Alchemy

[Darth Ferus]

The life of a Sith was often filled with uncertainty. One moment, the Sith Lord was in the basement of his home, crafting a new weapon that would replace his lightsaber as his go to weapon. Everything had gone well, and the blade itself was forged and prepared. But, the weapon was unable to be alchemised. [member="Darth Lykos"] , a long time friend, was to, but an emergency they both had to deal with prevented the final step.

Krest was left with a sharp sword, but no way to activate the lightsaber within without melting the blade around. It was problematic to say the least. Years ago, the Zabrak would have been able to do it himself. But now, he was unable to for one reason or another. Which lead him to a new friend, or at least an ally, he had found.

[member="Antherion"] .

The man was young yet confined to a wheelchair. Despite this physical weakness, he had the makings of a great Sith with his knowledge alone. Knowledge that Krest needed, and wanted. So he called the man to his home, in the same basement where the sword was forged. Krest would show him how to alchemise a blade, and in exchange Antherion would finish the blade he had started long ago.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion waited for [member="Krest"] to come to him at the edge of the wilderness. Night and silence weighed heavily on the air, shrouding the temperate forest world in sleepy serenity. The Force thrummed in the air, a palpable emanation of the world: not dark, nor light, but rather waiting for one to take action. It was not the Force of individuals but the wild, untamed Force of nature awaiting an individual to work it into form. It was ideal.

This was Odessen. What was nearly a forever ago to him, he had heard of this world in whispers, it was the throne world of one of the two new superpowers that briefly made the Galaxy their battlefield, for a time dominating, then disappearing into obscurity. It was a place of power and balance. But what he liked most was how empty it was. It was so peaceful, so silent. He had uncovered the hyperspace routes, and had yet to cross paths with another.

It had been a long time since he had worked alchemy. It would be best to do so in a place where his focus could be pinpoint and absolute. This was that place.

Bathed in fireflies' wavering light, he waited.

 

[Darth Ferus]

[member="Antherion"] would see Krest before he would feel the Sith's darkness. He walked down the path to the Knight with the sword bundled up in cloth. He wore the outfit he normally did, leathers and bright colors, the outfit of the King of his planet. He did not hide his position, and wouldn't any time soon. Well, unless he was on a mission of course. His blue gaze traveled over the lands of Odessen, a smile on his face as he did so. A place so powerful in the Force, yet neither light or dark. The planet did not care about the ideals of the Jedi or Sith.

It was refreshing.

The Lord's eyes eventually fell upon the Alchemist, and with a wave he called out. "Yo! I'm glad we could meet up. You all set?"

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"Yo?" Antherion couldn't help but laugh, burying his head in his hands as he muffled the noise. . "I don't think I've ever met a Sith Lord much like you."

His deeper, colder self looked down on such foolish antics. But still, he couldn't help but laugh. He had to. It was just so... absurd.

"And no, not until I can look the sword. You described it fairly well to me, but I need to be able to examine the object itself to tell what it needs."

He drifted forwards, closer to [member="Krest"], his clothing visible as unusually simple, unadorned black robes. He extended his hands and the sleeve creeped up his arm slightly - the Darth's keen perceptions would easily be able to pick out the subtle, constant shaking, the hands resisting being held in one place. He gazed up at Krest, expectant, eyes shimmering with gold.

 

[Darth Ferus]

"When you get old like me you'll find doom and gloom just isn't that much fun. Why live your life constantly in a state of anger and hate? Enjoy life, y'know?" The Zabrak offered a disarming smile to [member="Antherion"] . Yet that, just like his lax demeanor, was all a front. All to protect his mind and intentions. Krest unwrapped the sword and stepped over to the knight, passing him the blade. "Here ya go. Edges are sharp though, so be careful."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion looked over the blade with an expression of utter curiosity, bringing it close to him. It was of unusual construction, very alien in its design - the two blades were like simple, straight cutting edges, yet the gap between them and the nature of the hilt made it obvious: this was intended to be both sword and lightsaber. Unusual.

"A unique weapon... It will need to be made to withstand not only other blades, but itself."

As the sorcerer ran his hands over the weapon, he sent tiny pulses of Dark energy into the structure, feeling the essence as it flowed in through the submolecular canals and channels of the seemingly-solid metal and returned to him, like the ebb and flow of a tide. They were, for lack of a better word, perfect - everything a smith could be expected to do, had been done. Aside from the smallest differences, they were near identical - and the invisible fault lines of the sword sang out like thin, parallel lines of crimson, where in a sloppy work they may have blanketed it like a vermilion cobweb.

"Follow me - I have prepared a site for us to begin, a few kilometers inside the wilderness."

He beckoned, turning, bearing the tool of death into the shadows of Odessen, silence reigning save for the hum of his chair's repulsorlift.

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Sounds good to me." The Zabrak let his hands fall down to his side, and he followed [member="Antherion"] in his own silence. Though that didn't last for long. He looked at the Sith in his chair, and curiosity overcame Krest. "I wonder, why don't you use the Force to walk instead of limiting yourself to that chair?" Krest could feel the rot coming off of the Knight, but it wasn't his business to ask what had happened.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion paused for a moment, turning to look at [member="Krest"] with a curious expression. I thought Sith Lords were supposed to be perceptive. He, however, realized that he was probably going to receive some sort of repayment for this, and he did not wanted to draw the ire of the King of Iridonia, not at this juncture. He summoned up a wistful smile, as false as it appeared genuine, and let out a small sigh.

"I've tried directing the Force to fortify my muscles, but they're essentially gone - I cannot compensate for the lost volume. I try to focus on healing them and I find no foundation to build on - it's as though the tissue is dead, and it's all I can do to keep it from starting to rot." He shook his head. "I've studies all sorts of ways to channel the Force into the things around me, but I've never put much thought into channeling it into myself."

"There were some interesting applications I saw on Kro Var, but... I hardly know where to begin. I've been considering cutting them off, in honesty - but this arrangement has been working for now."

He looked around at the pattern of trees, and motioned for them to take a turn in a forking, lightly-trodden path to the right. Not long, now, and they would be arriving at the place.

"My hands shake, my legs are ruined - I've honestly simply given up on my body. My mind and my power can grow, I see no reason to fight for lost causes."

 

[Darth Ferus]

"As a Sith, appearances are everything. The galaxy sees us in our weaknesses, and our strengths. Other Sith see the same. What we show is what people will know. What you show, is a frailty of your body. Your mind and power may grow, but you are a cripple. Regardless of whether you can run, lift, or any other physical activity you cannot do now, it would be wise to hide this." Friendly advice, and perhaps a warning. The Force had as it always would whisper it's secrets. [member="Antherion"] did well to hide his emotions and intentions, but Krest had been training Assassins in the art of faking for generations. Not that the Zabrak would call the Alchemist out on it. The less Antherion thought of Krest, the more the Zabrak could slip under the radar.

So far, it had been going as expected.

"Just a friendly tip. Last thing you want is someone rigging your hoverchair to blow, aye?"

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion pursed his lips. He was all for guardedness, but usually that meant a standard sort of noble dialect. It was the sterile dignity of the Dark Lords, bleached of personality and demeanor, awesome beings who would leave little impression in anyone save the fear and hatred they inspired. Antherion was this all the way down - even his soul had been stripped of its most basic parts, essentially making him a surface. And it had been so long, he seldom cared to make the surface more pleasant than it had to be.

I should work on that.

He drummed his fingers against the seat of the symbol of his disability.

"You aren't the first person to call me cripple, [member="Krest"]. I doubt you'll be the last." He regarded the blademaster strangely. In spite of whatever honesty the Sith Lord was able to detect, whatever strain, it was difficult to tell what he thought of the man, or even if he held any uncertain opinion. There was a glint in his eyes, as though solving a difficult math problem. "Well... I've walked before, but always with a cane."

Stopping, his repulsorlift drifting to the grass-covered earth, Antherion snapped a thick branch from a nearby tree with a wrist-twisting gesture, his face betraying no strain or effort. If floated into his hands, whereon he used it to push himself up to his feet. His face, then, did betray effort.

"I hope you don't mind my doubling the time it takes for us to arrive to where we need to be." This was not walking so much as it was stumbling while propping himself desperately up -- at times, it seeming like a prolonged, forwards fall rather than any sort of purposeful movement. Yet, grunting briefly in pain for a moment, Antherion brought himself forwards.

 

[Darth Ferus]

The Zabrak watched [member="Antherion"] in silence for a moment. Each step the Alchemist took was pain, and Krest hand't meant he should be subjecting himself to such an ordeal. But for what ever reason Antherion walked, the Lord would not stop him. If anything, he would try to assist. "Your mastery over the Force is impressive. Have you ever tried to use the Force to walk? Not by trying to heal them or enhance them, but simply by using this natural skill you have to lessen the weight on your feet. Give the appearance of walking." Something simple, or so he hoped.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion laughed -- high and cold, and full of mockery. But behind that mockery was something [member="Krest"] could plainly see. Loathing turned inwards. Loathing of the repulsiveness of his own, decaying flesh. Loathing of the prison that walked for him, grasped for him, spoke with his voice. It was clear to the Zabrak that he was not the object of scorn here.

"I did... once. I tried moving my entire body with telekinesis. Like some sort of bizarre marionette. Halfway through the hallway I was walking down, my focus lapsed and I bent my left leg twenty degrees forwards past my knee, faster than I could realize and put a stop to it."

He paused.

"Though, with the knowledge we plundered from Kro Var -- it may actually be possible. They channel the elements outwards, and that is their most famous and vulgar power, but to channel the elements inwards may fortify my body enough that I can move it without damaging it. Earth for stability, water for flexibility."

He paused, calling his chair to him, his 'demonstration' at an end. He slumped in it, with unmasked relief apparent on his face. Yet his expression was also filled with curiosity.

"Lord Ferox, you may have, by letting me share in this knowledge, delivered me from my imprisonment. You once had expertise in this matter as well. If you wish to settle the account between us quickly and easily, stay and assist me in mastering the subtle art of 'walking', and we can call all of this even. Is that to your liking?"

 

[Darth Ferus]

More silence from the Zabrak. [member="Antherion"] was put in a state Krest could hardly imagine. Yes, he lost his arm. He lost his leg. He even lost his hearts. But they were replaced easily. It had hurt, it had been humiliating, but it had been fixed. He could run, he could lift. Antherion was unable to do that. Unable to fix his body with modern medicine or ancient rituals. He was trapped in a rotting carcass, and Krest had nothing to offer him in terms of understanding.

But, an idea.

"Water would be a good, but dangerous, way to manipulate your legs. Your blood would be the primary target, and affecting that can disrupt the flow and potentially kill you. But at the same time, it would work should you prove proficient enough. There are four elements, and each person is more attuned to one than another if at all. I happened to be one with the Earth before that connection broke. We will have to see which you belong to."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion nodded slightly, drifting forwards, in mostly passive agreement -- though he did disagree on a philosophical point. It was not a question of which element he 'belonged' to, but rather a question of which element belonged to him. Easy answer: all of them. The question was one of difficulty, and there was no difficulty he would not endure, would not transcend in his escape of this wretched, unresponsive corpse. If he had to burn his body with fire and spend each second holding together the ashes, he would resort to that.

"We are here."

The alchemist made a grandiose gesture towards the mouth of a humble, moss-covered cave. It opened into blackness, seemingly a portal to the void, but darkness was harmless to them. To the Sith, the night held nothing worth fearing.

Holding his palm out flat for a moment as he held at the entryway, smoke began to curl from it as sparks danced between his fingertips. Over the course of about a second, a globe of blue fire coalesced above his hand, providing steady illumination -- a trick of the Kro Var.

Leading Krest deeper inwards, he motioned for the Sith to walk cautiously. This site had been prepared with care, and crossing recklessly into the central cavern without taking heed could disrupt the invisible lines of power, ruining the preparations.

"If you have any artifacts or alchemical weapons on your person, best to leave them here so they don't interfere with the flow of energy." He paused for a moment. "And in case you think this is some ill-conceived ambush, we both know you're as dangerous without your weapons as with."

| [member="Krest"] |

 

[Darth Ferus]

The Zabrak paused as he stared into the cave, frowning as he did. Leave his weapons behind? Well, most of them. He unclasped the weapon attached to his wrist and pulled free the sith dagger in his boot. The hidden blade was set down upon the ground, but the dagger remained in his hand. "I don't carry any artifacts, and not much alchemical weapons. But this dagger is unique. I use it to assist with this sort of stuff. It has.. Well, you'll see soon enough."

Krest smiled to [member="Antherion"] , and made it pretty clear he wasn't going to allow this to continue without the blade.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion pursed his lips, crossing his hands above the blade that [member="Krest"] had given him. The man had forged the swords, that was enough to show that he knew at least some of what alchemy demanded. He pondered, for a moment, whether the Dark Lord was untrusting of him, or ignorant of what the delicate process demanded. He decided to proceed as gently as possible.

"I'll 'see soon enough' if the dagger has any latent property that interferes with the ritual work, necessitating another three days of preparation. Or if it clashes with the energy flow, and causes your pretty weapon-to-be to instead explode into shrapnel while I am leaning over it to enchant it." He raised one finger, a gesture of conciliatory rebuke. "Unknown factors are a constant in combat, but in alchemy they are something that must be minimized to prevent disaster. The power we channel in our work on your weapon exceeds what can be summoned during combat, and surprises are usually unpleasant, pointing to failure or disaster."

 

[Darth Ferus]

"Alright, alright. The daggers only purpose is to infuse the blood drawn with it with the dark. Usually I'm the one in charge of these rituals. So, I apologize." [member="Antherion"] would receive a bow from the Lord's head. For once, Krest was not in charge of what would happen next, and he would have to respect the alchemists wishes, and set up. When the Zabrak could still use the blood magic he always had his own method, and everyone was different.

The dagger would be placed down beside his other weapon. "Lead on my friend."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

As [member="Krest"] would turn to leave the dagger, it would not rest where it was placed, but rather stir where it lay, and then soar through the air in a smooth motion to Antherion's hand.

"Interesting, interesting... Your dagger may yet be useful." Antherion examined it, tracing his hands over the blade, feeling through it with the currents of invisible Force that pulsated within the inert metal and granted it the vivid power that it possessed. It would be of use — had he known of it earlier, he would have brought it within the ritual space before he constructed it, so that its entry and exit would not be a concern. For a moment, he weighed the risk of bringing it in against the reward of its imbuement. Using it to cut a strip of fabric from his sleeve, he wrapped it in it tightly, until the blade was not visible. He bit his thumb, yielding an audible crunch, and pressed it against the fabric, leaving a red stain, and whispered a few fleeting words in the Sith tongue.

He extended his hand, holding the dagger towards Krest hilt-first. "Take it. Blood will a necessary part of the ritual. But do not unsheathe it until I tell you to, and do by removing the fabric after speaking the words 'Mirji Ra,' or things may get... messy."

Then, after the Iridonian had taken the object, he would lead the man further into the mouth of the cavern. As they passed into the ritual space, both would sense the currents of the Force shift, from the ripples and eddies of the Force natural to directed, precise currents and channels.

 

[Darth Ferus]

A brow raised as the Zabrak watched [member="Antherion"] , but he did not interfere or question. Blood Magics had always been a powerful tool when used by those who understood it, and Krest simply did not any longer. He took the dagger in his hand and memorized the two words needed. Mirji Ra. Simple at least. He'd hold the dagger down by his side and follow the younger man into the cave. Blue eyes scanned over the ritual space, taking in the details both from the whispers of the Force and from his eyes themselves. It was a very.. Precise set up. Far more than Krest had ever done in his past.

"I'm impressed. You studied well."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"Study, study, study. Oftentimes, that's all I can do. Until my eyes hurt, I study. Some days, it feels like were I able to lay it out on a table and take a scalpel to it, I could dissect the Unifying Force."

Antherion lead the Sith to the center of the chamber, out of which jutted a pillar of stone that rose to the man's waist, clearly Shaped, with a concave depression at the top for fluid to gather. With a lover's tenderness, Antherion lay the sword in the space, such that the hilt extended out of it and the blade rested precisely at the center.

He extended his arms upwards, then to the side, then towards the weapon itself, refamiliarizing himself with the eddies and currents he had wrought. He was satisfied -- this was the mathematic perfection that was sought by truly few, the square root of anger, the derivative of rage and hate, the symmetry of division and the radius of splattered blood. The Sith's true strength was not their ability to perpetuate atrocities against life, matter, and nature, it was their ability to normalize the brutality. So long as the Order existed, it would always be a valid option that is considered to descend into amoral depravity. So it was irreverently, with the regularity of declaring the weather, that Antherion worked the art of the science of darkness, chanting in the tongue of the old Sith Lords:

"A blade for the black stone,​

carveth flesh and carveth bone,​

for he on the bleeding throne, ​

who ne'er shall be overthrown."​

​

As he chanted in the Kissai tongue, cold and clear diction of harsh, grating fricatives flowing in and out of hissed sibilants, rays of azure lightning arced into the basin and around it, out of the hands, and at the edges of the basin, dancing like a storm, illuminating the once dark cavern in bright, clear light that cast the two men in a ghostly glow.

The basin filled with seething emanations, gathered thunderclouds encircled it, until the weapon was wreathed in a pool of mist and arcing lightning, and the light had gathered to a single pool around it.

"Blessed by the strong will,​

thunder for the old gods,​

steel for the new kings, ​

stillness for the weak hearts, ​

lightning for the clear eyes."​

​

The work of alchemy was one of precision, and small action. The mist roiled around the blade, immersing it in the Force and the will. Its imperfect shape began to soften, its form began to grow indistinct, it began to blur at the edges in the clouds, as though it was not solid itself, seeming to threaten to disappear at a moment's notice into nothingness.

Antherion nodded to [member="Krest"] for the dagger, the briefest break in concentration, before he returned to his work. "And now, the celebrant, the warrior, anoints the blade in his own blood, the drops that herald the deluge he shall with it call forth."