A Furious And Prideful Heart

[Vilka Pharro]

Whether he acknowledged it or not, her words had, all the same, held power over him; whilst the man appeared to rise above insults, not so easily goaded as most Sith, the slightest disturbance to his collection had brought forth, quite literally, a storm of fury. Vilka held this thought for future reference- one ally, if Vandiir even resembled such a thing, was so easily made a enemy. A true enemy, who would not let up their assault as Vandiir had, without regard for mercy, however well-placed, had best be prepared for. His arm, his eldritch and as-yet boundless well of dark power- a wrong step, of the type she was prone to making, could present the direst consequences.

The refusal to acknowledge fact, to accept ignorance, was not a shield but a wall of smoke, thin as air.

"The stuff of legend?" Vilka cocked an eyebrow. "You'll have to enlighten me- what kind of feats to you describe? These are powers, surely, beyond simple murder, and yet- my imagination fails me." To kill with a twitch of your fingers, that was easy enough. With a blaster, anyone could do it. Without, it still only took an acolyte. This was but the smallest abhorrence of the Force. Vandiir's knowledge could not be denied, and she was yet eager to hear of the horrors he might be able to describe.

"Straight-foward?" Her mouth fell agape with mock indignance. "You do me a disservice. By no means do I lack designs on great things, nor the cunning for them, I should hope- merely experience with the Dark Side, you see." Alas, this was to put the cart before the beast, so to speak. Rightly so, they had to begin with small teachings. Once again, Adrian's words piqued no lack of interest- creation. "What kind of creation is the domain of the Dark Side?" To forge evil beasts, some power of necromancy? The scope of her own ignorance was becoming clear. There was only one way to remedy this weakness.

"Pure energy? I have heard of such things, yes, but without successful practice of my own. To send one's fury forth, without a medium? How can you harness the Force, and yet not exert its power through the air, a storm, a stone even?"

To use the Force in a means that was almost paradoxical to itself; this was truly emblematic of the Dark Side. Perhaps she could come to like Vandiir after all.

 

[AMCO]

Mouth quirking open in a patronising smile, Adrian nodded slightly in her direction. "Indeed, that is what most think of when one mentions Sorcery. Either simple murder with an elaborate twist, or the creation of various nameless horrors. That, however, is but the simplest of feats." At that, he gestured grandly, seemingly lost in thought. "The greatest Sorcerers of the past have annihilated entire star systems, sculpted entire worlds to suit their whims, vaporized entire armadas, and in at least one case achieved immortality. Through Sorcery, feats that would otherwise be completely and utterly impossible become doable. Through Sorcery, reality itself can be bent to the will of a determined practitioner." Truly, the opportunities were boundless. Were it not for the risks and challenges these pursuits brought with them, he had no doubt most Sith would pursue this path, at least if they had the talent. Alas, too many were tempted by the easy power of the Dark, forgetting that the truly dedicated could achieve things no self-limiting Jedi could ever hope to match.

Of course, at least for now, they both would have to stick to simpler feats.

She was confident, that much was obvious. Some would have found it annoying, but he knew that it was necessary; one could not hope to tame the violent currents of the Dark Side without belief in oneself. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I suppose we will see, won't we? As for creation, why, the possibilities are boundless. My arm is one display of this, my amulet of concentration another. Then there is the creation of Sithspawn, from blunt instruments meant solely for war to lifeforms superior in every way to baseline humans." Superior in his eyes, at least, though the Jedi, in their infinite folly, considered such creations an abomination onto the natural order.

Uttering a short command seemingly into the open air, he waited a short while before a droid emerged, carrying a thick slab of durasteel. Folding back the sleeve on his right arm as he allowed its true form to become visible once more, all the while speaking calmly. "That, I'm afraid, is your mistake. The mistake of most that try. As Sith, we wield the Force as a tool, as opposed to the Jedi and their silly obsession with its supposed will." At that, purple tendrils of energy began to weave themselves around his arm, shining brightly from his palm. "This... is merely taking that a step further. The Dark Side is entropy, and so it struggles against those who would control it. The trick is to use oneself as a focusing lens of sorts, to harness that entropy for one's own purposes, rather than struggle to overcome it."

Suddenly, he flicked his wrist, projecting a beam of purple energy towards the slab, which the droid had been holding over its head. With a shudder, the energy tore through the metal, ripping through the solid metal until, moments later, two jagged pieces fell to the sides of the droid.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Star-systems, armies, civilisations; I see little of import. If one can kill a single man, they can kill a thousand, a million. Adding more zeroes, Vandiir, as you should know, changes so very little indeed. Immortality, and to build worlds from the dust itself, I think different. There are the feats. Even inaction, the winds of time, will bring down a mountain. Only a truly primordial force can build it." Vilka paused to think a moment. RYou might be a merchant of death, and even in some small part an artist of it. No doubt you have your share of constructed monstrosities. But changing reality, alas."

"That does sound rather more intriguing to me."

As is the bane of all Sith, Vilka knew that such things were beyond the horizon's-horizon, as yet. Her skills, her body, they were simply incapable of it. Implosion of her soul, wrath upon her mind. Nothing would remain if she attempted such a grave feat. She knew it. The Force had given all life in the galaxy, and just as deftly, would take it all one day. To strum at its ethereal cords was to tempt death, and to invoke your own change upon them? True change, not mere manipulation, that was to say- this was the errand of the blindest, most wretched fool. The stones were not yet in place, the graves not yet dug. Bones unbroken, and blood unshed.

Precognition is a strange animal- it cannot go uncoloured by one's own bias. This was, perhaps, the source of one of the Jedi's few successes, divorcing themselves from their more vibrant opinions. But Vilka could not hold herself from seeing something, vast necropolis in the mist, a tower to pierce the hearts of gods; an infinity of abhorrence, ready to be lain by her hand. Bones unbroken, blood unshed. But the Force was eternal. Vilka was not.

Not yet, at least.

Back to teachings- Force blast. "One's own body, a 'focusing lens'? Fascinating." She grinned. "I'd always supposed our bodies -this mortal flesh- were nothing but a conduit for our spirits, our fibres within the Force. And yet, why do we Sith never seem to leave ghosts, Vandiir?" A pale eyebrow raised. She'd never considered the issue before. Perhaps in all those relics he was so fond of, Adrian held the answer. Now, however, she let the world slip away. Walls of darkness that made her bones dust, her mind void. Naught remained but the spirit, and yet it was no longer her tool, her ally, as so often before. No- these had been misguided thoughts. There had never been any seperation. She was no denizen of the Force. It was not her home, her shelter. It was her cells, her wasted skin, all her virulent pains.

They were one, almost. But that would never do, would it? Vilka had to rule.

With that, a black wound opened in reality, for all of a second. A paradox's maw, opened and closed simultaneously.

A dark light shot across the room.

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

Smiling slightly, Adrian nodded in obvious agreement. "Indeed, indeed. The sheer power and complexity of such vast destruction is, of course, impressive, but creation is far more of an accomplishment. Especially when said creation is done in open defiance against the so-called natural order." At that, his smile would twist into a derisive smirk, a clear display of his intense distaste for such counterproductive superstitions.

Fortunately, most of his fellow Sith agreed with him; there were plenty of subjects where his views would be considered quite eccentric, but this was not one of them. Not amongst the Sith, and certainly not amongst his fellow Sorcerers.

Even so, he had gone further than most; he had gone from experimenting on others to experimenting on himself. His arm, his beautiful abomination onto the light, was the culmination of those experiments. The twisting and moulding of mortal flesh until it was able to withstand the horrific entropy of the Dark without suffering any ill effects. Perhaps, one day, his entire body would be made a living conduit, but such held profound risks. Risks that would need to be analysed and counter until he would even consider such a rash course of action. It would all be worth it, however, for the prize was not only power but the chance of life everlasting.

Therein, of course, lay the answer to her latest question. As she concentrated on channelling the darkness as he had described, he briefly mused on her question before answering. "Oh, many Sith have left ghosts behind, though they tend to be far more tied to locations, people, and objects than their Jedi counterparts. Of course, this does not mean that the Jedi are more free, quite the contrary. Sith that persist after death do so because they refuse to leave, and such a refusal requires an anchor. The Jedi, on the other hand, find their anchor in blind servitude. They become one with the Force, and their will is subsumed by its arbitrary currents; whatever personality they retain is a fallacy, an echo slowly fading into nothingness. Not that most Sith spirits are in an enviable state either." Truly, theirs was a fate worse than death; to the Sith, who strived so for freedom, the state the Jedi considered so beneficial was chilling to the core, a horrible promise of servitude even in death.

Pushing such dark thoughts from his mind, he was pleased to see her unleash a blast of her own. Where his had been a brilliant purple, hers was a horrid black. Where his had struck cleanly, doing its damage instantly, her weak blast, a mere proof of concept, slowly chewed away the chassis of the droid it had struck even after the light had faded away. In a way it was fitting, he supposed, considering how she was already visibly succumbing to the corruption of the Dark Side. "Good, very good. Note how yours differs from mine, though it is similar to the ones I unleashed on Etti IV. The energy might be pure, but that does not mean it can't change based on its wielder and, with practice, based on the wielder's situational needs."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

In defiance of natural order. Now those were the words- the reconciliation, at the tip of her tongue all this time, that might join the corruption of the Dark Side and the very notion of creation, of life-giving. To birth an unholy wretch, abhorrent and cursed thing, in violation of all good sense and duty. Now there was a thought. Vilka couldn't help but smile unconsciously. Vandiir was getting more interesting by the moment. Now that loathsome arm began to make sense, as unseemly as it was. A part of her still clung to the notion of keeping her original flesh intact, for some implacable reason. All the same, there was something admirable in what he'd done, in the gaping scar in reality that he had yet foreseen to make one with his very flesh and blood.

The most selfish of martyrs, he might yet prove.

"Servitude, in immortality? I wonder, Vandiir, if you have forgotten that we are slaves in life, all the same? Bound to mortality, on death's own long chain, to our bodies, our hearts and minds? To sever a hundred chains and form but one is still slavery, yes, but don't you suppose it's preferable?" From experience, Vilka knew where she stood on the matter. "At the very least, it makes one's predicament simpler." Besides, in such immortality, there was no rush to solve it, either. If you were thrall to the Force, time itself found itself at your feet all the same. A worthy trade, in her eyes.

Her power had proven successful, however.

The awful, guttural groan of bubbling durasteel filled her heart with righteous joy. Gazing down, she saw how her own skin warped and bled under the strain of its own power, and how that blackened husk before her oozed still with the remnants of her corruption. Adrian spoke truly- where his powers, to her eyes, had seemed almost cosmic, nebulous, her own were miasmatic, virulent, as if her hands had set forth not an energy, but a plague. A sickness upon her bones, within and throughout. "The Dark Side, unlike the Light, serves its masters. I suppose it is only natural, that its effects might bend to the owner's own... dispositions."

A sly grin. "I see a great many stones being overturned here, Vandiir. Perhaps I've done you a disservice thus far."

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

At her disagreement, Adrian couldn't help but smile slightly. He prefered his own views, as did most, but he also firmly believed that to increase that further debate and disagreement would strengthen the Sith as a whole, at least so long as it was kept productive and nonviolent. Tradition was important, but they were Sith, not Jedi. The Sith possessed an established tradition, but unlike the Jedi they were not, or at least should not be, content with the mediocrities of the past. The Dark Side was change, and he considered it the duty of every Sith to think for themselves in regards to where that change should take them.

"You make a valid point, though I would counter with a simple question: What would be the point? Immortality is something we all thirst for, but one must be careful not to lose oneself in the pursuit. Now, I don't mean this as some moralistic drivel, but rather a factual observation; can one really call becoming one with the Force immortality?"

Of course, he sought something similar, though intrinsically different. He sought the power and persistence that came with such a state, but he would never be willing to give up himself, his goals, experience, and personality in order to accomplish that. Wealth, power, and even life itself was utterly worthless unless the self persisted. He feared not change, for nothing truly great could be accomplished without it, but the loss of the self? The very thought was enough to send a chill down his spine and invoke a fear far greater than any he had ever felt on the field of battle.

Moving on to more cheerful thoughts, he nodded approvingly towards the Acolyte, taking note of the toll the power had taken upon her hand. It was worse than his first time, but that was to be expected considering how she seemed to be almost actively embracing the corruption that came with the Dark Side. An interesting course of action, and one whose effects might be worth studying.

Meeting her sly grin with a slight smirk, the young Knight's tone held a slight hint of sarcasm. "Perhaps you have, though being underestimated has its uses. I didn't win the Sith-Imperial tournament by playing fair." At that, he grinned slightly before switching back to the subject of Sorcery. "I dare say this should demonstrate nicely that Sorcery isn't just about arcane secrets and complex rituals, sometimes the path to power lies through solutions both simple and pragmatic."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Immortality? In the sense that your consciousness persists eternally, I'd certainly consider it so. I'd be rather more interested to hear why you wouldn't consider it so, Vandiir. And if there are, as you have spoken, means of not simply becoming one with the Force, so much as one above the Force, then surely it is but the natural first stepping-stone we Sith must begin to cross, at least? How else, pray tell, might we ascend. If you ask the point of ascenscion, then I must in turn ask the point of breathing, loving, dying. It's all unfortunately quite self-imposed, I think, and yet how truly in-keeping is that with the Dark Side?" Her smile was distant, eyes lost in reverie.

In Vilka's heart of hearts, this dark seed of vision had begun to take hold. That the destiny of man, of the Sith, of the Dark Side, was not simply to exploit the Force, but overcome it. Perhaps it was a vainglorious, sanctimonious sliver of a thought, and yet, when her mind opened, like the petals of a flower, to the void, she felt nothing but resonance. But that was the way of false prophets, she supposed. They always heard the voice of whichever god they pleased, calling back their name. The truth, meaning; these things were irrelevant. The duty of the Sith was to make their own.

This, she knew she would do, one day. In this flesh, or beyond.

"Sith-Imperial tournament? Why, Adrian, where are your rosettes? Your carefully polished trophies?" She snorted, her tone still less harsh than it had been earlier. "Your mother must be proud, all the same." It was, nonetheless, more constructive not to fall back into the same pattern of bickering, even if it was terribly fun. Not a lot of things were, in the arms of the Sith- that much she did have to say. Pomp and ceremony wore upon this Empire's shoulders like the heaviest of boulders, sapping it of joy and strength alike. In the greatest and earliest of the ancient orders there had been little but the darkness of one's own heart, and the will to exploit it. No codexes, or woeful tomes to dilute their passions.

Of this much, Vandiir spoke true. "I daresay there are naught but solutions simple and pragmatic. The rest either produce the incorrect result, in which case it is no solution, or otherwise overcomplicate the matter, at which point they cease to be pragmatic. In of itself, there can only one path. And I intend to walk it."

 

[AMCO]

Still smiling slightly, he spread his hands outwards, as if in a dramatic shrug. "Perhaps their consciousness persists, perhaps not. It is hard to know when they are forced to merely exist, barely even being able to give advice, let alone interact directly with the world. A sorry excuse for existence, no? Sure, spending time with one's own thoughts is pleasant enough, but to do that and nothing more? To be unable to do anything but watch, watch and gather energy to maybe have a brief conversation every once in a while? A sorry excuse for existence indeed."

It was not that the concept of watching all, seeing everything, did not appeal to him. No, it very much did. But to do so under the leash of the arbitrary flows and eddies of the Force? To be bound to a Master with no will of their own, forever a slave to chance? As much as he wanted to live forever, as much as he wanted to see it all, that was a sacrifice he would never, could never, bring himself to make.

Smiling wrily, he responded to her jab with poorly concealed humour. "More surprised than proud, I image; hells, even I bet against myself." Still, he had won. He had won, though his less than honest tactics had quite possibly made him a few enemies along the way. Or perhaps gained him some grudging respect; Sith were not, after all, known for fighting particularily honourably. At least with the exception of the overly traditional ones.

Besides, he was far more proud of the knowledge that had gained him that victory, rather than the victory itself. In fact, two of his competitors had been felled by his force blasts, which even then had been far more potent than anything his fellow Acolytes could muster. Since then, he had only grown in power and expertise. "Some would certainly disagree. Some would consider the tradition part more important than the scientific part. I most certainly don't. Now, that is not to say that complexity is not necessary, but true mastery is about superseding that necessity until the mightiest feat is a product of your force of will alone, with anything else being purely for show or to enhance its potency." Nodding thoughtfully, he continued, a hint of grudging admitance in his tone. "Still, there is reason to believe that gestures, incantations, and more, while they should not be necessary, serve to boost the magnitude of your powers my tapping on the will of sorcerers long since passed. Perhaps there is a way to get the best of both worlds, though it is far from an easy task." A slight smirk. "Then again, nothing worth accomplishing ever is."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"And yet, would you not elevate a 'sorry excuse' for life over sheer oblivion?" Vilka snarled. She saw it, in the cold reaches of her skull. That vast and unending cover of blackness, where death hid beyond all light. That was why the Jedi could never succeed- how could they ever dream to penetrate it? "A brief conversation it might be, Vandiir, but ask the souls of the dead and tell me they would not forsake all the riches in the world for another second of life. You speak as though this is a lesser alternative, as if it is but the low road beyond death; Adrian, I see only one path, and the void."

