A Furious And Prideful Heart

[Vilka Pharro]

DROMUND KAAS - KAAS CITY

The thump of oscillating thrusters rang over the concrete labyrinth of Kaas City. A frozen sea of lowering waves; glassy peaks and squalid troughs. Here the Dark Side clung to the sprawl like black ivy, growing in secret until, when revealed, it was too strong to extinguish. Such was always the way; deny your hidden truths and they grow heavier, until one day you fall beneath their weight. Best grow with them. Use them; render them your slaves, until they can do you no harm.

Vilka knew this. Yet at this moment, she knew something else far more pertinent- she hated Dromund Kaas.

Darkness was one thing, but a city, unchecked, is another. An infestation, riddled with the hopeless and wretched, staggering in the shadow of the Sith. This was, she was told, their rightful place, and yet it seemed improper. Close by the heart of the Sith, such indignity would do no good; Vilka knew all to well how easily statues could fall, and how long after the desperate hands that fell them remain.

They would be what history remembered- even the weak, the unworthy, were worth what minor expense it would take to leave contented, by whatever shallow means, bread and circuses, even that was preferable than this barefaced abandonment of their populace. She blinked. Palace in flames. Pulled from her throne. Thrown into the moon’s light. The moon’s fair light- Vilka snarled in the silence of the cockpit. Enough of this for now.

The masters of the Sith new better. For that matter, the Knights even. She brought the Virulence to a stop on the polished landing pad of yet another glittering tower. And the cracks that lay- Enough. A knight, they called him. And young. She stepped out into the sharp air, felt the flutter of wind at her back. He was due to meet her here; show her ‘a thing or two.’ She snorted.

For now, a black shadow waited over those squalid streets with a furious and prideful heart.

 

[AMCO]

The newly anointed Knight of the Sith stood at the far end of his office, eyes gazing out at the Kaas City skyline. There was something in that contrast, the dichotomy of the neverending storm above and the bright lights of the city below that never ceased to please him. It was one of the reasons why he had chosen this mysterious world as his home, rather than Bastion itself. More important, however, was the planet's intrinsic connection to the Dark Side, and the apex of civilisation it represented. This was Kaas City, what had once been the heart of the Sith Empire of old, and it showed. Its streets were polished, the monolithic skyscrapers reaching for the clouds.

Of course, every glittering wonder had its dark side, though the planet's Sith overlords did their best to keep it well away from this veritable love letter to the past. If he was being honest, that was another reason why he had picked this city above all others, for it was, for all intents and purposes, a city built for the elite.

"Sir? Your guest has arrived, should I send her in?" Turning away from the view, at least for now, he turned towards the hologram being projected above his desk. "Go ahead. Have her brought to my office, please." Smiling slightly, he took a seat, allowing the holographic interface to envelop him, bombarding him with news from all across the Galaxy. He was new to this, to teaching, but he had never been one to shirk away from new experiences. Had never been one to doubt his ability to accomplish anything he set his mind to.

---

With a soft hiss, the door slid open, allowing the slim figure of a finely-dressed Zeltron woman to stride out onto the landing pad. It was raining, as it often was on Dromund Kaas, but an almost invisible force field kept the rain from touching the two women; a testament to the liberal spending habits of the penthouse's owner, no doubt.

"Greetings, miss Pharro. Lord Vandiir will see you now, please follow me." At that, the young Zeltron would smile, though it did not reach her eyes, which remained as cold as ever. That most subtle of insults would likely not be lost to the Acolyte, though the woman felt no fear. She was the favoured servant of a Knight of the Sith, and a deceptively dangerous individual in her own right.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

”Must these Sith always send emissaries? All the splendour of nobility...” Vilka shot the Zeltron an equally cold look. “...And none of the courtesy.” The amber of her eyes glittered in the shadow of the city, a hundred thousand lights trapped in burning spheres. The Zeltron seemed unshaken. Too much time around other Sith.

Vilka felt the doubts begin to creep in towards the edges of her mind- Dromund Kaas, the mocking impersonality of it all; she was out of her element, walking blindly into the jaws of some tasteless hedonist, scarcely a Sith no doubt. Under a regime as vast and vapid as this such figures were unavoidable, shallow fools who justified their vices as means to the Dark Side with no understanding of suffering.

Perhaps she was being prideful, ignorant; it would scarcely unusual. This place brought it out in her, concrete desert. It wasn’t exactly that she hated the elite. Maybe she just didn’t trust any place where she wasn’t it. Now the Zeltron led her from one gilded hall to the next, Vilka scowling all the while as one excessive stairwell coiled into another. Enough decadence to make a Hutt blush.

