Sacred and Sanctimonius

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi grinned as he reach the interior. A secluded, quiet grotto. At the top of this unusually shaped wellspring was a rare hidden valley where the Sorceror Priests of Thamnos were said to create their rituals. These masterful techniques were used in the most dangerous of forms, that of creating weapons of war, imbued with the force.



He meditated on the lessons he had learned. The galaxy had spiraled further into chaos over the last few years, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He had been seeking more esoteric knowledge, more force traditions, letting the struggles of politics and war to others. He had virtually hidden himself form the galaxy. But he had found it--his key.


He had failed so many times to become what he had truly wished to be--a hero. Even on Druckenwell, he could not save them. And one of his greatest lessons returned to him. The lesson of knife-catching.



---- Approximately Twenty Years Ago----



Vorhi walked into his master's room, badly scuffed from a fight. "Mestare, I failed today."



"OH?" The older woman said, smiling wryly. "The mighty Alestrani has failed? Has the prodigy fallen?"



The blindfolded acolyte snorted. "Mestare Anya, please," he said with a grating annoyance. "I am here to be instructed."


Anya grinned. "Oppila, my humor is my instruction. For it is through Debauchery and wanton passion I fight, as much as it is through sagacity and charm that you do," she said, downing a shot of something that was more often used to thin paint.



"Master," he said succinctly, "How do you face knives without fear?"




----Back in the relative Present----



Vorhi smirked as he drank some water, ascending the stairs. "What an annoying lesson. I'll have to learn it again, I suppose," he mused dryly. He used his force sight to gaze upon the etchigns on the wall. Old Huttese, from before the Clone Wars. An old, obscure dialect, but weven with his fuzziness, he could get the details. A washing of blood, a cleansing fire, an honest warrior, a grand confession. From this the forge of the Cult of Thamnos could arise. It would suffice. He adjusted the pack on his shoulder. He had his supplies.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Great, another lengthy passage into the interior of the cave complex. If there one thing you couldn't be in Archaeology on foreign planets, it was claustrophobic. The Force and the Gods knew that for every relic you could find by open-air digging, you'd grab another seventy by stuffing yourself in a cave. He ignited a signal flare, not for the light, but for the fire--it helped to burn stagnant air.


He trudged up the staircase further, drawn on by his passion, by his memories. "I won't fail. I've lost too many--I wont fail." He grimaced. The darkness no longer scared him. He'd seen death, and life. H'ed fought for peace, and spoken for it. He tried to make peace on Ithor. With the Sith. With Omega, and the CIS, and Republic. He always tried to be a man who made peace. Even during the war, he avoided killing as much as humanly possible. He kept his hands clean. But he couldn't save them. Not all of them.


Then again, maybe he was hoping he'd be able to avoid it. Find some peace. Maybe he knew damn well that wasn't any fething peace for a man whose best talent was beating the living poodoo out of every slack-jawed punk in the galaxy. Maybe, maybe he was hoping to roar at the heavens tonight.


"Twenty five....." he muttered, counting the steps, "twenty six....." he continued his slow walk, not drinking yet.




---Flashback some more---


"Twenty-seven!" Anya yelled at her student. "Come on, Vee, you've gotta get to fifty if you want your answer!"


Vorhi grunted, pushing up on his knuckles "The key to catching swords is doing lots of arm-work?"


Anya laughed and sipped from her bottle. "If you can shut and push some diligence, maybe you'd get a chance to find out! Thirty!" She clapped. "Strentgh, Diligence, that keeps you going when you don't have answers! Trust me, you need to learn how to get an answer!"

"But...."Vorhi said in between grunts, "If you already know, why aren't you just telling me?"


Anya shook her head. "The answer to that will cost you another twenty-five!"


Vorhi grinned wickedly. "Deal!"

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Now there was a labyrinth. Nice. Nothing like a labyrinthine passageway to add some fun to your surveys. He smiled as he focused. "Persistence, Oppila," he said to himself, mentally remembering his own Force Creed. The first was a simple proverb, one he believe as any Miralukian would.



Appearance is not Truth.


He sat down, breathing deep, sensing the Force throughout. He place his hands on the old stone, and clapped them together, letting the echos feeling the building with Force's own will. "Hmm. Fascinating. The left appears safer, but it's a facade. The right path it is, then."



----In the rosy past----


"Forty-six! Forty-seven!" Vorhi grunted, follow the steady rhythm of his masters staff striking the ground. "Forty....eight!"