She raised her head in thought. "How curious that every acolyte I pass is a prodigy of some form. Always with an 'exceptional aptitude', for one thing or the next. One would think the bar for exceptional ought to be raised." She spoke off-handedly, in a distant tone. "Traditions are the shield of the fearful; I daresay we both know this to be true. A familiar cover, to guard them from the monsters beyond." Whether she and Adrian were the monsters, it was hard to say. In time, perhaps. The Dark Side had only just taken root in her; its blackened shoots might yet grow to unfamiliar forms. Adrian, however, represented significant and early advancement. Barely a man, and yet already in thrall of the Dark Side. He spoke of freedom from the Force- of refusing to bow to its ebbs and flows. Perhaps he simply failed to see how, even overcoming its eccentricities, as the sorcerer evidently had, it appeared to rule his life all the same. The whole-hearted dedication of his being to this power; a slavery of its own, perhaps.

"I place no stock in gestures, or incantations. These are artefacts of mortal mysticism. Nothing more." Her tone was fierce, if not overly self-righteous. "Too easily do we bind ourselves in frivolous ceremony. I know it too well. Some might call it an instrument of fear; I say that the Dark Side strikes fear with or without our theatre." In the mirrored sheen of Vandiir's laboratory, she saw how her ghastly pallour ran with cracks and veins, a face of living decay that only worsened by the second. Pointed bones and burning eyes.

"You have that charming substitute for an arm- tell me, did you intend that it took that form? Or was it merely a byproduct of the Force itself?"

 

[AMCO]

"Perhaps they would, if given the choice." Another amused smile. "Then again, even the state you speak of isn't eternal life, not quite. As I understand it, it is merely the postponement of the inevitable, a slow death rather than the quick one faced by most mortals. No, true immortality necessitates the power to affect reality, for how else could you hope to prevent your own demise from external causes?" It was rumoured that a Sith Lord had almost crossed that threshold, in ages past. Had almost ascended to the state of a living god, eternally resplendent. Of course, innumerable others had tried, losing their lives in the very attempt at gaining immortality.

Chuckling slightly, he replied in a mild tone. "Perhaps so. Then again, most Acolytes aren't as specialised as I was; in fact, this..." At that, he pointed at the lightsaber on his hip. "... is for appearances' sake, more than anything else." Of course, he had also had the distinct advantage of having the holocron of a renowned Loremaster and skilled sorcerer... fall into his possession. That, however, was something he had no intention of sharing; it would not do if the Sith Lord from which it had been stolen returned for vengeance.

Shaking his head slightly at her total denial of Sith tradition, the young Knight nonetheless retained his usual amiable tone. "I dare say you might dismiss the traditions of the Sith too readily; now, I am far from a traditionalist, but not all of it is useless makebelieve, as you would seem to believe. It is, after all, not for nothing that the Ancient Sith became some of history's most powerful darksiders, before they learned how to travel the stars, no less. I do not espouse adhering to tradition for tradition's sake, but neither should it be rebuked on principle." In truth, he himself had held views similar to hers, but in time he had learned the value of the ancient Sith teachings. He had not given up his goal of understanding, properly understanding, how the Force worked, but for now, working within the parameters of established Sith teachings would have to do. At least most of the time.

In fact, even amongst the ancient Sith some had replaced parts of their body with creations born of the Dark Side. Largely inorganic, but the thread was still there. He walked in the footsteps of giants, but one day he would make his own. "The immaculate form is the intended one, as the other one is... not likely to be popular in polite society. The shifting form you saw earlier is born of necessity, though if I valued aesthetics above functionality I could certainly have found a way to suppress it; this would, however, have prevented me from channelling quite as much power through it." At that, a thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Now, if the entire body was born of the Dark, such limitations would likely be void. That, I am afraid, is currently beyond me, however. At least in the desired sense."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Ah, but a delay is a delay, is it not? To postpone death for all of time, one still is never forced to kiss its pale hand, even if our grasp on life fails all the same." Perhaps here, Vilka and Vandiir's views might be irreconcilable. Good. Unanimity and complacency were the death-rattles of passion. For a spark to form, after all, friction was first needed. There was, however, one point at which their eyes might see level. "Affecting reality, indeed. Do you know such secrets?" Suddenly, whichever veil of superiority the Sith had borne to Adrian seemed to fall, voice filled with the most true hunger. Avarice was, if nothing else, earnest at its core. How curious, she thought. All guile laid aside, there was naught but the boundless and black pit of desire.