At last the glittering doors of Vandiir’s office slid apart. Instantly, Vilka could not deny the shiver that shot through the Force, a singular spike of darkness that broke the surface of the entire ocean, even on Dromund Kaas. Vilka’s eyes opened with a snarl. ”You?” Her gaunt features fell.

”...The child from Etti IV? Please tell me that I corresponded with your master and not… you.”

This was a disappointment.

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

Smirking smugly, the Zeltron led the way inside, hardly looking back to see whether the Acolyte would follow. This one was just as arrogant as her master, with none of the sense of humour. How utterly drab. Smirk widening as they approached the office, she felt certain that the poor woman would be in for quite the surprise, one that would cause the seeds of indignation planted by her rudeness to truly blossom.

As the door slid open, she entered first, bowing slightly before stepping aside. What came next was better than her wildest expectations, and almost brought a grin to her face. Oh, how she would enjoy this.

---

Eyebrows quirking upwards, Adrian's dark blue eyes regarded the older woman with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity. "That's no way to address your superiors, is it?" Gesturing grandly outwards, his tone turned soft. "Here I was, ready to share with you some of my wisdom, and yet you dare mock me?" Rising smoothly from his seat, he gazed down at her from behind his sleek duranium desk, the combination of his height and elevated position forcing her to look up to meet his eyes.

"Perhaps a lesson is in order." As the last syllable left his mouth, his right hand lashed forth, flesh visibly shifting as its fingers made a clawing gesture towards her. She would perhaps expect lightning, or another form of corporeal punishment, but this was something far more insidious. The moment the gesture finished, she would feel the horrifying sensation of her worst memories being ripped from the depths of her mind and forced upon her. Adrian knew well the pain she would face, for he had once been the target of this very technique, had studied it extensively through the holocron of Darth Wyyrlok III.

Smiling viciously, he would rise from his seat, walking over to her as she was forced to face all her doubts, all her regrets, all the horrible things that had happened to her; a life's worth of suffering forced upon her all at once, and a taste of why the young man, despite his inexperience and lack of skill with the lightsaber, had been elevated to the rank of Knight.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

”Superiors?” Vilka snorted. ”Ranks and titles are wind, child. I have seen enough kings, dragged howling through their own streets.” When the grand statues fell, and the wretches did crawl, moaning, from the underworld their Sith masters had made them- then Adrian Vandiir would have a long way to fall. He had, after all, built himself so very tall. Her eyes searched across the horizon, from tower to tower, as the frustration built. And then- nothing?

Her body was paralysed, and her mind… the black tendrils of Fear, hissing in the dark. Anguish, she knew, was an abyss, and now it drew close, felling the vast walls of her mind, that a ghostly tide might roll in place; a storm of white waves, little more than smoke, swirling nebula of thoughts. To suffocate from within- it was the most curious sensation. Her eyes rolled back for a time, world slipping away with a flash.

Except- she knew this. Vilka was no stranger to Force Fear; indeed, now Vandiir had breached the sanctum he would wreak hell upon her mind, tearing the darkest secrets from their hiding-holes and forcing them to consciousness’ pale light. But perhaps he had forgotten, in his youth; maybe, he had never known. But she knew. Even while she stood, catatonic:

’Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering. Fear is the path to the Dark Side.’

Some manic facsimile of a smile broke out, an unconscious reflex that slipped past Vandiir’s hold. Its strength could not be denied; for his age, Adrian’s power seemed nigh-incomprehensible. She wondered if his wisdom would fail him, however. She knew the intense conventration Force Fear neccesitated, blinding the user almost as much as the victim.

With all her barely-conscious will, she drove one foot forward, and then the other; her skeletal body screamed in pain, lumbering forth blind, hands clutched to her weeping face- and then, one shot forward. Convulsing claw, she laid it flat against Vandiir’s own burning skull, knees ready to buckle. No doubt they both knew how fluid the mind was; all that he could awake within her, she could force back to him.

This was the principle of Memory Transfer- whilst in Fear, your target’s anguish was but a shadow, twisting behind glass, if she could open Vandiir’s own mind, she could turn them back on him, the burning weight of all her own terror. Terrible host of foreign nightmares, crashing down like a thunderstorm.

So, finally, she howled.

 

[AMCO]

With a predatory grin, the young Knight approached the near-catatonic form, feeling more than knowing the pain she felt. Unlike some techniques, the one he employed did not give him access to the depths of her suffering, at least not directly, though he could feel it through the connection between them. He had to say, he was slightly impressed. She was fighting it, rather than collapse as he had when it had been used on him for the first time; then again, he had been a mere Acolyte then, facing off against a Jedi Master. One who specialised in mentalism, no less. Furthermore, he had always had more of a knack for manipulating the flow of energy, though his mentalism was far from mediocre.

Then, she surprised him further by pushing herself towards him. As she staggered towards him, he observed her curiously but did not move to evade. Right hand clenched as it focused the energy, he grabbed her arm with his left, teeth clenching with effort as he scattered the assault like dust in the wind. Did she really think he would be foolish enough to fall for her own attack? To succumb to the horrors of her past? Of course, it would have been much harder had he been drawing on her fears, but no, he had chosen her regrets for a reason; they were personal, and thus far more easily discernible from his own. Far more easily pushed away.

Then, he laughed. It was not one born of contempt, but of mirth, his pleasure evident as he suddenly ceased his assault, releasing her hand. Panting slightly, his smile only broadened. "Well done, well done indeed. Perhaps there is hope for you yet. Though I must say, for future reference turning torture by chagrin on your attacker is not as effective as one would think. Too distant, compared to more conventional techniques." Turning towards the Zeltron, who had readied a sleek black knife of alchemical origins when the woman had staggered towards him, he smiled wryly. "No need for that, I'm afraid. You may leave us, Cara."

Turning his back on them both, he walked a short distance, facing the window as he spoke. "To answer your previous question, no, I'm not your superior because of my title, but because of what I can do. If you think that little trick is the only one at my disposal, then you are clearly not as clever as you think." To illustrate his point, he raised his right arm, mentally folding down the sleeve until much of it was visible. Closing his eyes, he allowed the semblance of normality to pour away like hot wax in the deserts of Tatooine, an eldritch looking abomination onto nature taking its place. Power would flow of it in waves, power in its rawest form; so much so, that the limb could be sensed independently from its host, its presence best described as a gaping maw of deathly cold darkness, with searing hot streams of raw energy pouring through its bowels.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"I do not require the praise of an infant." She snorted, breathing haggard as their mental link slipped apart with the sound of broken glass, convulsing portal disintegrating, a storm of black diamonds beyond her mind's eye; she took a glance at the Zeltron. Pity, she made good conversation. She felt now a hunger in her soul, that some part of her was missing, and indeed might take time to regrow. Resisting Vandiir's Fear had been no small feat, as was simultaneously initiating her own memory transfer. Whilst he seemed relatively unfazed, a part of her couldn't help wondering if the Sith was simply masking his fatigue. It was difficult to tell- the Force bubbled about him like molten rock, unpredictable. Something about him, unnatural.

"All that I think, Vandiir, is that for someone who lives so marvellously, you have very little to talk about but yourself. And it's quite the dry subject." Her eyes started wide as the darkness overcame his arm- that was the irregularity, the anomalous feature that played so softly at the Force's ancient strings. Now it was revealed, shivering maelstrom of nigh-incomprehensible form, dark void of a hand that swallowed the light around them, left a cold vacuum in its wake. Vilka raised a bony eyebrow, almost inevitably taken aback. She broke into a grin, fangs gleaming. "So this city's not the only ugly thing here."

Her eyes shot back up to his. "Perhaps not so marvelous as you think, hm? Doubt you have much success courting with that. At least I hope that's not what we're doing here, is it? It would be the right arm, of course." A dry giggle escaped her lips. And she had thought she was abnormal. "Must have cost you what... an arm and a leg?" She rolled her eyes, cackling, as she stepped away to look over the room. "Truthfully though- why am I here? Because if it's to celebrate your vast and boundless power... I'm sure Ms. Pink-and-dead-inside can do that." She looked to the door.

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

Ignoring her jabs, for now, he continued to gaze out at the skyline. He was not normally one to respond to a lack of courtesy, but this level of insolence strained even his patience. Perhaps he would hand her over to Cara, if she kept this going; his assistant-cum-torturer had a way with suffering that even he, a Knight of the Sith, could not hope to replicate.

After allowing her to gaze upon the horror that was his arm, he turned around, her eyes once more meeting his --- except this time, his were the orange that epitomised the corruption of the Sith, the link between his current state and his arm being all too clear. "Oh, I don't know. I tend to be quite successful. You are right that most sentients are too simple-minded to admire the perfection of the Dark Side..." Bringing his arm up towards his face, pretending to examine it before making the original shape reassert itself; within moments, the arm looked immaculate once more. Almost too perfect, in fact. "... though that rarely turns out to be a problem."

Smile turning slightly sinister, he gazed on the Acolyte as she walked around the room, her eyes no doubt coming to fall on the small collection of ancient relics behind plexalloy panes at the edges of the room; a fortune's worth of Sith, Serennian, and Alderaanian relics, sprinkled with additions from several other cultures both famed and insignificant. "Dead inside? Oh no, she just prefers pain to empty-headed banter." Still, it was about time the discussion be led to her actual reason here. Any more of this, and he'd be awfully tempted to test the limits of her defences with a barrage of lightning. "You are here because you have potential. Or rather, the potential to learn the intricacies of Sorcery, as opposed to the brutishly simple solutions so many of our fellow Sith tend to prefer."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"There's someone for everyone, I suppose. I admire your charity." Vilka snorted. "Someone's got to keep breeding with the Hutts." Her eyes were still locked on the arm. Foul thing; to hide such darkness under an illusion was to but place a sheet over a rotting body. The maggots would surface eventually, whether Vandiir liked it or not. She knew how much the darkness had taken from her own visage; a sea of cracked flesh, gaunt features, eyes swimming with fire and veins that ran with diseased blood. Day by day, the corruption spread as her power grew. Frankly, she was proud of her own abhorrence, the most visible mark of her success, a walking totem of the Dark Side, each gentle touch and footstep spreading a plague of fear, all of her own making. But she was getting ahead of herself.

Vilka rolled her eyes. "She likes pain? I can imagine how that might come about, spending so much time listening to you. And besides, this isn't empty-headed. I'm rather droll, don't you think?" A dry giggle. "Perhaps you take yourself too seriously, child. Knighthood is but a title. And trust me- titles will be the first thing to break, a long noose of words, tight about your genteel, hairless throat." She gave him a wild-eyed grin; she could practically hear the thunder of the crowds, the howling of the wretches; a tidal wave of flesh, pouring through the gutter of Kaas City. Funny place to make your home, but if nothing else was evident, it was that the Dark Side took all sorts. Unification through hatred, passion, and long-winded speeches.

"Sometimes the simplest solution is the best." One hand tapped against a glass case, her attention wandering from artefact to artefact. An undeniably impressive collection; quite marvelous in fact, despite the few items therein. "A clever solution can, and often should, be simple." She smirked. "Frankly, from where I'm standing it looks rather more complicated to solve all your problems by just... cutting at them." Sound of a pale, jagged fingernail trailng against the glass. "Why sever so many connections, when you can just strike-" Her eyes fell shut with the crash of waves. Black tides of the mind, spirals upon spirals, all searching, searching, through crystals, glass spider's-webs, a hall of silver-less mirrors, all until, the epicentre, heart of hearts, core of cores- there.

"-At the heart." She beamed, listened for that sound, tiny feet, so gingerly upon thin ice. Thin as a hair, a maze of forked rivers; twisting fractures. dancing across along the plexalloy.

Crack.

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

For a moment, Adrian frowned in disgust, more at the reference to the hated Hutts than her empty mockery; his overwhelming hatred of the accursed slugs momentarily shining through, despite the inaccuracy of her insult. No matter. She was trying to goad him, though he could not possibly grasp why. A chronic lack of self-preservation, perhaps?

"Too serious? Oh, I'm quite amiable towards my peers, as well as inferiors who know their place." Yes, definitely a lack of self-preservation. He had brought her here to train her, but now? Now he wanted more than anything to strangle the life out of her gaunt neck, to relish the feeling of her life slowly leaving her. He probably would have, too, had she not been Sith. Call it being an idealist, call it being optimistic, but he had a severe distaste for killing fellow force sensitives, especially Sith; with every death, so much potential was stolen. Even if that potential was currently stuck in an insolent brat of an Acolyte.

Even he had his limits, however. When she started slithering up to a priceless relic of the ancient Sith, his eyes narrowed. When her nails started scratching the blaster-proof glass, he spoke, tone icy. "What exactly do you think you're doi..."

Then the glass shattered.

Snarling in anger, eyes flaring with yellow light, he thrust his hands forward. Before the glass even hit the ground, a barrage of lightning purple lightning surged forth, gnashing tendrils seeking to tear across her form and propel her into the rear wall. At the same time, the light in the room faded slightly as an automated alarm was triggered. With a series of dull thuds, resilient turadium-duramentium shutters would slam down in front of the displays, though the ruckus did little to dampen the open fury in the young Knight's voice. "You insolent wretch! Do you have any idea how historically important that tablet is?" Before, he had merely been annoyed. Now, he was furious. If she damaged it, oh by the Force how she would suffer.

