ʜᴄ sᴠɴᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏɴᴇs
The air on Wayland was utterly clear, the sky a blanket of stars. It was not by coincidence that Darth Vesper chose to arrive when the planet turned its back to its sun, but necessity. This was something that must be done by night, in accordance with traditions that were old when he was born all those long millennia before his imprisonment, something that could not be witnessed by the same star that gave the planet life or it surely would sputter out and choose to doom the children it shepherds rather than countenance and condone such evil.
At least, that was what the superstition held. Darth Vesper had no such illusions. He prayed without devotion to gods he disbelieved, in hushed tones, and admired the beauty of the stars. Admired the stillness, the quiet of the Temple exterior. He was at home in the darkness.
Setting a single candle on the steps of the temple, he touched the wick with his finger. There was a hiss, and then smoke, then a spark as fire rose from it, burning dull red. "Sargon, principle of nothing and everything, origin and ending. Bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it may be a house to your glory.
"Nogras, strong queen of space and time, courtesan crowned in flowers and corpses. Bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it may be a house to your might. Halrormalenth, where I begin, bless me and keep me..." One by one he lit the candles, each burning a different color and casting his face in a different light, each one wrapped with wires, and petty tokens of devotion, anointed with wine and oil and with flower petals scattered about it. All had meaning, yet none of it meant anything to him. All mattered, but nothing of value.
"...and bless this temple..." He wondered if he was to receive an audience or not. If the woman would only come forth for a believer. If she could somehow sense his heresy in performing this passionless devotional to draw her forth. It mattered not, for he must try, at least that much, and then he could return with force if he so desired. "Balagoth, where I end, shape of the shapeless, being of the nothingness and prime receptor, bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it might linger long at your maw before too being devoured.
"With permission and passage from the four most high ones, and the blessing of the cornerstones, and the words of the ancients, a humble child of the formless void supplicates himself before the darkness and entreats an audience. With an offering of light, and darkness, an offering of metal and flower, and an offering of breath -" he curled his fingers against his palm until red pooled, dribbling on the stone, "- and blood, I beg the gods grant my desires, and thee."
Eyes burning yellow with scorn, face cool and expressionless, he bent his head, kneeling towards the opening of the temple, sensing the faint ripplings of the Force, expectant. Come to me. I do not bow without receiving something.
At least, that was what the superstition held. Darth Vesper had no such illusions. He prayed without devotion to gods he disbelieved, in hushed tones, and admired the beauty of the stars. Admired the stillness, the quiet of the Temple exterior. He was at home in the darkness.
Setting a single candle on the steps of the temple, he touched the wick with his finger. There was a hiss, and then smoke, then a spark as fire rose from it, burning dull red. "Sargon, principle of nothing and everything, origin and ending. Bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it may be a house to your glory.
"Nogras, strong queen of space and time, courtesan crowned in flowers and corpses. Bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it may be a house to your might. Halrormalenth, where I begin, bless me and keep me..." One by one he lit the candles, each burning a different color and casting his face in a different light, each one wrapped with wires, and petty tokens of devotion, anointed with wine and oil and with flower petals scattered about it. All had meaning, yet none of it meant anything to him. All mattered, but nothing of value.
"...and bless this temple..." He wondered if he was to receive an audience or not. If the woman would only come forth for a believer. If she could somehow sense his heresy in performing this passionless devotional to draw her forth. It mattered not, for he must try, at least that much, and then he could return with force if he so desired. "Balagoth, where I end, shape of the shapeless, being of the nothingness and prime receptor, bless me and keep me as I pass through the halls of life and death that lead back to you, and bless this temple that it might linger long at your maw before too being devoured.
"With permission and passage from the four most high ones, and the blessing of the cornerstones, and the words of the ancients, a humble child of the formless void supplicates himself before the darkness and entreats an audience. With an offering of light, and darkness, an offering of metal and flower, and an offering of breath -" he curled his fingers against his palm until red pooled, dribbling on the stone, "- and blood, I beg the gods grant my desires, and thee."
Eyes burning yellow with scorn, face cool and expressionless, he bent his head, kneeling towards the opening of the temple, sensing the faint ripplings of the Force, expectant. Come to me. I do not bow without receiving something.
| [member="Loxa Visl"] |