Even vision had fled, in the recent months; another sense gone, another link to the corporeal world lost in the depths of decay. A world already dark grew ever darker.
No sight, eyes unwise to the universe beyond them struck blind from neglect, from disuse, from corruption.
Not touch.
Taral. The name. Tsisaar Taral. That was its—his—name. A Sith, a sorcerer, an alchemist, an experimenter; and yet, himself, born out of a tube a failed experiment. Was that where the obsession began?
When the sight-that-was-not found its target, though, his reaction was quite placid, unlike what his fellows might have delivered. Khel. I trust there is good reason for this.
The blind, half-Miraluka warrior nodded at the invitation to speak, which he'd been anxiously awaiting. "The time you await draws near, my lord. The fractious empire has fallen, it and its successors. Only the traitors yet remain with any sort of territorial power. Korriban itself lies under siege."
So that is what I sensed so shortly before this awakening. The time is not opportune, though. None of my chosen yet remain. Whether it be to temporal anomalies, knives in the back, or simply falling short of the potential I needed them to reach...I am alone in this material void, Khel. Every time I am drawn out of my search for the remnants of some of those I need, it grows harder still to return in one piece. Even now, I fracture as that empire I helped grow has done. I pray you, bother me not with such trifle news, and let me continue my search.
Delivered as calmly as ever, even the warrior outside the tank knew that his master's words held an underlying threat. Even crippled, rotting, and confined to a tank, there was little that Khel could do if Tsisaar chose to act against him...much the same as his gene-father had failed to stop the rotting lord from getting his prize. "I have been searching too, my lord, and that is why I've woken you. Those others, whom you had bid me to observe, they would be suitable for your needs."
As suitable as the Changeling, or the Champion? As beneficial to me as the Snake?
"As you slumbered, their powers and understanding grew. The Shrike has shown his strength, holding his own against warriors far beyond him in experience. The Scholar remains enigmatic, but his will is sound, and he seems to remain without such overweening prejudice as others of his ilk. The Wraith's curiosity seems endless, and the King, though inexperienced, grows by the day, both in power and will."
Tsisaar mused wordlessly for a moment, letting the material world slip away from his thoughts. True, he had felt much of what his servant was speaking of; those stars he had devoted his interest to were growing more luminous in the periphery of his senses every hour, it seemed, though until now he had been unsure if that was their doing, or just his attention sharpening.
What of the Shield?
Khel bit at his lip. "She seems as blind as the others to which she devotes herself. More wise by far than many, but unlikely to aid us. She is a risk more than a boon." Tsisaar nodded slightly, sending an eddy through the corrupted poison that had become the bacta within his tank.
That is five of them. What of the last?
"The Slave?" Khel raised an eyebrow in mild wonder. "Is that one truly necessary? True, he has grown as well, and is well secure in his powers by now...but, my lord, his master..."
I do not care about his master, Khel, only him! Of all of them, even counting you, he is the one who will best understand what it is I need, why I need this done. The Shrike has strength, the King has will, the Scholar has knowledge, the Wraith has experience, the Shield has devotion, you, Seneschal, have obedience—and the Slave has Understanding. The last piece to my puzzle.
Khel bowed his head at his master's fervent words, grateful to have escaped punishment for speaking out of turn. "As you command."
You shall contact them. All. I shall have need of each of you, no matter how dangerous any of you may prove to me, either separately or together. There are older powers that cross our bourne, Khel, more dangerous by far than many that we have dealt with yet. I shall need each of you to see my through my journey, to ensure we all come out the other side.
Khel inclined his head again, turning sharply away from the arcane machinery that kept his master alive. Before Tsisaar could drift away once more, however, he came to a halt upon the threshold of the chamber. "And what do you bring to all of this, my lord? Aside from the plan itself, what is your contribution? Strength, will, knowledge...what is yours?"
Tsisaar exhaled heavily, stale air leaving liquefying lungs; unbidden, the respirator forced yet more stale air back in, reigniting the pain within his chest. Again, and again, constant pain, constant decay.
But always focus, and power. The sight-that-was-not fixed itself once more upon Khel.
What I always have, Khel. Guidance and preservation.
No sight, eyes unwise to the universe beyond them struck blind from neglect, from disuse, from corruption.
No hearing, all sound lost to the swirling fluid...then to an incessant ringing...and finally, cold, empy silence.
No taste or smell, both overrun with the sickly-sweet nectar of healing, before it, too, fell to corruption, becoming nothing but acrid bile, burning away every receptor.
Only touch.
The creature struggled, trying to turn its head, to raise its arm, trying to feel. Unwisely. Pain raced like lightning across hypersensitive nerves, the attempt at movement degenerating into worthless flailing and writhing. The viscous fluid eddied languidly around the contorted animal suspended within it, but even that was like a fire burning along the tattered skin of the one, making it thrash all the harder. Slowly, though, the thrashing subsided, body curling unbidden into a small ball.
Not touch.
