Critical Colloquy

[Darth Ophidia]

MAENA.
The Wasteland.

​

"A master without an apprentice, is a master of nothing."​

Darth Bane

There were shadows in this galaxy, and their hands stretched far. Their reach spanned the galaxy, past through walls and locked doors. None were beyond the grasp of the Sith Assassins. Yet, there was a tradition that both saturated and superseded the order: The tradition of the Sith, and of master and apprentice.

The dry wind of the pulled upon the dark fabrics of her robe and caressed the bald scalp of her ashen head. Air escaped through her painted lips, in tune with the wind, and returned through her pointed nose. She could smell the volcanic sand beneath her feet, the way it stretched out before her for thousands of miles in a landscape of monochromatic deserts and remnants of molten rock. In front of her feet was a sheer drop, lazily evening out into a slope near the bed of a long stilled flow of liquid fire. At her back, perhaps a hundred steps away, was the root of the next sheer cliff. In its base was carved a simple cavernous opening connecting back the fortress she was constructing for their order.

In the vast expanse stretching out before her, Darth Ophidia felt the necroid essence of experimental creatures set loose by the mistress of this world. Some were hulking, others lithe and skittering.

She stood there now, not just to admire the view. She waited for someone, or did he prefer 'something' now? After all, he was more metal than man. Such aspirations he had; she did not agree with his 'evolution', but it was his contribution to the tradition. Her protests would not have stopped him, and the insight she had gained in the process was indeed valuable. Darth Abyss, an apprentice that never quite failed to surprise her.

Will he live up to my expectations? Or will he falter like those before him..

Her fists, resting at her back, clenched and un-clenched, the knuckles popping under the pressure. A wicked smile spread over her lips, warping the lightning scar that reached up along her cheek, and she opened her eyes to look upon the ashen world again.

There is only one way to find out.


[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Abyss had always known that such a day would come. It had been a long time since his master [member="Darth Ophidia"] had tested him, in a time when he had been only a glimpse of what he was now. