Mind Games 101 (Darth Abyss)

[Darth Ophidia]

The tea clashed with the bottom of her cup, sending up a plume of fragrant vapour. Semi-translucent, milky white, sweet in scent; Sakuran White Tea was a delectable treat formerly reserved for emperors and their most esteemed retainers. Now, it was enjoyed by a Lord of the Sith with contacts still remaining on Sakura. Darth Ophidia poured two cups and placed the kettle down in the table's centre. Almost ceremonially, she wiped its spout with a folded tissue which was then placed down in front.

For once, the light of a sun shone through open windows during one of their training sessions. It was a stark contrast from the dark environments in which she had formerly trained him, but somehow she appeared equally comfortable in these radiant rooms. The robes she wore - Lightweight and dark grey in colour with silken black details. - seemed far more casual than the heavy, dark robes she had previously worn. One could almost think she was human, or close to such.

Yet, the piercing cold emanating from her person had not changed and her eyes still burned with the baleful fires in contrast to her scarred, ashen skin. In the sun beside her lay a white serpent coiled, staring unblinkingly in the opposite direction of her and seemingly using the light to absorb warmth into its flesh.

No longer an acolyte, but her apprentice still, she awaited [member="Darth Abyss"] to arrive at any second. There was much to learn.

 

[Darth Abyss]

Darth Abyss left no sound on the ground as he stepped inside the room his master was residing in. It was the first they meet after the one sith empire had crumbled into pieces, yet master and apprentice alike still stood among the living, planning and acting in the shadows as it was the way of the sith. The second he entered, his nose was filled with a exceptionally good smell, a scent so fine that he didn't even had to ask to know that it had to be rather expensive.

His robe was as tattered and ragged as always, marked by the many battle and confrontations he had lived through. Other than his master he only choose another attire when it was absolutely necessary, to dissolve into the masses, or to deceive an enemy. For everything else the old piece of cloth that shrouded his body was enough, as it perfectly represented who he was.

The sith knight stood in the room, making no attempt at sitting down at the table, and instead kneeling in front of his master. He wasn't an acolyte anymore, but it would a mistake to lose the respect for his master already. There was still so much to be learned, so much to be uncovered and so much to be conquered.

"Master."

His eyes were facing the ground, his head kept low to further prove that he had no fallen to arrogance since he had been ascended to a knight of the sith. Yet any movement of his body showed confidence, far more than before he had been granted the title and mark of a true sith.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Apprentice, sit."

She gestured to the opposite side of the table where one of the two cups were placed. Despite her change in wardrobe and scenery, there was a commanding presence to her words and motions. Even in a relaxed atmosphere, she did not seize being a Sith Lord.

"Taste the tea; it is delectable."

She gestured to the cups before gently wrapping the tips of her fingers around her own cup, turning it ninety degrees and lifting it with both hands. She inhaled the vapours through her nose, stimulating her olfactory organs to the fullest extent. Then she looked down at the milky liquid, tipping the cup one way and the other to see how it clung to the microscopic crevices of the cups surface.

"Slowly. Bide your time."

He was young. Not only in body, but also in the Force. His growth was considerable, but at the same time he had a long way to go until he was fully matured. Patience was a virtue all too often neglected in young Sith. Some arts could not be rushed, but required slow deliberation to fully understand. His passion and determination would have to enforce his will, but too much pressure would only shatter the mind and yield lesser results. She had no doubt he would excel at it, but practice and caution was necessary all the same.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Abyss took place on the other side of the table, as his master had commanded him to do. His expression stayed stoic and emotionless, with no sign of comfort or relaxation in it. Even when his body was at rest, his mind was not even if he would have wanted to. The only thing that could be attributed to the atmosphere was a simple movement. His hands wandered to his head, taking of the mask placed there, and revealing his complete face to his master. Only very rarely he removed the piece of wood, and he only granted these he respected the right to see what was beyond it.

His eyes looked at the tea, but he didn't moved his hands on the cup right away. Instead he waited patiently for the beverage to cool down, so he could actually enjoy it at his preferred temperature, while thin grey smoke danced through the air.