Not pressure, neither cold nor heat.
There was only pain.
The sightless eyes opened, though this time the creature did not writhe about, despite the agony even that small movement caused it. Torturous though this existence was, the pain brought clarity, sharpening a mind at risk of going dull with no other physical input. A mind that began to rebuild itself, as it had many times before, each time it returned from its explorations, as the corporeal world once more sought to enforce its laws on this creature of its creation.
Taral. The name. Tsisaar Taral. That was its—his—name. A Sith, a sorcerer, an alchemist, an experimenter; and yet, himself, born out of a tube a failed experiment. Was that where the obsession began?
Or was it when he first heard the Force?
When he killed his creator?
When he was first wounded, in deep space, on a ship suffused with Starweirds?
Or when he unleashed the power of that damnable crystal, forcing himself to witness—
Enough.
One will spoke out over the other thoughts, silencing them. Tsisaar, sightless and yet seeing, turned his head in his tank, looking out over his private laboratory, over the machinery that sustained his rotting corpse of a personage. It was not yet time to awaken him, that much he knew; he was not supposed to have been drawn out of the empyrean depths of the Netherworld so soon, so abruptly. Not when his search was yet incomplete, searching for the allies that fate and chance both had so cruelly determined to steal from his grasp.
When the sight-that-was-not found its target, though, his reaction was quite placid, unlike what his fellows might have delivered. Khel. I trust there is good reason for this.
The blind, half-Miraluka warrior nodded at the invitation to speak, which he'd been anxiously awaiting. "The time you await draws near, my lord. The fractious empire has fallen, it and its successors. Only the traitors yet remain with any sort of territorial power. Korriban itself lies under siege."
So that is what I sensed so shortly before this awakening. The time is not opportune, though. None of my chosen yet remain. Whether it be to temporal anomalies, knives in the back, or simply falling short of the potential I needed them to reach...I am alone in this material void, Khel. Every time I am drawn out of my search for the remnants of some of those I need, it grows harder still to return in one piece. Even now, I fracture as that empire I helped grow has done. I pray you, bother me not with such trifle news, and let me continue my search.
Delivered as calmly as ever, even the warrior outside the tank knew that his master's words held an underlying threat. Even crippled, rotting, and confined to a tank, there was little that Khel could do if Tsisaar chose to act against him...much the same as his gene-father had failed to stop the rotting lord from getting his prize. "I have been searching too, my lord, and that is why I've woken you. Those others, whom you had bid me to observe, they would be suitable for your needs."
As suitable as the Changeling, or the Champion? As beneficial to me as the Snake?
"As you slumbered, their powers and understanding grew. The Shrike has shown his strength, holding his own against warriors far beyond him in experience. The Scholar remains enigmatic, but his will is sound, and he seems to remain without such overweening prejudice as others of his ilk. The Wraith's curiosity seems endless, and the King, though inexperienced, grows by the day, both in power and will."
Tsisaar mused wordlessly for a moment, letting the material world slip away from his thoughts. True, he had felt much of what his servant was speaking of; those stars he had devoted his interest to were growing more luminous in the periphery of his senses every hour, it seemed, though until now he had been unsure if that was their doing, or just his attention sharpening.
What of the Shield?
Khel bit at his lip. "She seems as blind as the others to which she devotes herself. More wise by far than many, but unlikely to aid us. She is a risk more than a boon." Tsisaar nodded slightly, sending an eddy through the corrupted poison that had become the bacta within his tank.
That is five of them. What of the last?
"The Slave?" Khel raised an eyebrow in mild wonder. "Is that one truly necessary? True, he has grown as well, and is well secure in his powers by now...but, my lord, his master..."
I do not care about his master, Khel, only him! Of all of them, even counting you, he is the one who will best understand what it is I need, why I need this done. The Shrike has strength, the King has will, the Scholar has knowledge, the Wraith has experience, the Shield has devotion, you, Seneschal, have obedience—and the Slave has Understanding. The last piece to my puzzle.
Khel bowed his head at his master's fervent words, grateful to have escaped punishment for speaking out of turn. "As you command."
You shall contact them. All. I shall have need of each of you, no matter how dangerous any of you may prove to me, either separately or together. There are older powers that cross our bourne, Khel, more dangerous by far than many that we have dealt with yet. I shall need each of you to see my through my journey, to ensure we all come out the other side.
Khel inclined his head again, turning sharply away from the arcane machinery that kept his master alive. Before Tsisaar could drift away once more, however, he came to a halt upon the threshold of the chamber. "And what do you bring to all of this, my lord? Aside from the plan itself, what is your contribution? Strength, will, knowledge...what is yours?"
Tsisaar exhaled heavily, stale air leaving liquefying lungs; unbidden, the respirator forced yet more stale air back in, reigniting the pain within his chest. Again, and again, constant pain, constant decay.
But always focus, and power. The sight-that-was-not fixed itself once more upon Khel.
What I always have, Khel. Guidance and preservation.