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Unbridled fury. Vilka stepped back reflexively, muscles tensed. Here the Force was drawn taut as a steel cable, and Vandiir looked ready to break its bonds, his body now a seething mass of shifting anguish, desperate rage. She slipped back to the glass for a fraction of a second. Nothing harmed. Yet. Hand shifting to her lightsaber, her eyes steadied against his once more, breathing calm again. A hollow smile began to take shape.

”Call it an assurance of potential. Have I not demonstrated an ability to manipulate both the physical and... emotional planes?” A part of her winced internally, but her composure was fast regained. “See how I have sensed your weaknesses, steered you unto them, and then when the two align- struck.” Her eyes slipped back away from the broken glass. “Perhaps what this could also serve as a lesson for the benefits of anti-materialism.” Too far. It was one thing to prove your strength, another to push your luck. One was certainly the shorter route to the afterlife. Now the two faced each other, dark shadows amidst a field of broken glass.

”What matters here the great elucidation that has touched us all today. I have, deftly indeed, proven my own skills in the Dark Side, and in doing so, exposed a critical weakness of yours. If those are not the marks of great promise, then who indeed could demonstrate such a thing?" Being incendiary was its own skill, from which her Dun Möch talents benefited from most greatly. To sow doubts, scour disinformation. It didn't look to be working. ”I trust this has proven a satisfactory trial of my skills. And I do, of course, apologies for any untoward grief caused.” He wasn't backing down. Vilka raised a palm, head cocked and eyes narrowed, thin semblance of a shield against the Force; a mirror instead of a wall, hollow and glassy thing. All around her, Vandiir's fury swirled.

Crack.

All the broken glass, the whirl and bustle of the city, even her own thoughts, they became nothing, supplanted by nothing but pain. Every atom of her being, bound in agony's blackened chains, a world beyond tears, beyond fear, beyond despair; a void of boundless pain. The barren plain of two opposed souls, wrath and treachery at ends; her flesh turned to ash and her bones screeched, blood at the edges of her mind, the rims of her eyes. All truth became darkness, and the acolyte hit the ground limp, grasped by unholy lightning.

@Aadrian Vandiir

 

[AMCO]

It was almost funny, how she thought herself so clever for figuring out something he had never tried to hide. Almost. She may be his elder, but that didn't make her any less of a foolish brat; his love of history was not a weakness, it was a strength. How better to avoid the mistakes of one's predecessors than to study them? How better to exceed the accomplishments of Sith Lords of aeons past than to learn what they knew and build from there?

"You senseless gnat of a philistine; do you really think the wealth that surrounds me is anything but dust before the storm? Pleasant dust, but nothing more. Those relics, on the other hand, represent the heritage of a dozen worlds, a piece of ages past represented in chunks of stone, steel, and cloth. If you cannot recognise the significance of that, then you are hardly worthy of the secrets of Sorcery; for what is that ancient art, but the continuation of a legacy that has persisted for aeons?" Adrian had never been one to cling to tradition, but that did not mean he did not understand its significance, did not recognise the power of untold generations of belief, of harvesting the echoes of aeons of magic for his own purposes.

"As for your supposed cleverness, I laugh at the very concept. It is no skill to cause anger, the only thing that matters is using it; any Force-forsaken nerf herder can get on the nerves of their betters, but the only thing they would accomplish is to bring retribution down on their heads." As the last syllable left his mouth, his eyes flared once more, giving the Acolyte a moment of warning. She threw up her barrier, and it was as pathetic as he had expected. Momentary amusement crossed his features: Why did so many of his fellow Sith discount the importance of a strong defence? That thought did not, however, stop the barrage that launched forth.

As purple tendrils of lightning danced across her form, tearing through her barrier and ripping at her flesh, she fell to the ground, pain consuming her world. Snarling in anger, the young Knight strode over to where she lay, lightning still dancing from his fingertips; at the edge of his consciousness, he was vaguely aware of the door sliding open, of the young Zeltron running in behind a pair of Akguza Guards. Summoned by the alarm, no doubt.

