Dusting Off (Karl)

[Kuhblam]

"In a few moments, you will leave whatever miserable existence you did call your life behind for the sanctity and teachings of the Sith. I say again; if you are not strong enough, if you do not possess the will to gain that strength, you are to stand to my right. However, if you feel you are up to the task... then board the transport and accept the invitation we have extended graciously to you."

The ambassador, a senior Initiate, was clad in dark midnight robes, adorning gauntlets and field boots of similar depth with a plain silver lightsaber hilt swaying lightly from his utility belt with every slight shift. He was of standard height and weight disposition for a human, but still commanded something of a worthy aura to the eight Dark Jedi arrayed before him of varying gender, age and race. He had picked them all up from different backgrounds while on his tour through the Empire; the Twi'Lek on the far right of the line from a slaving group, the Iktotchi from a similar pirate group. The last to be have been recruited was a human of middle age, dressed in similar attire but more muscular; chosen from the mercenary ranks fighting in fealty to the Imperial payroll. This man, named Virgil, rolled his head, trying to get the stiffness from his neck. He had been standing here for over an hour, listening to the man's teachings on rules and procedure concerning what they were to do upon arriving in the Sith Temple on the planet they orbited, Korriban.

His ears tuned in closer as the recruiter called out each prospective Initiate's name and asked him to make his decision, going down the line in a military fashion with a crispness to his voice. Each individual stated his choice; no one dared at this point not to take the transport and venture into the unknown. Virgil straightened; he was ready to get out of this dull hangar and begin learning the secrets of the Sith! All the preparation in getting to this point would not be wasted; he would make the most of it by boarding the transport and making a new name for himself. The recruiter's voice turned upon Virgil, his reddened eyes engaging his own bloodshot yellow as a hand gestured towards the boarding ramp.

"Last chance to change your decision."

Virgil nodded, his face stern and expressionless.

"I accept. Only a fool would willingly leave now."

"Then board, and waste our time no further."

Virgil did not look at the recruiter further, ignoring his words as he spoke to the last two recruits next to him. His dirtied boots thumping up the durasteel boarding ramp, Virgil looked about the small shuttle that would take them down to the tomb world's surface. Taking a quick glance before jamming his new rucksack into a storage compartment above the dual row of seats, Virgil quietly sat down, ignoring the desire to rant all sorts of humanocentristic debauchery against the five or so aliens inside the medium passenger compartment now. He felt no discomfort being near such beings, but regardless he found them... inferior. Disgusting. Weak. Why such species were even allowed in such a pro-human establishment like the Empire and the Order he was about to join perplexed Virgil to no end. At least these animals would not be found in as large numbers here as they would be found in the Galactic Republic.

Hunched forward with his arms on his knees with his hands clasped together, Virgil looked under his chest to check his harness once more before hanging his head. The boarding ramp to his right was slowly raising up, its grinding against the hull drowned out by the whining of the engine struggling to hold up its immense weight. The entire shuttle became something of a quaint earthquake inside the cruiser it was based on; as the exterior entered nothing but hard and unforgiving vacuum, Virgil turned his head and looked across to an adjacent viewpoint as the shuttle shifted its alignment and the Leviathan-class Cruiser he had traveled on gradually disappeared into the night, engulfed by the thick blackness around the shuttle. Rather than survey his future colleagues for potential threats, Virgil closed his eyes and crossed his arms; it was a time for sleep but rather simple rest. In any rate, he would sense the heightened emotions that came before pilfering a few pockets miles ahead of the hand reaching for his gear. In any rate, a few minutes' relaxation would do him good in the company of such degenerate species.

----

"Welcome to your new home. Report inside the Temple."

The voice of the pilot over the intercom of the speaker gave Virgil a jolt of awareness. Straightening, he cracked his knuckles rather loudly before looking outside the viewport right next to him for a glimpse of the Temple. It was... surrounded by oceans of mountains and reddish sand and salt. The recruiter hadn't been lying. In any rate, it was not like Virgil imagined. There was no illusions of grandeur popping into his head at it's sight, nor was there anything that screamed the title of power to him. Colonnade, more columns, landing pads, and a few more columns to top it off in what looked to be the main courtyard where they were landing. It was boring in any rate, but Virgil had never been crazy about aesthetics. He just liked that there were aesthetics. Of course, that little voice in the back of his head was telling him that they had not re-created the Temple with the intention of catering to weakling artists and poets. It was a cultural center for the strong, and Virgil reminded himself that he would most likely find someone his equal if not stronger.

