Reliquis Magnitudine

[hugo]

Glancing at  the mirror, Visarion surveyed himself carefully.  He wasn't a very showy person, he realized proudly and often, so a simple set of gray robes and black hooded cloak would do just fine.  After all, he wasn't dressing to take Darth Keres to the Ball.  Her secretary had called the night before, and told him only that he was to meet Darth Keres at 0800 the next morning at her office to discuss matters concerning critical duties to the Order.  Very specific. 

For his part, he had seen Darth Keres at several ceremonies, and she personally welcomed him into the Cult whenever he was Knighted, though that was more of a meet and greet than a real introduction.  Despite the cryptic nature of the invitation, if a summons from his superiors' superior could be called an invitation, Visarion was eager to meet Darth Keres.  She was a powerful practitioner of the Dark Side, and as a Darth, one of the most politically important people in the Empire.  Most importantly in his calculations, however, was the fact that Darth Keres didn't have an apprentice, and he didn't have a master.  If there was any way to grow his powers and rise up the ladder, it was going to be through her.  Visarion himself didn't care much hierarchical intrigue, but in an organization as hierarchical as the Sith Order, one had to play the intrigue game.

After removing a speck of dust from his shoulder, the Hapan recovered his mask from the nearby shelf.  It was silver like those of all of his compatriots within the Cult of Mysteries.  His mask was comparatively plain, save for a long, thin line that ran from the right temple to the corner of the mouth. It was a wound inflicted by his own lightsaber, carefully drawn to mimic the white scar that marred the right side of his own face.   Visarion may have worn a mask, but he had nothing to hide.   He put on the mask, clipped his lightsaber on his belt, and took one last look in the mirror to make sure he was presentable.

His modest apartment was in the Citadel's Knight Dormitories, a short trip to the offices of the Cult of Mysteries.  It was 0750 and he was due to meet with Darth Keres in ten minutes.  There were only a few others milling about this early: a stray apprentice, a harried clerk with a cafbean stain on her blouse, and a contingent of grim-faced commandos led by a Knight he didn't recognize.  In a few minutes, he'd arrived at Darth Keres's office suite.  When he entered the lobby, he saw a secretary tapping on a holoscreen.  She looked up.  

"Darth Keres will see you shortly."  

Visarion sat on one of the couches situated in the lobby.  He was a few minutes early, so he decided to try and center his mind.  He was understandably nervous, but convinced that this first impression was vital to his future success in the Order.  He couldn't fuck that up.

[Harukei]

The heavy durasteel door that led into Darth Keres' office opened with a hiss, providing an inviting darkness for Visarion to enter. The waiting room let into a high-ceiling hallway supported by arches carved from granite. Between the arches baubles and trinkets were found in display cases. Broken helmets, daggers that had rusted over, tablets written in a barbed and savage tongue that did not resemble ancient Sith and even broken pieces of jewelry comprised this early collection that heralded its visitors. 

With each step the air would turn heavier, the scent of ancient parchment, dust and the presence of the dark side growing mingling into a somewhat uncomfortable experience as the hallway led to a single vaulted room, large enough to host a myriad of gubernatorial workers, but populated by just a handful. The floor was of shiny black marble, and from it pillars rose to the ceiling, the stone carved as it represented ancient times of the red skinned Sith Species and the Dark Jedi. More displays were laid out in rows containing cuirasses, swords and daggers of baroque design in nigh perfect condition, all impregnated with the power of ancient Sith Lords. 

Bookshelves brimming with ancient tomes bound in tarentanek hide and scrolls that looked brittle enough to crumble at the wind, bent the shelves ever so slightly, essentially making the office more of a temple and a library than any administrative area. A main source of light dominated the room, as a large window echoed the constant tapping of the rain droplets and reflected the thunders that parted through Dromund Kaas' atmosphere. Before the window lay a large desk and before it six pyramidal braziers burned in pale blue flames. The figures of six other Sith were arrayed as they guarded the occupant of the large desk that dominated the room, all wearing silver masks and dark shrouds. All holding lightsaber pikes and standing like statues. 

A single figure was behind the desk, her hands holding an ancient tome bound in worn leather in a hand, while another quickly typed on a panel, transcribing the details she had found worthy within the knowledge of the tome. Darth Keres soon took notice of the newcomer and like that the figures that guarded this sanctum in particular slowly shifted as they gazed towards Visarion. The Dark Lady of the Sith placed the tome down with care, her off hand retreated cautiously from the panel as through the frozen visage of the mask, she looked at him.

The Hapan could have dared to call himself a Sith, but the reek of his Jedi past remained, like it did with many of the Sith of this Empire, even some of her peers. She would need to see how useful the Knight could be. 

