The doors opened behind him, hissing apart with the faintest sound of hydraulic motion, admitting a little of the light that bathed the corridors but rarely penetrated the inner sanctuary of the training areas. Melodramatic, perhaps, but it is true that we Sith do prefer the darkness. Whether as a reflection of their inner selves, because it added a little stylistic flair, or simply because it made them harder to locate visually, it was hard to say. Perhaps all those reasons, and a few more besides. That, too, would be within keeping with the nature of the Sith: predictable, but with a tendency to fluidity born of that simple notion that survivors adapted, while those who failed to would ultimately fall.
He had, of course, sensed the student walking into the room long before he had reached the corridor that led to it: in his meditations, Tirdarius was used to picking up flashes of activity from around the Academy, seeing things through the eyes of others or simply from a vantage point of unknown origin. A sense of fear, anger, exasperation, frustration...perhaps the image of another student persevering in their training, or the subtle acts of intimidation that make up their lives. And more besides: the trainers discussing students, blowing off a little steam in practice sparring, studying for endless monotonous hours to unlock the mysteries contained within the Sith Library. Scheming, plotting, learning, battle...all could be sensed within, if you had the sensitivity to perceive it. And my Master always made a point of stating the importance of understanding the forces at work around you.
It was something along these lines that the young one had come to discuss, seeking him out because it was known that Tirdarius had a fair understanding of the mentalist arts: Telepathy, Mind Tricks, Illusions, others perhaps less well-known and preferably avoided via direct experience. Perhaps it is a little opportunistic for him to come to me, hoping that I will teach him all my powers, but you don't get anywhere if you don't ask, the Sith Lord supposed resignedly. Part of him had been tempted to refuse, irked by the boy's audacity, but he had always acknowledged that even the strongest of the Sith Lords was ultimately mortal: their true legacy lay not within themselves, but with those they groomed to step into their place when their time came. Far be it for me to deny my knowledge, if one is capable of handling it. That part was the real test.
Kneeling on a cushion at the far side of the room, the Human had his eyes closed, hands resting against his thighs, back straightened in firm posture, his breathing soft and even. He made no sign that he knew of the Acolyte's arrival, failing to acknowledge him for a moment, completely at ease within his own thoughts and meditations. It was an unusual thing for anyone to disturb him at such, but had he preferred privacy, perhaps he would have retired to his quarters rather than waiting within a training room that any might access. Though you certainly gain something in your reflections by being somewhere less familiar to you.
"That's quite far enough," he said softly, intending that the boy halt his progress into the room, his voice echoing quietly within the otherwise empty room. His eyes had still not opened, though his breathing was perhaps a little shallower now, not the deep, restful, slow movements of his chest that had indicated that his concentration was focused beyond his mortal shell. "I'm aware that you're here," Tirdarius noted calmly. "I received your message: what is it that you want of me?"