It occurred to him that the count of Initiates training out in the main courtyard was enormous; their sheer numbers would have been enough alone to block out Korriban's twin suns. Lightsabers flashing, all of them varying shades of red; Virgil smirked. His deep violet purple would be much out of place amongst the sea of conformity washing through the trainees. Of course, he saw no need to adapt his coloring; the more who remembered his blade, the better. In any rate, purple was a better color anyhow. He liked to remind himself of Marut's failure all the time simply by igniting it and staring into its light for hours. It gave him focus, pinpointed his anger for so many people having thought they could simply get rid of him so easily. He would not let the same thing happen here. The next person to cross him who was not part of the Dark Lord's inner circles would be destroyed utterly and entirely... pending the decision to willingly be expelled from the Order with a side-effect of execution. His recruiter had explained that he would need to be... polite in the first week whilst getting acquainted, something Virgil was not accustomed to.

The shuttle rocked for a final time as its landing pad anchored onto the landing pad and kicked up miniature typhoons of bright red dust and dirt, its ion drives powering down and allowing some life into Virgil's ear drums to co-exist with the current audio backdrop. The boarding ramp to his right again dropped, its engine still whining as usual as it dropped halfway completely and slammed onto the ground-level landing pad with a thud!. Removing his harness, Virgil stood up before the pilot gave the all clear and dropped the latch holding his rucksack with the Force, a simple fluid motion of his index and middle finger letting the pack drop into his waiting arms as he threw it over his shoulder and let the entirety of its weight rest on his back. Behind him, the other seven were also following like-wise, albeit simply using their hands to manually remove their gear.

As he stepped out to breath some fresh air, Virgil let the sunlight wash over his face like a light breeze as he stepped down from the solitary landing pad and stepped into the midst of multiple training sessions and sociable talks all taking place as once. Heading back down the boarding ramp just like when he had come on board the shuttle, Virgil stopped off to the left near the bottom to soak in his surroundings first hand. It was true; whomever this main Dark Lord was, he was truly building an army, something to rival the Jedi. He had seen it while still inside the shuttle, but being amongst the black robes and training outfits personally was something different entirely. Reaching out with the Force, Virgil extended his probing as far as the main courtyard was visible for him; the early morning on the planet was providing overwhelming amounts of emotions, both raw and concentrated. He could already tell some were new to the Force while others were like him; regardless, it was too much for him at the moment and he withdrew the tendrils snaking about on his behalf. A few of the Initiates had taken notice, but otherwise didn't care or did not bother to look for the source.

In front of him, several Initiates were already surveying the pack, looking about and making preliminary gauges on who was going to be the grunt, the leader, and the groveler. Not bothering to look at them further, Virgil picked up his pack as he moved to the rear of the group moving from the shuttle and through the main courtyard to enter the actual Temple structure itself.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Above the courtyard where the new Sith gathered and mingled, there was a balcony for higher-ranked individuals to observe and judge. It was not an outstanding piece of architecture; on the contrary it was designed to blend in, a simple outcropping with a cleverly designed railing allowing the observer to watch without in turn being watched. Effective and very simple.

The man who was up there now, dressed in black robes trimmed in gold and tailored to obfuscate the body armor he wore beneath, wore dark glasses over his eyes (or, one easily assumed they were his eyes...) and had a bored expression on his face. "So much waste," he muttered to himself, "so much mired in hypocrisy and arrogance." He almost wished for an audience, but he was alone as usual. His thoughts turned to Madora, the Rilan woman about whom he was not sure what to think.

He had often considered their first meeting, where they had shared more than they would have with others and spared in the Echani fashion. It was quite confusing, and he had let himself be carried along by the moment; nothing to regret, so far, and he was happy to have someone he could trust implicitly among the treacherous backstabbing bleeders of this establishment. It was just... confusing.

"I'm almost fifty years old, you'd think I would know myself," he muttered under his breath, still scanning the crowd and falling asleep in the hot Korriban sun. He might very well have fallen asleep there and then, and left himself vulnerable, but one of the Initiates caught his attention. A grizzled looking fellow with a cybernetic hand and a great many scars, as well as an apparent dislike for the company around him. Interesting, indeed.

Abruptly he decided he would have this man for his Dominion, and the man would want it as well; he just didn't know it yet. Chuckling to himself the older fellow in the glasses swept about and started back inside the Temple, headed for the inner hall where the grizzled Initiate would enter.

Once there, he hid behind a pillar and watched for his man, using Art of the Small to conceal his presence in the Force, and the shadows of the hall in tandem with his own natural talent for sneaking to generally stay out of the way. In time he found the man he wanted, and smiled to himself beneath his goatee; instead of directly approaching him, as most would, the blond fellow in the glasses liked to play games. This new fellow was obviously a humanist, a racist of sorts; he deserved the best games he could come up with.