"Come Closer, Knight. We have no time to dither." She declared solemnly as another lightning flashed at the distance. 

[hugo]

Visarion's eyes jerked open at the metallic hiss that sounded when the doors slid open.  He straightened out his robe as he stood up, taking care to present himself with reasonable decorum.  Slowly, he strode down the dark corridor.  As he passed under the granite arches and mutely admired the assorted artifacts, Visarion felt a familiar, bitter sensation in the bottom of his stomach.  It was always the first hint of the Dark Side, followed by a peculiar, other-worldly feeling.  It felt like resentment to some, pride to others, but to Visarion it always felt like raw power.  As he passed further down the corridor and into the grand chamber, the air was heavier, like a dank cellar.  This was a place of great knowledge, and great darkness.

It really was an impressive place.  Armor, arms, and grand volumes filled the room, their faint shadows dancing when the broken glow of a lightning bolt momentarily filled the room.  Near the large window sat Darth Keres, dutifully guarded by her so-called Death Shroud.  She wasn't very large, but one would have to be completely blind to the Force not to feel the dark power that emanated from her. 

Visarion had no idea what the Grand Prophet wanted from him, but whatever it was, it was in his best interests to deliver it satisfactorily.  He had little interest in playing games of political intrigue, but he did want to be made a Prophet and gain access to yet greater secrets of the Dark Side.  To do that, he would need a master to complete his training, and what better master than the Darth charged as keeper of the Force's mysteries?  Visarion could learn much from her and unlock greater knowledge still.

"Darth Keres." he said, bowing slightly.  As a rule, the Sith did not care much for niceties, so he decided to be as succinct as possible.  As she spoke, he briskly complied and drew closer to her desk.  The guardsmen eyed him up, and he could feel their caution.  Wordlessly, they let him pass  "How can I serve you, milady?"

[Harukei]

The Dark Lady of the Sith remained quiet. The frozen visage of the mask peering at the supplicant in the shape of a Knight, appraising him in the same manner as how she appraised antiques and artifacts. Every detail was taking in account. Every slight twitch, every movement as subtle as even he taking a longer draw of breath than what usually normal. She rose from her seat, holding the ancient tone with care within the grasp of her hands and walked softly around her desk. Her steps echoed in the uncomfortable silence as the constant tap of the rain drops bashed against the glass windows. 

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room. Forked slashes of sheer power crossed and slashed the dark clouds that perpetually covered the planet. She took a closer look to the man, barely younger than what she was, but certainly his power in the darkside being a mere fledgling flame compared to the devouring fire that burned within her. Her sight peered down to the ancient tome, the worn leather of millennium past and the faded ink on the cover having long gone. No. She needed a test, she needed to know if Visarion, beneath the look and the power she felt, was of any use to her. 

And thus, she tossed the book without much consequence towards the dull blue flames of one of the braziers that preceded her throne. The book slapped against the pyramidal brazier, catching fire before tumbling down on the floor as the blue flames spread over the ancient pages, opening the tome as if a ghost were reading upon its contents. The scent of burn paper filled the room as ancient knowledge was lost forever, lost but in her mind. 

"Tell me, Knight. Why did I do that? What purpose does it fulfill?"

[hugo]

Visarion raised an eyebrow slightly as Darth Keres tossed the tome into the brazier of blue flames.  Such an artifact was priceless.  There was no telling what dark secrets it contained.  Why would she do something so destructive as to permanently erase any record of precious dark knowledge?  What did that accomplish?  But Darth Keres was no fool.  Her cavalier manner aside, Visarion sensed her intentionality.  

"Knowledge is power."  was how he answered her question.  Darth Keres, keeper of the Order's mysteries, knew that as well as he did.  Their pursuit of knowledge was not a vain academic pursuit, but a quest for power.  Knowledge was power, and power was a zero sum game.  Power one had was power another lacked.  By destroying the knowledge contained in the old book, Darth Keres was seizing its power for herself.  Visarion grinned a little behind his silver mask.  It would be knowledge lost forever, unless she saw it fit to bestow it on a future apprentice that was.

"The knowledge and power of that tome was open to anyone who merely possessed it and could understand its contents.  Now, I'm assuming, it's secrets rest only with you."

Darth Keres was sizing him up.  She likely had little use for dolts or dimwits, and probably wanted to make sure he was cut out for the job.  He didn't mind terribly, but he was anxious to know why he had been summoned.  The Grand Prophet didn't summon rank knights, even ones as promising as himself, simply on a whim.  No, there was an important task at hand.  The Cult of Mysteries wore many hats, so this  assignment could take him anywhere.  He could be delving into some dusty forgotten tomb on Korriban or delivering important artifacts from Ossus or Rhen Var.  Whatever it was, Visarion was willing to do it.