Act V: Avaritia

[Hal Terrano]

Settled was not a word that one often associated with the Sith. They weren’t exactly known for their tranquil composure and yet, even still Hal Terrano had settled.

Somewhat.

Of course, the fallen Jedi would be hard pressed to find himself at one within this suffocating environment. Worlds engulfed in the Dark Side came with a foreboding presence, one that crept into the back of your mind at every wanton opportunity and whose power only grew the longer that one stayed.

To combat such a mind had to be busy, it had to be distracted. No dwelling, no steeping, just working.

Hal had found his niche, even amongst the Sith. Knowledge was universal and he had eventually found his station. The Archives. Even when he had been a Jedi his home was not amongst his peers but amongst tomes and databanks. The pursuit of knowledge, expansion of the mind. A respectful and important aspect of training oft overlooked in favour of combat.

If he were to survive anywhere, it would be here.

The only difference between here and there was the materials. Yes, the Jedi had their collections regarding the world of the Sith, blunt information more preventative than truly informed. Understandable. It was forbidden fruit, there had been many fallen Jedi scholars that were a testament to the danger of knowledge and thus there was restricted access.

But now it was here, laid bare and open. Curiosity could be quashed, thirsts could be sated. A world of Sith knowledge, more than Hal Terrano could possibly imagine.

Where did he even begin?

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

Yes, where to begin?

Vrag stared at the archives ahead while asking herself the same question. Time had passed. Worlds were conquered. Jedi felled. Peoples slaughtered. Where to begin?

She was not a nostalgic woman, and hardly ever sentimental. She could not deny, however, that things had changed. Irreversibly. The Vrag stood here today was not the same Vrag who had stalked and assailed [member="Hal Terrano"] in a decrepit swamp. Nor was she similar to the Vrag who had gone on to torture – yes, torture – that broken man in the coldest pit outside of Netherworld. On that planet otherwise known as Prakith, she had torn and sliced into flesh and bone out of… out of what? Misguided belief that she would find something, anything?

Refusing a frown, she chased it away with a click of her jaw. Tense. Why was she tense? The other party in this relationship, if one could call it such, was deathly frightened of her. Nobody could hold it against him, not even she; he had good reason to be afraid.

So why the Nether was she so wired?

The Hand of the Dark Lord exhaled and stalked into the archives. She trampled her thoughts beneath heavy chitin boots, delighting in their dying screams. Leaders could not afford any doubts. It was too precarious a downward slope. Too treacherous a footing.

Click click click click

Boots, teeth, boots, teeth.

And yet. And yet. The vicious fether lingered.

Where to begin?

 

[Hal Terrano]

Sith Magic: A History.

Hal could imagine that most Acolytes would have wanted nothing more than to dive in at the deep end of this subject. No preparation, no prior knowledge, just raw power with no progression. Of course, this was neither wise nor logical. Untold power without study was much like giving an infant a plasma grenade. Ridiculous, dangerous and likely to make a large mess.

History would come first, chronicles of notable practitioners (and their demises), details of rite and ritual and then, perhaps…

Frown.

Of course, apprehension was there. Hal was more than well aware of the consuming nature of the Dark Side, his very existence here was a battle against such, and a losing battle at that. Delving into a realm of Sith Magic probably wasn’t going to be the brightest idea in terms of slipping sanity and failing fortitude.

Footfalls echoed across the floor, uniform and menacing was each step. Hal looked up, having already sat down at a desk to consume dark histories. His face still creased in a frown, Terrano knew exactly who it was.

The personification of destruction, his destruction.

Nothing was said, no words left his lips, Hal simply just looked.

---

[member="Vrag"]

 

[Vrag]

There was a time when she reveled in such reactions. It was a rush of power unlike anything else, to gaze into someone’s eyes and see pure fear reflected back at you. Even now, the remnants of that thrill tickled up her spine.

Vrag, despite herself, shivered.

“What are you doing?”

The words fell from her lips, rusted from disuse. A close look would reveal that her armor was scored by kisses of blaster and blade alike, deep gouges and scorch marks littering the rich landscape. Not that [member="Hal Terrano"] would want to pay close attention to the Sith Lord looming above him.

Still, the shadow she cast over his book would force him to react. One way or another, the man would acknowledge her presence. In all truth, she didn’t expect a verbal reply – certainly she didn’t deserve one – but her talks with him had always brought her a wealth of insight. Not even Reverance and Matsu Xiangu could provide her that, if only by virtue of being too alike.

The fallen Jedi was… a different perspective.

 

[Hal Terrano]

What are you doing?

In his mind it was a ridiculous question, and the answer to such was beyond obvious. What else would he have been doing there? Once upon a time, a different man would have been so very annoyed by such an asinine question. What did it look like he was doing?

Of course, this was not once upon a time and he was not that man.

Sickly yellow irises could only stand looking at the woman for only a few seconds more before he had to tear away his gaze. Just looking at her brought feelings of shame, disgust and fear surging upwards, sitting at the back of his throat as a reminder of what he was. Instead his stare was cast downwards upon the desk.

Even the shadow she cast over him brought a sickness in the pit of his stomach, as if she had laid a hand upon him.

There was silence, not a rarity in the realm of Hal Terrano, but not usually wrought with such absolute tension. Features knotted. A frown, it twisted and twitched, flashing brief images of hurt and despair before settling back into a natural position. The lines upon his face seemed etched ever-deeper by the day.

“Reading," came the blunt response, spoken as the barest murmur.

---

[member="Vrag"]