"Hey you," he muttered in Huttese, again using the Force and his own talent to throw his voice, so it seemed to come from the oblivious Twi'lek just behind Virgil. "Yeah, you, with the hair," he whispered in High Galactic, this time from the older Zeltron female to Virgil's far left. "What's a smelly human like you doing here, stinking up our halls?" This time in Basic, and seeming to come from all around him with no particular source.

Still hidden behind his pillar, the blond fellow grinned to himself and waited for the burly human to react to all these insults.

[Kuhblam]

His mind was utterly pre-occupied with different ways to kill the aliens behind him. They hadn't done anything in particular as of yet to earn a blade through the stomach, but none the less their presence was unwanted and beginning to get on Virgil's nerves. It was becoming apparent as he walked through the hallways that, although a vast majority of the Initiates were gratefully human, a fourth of them represented less noble origins. Putrid origins, rather. Almost disgustingly horrid origins. In a caustic, bad taste of humor, he wondered if perhaps they were the reason that the Temple lacked all the grandeur he had been dreaming of as of late. No, that was such an obvious scapegoat... albeit an entertaining proposition.

"Hey you. Yeah, you, with the hair.

Virgil's ears caught wind of some smart comment directed to him. Had it been directed at him? No. Maybe. Hopefully, it was. He was surrounded by non-humans. It had to have come from that Zeltron whore he had traveled with down from the cruiser. Yes, the tone matched the persona. But why had she chosen this moment as the architect of her... well, not her demise. Virgil wouldn't be able to go that far. Still, he hadn't detected anything beyond the ordinary, and his telepathic feats didn't lie. Another irritating annoyance interrupted his thoughts; this time, it was the Twi'Lek degenerate behind him.

What's a smelly human like you doing here, stinking up our halls?"

His entire body stopped, mid-way through the hall. Behind him, the Twi'Lek was held up completely, and the Zeltron found herself unable to progress further to much surprise as Virgil brought her close with a telekinetic hug. Virgil was already focusing the Force out of sheer anger at their insolence; no second-rate species would be allowed such a snide remark at him. Nobody, much less an alien, had ever dared such a thing before. A build up of the Force around his body ensued, soaking up the dark side from the halls around him like a sponge in preparation to release it all with the power surge of a cyclone. However, he had long since learned to focus 'Force Repulse', and could control both the scope and the power of the technique's blast. The Zeltron slowly floated into the air, as did the Twi'Lek; neither of them had the faintest clue as to why they were being subjected to preliminary levitation. It was a good thing there was no one else in extremely close proximity apart from another alien, and for him, Virgil didn't care.

In typical fashion, he let pinpoint controlled energy explode outwards like a bomb, sending the two offenders into parallel pillars and the third off into some unforeseen avenue away from him. The earthen pillars cracked just a tad from the pressure brought on by the twin collisions; bits of brick and mortar fell off a bit from the shock wave. Initiates stop to watch, but in an ironic sense continued onwards; unlike the Jedi, they had no care for the personal quarrels of other students. The Twi'Lek, who had slammed into the pillar to his right and was closer, received a few good kicks to the midsection before Virgil pulled him up by the collar and brought him up face to face. Not bearing to stand his ugliness, Virgil dropped him back down. It was apparent he lacked stamina; Virgil had never incapacitated someone as quickly before.

His pleasant thoughts were interrupted from behind as he sensed a maliciousness radiating from behind him. A lightsaber of golden-silver hue flew to his hand from his utility belt, and a deep purple blade presented itself as Virgil spun about, blocking a conformist crimson red, courtesy of the Zeltron. She, too, was dirtied and bloody, but had taken the hit much better. It was not to last. Blocking the first attack, which was made out of surprise and haste, Virgil battered off the second swipe, then parried the third. It was Ataru; what a foolish discipline to utilize on such an occasion. Virgil countered with an overhead downwards swipe before attacking her right side. However, her strength was of no consequence, and after knocking aside the blade again, he landed an elbow of great momentum into the Zeltron's face, knocking her backwards and quite possibly breaking her nose as she landed on her butt. Brushing the dust from his robes, he created a spit wad of great magnitude and shot it to her feet, sneering.

"You are as clumsy as you are stupid. Insignificant whelp."

Virgil's blade disappeared back into the hilt as he hooked it back to his utility belt. There was a thought nagging at him; he hadn't even sensed a single emotion directed towards him before he decided to launch the pair into a pair of colonnade.

