Fallen From Light
Unkown Moon, Neutral Space
Ruins of a Sith Temple
Ice and snow dominated this planet, freezing, biting, cold bolstered by harsh winds battered Kellan as he trekked through the ruins, forcing his way against the crudeness of this world toward his goal. But despite the conditons, Kellan found himself taken back to better times: a youth on Kuat, unspoiled by the cruelty of the universe, as carefree as the snow that fell upon him. Even as a child, he had always loved snow, playing in it, seeing it, tasting it. It brought him endless amounts of joy to see fresh piles of powered ice surrounding his home. Even watching it fall around the ruins of this Sith Temple brought him some meager semblance of happiness.
As he made his way to the temple proper, Kellan silently remarked on how quiet it was, how empty such a large place could be; not that he minded, after all, he'd always appreciated solitude. Even before his unwilling exile, he'd always preferred the company of books and tomes, sinking into the history of the galaxy, letting all else fade away until his master came to drag him out of it. But there was no one to drag him free from the ruins he now found himself in. He'd been called by the Force, pulled, summoned, demanded by it, the call of the temple had been too strong to resist, too tempting, whispering in the back of his mind, only letting up when he'd set foot on the planet.
Even now he could still hear the call. Find me, free me, open me, use me, I will make you strong, grant you power, all your desires in the palm of your hands.
Lies, he'd said to himself, the Dark Side lied, it tricked, there was no trust to be put into the words of whatever lay in the heart of the temple. But even so, Kellan found himself far from home, searching for his prize, black fur-lined cloak pulled taut by wind, the hood on his head barely able to shield his head from the cold.
Crumbling buildings passed him by, blackened from age, ancient supports barely standing against the wind. He wondered who lived here, what Sith Lord had called this place home, how he'd exacted his toll from those who lived here, whether they were slaves or willing tools, whether they'd gone all at once or died off one after another. The young Sith supposed that he'd find out eventually, hoping that perhaps he'd find his answer within the temple.
Imposing statues watched Kellan as his boots crunched through hard ice, passing silent judgement on him, their spirits peering into the deepest pit of his being.
You think too much, he told himself, their statues of dead men, long forgotten and with little power over the world of the living. Any influence they had died with them, died with the last of the inhabitants of this moon. His thoughts brought little comfort, and if anything, the cold intensified, as if to tell him that someone still held sway over this place, living or dead.
Once he reached the foot of the steps leading up to the entrance, Kellan sighed and stopped, allowing himself a small break, watching as the heat of his breath was lost in the wind, freezing as it left his mouth, and icy gales stinging his lips when he instinctively licked them.
Almost there, you've suffered worse, and you've not seen the worst of it.
Heaving himself forward, he forced his way up the stairs, fighting to get one foot in front of the other as the wind fought to keep him down, smother him before he could ascend, stifle him, control him, break his spirit while his trek was still in its infancy. I've suffered worse, he thought again, repeating the phrase like a mantra, pulling strength from nothing, finding the will to push back against what sought to keep him out.
Every step was harder than the last, and at some point Kellan shut his eyes, not to shield against the wind, but because he was afraid he'd see how far he was and give up. His legs strained, and eventually he had to raise his hands and literally push against what kept him out of the temple. His breaths became grunts, then yells, and then he was screaming against the wind, the dead men that called this place their tombs, whatever the hell had called him here in the first place. And just when he thought he could take no more, when all the strength in his body was going toward just standing, the resistance ceased, and Kellan tumbled forward through the threshold, landing on his hands and knees as warmth covered his body.
For a long few minutes he lay there panting, wondering what sort of test that was, and what lay on the other side of this place. Fear gripped his heart, chilled him once again despite the new heat that washed over him. He found peace in the warmth, coaxing him into calm, offering comfort for the first time since he'd set foot on the planet.
But it was wrong, everything, nothing, all at once, there was a wrongness in to all of this.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
The heat left him then, gone as soon as it'd came. And then he was alone.
