same? Try not to fly over the city if you were making a disturbance? Several feet from the perimeter of the circular platform, I pause.
Streams pour down my face, accumulating in wells around my black glossy artificial eyes. You know, this being Kamino, the featureless glass orbs which occupy my sockets almost let me fit right in, appearance-wise, with the Kaminoans. Other than the faint green hue of my skin, and the far sturdier build I sport. And the not-so-elongatedness of my neck. Other than those differences, I blend right into the crowd, it’s uncanny.
Speaking of the Kaminoans, they are an odd bunch. So much effort put into their technological accomplishments, and yet at their core they are a ritualistic and superstitious race. Don’t you think, with all of their scientific advances, that they could have developed a means of shielding their platforms from the rain? Of course they could have, don’t deceive yourself. This begs the question, why didn’t they? The answer is, because they worship the rain, and the water of their world, and they insist upon making all visitors and would-be-entrants to Tipoca City to pass through it. A ritual of purification, and a sacrificial offering to the spirit of their planet. Legend holds that should the planet test and find anyone unworthy of entry, that they will dissolve on the spot at the first touch of the precipitation.
Here I remain. Wet, but not soluble. And, as the sound of soggy footprints and glow of a crystal blue Force aura betrays, here comes another. I guess that makes us both worthy.
*Although not a primary objective, a healthy amount of levity is well worth the effort invested. Tal's recognition thereof — both in the sarcasm of his response and the warmth of laughter being held at bay in his voice — returns the smile to my face. And I contend that there is nothing inherently wrong with that. Look at us: two men, Sith through and through, striding with confidence deeper into the pyramidal campus of the Sith Academy, and not a concern in the slightest to what awaits us because there exists nothing in this universe capable of stopping us. Is it not well-deserved, the pleasure found in this moment? Should one not enjoy the freedom to do as we do?
After Tal's explanation trails off into a belated welcome, I consider things for a moment before offering my reply. Taking a jab at my lack of sensitivity to the events of the universe doesn't seem partiularly fair, does it? For one thing, most of my sense abilities are trained to replace sight, not to gaze at what lies far away. For another, that's a critical distinction that should be made about relativistic shielding. Time elapsed from Nubia to Korriban, for me, was on the order of an hour; in the elapsed time of the universe, the collapse of empires would have consumed about 5 seconds if it happened dramatically, and would have been unnoticeable if it was a slow decay. So if something else were to have preoccupied my attention at the right time, then I can hardly be faulted for missing it. And as we all know, it was not an incident-free voyage.
But self-defense is not a topic worth pursuing in the light of more pertinent matters. What catches my attention the most is the repression of life brought about by the collapse, and the opportunity that is already presented. Yes, there is an interesting fork in the road before us as to what our next steps could be. In my mind, there is a clear indication of what ought to be done. Nonetheless, this decision does not rest with me.*
[/ul]*I savor these next words, with what little light exists highlighting my exposed teeth in a savage grin.*
[/font][/ul]
*I cannot understate how important it is to know the theory, and to understand the supporting principles. Yet, if they are never deliberately practiced, if they remain merely pleasant-sounding ideas, then they are truly useless to you. When you use them, you come to understand them in a fashion that trasncends the purely theoretical. Consider when you first learned to read: you memorized the letters and you memorized how the words looked. But what about when you first encountered a word you did not know? At that moment the principles of what you had memorized were put to a practical test. It was so long ago that I am sure you do not recall the feeling; however, I can assure you, it is the same as you will feel now.
Apply what you have memorized. If you do not familiarize yourself with the path when it is well-lit, how can you expect to know how to find it when fog conceals it from your eyes? If you desire not to lose the Way, then follow it at every opportunity.*