"I assume I have been called for another lesson, master?"

A finger of his right hand dipped in the tea, only barley touching the liquid to better judge the temperature of it. He closed his eyes, inhaling the smoke and scent ascending from the cup. His face formed the smallest of smiles, a thin line in his face that was almost unnoticeable.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

After he asked his question, she took a an audible slurp from her cup. The air infused with the liquid to kick the aromas into her palate and olfactory organs, thus heightening the tasting experience. Her eyes were downcast into the cup, but she remained able to see her apprentice's hands as he put down the mask and tested the temperature of the tea.

"Yes. I am going to teach you something quite important."

She took another slurp and took in the full experience of the flavour, the scent, and the radiant warmth. Then, carefully she put down the cup and straightened up. Her left hand, black as ink, raised itself with thumb touching middle-finger. She snapped her fingers audibly and before she could put her hand back in her lap or reach for the cup, three persons entered the room from a side door. Two females, one male. The two females were both Twi'Lek and wore heavy collars around their necks. The Male, Zygerrian, held the chain to both their collars. All three knelt deeply, the two slaves put their foreheads to the floor while their master knelt down to all fours, slightly elevated from his property.

For a moment, she waited to see Abyss' response to this overt display of slavery. Some reacted quite aggressively one way or the other, some did not care. Either way, she could use it for motivation. Then, she pulled a single red pen from inside her robe and placed it on the table.

"Apprentice, what colour is the pen?"

As she asked, she intruded on his mind, meaning to alter his perception and make what was truly red appear blue.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Abyss silently watched as the slaves and their master moved inside the room, hid expression not changing one bit. There was no sympathy for them, not even interested. The weak had to obey the strong, or die, that always had been the way of the sith. The only thing he felt was a small bit of surprise, not because of the slaves themselves, but because he didn't saw his master as someone who felt the need for such a display of power. Still by now he knew her, at least as well as a sith apprentice should know his master, so he figured that this could quite as well just be another test for him.

More important then the man and the two woman who entered the room, was the anticipation of a new lesson by his master. [member="Darth Ophidia"] was the strongest being he had meet to this day, and he had meet a lot of other sith when he helped to orchestrated the final days of their empires downfall. Whenever she had to teach him something new, he would become stronger and one day he would overshadow all those around him, and when he would plunge his saber in her heart, it would be the ultimate victory for both of them.

The question of his master was ... weird. So simple that he wondered at first why she would even ask him something like it. Then his eyes focused on the pen, and suddenly he wasn't so sure after all. To him the pen was blue, but for some reason his mind resisted the urge to give her "blue" as an answer. It was like something had silently and unseen moved into his vision, altering what he saw.

"I ... I am not sure."

The shift in his expression was slight, and only someone with an perception far above average would note the change from stoic to confused.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Darth Ophidia noticed his change, not just because of her unnatural perceptiveness, but also because she was inside his head. Slowly, she pushed her thoughts into his mind like dark tendrils tightening around prey. They moved to envelop his psyche like a blanket of fog, aiming to constrict all options but "blue" slowly, but surely. With someone of a weaker mind, she would have entered with ease and convinced them. However, the mind of her apprentice was one she would rather not damage. His intelligence and inquisitive nature were some of his best qualities.

"Why? Do you normally have problems with perceiving colour?"

A wry smile grew on her lips to mock his confusion. The scars that reached over her head and branched out to her cheek now warped with the unusual expression on her face. Her orange eyes, burning with hate, did not blink but remained open in constant vigilance like the creatures after whom she had taken her name.

Blue Blue Blue Blue - the pen is blue.​

The slaves and their master remained in stillness, stifling their curiosity and fear. Being called into the service of a Sith Lord could easily turn into a nasty way to die. Of course, the lives of the slaves did not matter to the Zygerrian as long as he got his payment. However, he knew who was on the chopping block should the slaves displease their client. The slaver needed the money. Especially now that the Empire had fallen. They had been customers for many years and their substitutes were less than keen to pick up the slack. He was desperate.

"Tell me, Darth, what is the colour of the pen?"