Even in his anger, however, he had no intention of killing her. Oh, she would suffer for her trespasses, but he was not in the habit of practising wastefulness, despite what his extravagant lifestyle would indicate. With a disgusted snarl, he ceased the barrage, an action that was quickly followed by a soft coo from the direction of his assistant. "Over already? I was just starting to enjoy myself."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

Vilka grasped at the floor with knotted fingers, throat aflame. The air was like fire, and her lungs a deep tar-pit. "Charging like a bantha, Vandiir." She let out a hacking cough, "Temperament like that, you'll break something." Her grin twisted away into another coughing fit, charred windpipe convulsing. He had wreaked the utmost havoc on her body. She knew she had been unprepared; the depths of his attachment to the relics was... unanticipated. Useful, nonetheless, once she was fit to walk again. Part of her couldn't help but find a dark humour in the situation. Perhaps she might goad him again; there was little to be lost. "To incite anger is as great a skill as to harness it, I should think; are they not one and the same." Her voice was thin. "You burn your body, sear your will upon my mind, exert the utmost of your power, all at my word." Now a smile could take shape.

"One might almost think I was your master, Vandiir. How curious. Poor thing, chasing red-" Another cough: "-Flags, wherever I lay them." Vilka's arms shook as she pushed herself back to her knees, limp, skeletal thing, wheezing with each breath. Her eyes met his, with all the strength her body clearly lacked. "But you hold all the power, don't you? All the sorceries, the relics, the artefacts. You can't be ruled by insults." A snarling impression of a smile. "And yet..." She cackled into the hollow silence of the room, eyes dancing from one shard to another, the forked, blackened scorch-marks that scarred Vandiir's home, the smouldering remnants of his grand fury.

She shot 'Cara' a demonic look. That Devaronian blade... tempting. To slip it free, turn it back on the sneering wretch; split her from end to end. A wild torrent of treachery and revenge. Vilka let the idea slip with a groan. Whilst satisfying, imprudent. "We can do it another time, Cara, I shouldn't worry." Cordiality thinner than ice, but cordial nonetheless.

"Have I made my point, Adrian?" She giggled through bloody tears. "Or, I should say, of course-" A deferent nod. "-Have you made yours?"

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

It was almost incomprehensible, how dedicated that madwoman was to trying to get on his nerves. Even lying on the ground, her body charred and her every breath pained, she still found the time to mock him. It would have been irritating, had it not been oddly amusing. As she struggled to her feet, his fingers danced across his wrist link, connecting to the sensors within the now-sealed alcoves. The relics were intact, all of them. Eyes slithering across the room as she made her subtle, well subtle by her standards, statement, he took in the damage. Scorch marks on the floor and a bit of ruined furniture.

At that, he laughed.

"Did I not just tell you the wealth that surrounds me is but dust before the storm? This ..." at that, his hand pointed outwards, indicating the damage he had wrought. "... will all be fixed in a day or two. The tablet, on the other hand, is far more difficult to replace; fortunately for both of us, I prevented you from doing any irreparable damage." At that, his smile turned sinister. "Damage which would have led to me doing far worse to you than this little display. Nothing personal, of course, but if I allow one bratty little vandal to go unpunished, I'll practically be asking for others to try." In truth, he had thought that she had already been punished enough, but perhaps not. Perhaps, if she tried anything more, he would simply pack her in a ship and dump her in the middle of the wastelands of Korriban. Make her find her own way back to civilisation. If she even survived that treacherous trek.

"Oh, I would be worried, if I were you." Turning towards her assistant, who did her best to smile innocently, he couldn't help but respond with a slight smile of his own; he had never been much of a fan of torture, but the enthusiasm she displayed was nevertheless contagious. Still, he had another woman, if a markedly less pleasant one, to deal with right now.

"Yes, I believe you've made your point quite clearly, though not in the way you'd think. You've proven that you understand the basics of anger, though your subtlety is lacking, at best. Any fool can provoke anger, but only a few know how to use it to their advantage; you made me act against you, yes, but that did not give you an opening. It did not garner you an advantage. Hells, it didn't even manage to make me act against cold logic, as I am perfectly content with inflicting pain or even death on those who would threaten the remnants of ages past."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Expensive dust, Adrian." Vilka glanced over the gilded ceiling. "It is rare for people to accidentally stumble across ostentatiously decorated penthouses, I think. Even more so not to take at least a little obnoxious pride in them." Word by word, she felt his boasts begin to melt together, into one overblown mass. Newly-knighted Sith were possibly the most insufferable; given a taste of power, they so often declared themselves Emperor of the Sith apropos of nothing. She was half surprised he hadn't already titled himself 'Darth'; maybe he wasn't that far gone. Not yet, anyhow. "You really must stop calling me a brat, Adrian. A year ago you could scarcely drink, and five years ago you couldn't watch most holovids." She kicked aside a pane of glass with one foot.

"Cara- shush." Vilka frowned. "Pink, quite unfortunately, is not your colour. All things given, that's a pity. Besides, the grown-ups are-" She snorted. "-I'm talking. Sorry Adrian." Giggling, she watched Cara step away, at Adrian's request, giving a dismissive wave of her own for good measure.