"You hesitated. Need to catch your breath, little Vee?" Anya taunted.


Vorhi shook his head and continued. "You desired diligence. forty-nine! I will remain steadfast!"


Anya nodded. "Persistence, Oppila. You shall have your strength in due time. And you will gain your answer, through will." She grinned at her student. He had potential, even if his temper was a bit dangerous, and his singing terrible, and his speech reserved and somewhat fearful.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi smile at the ornate passage. He could feel the moonlight and cool air, he wasn't far from the surface now. Another few stories would do it. Still, he continued. Meditating on yet another precept of his teachings. One he had to remember frequently as he ascended. He was not relying on brute force, or even the power of the force. No. He had fasted for three days, in accordance with the rituals required to ascend this mountain, enter these caves and begin these trials. It was in this fasting that he remember another precept of his own path, the path of the new Salai Kasi:


Power is not Strength.


Learning to recognize that difference mattered to him. For if the separation of appearance and reality separated oracles from those who saw only the mundane, than it was the separation of power and strength that separated him from the Sith and the Jedi. The Force was a tool to him, a power he would not try to usurp or steal, but only earn through his own strength. To understand real strength of will and heart--that was to know the means of grasping power, and maintaining it. Power without strength is fleeting. And Strength without power could only accomplish so much. To balance those, that was his goal here.



----A long time ago, in the same galaxy, give or take----


"Sixty-five" Anya said with a nod. "getting there, Oppila. Sixty-six."


Vorhi's arms were on fire, his breath heavier than a sack of boulders. "Aye, Mestare. And then, the real lesson will begin..."


Anya laugh good-naturedly. "It already has, Oppila."


Vorhi neither acknowledged nor accepted the answer, and simply continued. He'd get his answer tonight. He'd get a solution to the knife problem. He would.




----Back in the now----


Vorhi groaned. He'd get to the top of this temple tonight. He'd waited long enough. Tonight, he'd solve the problem. He would.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi smiled as he reached the top of the stairs, leading to yet another stony chamber. His sandals beat against the stone as he tapped the steel railing. He hadn't seen many examples of relatively more modern metal-working interior designs among these sorcerer priests, but then again, such etchings were often incongruous. Besides, the sorcerer priests weren't mono-cultural, they could have easily had a few people add their own designs at times. Scholarship just was limited on the issue, and it was a fool's errand to assume cultural isolation, even for a group that would live in relative secrecy.



Then again, that brought him to yet another precept of his teachings and meditations.


Knowledge is not wisdom.



Vorhi considered this principle heavily. Sometimes, he was too scholarly. Even here, it wasn't simple scholarship, but intuition and willpower that had finally taken him to his ascent along this temple, and it's destination. It was one thing to know of the sorcerer priests of Thamnos and their storied history. It was another to understand their methods and techniques. Reading the literature was helpful, but there was even greater power in walking where they walked. The rough-hewn stone demonstrated their strength and devotion to craftsmanship. The seclusion and labyrinthine nature demonstrated cunning. The sheer size of this place demonstrated their numbers and resources--for who would carve a mountain from within to occupy it with only a few things?



----Back on Bothawui----



"Seventy....." Vorhi grunted cheerfully, with the intense satisfaction of painful, genuine, success, "fething five!" He slowly rose to his feet, arms feeling numb as rocks. He looked to his master eagerly. "Now, about my question?"


"Defend yourself!" Anya answer, swing directly towards her Oppila's chest.



Vorhi blocked and felt....nothing. He couldn't parry the blows, but they didn't hurt him. The numbness was helping and hurting him.


"Again!" Anya exclaimed as she start a quick, wild version of the veermok's stance.....






----Today is simply Yesterday's Tomorrow----



He smiled. Each footstep took him closer to the dead sorcerer priests' own wisdom. Eahc blow let him closer. The pain, from either the fasting or trudging up the tower all night, was impressive, but it was becoming easier to breathe. Less stuffy. The knowledge of impending results seemed to spur on the tired, hungry, foolish old Mestare. He grinned. "Again," he said to himself. "Until I'm done. Again," he said with a laugh.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi smiled, finally finding himself in the grand meditation chamber of the sorceror priest Rahm, Artificer of the Cult of Thamnos. Slowly, he began tracing the walls with his hands, focusing on each carving with his force sight. He set down his bag, grunting as his shoulder pulled. "The old wound's acting up? I suppose that's fair, all things being equal," he mused to himself as he considered when he was given that scar, seven years ago.