Demand arose in her voice and poison entered the utterance of Darth. She did not regret or wish to retract the title she had given him, but she knew it was a button that could make his temper rise and his defences lower. It was the subtle art of Dun Möch.

Did she press it too far?

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

His eyes were wide by now, the confusion becoming more obvious with every second that passed by as he stared at the pen. It was like he had been drugged, his thoughts felt sluggish and simple, completely unlike the racing impulses that his mind was composed of normally. His vision was clear, and yet it was like a fog shrouded his perception, and his ability to think straight. The worst thing about his mind not working properly was that he wasn't even able to figure out what exactly was happening to him, as his mind was unable to see the connection between his state and his master.

Her words about the title he was given by her truly insulted him, yet he knew no pride. There was anger about it sure, but after all he learned that getting pushed by words would only make him weaker. Still he was not completely above his own feelings, not yet at least. As his anger rose, his perception got worse, his vision losing track of anything besides the blue pen. It was like something made click in his mind, a voice from far away that was whispering in his ear.

"Blue ... And now ... GET OUT OF MY HEAD."

He could feel how his control broke apart, the anger he meant to keep contained blasting out of his lungs in a cry. It felt like his mind had been scattered, random and unconnected thoughts beginning to reform into the natural state his mind, an uncontrolled storm of ideas that even he had troubles to understand sometimes. His yellow eyes locked on his master, rage and passion burning in every small bit of them. All he wanted was that [member="Darth Ophidia"] would leave his mind, as it was the only thing about himself he saw as truly exceptional.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Red."

The smile grew into a wicked grin as she amused herself with the pain and confusion of her apprentice. She put him through this pain to make him stronger, such was the way of the Sith. Struggle refined them, forged them through figurative fire. He would be a great tool for the Sith, perhaps event he best she ever forged. And this would be one of his weapons as it had been hers.

"I hold your greatest weapon in my hand. All that is yours is mine."

Mine mine mine​

As her forced influence over him became more overt, she raised her left hand towards him with the blackened fingers curled into cruel talons. They moved slowly and constantly, shifting her influence on his mind in response to his outburst. Her burning eyes stared back into his, unblinking, unwavering. She let the pen be red now, but did not seize him. Rather, she tried to make his body stiffen into place.

Hold, hold, hold hold hold.​

"This is the true power of the Dark Side: Complete control."

Control -trol -trol​

The slaver's eyes turned wide as he too suddenly felt himself seized. The two slaves fell to the floor, unconscious, while the Zygerrian felt his hand grip his own throat and squeeze. She did not even look at him, but kept her eyes on [member="Darth Abyss"] . He was the important one, and the slaver was weakened by his own fear. It allowed her to take hold of him.

"Do you crave it?"

Yes yes yes​

 

[Darth Abyss]

The open rage from his outburst was gone only seconds after he spoke, his face becoming once more stoic and emotionless. Rage and hate meant power, but he had to force himself to keep it contained until the right moment. Yes he craved her power, but he also craved to push her out of his mind. She was stronger than him, far stronger but that didn't made her unbeatable. After all the struggle was only a tool of his master to form him into the strongest version possible, by forcing him to overcome his own limits, forcing him to grow and evolve to get one step closer to becoming sith. And that he would do, not by raw power, but by using the skills he already had at hand: intelligence and knowledge.

"With all my passion. But my mind is mine, and mine alone."

His voice was calm, controlled as was his mind. He allowed his body to be stiff without putting up a fight for her mental attacks. Any barriers he could put in the force would break in seconds, he simply was to weak to fight her in something she had reached mastery. Yet there were other ways to stand against those gifted with the power to influence minds. In his thoughts he began to focus on a simple, nonsensical task. It was an old smuggler trick, that worked by letting someone into ones mind but only allowing the intruder to scrap on the surface. Like he had read in some of the smuggler journals, he began to play paazak in his mind.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Yours and your alone, and yet I could take it from you so easily."

She tightened her hold around him, and then released. While her hand seized its tensed posture and lowered, her eyes did not. She maintained her constant stare as she slipped back into a more relaxed posture. The smile on her lips settled. She had shown him the effects of mentalism, no more was needed. Should he decide to take the moment to retaliate for her slight, then she would be ready. However, she did not express so overtly.