"Subtlety? Irrelevant. Who am I trying to beguile here? There's only pink-eye over there, and Skippy the Jedi droid, present. And besides- I'd speak to the contrary. It did give me an opening, and it did give me an advantage. Now I know your sensitivities, your allies, for which matter your droids have done very little, and most of all, that you enjoy loathsome speeches. Cold logic? You shocked an unarmed woman for teasing you, and touching your baubles." That last part was perhaps too much of an understatement. If such a thing existed, that was, of course.

"What have you learned about me, bar that I am, like most organics, subsceptible to lightning, and capable of riling you up enough to destroy your own house? Scarcely a thing."

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

Shaking his head slightly, the young Knight smiled smugly. "You would think so, wouldn't you? Alas, the primary purpose of all this ..." At that, he pointed towards the ostentatious displays of wealth that abounded within the spacious office. "... is to impress. True power comes from the Dark Side, but political power? That relies on much simpler things, such as appearances." Not that the damage was even that major; his lightning was powerful, true, but most of it had hit the singed-looking Acolyte. Besides, despite its appearances, the Penthouse was built like a veritable fortress, with the pretty exterior giving way to reinforced duranium where the damage was greatest.

Snorting slightly, his smug smile only deepened. "Poor jealous Vilka. Does it hurt that much that I, despite being years younger than you, am your superior in both skill and rank? Does it make you angry?" Smirking slightly, he waved his hand dismissively towards the Zeltron, though it was more amiable than hostile. The young woman had quite the temper, and he would rather not have to intervene because she decided to stab that most annoying of Acolytes.

Speaking of annoying, she consistently kept misunderstanding him, or perhaps she merely pretended to annoy him further. Still, he couldn't help but laugh derisively. "Unarmed? Don't make me laugh. You have your lightsaber with you, not that a true Sith is ever unarmed. Besides, I've killed people for the sake of relics before, and I'll doubtlessly do it again. The only reason you still draw breath is that I am loathe to waste potential, even potential that is clearly being wasted. Tombs of Korriban, I wouldn't even have to kill you myself; those droids you take so lightly could likely do the job for me!"

"Besides, I already know enough. Or did you think I let people into my home without having my employees do some research?"

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Appearances? Woe betide." Now trading insults was starting to bore her; Vandiir's self-importance was boundless, it seemed, quite contrary to his repertoire of rebuttals. In his way, Vilka supposed, he was quite perfectly suited to be a Sith. "Jealous? No doubt even know, Adrian, prodigies do not have a good track record. Besides, I've got both arms, and the right to drink in most systems. " She winked with humourless eyes. Now she really did want to make use of Cara's knife; it might at least put herself out of this misery.

"My lightsaber? But Adrian," Her voice drowned under the weight of its own sarcasm. "The Force is the only true weapon. And those curtains, I'd add." If nothing else, she'd learned a wealth of interior decorating advice, if perhaps not in the way Adrian would have liked. Now, however, she stepped closer, locked eyes with the young man, till her gaunt and sickly face was nigh-uncomfortably close. "But after all, you're the killer, aren't you? Killing men for stones. And you'd do it again? Heavens. Is it Darth Carnifex I see before my eyes? Butcher of the stars?" She spat at his boots through pointed teeth. "I subjugated an entire planet as a child, but you don't see me bragging." She smirked, and withdrew.

"But you knew that, of course. Speaking of which- you wouldn't happen to know anything about, say, the Force? Or am I just here to be your debate partner? A warm shoulder to cry on, share idle gossip? I can see why you'd need those droids, I suppose. It must be awfully lonely being so gifted, and yet so obnoxious."

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[AMCO]

"Both arms? How quaint. The loss was infuriating at first, but this ..." Stretching his right arm languidly, he smiled, though this time he did not alter its form. "... is so much better than what I had before." And it was. The Human form was flawed, even in comparison to regular sentients. Arkanians were smarter, Wookies stronger, Nagai faster, Zeltrons more attractive, and Hutts lived far longer, despite being a blight upon the galaxy. Really, Humanity was mediocre. He saw that now, recognised the weakness of his own flesh. Recognition, as he had learned, was always the first step on the path to improvement.

"Right you are, though too many use their lightsabers as a crutch. Engage in primitive combat rather than pursue true greatness. It's good to hear that you, despite your many flaws, realize that." Still, they were not entirely useless. His held a rare crystal that boosted his power in the Force, and they were far from useless when intimidation was the goal.