Peace was a lie. Harmony, an illusion. But Vandiir? There, perhaps, was a teacher after all.

She smiled thinly as he gestured to his lightsaber. It was true; an elegant weapon it might have been, but what value did elegance hold for such wretched souls, kindred only in their depravity, for in all other things their base nature saw them marked deviants among the deviant? To use a lightsaber in place of the Force was to elevate the flesh above the spirit. Bound to the peeling husk she called a body, Vilka could see how hollow such a sentiment truly was. A deafening war-cry for ignorance, indeed. But it never hurt to let the competition weaken themselves, did it?

"Perhaps I wear the marks of my infancy amongst the followers of the Dark Side to plainly." She mused. "In future, perhaps, I might dedicate more study to these ancient matters." A part of her wondered why she felt so averse to these antiquities, such marks of pomp and ceremony. An even smaller fraction knew exactly why. A princess had known no shortage of such things. She crushed the thought as fast as she had let it rise. Idiot.

"A body of darkness, you say? As of Nihilus, one's own skin torn away by the void? How marvelous." Perhaps that arm wasn't so useless after all. More than a parlour trick, that much was plain. "What is, I must ask, to stop you? One arm is little different from one leg, and so forth, is it not? Meat and bones are usually quite alike."

That they were; quaking monuments to impermanence. How she loathed them, like so many things.

 

[AMCO]

He could sense her interest as it suddenly surged, her person practically radiating a profound hunger. Not that it surprised him, for the knowledge of which he spoke was such that many Sith would eagerly kill for them, even risking their lives for the chance of eternity. Unfortunately, he was not quite there yet. "Now that is quite the puzzle. I have hints and a source I have yet to pursue. A source that might very well contain such knowledge. For now, however, I know little more than you in regards to that field..." A slight pause, as if to let the tension build. "... and the same can be said for many a Sorcerer, even those in the upper echelons of the Sith hierarchy. It is not an easy thing, to deviate so strongly from the natural currents of the Force." Another pause. "But it can be done, of that I am sure."

It was, after all, merely a greater application of what the Sith already did; to twist the Force to their will, rather than follow its arbitrary currents and eddies like boats caught in a mighty river. Even so, it all too frequently changed them. Adrian himself was not immune, could not be immune, though he himself could not yet see what it was doing with him. He did his best to counteract it, using everything from ancient teachings to novel inventions of his own. Even so, it was only a matter of time. It was only a matter of time unless he, in the greatest of blasphemies, could impose his will upon the Force like never before.

A slight smile, tinged with approval. "Perhaps so. If you ever get the chance to delve into an ancient Sith ruin untouched by modern hands, I suggest you take it: It might seem strange, but the ancient holocrons of our kind contain many secrets long forgotten." Eyes turning distant for a moment, he quickly shook off the melancholic expression that flashed across his features. "Our history is tumultuous, and the actions of some ignoble few have cost us much in the way of ancient knowledge, chief amongst them the hated Darth Gravid." Hated indeed, may his spirit suffer for a thousand and one aeons in the bowels of Chaos.

"Indeed, an arm of a leg would not make much difference. They are, however, merely a part of a body. To create an entirely new one is more akin to the great art of moulding Sithspawn from lesser beings, and to transfer one's own consciousness into such a form is the height of folly. Until one has achieved true mastery of that art, that is." Expression turning wry, he allowed himself a slight chuckle at his own expense. "Then there is the transferring itself, which I have yet to master. Not to mention that the body must be carefully tailored to ensure that it is capable of sustaining one's spirit and the Dark Side alike over extended periods."

Despite those challenges, his eyes glittered with excitement, lips curving upwards into a smile. "Then again, that which is worthwhile is rarely easy. With time, however, I am confident that I will succeed in creating, and becoming, perfection incarnate." A slight laugh, followed by the shaking of his head. "Of course, the Jedi and their compatriots would consider me the vilest of abominations, but that's already the case, if to a lesser degree."