Sith Temple, Bastion
Sith Archives
Gliding through the shelves neatly stacked with glowing blue-white datatapes, all accessible via the consoles that lined the room at perfect intervals, Tirdarius observed the considerable activity within the chamber, a handful of silent black-robed Sith and a select few others, attired in Ascendancy military uniforms or simply in casual clothing of the sort that no Sith would ever wear.
An interesting mixture, but appropriate. Where Sith Temples had once been solely the domains of their Force-wielding masters, the one on Bastion was open to those with sufficient authorisation to have access to the Temple: military officers, bureaucrats that ran the day-to-day affairs of the planet, and the Sith themselves.
And any we believe might benefit from spending time among us.
This particular Temple wasn't even a fully-fledged one, not like the facilities on ancient Korriban: it was only a modest affair, not the imposing citadels akin to his home on Oricon, or the traditional fortresses on Dromund Kaas or Ziost. It was home to the handful of Sith who spent their time on Bastion, quarters and training areas available to them when not off-world on business for the Ascendancy. There were plans to establish a larger facility on Dantooine, over the foundations of the old Jedi Academy there, but such a thing took time and considerable work to do, and plans had only just been drawn up for them. So, for many among the ranks, this was home. At least for now.
The acrid scent of ozone assaulted his senses, and the Sith Lord came to a halt, eyes narrowing. The library contained a small respository of documents that had been transcribed onto less durable mediums than flimsiplast or durasheet, and certainly less so than the datatapes: some of the older pieces were written on vellum or even paper.
And I can smell something burning. If someone had been so careless as to light such a document on fire, he'd see to it that
they burned.
Such ancient knowledge is priceless. We can dredge up new acolytes from any backwater world.
Turning a corner, he observed as Krest gathered energies and unleashed a potent burst of blue Force Lightning towards a weapon that absorbed it with not so much as a mark, only a little smoke and the smell left as indication that anything untoward had taken place.
Something of a relief, Tirdarius reflected silently, pleased at least that nothing more precious had been damaged. Others stood around the Zabrak, talking and observing the performance, though the Head of Ascendancy Intelligence appeared more perturbed by his own efforts than in anything the others were doing.
Inhaling a sharp breath, the Sith Lord raised his right hand, slender pale fingers gathered together, and drew energy from the surroundings in a fashion that stemmed from decades of practice, absorbing it through his pores and gathering it, the energy rushing to a point at his fingertips. A soft blue light enveloped his fingers, concentrating on a point a few millimeters away from the skin, then surged outwards as a burst of potent lightning, but a single bolt, sharp blue-white energy sweeping across to collide violently with the sword that Krest had been using. It, too, vanished within trace, a slight sheen visible on the blade before it returned to a normal tarnished visage.
"You need more kinetic force, my friend," he noted, taking a few steps forward towards the impromptu group.
"To summon the storm is not sufficient: in that, it is simply energy given form, and not purpose." Tirdarius' black robes rustled softly as he moved closer, noting the presence of several woman, one officer, one younger man, and the diminutive Sith he had met on Dantooine.
"Any Force User may generate lightning if their emotions are tightly focused, but as you've observed, it tends to turn back upon the user if due care is not taken."
Tirdarius had noted the tell-tale signs of burns present on the Zabrak's fingertips: black and charred markings that showed the dangers of using such potent Force energies. Many had suffered such over the years: gathering their Force energies and unleashing them in an uncontrolled, potent and ultimately dangerous fashion.
But as with all who touch the Dark Side, the simple warning remains: user beware! If due care was not exercised, the wielder might find themselves consumed before their enemy.
His stormy-grey eyes changed for a moment, fiery-orange shadows present in the irises, a transformation that vanished as quickly as it appeared as he fired off another short burst. He raised his hand and showed the pale skin at the fingertips: unburned, much as they had been a few moments ago. He'd struggled with the same technique once, a long time ago, but patient discipline had been the way his Master had taught him, and it was something he continued to work through now.
"It is not the technique you must envision, but the outcome," he noted, nodding towards the sword, resting as it had on the stand, as though none had interfered with it or attempted to so much as touch it in years.
"Your target must burn, victim of energies they have no power over. It is a destructive technique in this way: your desire must be wholly focused on the need to injure or destroy." It was something he had ever despised about the energies the Dark Side granted to the Sith, but a necessary evil was not a thing any Sith would reject out of hand.
"You cannot simply will the lightning. You must see the result you desire for it. Otherwise you will be the target, as much as that which you would destroy."
| [member="Krest"] | [member="Darth Valtryx"] | [member="Blake Morrigan"] | [member="Norin Kellarov"] | [member="Anya Loma"] | [member="Darth Sarcophago"] | [member="Lark"] |
