METALORN
TOMB OF TRIBULATION
867 ABY
To cut through the light was a thing many had thought was impossible - its rays were meant to shear through the darkness, it was implicit in its existence that darkness could only be where light was not, that it could not grow unless its rays shrank. A sword, a blade forged with the raw might of the dark side, ran counter to that belief. Its edge caught the rays of light, it cut them, and it devoured them like the countless tears in the fabric of space and time that dotted the endless void of space. The Talon of Typhojem it was called, a masterclass in subverting what was accepted as fact in the unending conflict between Jedi and Sith, and it was this weapon that would form the basis of the tool Darth Daiara would craft, with her master's guidance, to push her further down the abyss she desired to navigate.
The sound of crumbling stone and scraping steel echoed along the walls of the crypt as Darth Mori plunged her blade into the center of a wide circle made of Sith runes and stone effigies. These structures, figures of humanoids prostrated in fear, in pain, and despair, were like personifications of the emotions that both the blade and the dark side in all its glory invoked into the hearts and minds of those caught in its cloud, which hung heavy in this room. A long chain hung loosely from the Shi'ido's other hand, the one that wasn't resting against the hilt of the blade she had thrust into the ground, without an adornment in sight. It was plain, heavy, and long, and when she tossed it over towards her apprentice, who stood by at the edge of the circle, she made a subtle nod towards it with the tilt of her head. "This will be your clay." She said plainly, her hand slipping from the sword as she turned to face her. "The conflict within you and the resolve you feel will be your tools to mold it in the image, to the purpose, you most desire." She explained, gesturing towards the stone figures that surrounded her, in particular to the one with a fist raised in anguished rage towards the ceiling beside her apprentice.
"Be it a sword, an amulet, a shield, or the hilt of a new lightsaber, you will dominate the force and force it to do your bidding - I will guide you."
Her words were hardly whispers and yet they seemed to come clearly in the ears of anyone listening, carried in the air from every corner of the room. She strode towards the girl as her hands fell to her sides, and for perhaps the first time she let the facade she'd carried, the image of a woman that could only be read in the way she desired to be seen, fall from view. The anger in her, the rage, swelled with the pain that boiled underneath, heated by her hatred. The Sith lord was a veritable storm of emotion, a terrifying sight if she had intended to do harm - the intent, however, would be implicit, to provide herself as the sustenance her apprentice must learn in the secondary lesson she was being taught. "You fed on my very being in the past, apprentice, but today you must feed on the dark side in order to accomplish your task, and to understand what it is to be Sith." Mori elucidated as she slowed her approach.
"Feel my anger as you harness your own, draw them together and let the two soar." She growled, her demeanor shifting as she let her mind wander towards a face that only brought out her anger now, where there had once been care before. "Use that anger to force out your hatred and mine, focus it and direct it on your pain, on your anguish, and let it guide your resolve - let it lead you, motivate you, to your goal as I do towards mine." She said, her own anger drawing out the hatred she felt for that face and the galaxy at large - hatred that she used to honed in on the pain of solitude, of abandonment, and then led it towards her broader goal, a single solitary vision. The girl she saw through her physical eyes now matched the image held in her mind, and towards her flung the darkness that was held in the Sith Lord. Empowerment, some would call it, but the wiser ones knew well what it was for. A bonding between master and apprentice, a bridging of power and emotion that would aid the girl in her growth and understanding without acting as a crutch, was being built.
The Sith lord's focus waned, momentarily, and her red gaze shifted away from her apprentice and towards the entrance to the crypt, towards the presence of another - one uninvited.
Kaalia Pavanos
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