----Six years and Eight Months Ago on Roon----


"Why are you keeping it?" Gnossa, Vorhi's assistant, asked cautiously. "It's spent ammunition, in a vial of your own blood and torn muscle tissue. Why hold onto something so morbid?"


Vorhi chuckled. "It's symbolic, I guess. That Cortosis was used by someone to pierce my body. It nearly killed me. But, I channeled the force into my body when it happened. A lot of energy."


"So?" Gnossa said with a raised eyebrow. "You want to remember how much effort it took not to die? That's still pretty morbid...."



Vorhi sighed. "No. I want this blood to remind me that through the force, I can abide."





----Meanwhile, back in the present (Yeah, I know it doen'st make sense, go with it)----


Vorhi sighed. He'd brought the large canister with him. Nearly a liter of his own blood and shredded muscle tissue, with a large of force-exposed cortosis that had been pumped out of him while he was channeling enough force energy to make most folks' hearts give out. The plasma had become a thick slurry of protein, many metals would have dissolved into the oxidizing acidic reactions of Vorhi's blood. But, the flaky particulates of cortosis still remained in colloidal suspension--they could still absorb energy in high quantities. In the other canister was a small amount of Phrik granules--a gift form the Moross crusade. He could make it. Here and now. However, as he read the inscription, he realized that it would still be a trial.



He smirked. "Well then, looks like I'll have to earn my effort. Good."

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi clapped his hands and yelled into the chamber, unafraid after he had checked his translation twice. "I seek an audience with the Forge's guardian!" He yelled, bowing formally.


Out of mist that appeared to rise form the reflection pool, a Red figure came into view, his gold armor and porcelain mask revealing him as a sorcerer priest of Thamnos. Well, more like a spiritual avatar of a priest, not unlike a holocron's guardian, but attuned to the room itself. "Who demands an audience?"


Vorhi smiled and slowly rose. "I am Vorhi Alestrani. I am a wanderer. I wish to use the forge."


The figure spoke again. "For what end?"


Vorhi sighed, but stayed cheerful. "There is no end. Only means. I have much to fight, and I wish to arm myself with this forge," he said calmly. "May I seek to prove myself worthy of the forge?"


The figure rasped out a chuckle. "Very well. It has been nearly a century since a bold enough one has tried. We shall begin shortly. But first, sit and drink of the relfecting pool. I will not be inhospitable, and it will not break your fast."


Vorhi smiled. Just like old times.



----A While Back----


Vorhi dusted off his robes and smiled at Ahani Najwa. The fight had been interrupted, accidentally, with snack food. Yummy, yummy snack food. He turned towards Ahani and listened with a smirk. She smiled warmly. "Thanks, Vorhi," she said kindly. "Thank you for bringing marshmallows."


He laughed and resumed his fighting stance. He was toast, and he knew it. But he'd go out in style.


----And here we are again at today O'clock----


Vorhi sipped from the pool. He smiled and rose, stretching his limbs. "Thank you, Guardian," he said with a light bow while stretching his calves. "I need that," he leaned backward, his back making several popping noise.


"Are you prepared for the challenges of the Forge, Vorhi Alestrani," The guardian said, showing no indication of emotion at Vorhi's gratitude, remaining as calm and impassive as one would expect an arbitrating ethereal spectre to be.


Vorhi nodded. "Can't wait, let's begin," he said, his voice young and exuberant, graying hairs be damned.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi blinked as everything in the cavern went dark, both to the untrained eye, and the force, He sank to his knees. Damn, something must have been in the water. He groaned as the darkness enveloped him briefly.....



----Somewhere in between----

Vorhi was confronted with....himself. The aura was difference, but the face, the robes, they were his. The aura was darker, calmer. Less jovial and more...ruthless.




"Arise, Oppila. I am your first trial."


Vorhi grunted. "A vision quest with me at the end? How, original..." he muttered with annoyance. "Couldn't you have gotten a better gimmick?"


He cracked his neck, starting down his veiled, severe counterpart. "I am here to question you. Who better than yourself to do so?"


Vorhi nodded. "Fine. Ask away."



"You are here to attain more power?" the red-cloaked Vorhi began.

"I am here to attain strength and power. Power could have come form anywhere in the galaxy. Here, I can train my strength, so that I may wield the power wisely," the robed vagabond said. "Why do you wear so much gold?"


