Rugs likes this
Post by hugo on Apr 17, 2020 15:43:13 GMT -5
Visarion, Knight of Mysteries, collected their weapons and ignored the decidedly sour attitudes. Then he stood still for a moment, his eyes opened or closed, it did not matter; he was just as blind in the abyssal, reeking cavern.
Indeed. This place permeated with the raw Bogan so common on their Order's holy world. The stench of animals, a category of life to which Visarion never found himself at all amenable, even, was overpowered by the miasma-like sensation of being shrouded in the Dark Side. It came like a breeze, not from the windswept wastes without, but from deeper within. That, of course, was a physical impossibility. Yet, the Force was not in any way limited by the mere physical. Mass, matter, entropy, tranduction; all were as true as could be in their realm, but the trio of Sith knew, so too, were there laws just as firm, just as incontrovertible, but hidden beneath the drab veil of reality. Tyranny, fear, anger, vengeance. Power. All forms of Dark Perfection, reflections of essential strength. The forms, no longer ideals, were made matter by their Order's labor. Just as the Jedi drew strength from the Force's more benign incarnations, be it compassion, or sacrifice, so too did that pale Knight of Mysteries draw his power from Harm. And this place, like no other he'd seen on Korriban, was its monastery.
Visarion seemed to bask, in that moment, in the darkness. The acolytes too would have no trouble sensing, and touching, the darkness here. He had not been totally straightforward, the Hapan had to admit. Gornath Cavern was a topographic term, but he knew that the cavern was Azzal Karash--the holiest of holies--for a sect of the ancient Sith religion. It was a mostly forgotten place; the Academy's paltry databases contained only conjecture, so Visarion had endeavored to explore the cavern before and piece together what he could about its significance.
What he'd found was goldium. In fact, the cavern had been an important site to an influential, mystical sect of the Sith religion (itself a crude incarnation of Dark Side disciplines). This particular sect (roughly translated as the Saints of Slaughter, of which the Sith archives were able to offer precious information, practiced a type of group prayer, a sort of contemplative trance, in order to coaxe the midichlorians in such a way as to transfer life from one to another. For obvious reasons, this piqued the Force-drain-savvy Visarion's interest like nothing he'd unearthed on the miserable desert world before. Of course, the ancient Pureblood mystics had a mythical, flawed view of the Force, and the associated cosmology was to be disregarded. Yet, he wondered if this strange practice had been ancestor to the discipline he practiced-and intended to impart upon the impetuous acolytes behind him. Oh yes, the acolytes. Visarion had nearly lost himself in the warm, chaotic presence. They must have been growing impatient, as Sith were woe to do.
"This, is Gornath Cavern of course. But before, many thousands of years ago, it was something much more significant. A group of the Pureblood race here, I hypothesize, began to master the art of Force Drain. Though their understanding was primitive, we Sith, the true Sith, know that such a power, as difficult as it may be to master, is the ultimate expression of strength, of power, and of victory."
He began to stride blindly forward, his limited familiarity and the crystal clear vision afforded by the Force's great presence the only guide as the triumvirate strode past the scarce light that trickled in from the craggy entrance. This of course, was an unnecessary impediment, and the Hapan soon produced and activated a faint, reddish glowstick that provided a dim view of the passageway and the immediately approaching ground.
The beasts were within the cavern; Visarion sensed them and imagined the younger men could as well. They were further inside, seeking respite from the harsh day's heat in the cooler, subterranean chamber further down. The opening in which they'd first stood soon narrowed somewhat into a quasi-corridor, the rough formations and stalagmites revealing the passageway as a natural creation. It grew cooler as they continued onward at a comfortable pace, and the gentle incline downward became more pronounced.
"Do you know why that might be?" He posited the question at neither in particular. "A primitive idea, really, to ease your grip deftly around that which constitutes the life of another, to draw from another that which is most essentially theirs and make it your own."
It was of course, because to harm was the greatest power available to mortal beings, and when one could feel the Force as they did, the potential for harm and the empowerment it brought was infinite. To harm, in Visarion's expression, was, in essence, an inequitable transaction with another. Where, in yourself, there has been made a void, and in another, there is mass, an exchange took place when one brought harm upon the other. Where in yourself there was emptiness, you have made matter, and in them, where there was mass, you made void. It was inseparable from the identity of any Sith. To be Sith was to be an agent of harm, a disciple of power. That, before anything else, was to be understood.