As she spoke of killing, he smiled predatorily, his usually friendly looking eyes holding a glimmer of pure evil. "Oh, but my dear, life is cheap. As we speak, uncounted billions toil away in the factory cities of Kol Huro, death the only relief in sight. It is not ideal, but it is the way of the universe. Why then, should petty morality prevent me from pursuing my goals at the expense of others?"

Looking down at her spittle in a disinterested manner, he smiled mockingly rather than respond. As if that was worthy of a response. Oh, he knew that already. She was born into power but was too weak to hold it. And she bragged about it? Pathetic, utterly pathetic. Still, she was finally heading down the right track, which made some of the contempt leave his features.

"You know, some would throw you out the door after a display like that, would have refused to teach you anything. You're lucky I consider it a personal goal to disseminate the knowledge of such higher arts to the Sith as a whole." Striding forward, he headed towards the door, turning back towards her before leading the way to the small laboratory a floor up, a laboratory located within the heavily defended and much more tastefully decorated domain of his personal quarters. "I suppose we will see whether you are worthy of such knowledge, or will crumble at the finish line like so many before you."

 

[Vilka Pharro]

"Well I'm most grateful of your magnanimous and saintly manner, Master Jedi. This local outreach project really is something- when will you be teaching the children of Kaas City to read, pray tell, serving blue milk on the streets?" Vilka snorted. As if this was a purely a humanitarian effort. For all each master and apprentice, particularly of the Sith, everything was a matter of costs and gains. Effort and knowledge, labour and servitude. The skill was not in removing one quantity, or the next, but in finding the greatest balance for oneself. Alas, thus far, she had to admit all they'd traded was words. Quite possibly her fault, at that- but then again, so many things were. There was no foreseeable gain to insults now, but Adrian did bite at every goading word and slight in simply the most amusing way. "Besides, most Sith find my manner most fitting; you're not charmed?" She grinned.

She could scarcely help herself.

Alas, she had perhaps worn his patience far enough. She followed his steps in silence, eyes running over a multitude of strange instruments. Truthfully, Vilka was scarcely experienced in the Sith science; it was not something she granted much interest. To her eyes, the Force, the Dark Side, they were not quantities; they did not bear such empirical curiosities as biology, or physics, and to treat them as such was a denigration of its true power. The intuition of ever-shifting hearts and minds, bound hand-and-foot in eternal comprehensibility- it did not belong under a microscope, or in a suit of armour, a jetpack. Perhaps her mind was too closed, too set in limited ways. It did not feel this way, at least, but she supposed it never would. In isolation, how can a blind man know? "Finish line? You speak as if you have crossed it yourself; I'm not so confident anyone has crossed the 'finish line', as of yet, Adrian."

"These limits are of your own making. Not mine."

 

[AMCO]

Smirking slightly as they walked, he spoke without turning towards her, pretending like he was deep in thought, though his tone was audibly sarcastic. "Hmm, perhaps. Have you considered a position in the Diplomatic Service?" Still, the ability to provoke anger could certainly be useful, though she lacked the necessary finesse to make it truly work; had she not gone after his collection, he doubted he would have felt more than a vague annoyance, mostly due to the sheer insult of behaving in such a way towards a fellow Sith. One of a higher rank than her, no less. Still, it was not like he was a master of that particular field either; he had been told by credible sources that he could be terribly unpleasant, but provoking anger had never been his strong suit.

As they reached the top floor, the transition was visible; the facilities were still luxurious, but it was far more practical, with some parts even appearing slightly minimalistic. In truth, this was how he preferred it; perhaps, once he had climbed to a suitable position, he would redo the entire penthouse in this style. Yes, that would do nicely. The powerful had to appear wealthy, but the truly powerful had no such needs.

Upon seeing the lack of recognition in the Acolyte's eyes, he felt a tinge of disappointment. This was but a smaller laboratory, a mere temporary substitute to his much larger ones elsewhere on the planet. For now, it would do just fine, especially with how little the woman seemed to know about the true power that could be found in the scientific study of the Dark Side. "There is always room for improvement, but most never get past the basics. Most don't even come close to unlocking the least powerful secrets of sorcery, let alone the stuff of legend."

For now, they would be far less ambitious. Pointing toward a side door, he led her into a heavily reinforced testing room, its alchemised walls able to withstand just about anything. "Since you seem like the straightforward type, let's start with the basics. It is, after all, far easier to destroy than to create." Smirking slightly, he continued. "Tell me, have you ever channelled the entropy of the Dark Side in its purest form? Not lightning, like I did earlier, but pure energy?"