[Karl the Unfettered]

Shard couldn't help but chuckle victoriously, a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound. This fellow, this too-proud human, was not only belligerent and powerful, but easily manipulated as well. He even has the use of a rare power, Repulse, at his beck and call, though perhaps he was a little too willing to use it for the slightest of insults. Interesting in its own way was the man's lightsaber, an ornate device with a purple blade; no doubt he thought to compare himself with the concept of royalty, a superfluous idea at best.

In any event, it was time to intervene. "Enough," he said simply, stepping out from behind the pillar and allowing his power to shine forth again, washing over those assembled. It was a decidedly unstable aura, full of heat and mad whispers promising all sorts of doubtlessly unpleasant things. Many of the new initiates instinctively shied away from him, driven back by his mere presence. His gaze seemed to be fixed on Virgil, though the dark and impenetrable glasses he wore made that difficult to ascertain.

"I assume you have a name, cully?" he went on, craning his head to look up at the taller man. Compared to everyone else's plain or dingy robes, this fellow was ostentatious to the extreme; custom-tailored black robes with vine-like gold trim, designed to obfuscate the body armor worn beneath. He seemed to have an inordinate amount of weapons at his belt as well: two black lightsabers with golden hardware, a macabre-looking vibrosword, a pistol with a silencer and a curious dagger in a curiouser scabbard.

"More than a name," he went on smoothly, "a reason for beating up on your fellow Initiates?" The two Virgil had mistakenly beaten away were recovering, and the Twi'lek, face twisted in a snarl of fury, was preparing some foolish counterattack; the ostentatious fellow held up two fingers, and Virgil would feel a hot, thick haze of air slithering past his face. Literally thick, as if invisible lava had just wafted by; whatever it was the Twi'lek fell to his knees again, choking and gasping for air even though it was clear there was nothing at all for him to be choking on. Almost as if he was choking on the air itself.

After about five seconds the fellow lowered his fingers, and the Twi'lek stopped choking. "Know your place, young man," he said mildly, uncertain gaze fixed on the alien. "You have lost, stand down and report to your assigned quarters." The natural way he simply assumed control of the situation, and the smoothness with which he drew all attention to himself and ordered others around... there were few who could do so within the walls of this Temple, do so with such natural authority as this man had just done, and get away with it. Whoever he was, he had to be one of the Dark Lords.

And as the Twi'lek scurried away, the flaxen-haired fellow turned to the Zeltron. "I trust you've learned your lesson, at least?" he inquired.

"It wasn't me," she said sullenly, resetting her nose with a pop. "Someone muttered at that guy and he went berserk. Stupid humanist..."

"Ah... an arrogant one, you are," he went on, directing his attention to Virgil once more. "Tell me, cully, have you any other talent besides losing your self-control at perceived insults? I have been watching this whole time, and I heard no one insult anybody, least of all yourself." He made no move to draw any of his weapons, yet it was clear from his stance, loose and ready for anything, that he could have any two of them in hand instantly; perhaps he wouldn't even need them, judging further from how he carried himself.

[Kuhblam]

Virgil looked at the newcomer as he approached. Light blondish hair, goggles, extravagant black and gold apparel. The man might as well have been a model of sorts, what with all that fluff he was carrying. The weapons he was carrying were interesting enough, although whether they were practical in a combat situation, Virgil was curious. He would never carry such a myriad number of tools; his lightsabers, his hands, and the Force were all he needed to make an effective point to anyone about the virtues of holding their tongue. In any rate, his words annoyed Virgil to no end. Cully? Was that some kind of old world term? He'd never heard the word before. Then again, he'd never met someone who associated themselves with trying to maintain a feeling of high class.

He asked for Virgil's name. The man looked decidedly human, and as Virgil probed the corners of his emotions, his strong telepathic ability detected nothing but mischief and victory. His sensory powers were somewhat underdeveloped, but he could read minds like a book. For a moment, Virgil debated whether or not he would answer his question. However, feeling fresh off such an easy fight, he decided to reply. There would and could be no harm in answering such an easy question, and he wasn't feeling defiant enough to ask back and wait for a reply first. However, another question arose as to why he had kicked the tar out of the two degenerates; this, the man had no business getting into. He hadn't stated his purpose nor his name, and thus Virgil chose to response in a polar tone.

"...Virgil. As to why these two bore the brunt of my anger, however, is not your concern."