"Because I rejected not the wealth of the CIS. I became its new leader, with Kentarch as my lackey. Mason and Rostu...they were all that stopped me from becoming the new master of Bothawui," the red man said.


Vorhi laughed. "So, you got soft and traded it all for power? Forsook your allies like a coward? Pathetic."


The red Vorhi seemed unimpressed. He rose and loomed over his other self, glowering severely. "Says the man who was beaten like an insolent child at Druckenwell, and shattered before the Moross crusade. Face it, Vorhi. You have grown weak, and retreated into the shadows, waiting like a coward and desperately clutching at power now. You couldn't even kill Daxton Bane after he betrayed you," the red-cloaked figure rasped.


Vorhi spat back. "Tell me, did striking down Bane complete you? Did you feel more powerful from giving in and crushing him? Do you feel great, knowing that Kentarch will kill you? Or perhaps that arrogant 'Throne-smasher' Shorn?"


Vorhi didn't flinch. Neither of them did. "Answer me, you errant red dragon...when did the hero of Bunduki become a mere figurehead? When did the great sage of the Knights Templar become nothing more than a pompous fool on a throne? You decried your own agency, and traded your freedom to grow as you saw fit--traded it for political power and intrigue. You succumbed, I did not."


The red man grinned. "So, this is the master of balance. Impressive. You have heard and confronted your inner darkness. Now we shall hear your inner light, perhaps?"




A white star pulsing with life, spoke. "As it wishes."

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi looked at the owner of the new voice.

"Really?" The original Vorhi began. "So, red is dark side me, and light side me....is just straight-up white?" He sighed. "Am I really that unsubtle? Never mind, we all know the answer to that."




"Silence," began the glowing, white, "holy" verssion of Vorhi that was levitating beside the Red, Gilded, "evil" Vorhi. "I am the second part of the trial. I am here to judge you. You are no different than the sadistic, selfish beast that leads the CIS. You have succumbed to darkness. On Druckenwell, you gave into fear and anger."


Vorhi Classic wasn't about to be out-rhetoric'ed so easy. "I gave in to nothing. I controlled my emotions, and took the burden of other emotions upon myself. I stayed in balance. But I am curious, what did you perform on Druckenwell, oh great scion of light?" He said, waving his hands in mock worship. The arrogance of these two was annoying. Were any of his alter egos humble?


"I did not defend Druckenwell. I stood alongside the Omega Pyre, giving aid after the slaughter, and I--"



"Naive!" Vorhi the Red spat out in interruption. "How can you tell him to embrace the light, when it stagnates to help none. Your inaction--"



"Both of you shut it." The original Vorhi stood between them with surprising speed. "Peace cannot be retained trough inaction, nor can it be forced into place. Simply because a man lives on his own terms, does not mean that his will is the only one that matters...." He shook his head as if lecturing children. "You both became so obsessed with your own philosophies you ignored others. One of you became a traitor, the other a coward. I'd rather be a hermit than have as much blood on my hands as either of you. A hermit in balance."


"Then why arrive here?" Another voice said. This one sounded like wind and parchment. "Why act at all? Defeat...death....failure is inevitable. Why do you continue?"

Vorhi would have rolled his eyes if he had any. "Now I have to argue with an ugly zombie me? Fine. What's your story?"



"You...." it began weakly, "struggle against death. And fate. You claim balance, but constantly imperil yourself, and those around you. I stopped struggling when the dead walked. I embraced death, and became it's most powerful harbinger."


Vorhi nodded. "You're the one that died on Melida, then. Came back as one of those shambling messes. Why?"


"We've lost so many," it said. "Rostu...Mason....Melinda....Anya....all those we have loved. All dead.....all gone," it said, its ragged voice on the edge of expiration or tears, wavering like a cup of water. "Why....why this precarious life? Why not enjoy the peace of knowing the universe is damned, and dwelling in damnation with it?"



Vorhi slapped the feth out of his dead self. "WE. Saved. Others. Aralynn Rekali. Roshim. Feena Mason. Loss is inevitable, but not uniform. There is something worth fighting for, and that is others. I've come here to lose less and save more. I've come here to protect a galaxy that damn well needs it."



The other three balked at this response. Minimizing losses? Defensing life? What an odd concern. Vorhi cracked his neck loudly, waitign from some other version of himself to materialize and lecture him. He'd been confront by his failures on Druckenwell and Roon. He'd been confronted by his emotions on Melida. Who was next? What chapter of his life would be dragged out now?

