Matreya
Well-Known Member
Damien had heard the name, seen work of a higher caliber, but had no true verification of the being. All he had ever seen was unvarified, had heard was rumor. Could this being be one of the greatest alchemists of his generation? That in and of itself was a mighty endeavor was well, to state one was so powerful in the life span of a man that had lived for over three millennia. It was hard to imagine, but not impossible. For the greater populace of the galaxy, the story of Damien Daemon would be considered a story.
He had met millions, potentially billions, in his life, yet even those he knew closely, he knew did not always believe what he boasted. He had lived this long, bore the title of Alor of a Clan for centuries, was First Apprentice to Voracitos, had garnered all the knowledge of majorly known alchemist of the top caliber, owned a dozen businesses, hefted bank accounts that amassed into the billions, and even been resurrected from death numerous times. Valashu even, his closest ally, had thought to himself (under the impression his thoughts had gone unread) that, while Damien bore immense knowledge and talent, he was not what he had claimed.
But he was. He had done more in his life than a thousand thousands could claim. So why was it hard to imagine that one whom was said to have died, could have returned?
Damien would test the possibility. He would know the truth. If it turned to be a falsehood, he would leave it as is. Otherwise, he would learn what the being knew. It was his goal in life, his need, to be the best, the greatest craftsman to exist throughout time. Rave Merrill had gone down in history as the peak of what an alchemist could be. She had made weapons, armor of the lowest kind yet highest grade, tools that none would believe could work.
He wanted that. Only grander. His yearning was to be known a billion years after death, for people to whisper his name in awe. But there was no way to earn this, not when others knew greater workings than himself. He had possessed, and studied, the Yoke of Seeming, Palpatines Books, Ragnos' Holocron, Ergasts Holocron (which though not a true alchemists study, had led to understanding how to bind spirits to things), and dozens of other powerful artifacts. He was, in many opinions, a top notch alchemist. His skills also delved into Jal Shey, metallurgy, crystallurgy, and so much else.
It always returned though, to the point where he didn't know it all.
He had taken a man, a simple being. But had made him thrice that of the strongest of Wookiees, had the durability in his bones of the Maalraas, the intellect of the peak a human would wish, and more..
Was it, though, of the caliber, of saying he had reformed the Darkstaff?
Damien did not believe so.
Hence toiling, night and day. With energy from two dozen lesser spirits, and even that of Zaiden James-Greyson, a moderate alchemist but powerful Force user, he pushed himself. Soup was consumed in waves, the Force leached at until it became an offhand thing. Step by step he crafted, bit by bit he layered more extensive properties to a small stone. It had no true purpose, save what it was intended, yet he worked. None could have his attention, not wife, children, nor companion.
For weeks he left the care of his Clan to Valashu. For weeks he made this stone a message. Over this hidden intrigue, he piled ornate workings of rune covered metals, blood imbued wood, and more. Still it was not complete. What was once a small stone, hardly more than a pebble, now was a massive rock the size of a melon, incredibly heavy, and absolutely radiating the darkside.
Via no means would this work be beneficial in battle, so he feared no miss handling. No. When he finally finished his project, it was a large thing, useless save to one whom could undo it, one that could get inside, to see the stone, that it had a challenge upon it. If this being was Velok, or even simply a greater alchemist, Damien was sure the challenge would be heeded.
'Find me.' The challenge read. After so much work to undo step after step, could one ignore it? He wouldn't be able. He never could.
There was no ill intent when the stone was left before [member="Velok the Younger"], by a servant whom looked ready to pass out from fear. Only interest...
Damien would know if it was the legend. He had to know.
So he waited. Standing still in the darkness of a moonless night on Ziost, for a call or approach.
He had met millions, potentially billions, in his life, yet even those he knew closely, he knew did not always believe what he boasted. He had lived this long, bore the title of Alor of a Clan for centuries, was First Apprentice to Voracitos, had garnered all the knowledge of majorly known alchemist of the top caliber, owned a dozen businesses, hefted bank accounts that amassed into the billions, and even been resurrected from death numerous times. Valashu even, his closest ally, had thought to himself (under the impression his thoughts had gone unread) that, while Damien bore immense knowledge and talent, he was not what he had claimed.
But he was. He had done more in his life than a thousand thousands could claim. So why was it hard to imagine that one whom was said to have died, could have returned?
Damien would test the possibility. He would know the truth. If it turned to be a falsehood, he would leave it as is. Otherwise, he would learn what the being knew. It was his goal in life, his need, to be the best, the greatest craftsman to exist throughout time. Rave Merrill had gone down in history as the peak of what an alchemist could be. She had made weapons, armor of the lowest kind yet highest grade, tools that none would believe could work.
He wanted that. Only grander. His yearning was to be known a billion years after death, for people to whisper his name in awe. But there was no way to earn this, not when others knew greater workings than himself. He had possessed, and studied, the Yoke of Seeming, Palpatines Books, Ragnos' Holocron, Ergasts Holocron (which though not a true alchemists study, had led to understanding how to bind spirits to things), and dozens of other powerful artifacts. He was, in many opinions, a top notch alchemist. His skills also delved into Jal Shey, metallurgy, crystallurgy, and so much else.
It always returned though, to the point where he didn't know it all.
He had taken a man, a simple being. But had made him thrice that of the strongest of Wookiees, had the durability in his bones of the Maalraas, the intellect of the peak a human would wish, and more..
Was it, though, of the caliber, of saying he had reformed the Darkstaff?
Damien did not believe so.
Hence toiling, night and day. With energy from two dozen lesser spirits, and even that of Zaiden James-Greyson, a moderate alchemist but powerful Force user, he pushed himself. Soup was consumed in waves, the Force leached at until it became an offhand thing. Step by step he crafted, bit by bit he layered more extensive properties to a small stone. It had no true purpose, save what it was intended, yet he worked. None could have his attention, not wife, children, nor companion.
For weeks he left the care of his Clan to Valashu. For weeks he made this stone a message. Over this hidden intrigue, he piled ornate workings of rune covered metals, blood imbued wood, and more. Still it was not complete. What was once a small stone, hardly more than a pebble, now was a massive rock the size of a melon, incredibly heavy, and absolutely radiating the darkside.
Via no means would this work be beneficial in battle, so he feared no miss handling. No. When he finally finished his project, it was a large thing, useless save to one whom could undo it, one that could get inside, to see the stone, that it had a challenge upon it. If this being was Velok, or even simply a greater alchemist, Damien was sure the challenge would be heeded.
'Find me.' The challenge read. After so much work to undo step after step, could one ignore it? He wouldn't be able. He never could.
There was no ill intent when the stone was left before [member="Velok the Younger"], by a servant whom looked ready to pass out from fear. Only interest...
Damien would know if it was the legend. He had to know.
So he waited. Standing still in the darkness of a moonless night on Ziost, for a call or approach.