Post by Kuhblam on Nov 24, 2012 15:46:18 GMT -5
The boarding ramp still wasn't lowering. The hydraulics creaked, shuddered for a second, and then shut down for a third time. It's operator, an old Sith officer in his early sixties fiddling with various hologylphs, became increasing frustrated as he failed to open up the speeder. The frustration wasn't one of anger, however, but rather fear. Fear of the lone, and increasing agitated at that, passenger who was waiting to exit the vehicle so that he could enter the temple. The speeder shuddered again; the inclement weather outside was quickly becoming nasty.
The old soldier knew nothing about him other than that he was powerful, dangerous, and becoming increasingly impatient with what was supposed to be a very trivial matter of boarding and exiting. A cold sweat built up at the nape of his neck; it didn't take a force sensitive to detect anger by any means. His fingers flashed across the console, but still everything was unresponsive to his touch. It was if the entire system had simply shut down at the most inopportune time. He didn't even have time to begin pleading an apology before the man spoke up.
"Enough."
The cloaked figure, swaddled in black linen with his identity concealed by virtue of an equally midnight-colored hood, finally stood up from his seat after deciding that he had waited for far too long. Three minutes after the speeder had come to a screeching halt, if one was to be precise. He approached the officer, who was now quivering, and shoved him aside into an adjacent passenger seat with a powerful exertion of his arm muscles. His left arm extended, and a electrum-hilted lightsaber shot forth from underneath his cloak and into his hand. The officer's jaw dropped, but he remained motionless.
The deep purple blade ignited and burned intensely into view, and a quick figure eight motion severed the two locks holding the ramp in place. His other hand came forward, multiple whisps of sound built up, and then a slight motion forward and the ramp shot backwards into the landing pad with a thud. Sparks shot upwards and to the sides, and the red sand so typical of Korriban's environment kicked up like a miniature tidal wave. The wind was already blowing, however, and as the man stepped outside he was immediately assaulted but unfazed by the tempest raging outside. The back portion of his cloak shot upwards, and he reached to pull it close to him in order to more better protect against the elements. Behind him, the officer only looked on as he disappeared into the sandstorm outside.
His walk was quick-paced but not urgent by any means. Blood-shot yellow eyes gazed up at the statues in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Old, forgotten remnants of what had been examples of Sith power from the Great Hyperspace War and before that. They were crumbling, decadent, hardly impressive to him any longer after having seen them so many times, but they reminded him of the path that had been laid before him and what lay in store for his destiny as a man of the dark side of the Force. He would rise to the challenge, improve his station just as he had before in slaying Roderick. No more foolish loyalties to men like Lord Memnon and Lord Carthis, no more fools errands to Vendaxa or the Unknown Regions: he was here to stay. He was Virgil, and he intended to make his mark once more.
Sturdy coarse hands pushed open a pair of durasteel doors leading into the amphitheater that fed off into various hallways and rooms as a choke point for this part of the temple. The attenuations of dark power were strong here in this place, as was the stench of Korriban's rot of course. Still swaddled in black and not having removed his hood, he moved forward to a massive statue in the center of the lobby depicting Naga Sadow reaching towards the heavens with one hand and the other curled into a fist by his waist. His gaze turned upwards to examine the statue; decrepit, crumbling, black as night, and about as symbolic as things ran. As he observed the statue he reached out with the Force, tendrils of his touch snaking about the room and into adjacent areas like orchids to trees. The air here was noticeably more powerful this time around; perhaps there was someone worth his weight.
The old soldier knew nothing about him other than that he was powerful, dangerous, and becoming increasingly impatient with what was supposed to be a very trivial matter of boarding and exiting. A cold sweat built up at the nape of his neck; it didn't take a force sensitive to detect anger by any means. His fingers flashed across the console, but still everything was unresponsive to his touch. It was if the entire system had simply shut down at the most inopportune time. He didn't even have time to begin pleading an apology before the man spoke up.
"Enough."
The cloaked figure, swaddled in black linen with his identity concealed by virtue of an equally midnight-colored hood, finally stood up from his seat after deciding that he had waited for far too long. Three minutes after the speeder had come to a screeching halt, if one was to be precise. He approached the officer, who was now quivering, and shoved him aside into an adjacent passenger seat with a powerful exertion of his arm muscles. His left arm extended, and a electrum-hilted lightsaber shot forth from underneath his cloak and into his hand. The officer's jaw dropped, but he remained motionless.
The deep purple blade ignited and burned intensely into view, and a quick figure eight motion severed the two locks holding the ramp in place. His other hand came forward, multiple whisps of sound built up, and then a slight motion forward and the ramp shot backwards into the landing pad with a thud. Sparks shot upwards and to the sides, and the red sand so typical of Korriban's environment kicked up like a miniature tidal wave. The wind was already blowing, however, and as the man stepped outside he was immediately assaulted but unfazed by the tempest raging outside. The back portion of his cloak shot upwards, and he reached to pull it close to him in order to more better protect against the elements. Behind him, the officer only looked on as he disappeared into the sandstorm outside.
His walk was quick-paced but not urgent by any means. Blood-shot yellow eyes gazed up at the statues in the Valley of the Dark Lords. Old, forgotten remnants of what had been examples of Sith power from the Great Hyperspace War and before that. They were crumbling, decadent, hardly impressive to him any longer after having seen them so many times, but they reminded him of the path that had been laid before him and what lay in store for his destiny as a man of the dark side of the Force. He would rise to the challenge, improve his station just as he had before in slaying Roderick. No more foolish loyalties to men like Lord Memnon and Lord Carthis, no more fools errands to Vendaxa or the Unknown Regions: he was here to stay. He was Virgil, and he intended to make his mark once more.
Sturdy coarse hands pushed open a pair of durasteel doors leading into the amphitheater that fed off into various hallways and rooms as a choke point for this part of the temple. The attenuations of dark power were strong here in this place, as was the stench of Korriban's rot of course. Still swaddled in black and not having removed his hood, he moved forward to a massive statue in the center of the lobby depicting Naga Sadow reaching towards the heavens with one hand and the other curled into a fist by his waist. His gaze turned upwards to examine the statue; decrepit, crumbling, black as night, and about as symbolic as things ran. As he observed the statue he reached out with the Force, tendrils of his touch snaking about the room and into adjacent areas like orchids to trees. The air here was noticeably more powerful this time around; perhaps there was someone worth his weight.