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

"So?" Vorhi said. "Any of you still think my path is worth your pitiable questions?" He stared at each of them, his mind's eye glowing within this obnoxious illusion. "Do you really think that any of you little punks has a point I haven't considered over the last seven years before I finally decided to pack up, leave the monastery on Ceres, and Fething make the mother of all comebacks to the galaxy?"


He waited for his questioners to speak. A wind seemed to sweep through the chamber. "No? Nobody? No other fragments of my past here to haunt me? Is that all you roughnecks can do? The Good the Bad and And Fething Ugly as all Chaos? CAN NONE IMPOSE UPON ME A TRUE REVELATION!!!" He bellowed, his voice ringing in even his own ears.



A new voice came to him. A soft, quiet one. "I have a question, venerable elder...."


He sighed, knowing the voice too well this time, even if it had been a decade or two since he had heard it with such vigor. He turned to face himself again. "Out with it, then."

"What makes you think you've actually got what it takes?" The younger, impetuous Vorhi said with a grin.



"Are you....challenging me?" Vorhi the elder grinned despite himself. He was wondering when someone would have more guts than rhetoric for him. He'd been expecting a fight, within his heart. Maybe now he'd get it.



"Prove your valor, old man," the younger Student said calmly. "Let us see if you are worthy of the prize."





Vorhi simply shook his head. "And what have I to prove to you? You know nothing, of what I do, or why I do it."




The younger laughed. "I know one thing. You've lied to all of them. This test calls for honesty. Why are you really here. Why do you wish to take up the fight, after seven years in mourning. Why?" The younger demanded as he lunged forward throwing a punch.




Vorhi blocked his younger self, but was still knocked back. While he had better technique, he was still a forty-year-old fighting a younger, stronger version of himself. And he always could hit like a Gamorrean swatting...well, anything really. Gamorreans were good at swatting.





Vorhi grunted. "It isn't about mourning. I want to prevent---"


A kick to the face interrupted him. Younger him wasn't holding back. Younger him was faster. And meaner. "That isn't why I'm here, it isn't why you're here. Tell. THE! TRUUUTH!!!" The younger him roared like a rancor, his hands open like claws as he lunged at his elder.



Vorhi laughed, parrying the form and toss his younger self to the side. "You're....right." He punched his younger self in the back, going for a stunning blow. "Truth is...I'm here because I want to fight. I want to be the best. I hunger for more training and more opportunities. And...I love the game. So, bring it. All four of you. I need a workout."


All the Vorhis laughed in unison, their laughs echoing around and fading, until only the original was left, standing alone next to a large basin of coals, a basin of water, and a large stone bench. The Forge of Thamnos. He'd been honest and valorous. Now, it was time for the rest.

 

[Vorhi Alestrani]

Vorhi stared at the anvil, and then rifled through his back pack blindly. He smriekd as he found the first ingredient. A jar of his own blood, mixed with powdered cortosis pumped out of him, imbued with his own force energy for months of meditation. He poured the contents into the crucible above the foundry, grinning as metal began to meld.


He added a solid bar of Phrik, a reward from the illustrious Self-proclaimed Gods of the Moross. He grinned wildly and stirred the pot with a heavy tungsten rod, focusing on infusing his blood into the mixture.



He slowly poured out the metal, beating with a hammer, into precise, basic form, that of one gauntlet and then another. He looked down a the gloves, each segment woven in joint to the next, smirking. He watched as the segments slowly stooped glowing, He place each gauntlet in the water once, steam coming heady droves, coughing slightly. He smiled, sitting down. He was hungry, and exhausted, both physically and spiritually. Still, he had to finish. He got up wearily returning to his pack and adding the last ingredient--a pair of small sliver-sized focusing crystal shards from the Templar lightsaber he'd been given. They were part of his old official accoutrements, and they woudl be added to this as well. He pricked his thumb, dripping a small amount of blood on each one. "Blood to blood," he chanted softly, placing each crystal in the palm of the gauntlet. He meditated, auttning his own energy to the crystals, and in turn, attunign the metal made from his own boiled blood to his own spirit.


Melida-Daan, Bunduki, Roon, Bothawui, Druckenwell, and Every other planet he had wandered on. They all led to this. His path. His weapon. The hands of the Mestare, they were now complete. He smiled and lied down on the stone floor. A nap, then he would don his new hands and go get some lunch. He was starving.