The man raised two fingers, and Virgil could feel a hot sensation flicker past the side of his cheek, as if a spear made of magma had slid past it. However, he did not flinch, and rather followed its path to what he had suspected; the foolish Twi'lek was suffering the brunt of the newcomer's attack. Virgil had felt the emotion radiating from the alien, and had been prepared for what would have been a ill-advised counter attack... one that would have ended in electrocution. He would have enjoyed that, actually. The sensation of releasing such energy was in fact like music to a composer for him, and he enjoyed such techniques. As the Zeltron stood up and popped her nose, she made a smart remark about Virgil attacking her. This time, his hand stretched out, pulled her in a telekinetic embrace, and sent her along on her way with another little force kick in the butt for good measure.

"You lack silence and movement."

His words followed her, but his face and eyes did not. Rather, they focused on the same man, who spoke that he had indeed been hidden behind a pillar the entire time and in fact had not heard a single word uttered from either of the aliens. Virgil's eyes narrowed for a moment. It took but a second for him to realize he had been duped. His temper and anger conflated into a hurricane. No one had ever tricked him before! It was he who manipulated people, not the other way around. Such things were unheard of from where he came. However, he reminded himself that he was no longer on the space station; he was in the Sith Temple. And here, such things occurred all the time.

Who are you...

Virgil was tempted to draw his lightsaber; in fact, he was itching to draw it. This would never happen again, ever. He would make sure of that. He had let his racism, his hatred for these alien buffoons to get the better of him, and in his lack of focus, he had been exploited. This man of black and gold had used him, but for what purpose? To start a fight? For amusement? He must have seen Virgil disembarking from the transport, and noticed his discomfort then and there. That was the only way he would have known to use such a technique to get the better of him. Virgil had not felt a being of such power in the courtyard; he had either been in one of the balconies or concealed. Plus the fact that he commanded the Initiates... a Sith Lord. Yes, that explained it. This fire starter was not one of the common grovelers.

His teeth clenched, Virgil's hands turned into fists. He spoke up, but kept his anger controlled. He was focused now; no more manipulations would take place so easy. As he spoke, he began to circle a bit; he did not take notice whether his adversary stayed in position or shared the movement. His voice was of confidence, but now contained curiosity in it as well.

"For someone who plays games of the senses and hides in the shadows, you are bold. Your little maneuver will not work again; such manipulations can be pulled easily when the subject lacks attention to detail at the time. What do you want? Why did you choose me for your amusements?"

[Karl the Unfettered]

"Because I can," the man replied easily, his voice rich with amusement. "I saw you, how you held yourself, how irritatingly obvious it was that you thought yourself superior to everyone around you... and I exploited it. You are unsubtle, Virgil of Nowhere, and that is weakness." The two he had attacked were not seriously harmed, so he ignored them as they sulked off. He glared at the rest of the crowd until they dispersed, leaving him and Virgil alone in the corner of the hall; at least it seemed as if he was glaring at them.

"As for what I want," he went on, returning his attention to Virgil. "What does anyone want?" and he shrugged. "Specifically, what does anyone who comes here want?" and he waved at the massive Temple walls surrounding them. "Most will say: Power. Control. Influence. To them I say, get the hell out of my Order; we have no place for selfish, close-minded saprophytes who cannot see beyond their own nose.

"That includes you, Virgil of Nowhere. You have not shown much promise so far; you are arrogant, xenophobic, easily manipulated, possessed of a sense of entitlement that exceeds the egos of almost everyone else around here." The words were scathing, derisive, yet his tone and body language were not; he still stood calmly, arms crossed beneath his chest, and his voice was almost conversational in its ease, as if this was little more than a discussion of the weather. Also, strangely, no matter how Virgil circled and stalked he would have the distinct impression of being intently watched by hot and unstable eyes, even as it was clear this man in black wasn't looking at him at all.

Not physically, anyway.

"You wave your glow-rod around as if it means anything, and that is the most irritating part of you out of a long list of irritants," he concluded, uncrossing his arms. "Purple for royalty, electrum for wealth... on an obnoxious 'man' who honestly seems unable to rub two credits between his fingers and couldn't lead himself out of a torn sack!" He snorted with derision, though his voice did not change or rise. "I ask you one more time, and I will not ask again: have you any other talent besides losing your self-control at perceived insults? Give me a good reason not to have you thrown out of here on your ass followed by the pieces of your lightsaber. Just one good reason."

Now he turned and faced Virgil: now his voice changed, going lower, becoming threatening and sincere. "Impress me, in other words," he concluded. "You've done a most remarkably miserable job of it so far, and I'm not even the strictest person around."

((Very sorry for the wait, Kuhblam. I've not had any inspiration for a very long time, and I'm afraid I still don't have any either; I almost had to force this out,))