And then howl sounded from within the temple.
Ruins of a Sith Temple
Ice and snow dominated this planet, freezing, biting, cold bolstered by harsh winds battered Kellan as he trekked through the ruins, forcing his way against the crudeness of this world toward his goal. But despite the conditons, Kellan found himself taken back to better times: a youth on Kuat, unspoiled by the cruelty of the universe, as carefree as the snow that fell upon him. Even as a child, he had always loved snow, playing in it, seeing it, tasting it. It brought him endless amounts of joy to see fresh piles of powered ice surrounding his home. Even watching it fall around the ruins of this Sith Temple brought him some meager semblance of happiness.
As he made his way to the temple proper, Kellan silently remarked on how quiet it was, how empty such a large place could be; not that he minded, after all, he'd always appreciated solitude. Even before his unwilling exile, he'd always preferred the company of books and tomes, sinking into the history of the galaxy, letting all else fade away until his master came to drag him out of it. But there was no one to drag him free from the ruins he now found himself in. He'd been called by the Force, pulled, summoned, demanded by it, the call of the temple had been too strong to resist, too tempting, whispering in the back of his mind, only letting up when he'd set foot on the planet.
Even now he could still hear the call. Find me, free me, open me, use me, I will make you strong, grant you power, all your desires in the palm of your hands.
Lies, he'd said to himself, the Dark Side lied, it tricked, there was no trust to be put into the words of whatever lay in the heart of the temple. But even so, Kellan found himself far from home, searching for his prize, black fur-lined cloak pulled taut by wind, the hood on his head barely able to shield his head from the cold.
Crumbling buildings passed him by, blackened from age, ancient supports barely standing against the wind. He wondered who lived here, what Sith Lord had called this place home, how he'd exacted his toll from those who lived here, whether they were slaves or willing tools, whether they'd gone all at once or died off one after another. The young Sith supposed that he'd find out eventually, hoping that perhaps he'd find his answer within the temple.
Imposing statues watched Kellan as his boots crunched through hard ice, passing silent judgement on him, their spirits peering into the deepest pit of his being.
You think too much, he told himself, their statues of dead men, long forgotten and with little power over the world of the living. Any influence they had died with them, died with the last of the inhabitants of this moon. His thoughts brought little comfort, and if anything, the cold intensified, as if to tell him that someone still held sway over this place, living or dead.
Once he reached the foot of the steps leading up to the entrance, Kellan sighed and stopped, allowing himself a small break, watching as the heat of his breath was lost in the wind, freezing as it left his mouth, and icy gales stinging his lips when he instinctively licked them.
Almost there, you've suffered worse, and you've not seen the worst of it.
Heaving himself forward, he forced his way up the stairs, fighting to get one foot in front of the other as the wind fought to keep him down, smother him before he could ascend, stifle him, control him, break his spirit while his trek was still in its infancy. I've suffered worse, he thought again, repeating the phrase like a mantra, pulling strength from nothing, finding the will to push back against what sought to keep him out.
Every step was harder than the last, and at some point Kellan shut his eyes, not to shield against the wind, but because he was afraid he'd see how far he was and give up. His legs strained, and eventually he had to raise his hands and literally push against what kept him out of the temple. His breaths became grunts, then yells, and then he was screaming against the wind, the dead men that called this place their tombs, whatever the hell had called him here in the first place. And just when he thought he could take no more, when all the strength in his body was going toward just standing, the resistance ceased, and Kellan tumbled forward through the threshold, landing on his hands and knees as warmth covered his body.
For a long few minutes he lay there panting, wondering what sort of test that was, and what lay on the other side of this place. Fear gripped his heart, chilled him once again despite the new heat that washed over him. He found peace in the warmth, coaxing him into calm, offering comfort for the first time since he'd set foot on the planet.
But it was wrong, everything, nothing, all at once, there was a wrongness in to all of this.
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
The heat left him then, gone as soon as it'd came. And then he was alone.
And then howl sounded from within the temple.
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