Elegant and depraved.
Rhuza stood in the center of a dark room, one lit by mere candles in fact. Coruscant's nervous system was fully developed at this point in her state of existence, spider-webbing her links of electricity all across the artificial globe, yet if one went deep enough, far under even the underworld there were barren, desolate places that had once felt the glowing touch of heat and energy but had fallen from it's graces. Abandoned and forgotten as the planet continued its development outward- It was here, far under the surface where Rhuza spent a parcel of his time.
Surrounded by complete silence, he could center himself on a planet that was always so alive-despite the contradiction of such a line. Even the tiniest of critters had yet to find their way to these forgotten places, these unnamed temples left behind by ancestral builders. The information didn't solely belong to the Eldorai Sith Lord however. There were a myriad of occupying Sith who'd learned of these places and maybe some explorers whom predated the Sith's occupancy of the Core World, but none ventured down. There was absolutely no reason to.
But Rhuza found beauty in solitude. In darkness and the rare silence that accompanied it although Helios speculated the cause of this to be due to the stone. Sprawled around the large chamber were scrolls, some strewn on the edges of the floor, some pinned against the walls. Most had odd markings, or colors affixed to complex symbols-none of it related to alchemy and all of it pertaining to sorcery. There were also several pedestals placed on the west side of the room which had objects standing on their shoulders. Statues, Sith artifacts, untouched holocrons. Another room housed live slaves for experiments, but there was a very light waft of death in the air. He would investigate it later. A den adjacent to the slave pen was a chamber used for summoning and further into the temple was a room that could be loosely called living quarters with a mattress, but Rhuza never slept when he ventured down to this temple. Sometimes he would leave with circles around his eyes darker and wider than what was naturally drawn, paired with slightly more sunken eyes and even a few lbs lighter. Across the hall was a room that doubled as both a meditation chamber and a sparring center. A singular den that channeled all the solemn energy of silent summoning while also holstering the aggression of what was left behind by combat.
Standing in the center of his dubbed "Scroll Room," Rhuza eyed a red jewel affixed on a pedestal. A few days ago it was a decent artifact, brimming with raw energy, but it was now drained and without value. Under normal circumstances it would have been disposed of but it held a connection to the Sith Lord unlike the rest of his possessions. The afreet in Rhuza despised it deeply but the remaining parcel of benevolence hidden under the tissues of darkness within the Sith Lord held onto it. Unable to be rid of it, recognizing it to be the last remaining heirloom from his biological mother and father. The value of the object slithered between the cracks of his consciousness from some infernal reckoning to wage a base war within him, slowing his breath and fevering his brow, attempting to force him to hold onto the last thing that could remind him of a life before corruption.
It was a tether to his parents and their long passed existence. Sometimes whilst holding it he felt as though it could enable him to taste the handcuffed grapes they used to plop into his mouth as a child, bursting crimson berries between ivory teeth. But he also allowed his darkness to taint those memories, turning the juice of the fruit into wrath, dripping with a sweetness that could never slake the thirst he had begun to develop when he turned from them and pursued the Sith with an alacrity that drove him to gloom, binding him with cuffs of thorns.
Moving to approach the elephant in the room, he pried the crystal from the metal teeth securing it to the marble pedestal. Then came the echos. But these were nothing associated with flashbacks or imaginative thinking. They were very real, and nearing. Unrushed, Rhuza gazed at the crimson jewel in his chalky palm for a final moment before closing his fist around the heirloom, crushing the useless item in between his fingers. The journey he'd started and wanted to finish, had no room for reminders of innocence and those whom housed it so unashamedly. Turning, Rhuza looked at the shadow scaling the hallway leading to the temple. There were many nameless temples in this subterranean area, but this one was Rhuza's. He turned to face the newcomer and allowed his arms to fall at his sides, feeling the tiny shards of bloody crystal fall from his fingers to the ground below.
[member="Darth Metus"]