Indeed. This place permeated with the raw Bogan so common on their Order's holy world. The stench of animals, a category of life to which Visarion never found himself at all amenable, even, was overpowered by the miasma-like sensation of being shrouded in the Dark Side. It came like a breeze, not from the windswept wastes without, but from deeper within. That, of course, was a physical impossibility. Yet, the Force was not in any way limited by the mere physical. Mass, matter, entropy, tranduction; all were as true as could be in their realm, but the trio of Sith knew, so too, were there laws just as firm, just as incontrovertible, but hidden beneath the drab veil of reality. Tyranny, fear, anger, vengeance. Power. All forms of Dark Perfection, reflections of essential strength. The forms, no longer ideals, were made matter by their Order's labor. Just as the Jedi drew strength from the Force's more benign incarnations, be it compassion, or sacrifice, so too did that pale Knight of Mysteries draw his power from Harm. And this place, like no other he'd seen on Korriban, was its monastery.
Visarion seemed to bask, in that moment, in the darkness. The acolytes too would have no trouble sensing, and touching, the darkness here. He had not been totally straightforward, the Hapan had to admit. Gornath Cavern was a topographic term, but he knew that the cavern was Azzal Karash--the holiest of holies--for a sect of the ancient Sith religion. It was a mostly forgotten place; the Academy's paltry databases contained only conjecture, so Visarion had endeavored to explore the cavern before and piece together what he could about its significance.
What he'd found was goldium. In fact, the cavern had been an important site to an influential, mystical sect of the Sith religion (itself a crude incarnation of Dark Side disciplines). This particular sect (roughly translated as the Saints of Slaughter, of which the Sith archives were able to offer precious information, practiced a type of group prayer, a sort of contemplative trance, in order to coaxe the midichlorians in such a way as to transfer life from one to another. For obvious reasons, this piqued the Force-drain-savvy Visarion's interest like nothing he'd unearthed on the miserable desert world before. Of course, the ancient Pureblood mystics had a mythical, flawed view of the Force, and the associated cosmology was to be disregarded. Yet, he wondered if this strange practice had been ancestor to the discipline he practiced-and intended to impart upon the impetuous acolytes behind him. Oh yes, the acolytes. Visarion had nearly lost himself in the warm, chaotic presence. They must have been growing impatient, as Sith were woe to do.
"This, is Gornath Cavern of course. But before, many thousands of years ago, it was something much more significant. A group of the Pureblood race here, I hypothesize, began to master the art of Force Drain. Though their understanding was primitive, we Sith, the true Sith, know that such a power, as difficult as it may be to master, is the ultimate expression of strength, of power, and of victory."
He began to stride blindly forward, his limited familiarity and the crystal clear vision afforded by the Force's great presence the only guide as the triumvirate strode past the scarce light that trickled in from the craggy entrance. This of course, was an unnecessary impediment, and the Hapan soon produced and activated a faint, reddish glowstick that provided a dim view of the passageway and the immediately approaching ground.
The beasts were within the cavern; Visarion sensed them and imagined the younger men could as well. They were further inside, seeking respite from the harsh day's heat in the cooler, subterranean chamber further down. The opening in which they'd first stood soon narrowed somewhat into a quasi-corridor, the rough formations and stalagmites revealing the passageway as a natural creation. It grew cooler as they continued onward at a comfortable pace, and the gentle incline downward became more pronounced.
"Do you know why that might be?" He posited the question at neither in particular. "A primitive idea, really, to ease your grip deftly around that which constitutes the life of another, to draw from another that which is most essentially theirs and make it your own."
It was of course, because to harm was the greatest power available to mortal beings, and when one could feel the Force as they did, the potential for harm and the empowerment it brought was infinite. To harm, in Visarion's expression, was, in essence, an inequitable transaction with another. Where, in yourself, there has been made a void, and in another, there is mass, an exchange took place when one brought harm upon the other. Where in yourself there was emptiness, you have made matter, and in them, where there was mass, you made void. It was inseparable from the identity of any Sith. To be Sith was to be an agent of harm, a disciple of power. That, before anything else, was to be understood.