Prophet of Bogan
The Brotherhood had become quite traveled destination as of late. Normally the warship would be ferrying starfighters between ports but for the past week or so it had become a port all its own. Hidden away in a nebula within Wild Space and surrounded by a few stations to aid with logistics, the Brotherhood was serving as something of a command post for the Rimward Wonosan forces at the moment. Its positioning away from most known hyperlanes made it all but impossible to intrude upon and yet easy to reach from their various outposts and hideaways scattered around the nearby systems. In particular though, there was one factor which had been drawing in transports full of Wonosan forces aside from the brief centralized control point.
Their Prophet had returned.
Recently and without much fanfare or explanation but returned nonetheless. That was the main reason for the Brotherhood's current position in truth, being a rally point for those that wished to reconnect with Darth Strosius. Audiences of course were dolled out, prayers led, but most importantly in restoring the morale and faith of the previously leaderless followers of Wonosa were the sermons. One had been held each day since the announcement of His return and today was no different, with holoprojections of the even going out to those that couldn't manage to fit aboard the overcrowded cruiser which supported the occasions.
"Regrets." And what occasions they were. "Are they not held by all? Treacherous, quiet thoughts that weigh one down with notions of shame. Of guilt. Of could have or should have been, as though they are preferable to what is." Clad in new ornate robes and topped with a fresh mask identical to the one that had been damaged and torn weeks ago now, the returned Darth Strosius was at first just like any of His followers would have remembered. The whisps that drifted behind His back were barely distinguishable from the candle smoke that wafted from their place upon the shelf behind the makeshift pulpit. Many in the crowd clutched similarly votive candles, illuminating their silent yet eager expressions as their Prophet's voice echoed across the cargo bay.
"A burden, that is the nature of regret. One taken upon ourselves by ourselves and thus one that can only be cast off by the self." Gloved hands gripped the sides of the pulpit as a visored gaze briefly swept the crowd. "In my unfortunate absence I have been regaled with stories of regret among you, my brothers and sisters. Concerns that the Force, that I, had abandoned you. That you had fallen out of favor and now worked without your very faith unquestioned. Allow me to ease your burdens this day." Darth Strosius was tactful and intent with each word and gesture, hands seemingly idly moving yet aiding in weaving the tapestry that He presented in His sermon.
"It is not simple victory that we strive for, recall the holy code that has guided Sith from the ancient empires to our modern struggles. Victory is the path to broken chains, of course, but the Force is the ultimate liberator. Compared to it we are but leaves in its great river, drifting as its currents direct us to." Darth Strosius extended a hand in offering and solace to the assembled listeners and onlookers. "Heed well this fact above all others. Comfort yourselves in this. You have not failed, you have not faltered, you walk the path that the Force has laid out for you with each step you take. Even the stumbled ones that you perceive as shameful missteps are still done by the will of the Force, still along the path. The path that led you to the opened arms of your brothers and sisters in the faith. The path that led me back to you."
The offered hand clenched into a risen fist. "Let go of your regrets and banish your hesitation, Sith of Wonosa! Embrace your passions and be resolute in your faith. For we are the followers of the great liberator! The agents and orchestrators of broken chains! The galaxy's shackles have bent beneath you but only through certainty can they be shattered and cast aside as yours were when you were welcomed into the ranks of the faithful. Take pride, take heed, take strength, in yourselves and in one another. The Force has set you free!" Both hands were thrown up in exclamation, drawing forth a brief cheer of "Wonosa" from the faithful as the Prophet stepped back from the pulpit.
"And may it soon free all." Cheers became nods, bows, and kneels as shows of devotion before the assembled began to slowly filter out of the cargo bay. Candles flickered as Darth Strosius strode off of the stage, a tension slacking in His shoulders the moment that He had passed out of sight from the faithful.
Trayze Tesar
Their Prophet had returned.
Recently and without much fanfare or explanation but returned nonetheless. That was the main reason for the Brotherhood's current position in truth, being a rally point for those that wished to reconnect with Darth Strosius. Audiences of course were dolled out, prayers led, but most importantly in restoring the morale and faith of the previously leaderless followers of Wonosa were the sermons. One had been held each day since the announcement of His return and today was no different, with holoprojections of the even going out to those that couldn't manage to fit aboard the overcrowded cruiser which supported the occasions.
"Regrets." And what occasions they were. "Are they not held by all? Treacherous, quiet thoughts that weigh one down with notions of shame. Of guilt. Of could have or should have been, as though they are preferable to what is." Clad in new ornate robes and topped with a fresh mask identical to the one that had been damaged and torn weeks ago now, the returned Darth Strosius was at first just like any of His followers would have remembered. The whisps that drifted behind His back were barely distinguishable from the candle smoke that wafted from their place upon the shelf behind the makeshift pulpit. Many in the crowd clutched similarly votive candles, illuminating their silent yet eager expressions as their Prophet's voice echoed across the cargo bay.
"A burden, that is the nature of regret. One taken upon ourselves by ourselves and thus one that can only be cast off by the self." Gloved hands gripped the sides of the pulpit as a visored gaze briefly swept the crowd. "In my unfortunate absence I have been regaled with stories of regret among you, my brothers and sisters. Concerns that the Force, that I, had abandoned you. That you had fallen out of favor and now worked without your very faith unquestioned. Allow me to ease your burdens this day." Darth Strosius was tactful and intent with each word and gesture, hands seemingly idly moving yet aiding in weaving the tapestry that He presented in His sermon.
"It is not simple victory that we strive for, recall the holy code that has guided Sith from the ancient empires to our modern struggles. Victory is the path to broken chains, of course, but the Force is the ultimate liberator. Compared to it we are but leaves in its great river, drifting as its currents direct us to." Darth Strosius extended a hand in offering and solace to the assembled listeners and onlookers. "Heed well this fact above all others. Comfort yourselves in this. You have not failed, you have not faltered, you walk the path that the Force has laid out for you with each step you take. Even the stumbled ones that you perceive as shameful missteps are still done by the will of the Force, still along the path. The path that led you to the opened arms of your brothers and sisters in the faith. The path that led me back to you."
The offered hand clenched into a risen fist. "Let go of your regrets and banish your hesitation, Sith of Wonosa! Embrace your passions and be resolute in your faith. For we are the followers of the great liberator! The agents and orchestrators of broken chains! The galaxy's shackles have bent beneath you but only through certainty can they be shattered and cast aside as yours were when you were welcomed into the ranks of the faithful. Take pride, take heed, take strength, in yourselves and in one another. The Force has set you free!" Both hands were thrown up in exclamation, drawing forth a brief cheer of "Wonosa" from the faithful as the Prophet stepped back from the pulpit.
"And may it soon free all." Cheers became nods, bows, and kneels as shows of devotion before the assembled began to slowly filter out of the cargo bay. Candles flickered as Darth Strosius strode off of the stage, a tension slacking in His shoulders the moment that He had passed out of sight from the faithful.