"Mentalism; to bend the mind and body of another."

The Zygerrian slaver gasped for air as she let him release his own throat. With a swipe of her hand, she made the feline creature stand up and stiffly walk over, kneel down, pour two new cups of tea, and speak without the least bit of strain to his voice.

"Thank you for your patronage, Mistress. You do us great honour."

"Even making them believe it is of their own mind. It is an arduous task to learn, but I have no doubt you will find it useful."

She lifted her cup once more and took a sip. The Zygerrian crawled backwards in a groveling posture, face scraping against the hardwood floor as he did.

"How do you think it is done?"

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

As the grip around his body and mind relaxed, Abyss did the same, who was not noticeably calmer than before. He had already prepared for a prolonged fight of their mind, a challenge of strength and patience but instead the whole situation turned back into a more academic direction. His mind digged for any small piece of knowledge he had about the art of mentalism, as his master asked him how he thought the power over someones mind was archived. He took himself to think about all he knew and guessed so it seemed like it made sense to some degree.

"You have to find the weakest point in their mind to get in, something that is deeply connected to someones psyche but easy to influence, something like fear. There you use the weakest point you plant an idea, one that stays there and slowly builds into your will."

Abyss wasn't sure if he was right, but it worked in classical brainwashing as he had learned recently. Mentalism could be nothing else than psychological tricks amplified by the force. A way to make a simple word into an undeniable order. Absolut control over someones mind was a powerful weapon, one that was so versatile in its uses that Abyss couldn't list them all. As long and exhausting the way to this power would be, Abyss would follow it even if it meant to crawl over the ground to reach his goal.

[member="Darth Ophidia"]

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Fear, anger, sorrow, love, even joy; if you understand their passions you can unlock their hearts and minds."

She stirred the tea in the cup and nodded calmly. The tension in the room appeared to subside much and the white serpent at her side tightened in its coil. The Sith Lord sipped her brew, feeling the warmth of the liquid and savouring the sweet taste.

"Just like I entered yours through your ambition and your inquisitive nature. The better you know them and the less collected they are, the more easily you can manipulate them, through the force or otherwise."

She noted his paazak trick. It was neat, but she did not wish to expend his energies on fighting her when he was to expend them on dominating something else soon enough. The time would come for them to stand opposed, but this day was not the one.

"Look at the slaver. What does he want? What does he fear? Can you sense it?"

She could sense it. The Zygerrian, under the forced calm, reeked of uncertainty. He wanted nothing more than safety both for himself and his investments in times of financial instability. There was anger in him, easily turned to cruelty or red hot fury. It reached far deeper than his current fears; far into a cruelty instilled in him as a youngling. There was jealousy, and a crumpled ambition of wast and obnoxious wealth. He was a simple creature and thus an easy way to begin Abyss' training in the complicated art of Mentalism.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Abyss turned his head on the slaver, his eyes wandering up and down, reading his facial expressions and his body language, his appearance and his profession. Without even using the force he could already make an educated guess on what the mans passions were. Forced calm in his face, yet fear was noticeable in the tension of his muscles, in his breathing pattern and in the his try to keep his eyes from moving around nervously.

He extended his mind through the force, focusing on the aura around the man. Sure he was no master of mentalism like [member="Darth Ophidia"] but the slaver wasn't gifted in the force or otherwise skilled in keeping his mind and intentions hidden. What he sensed was in tune with his initial prognosis, only even clearer, giving him a deeper look in the mans psyche.

"I sense fear, and anger. Hate and greed. I sense an animal hidden under the mantle of sentience. He fears for his live, and he fears losing his wares and the money they would bring him. I sense crippling greed, the kind that eats away your soul until only a cruel and broken beast is left."

After learning more about this "man", his expression showed a hint of disdain. Sure the sith were cruel, some even greedy, but anyone who really could call himself sith was more than an empty shell composed of the dirt that rested in the darkest corners of the mind. They used these emotions, but they had to control them, use them as the tools they were and not allowed them to take over control.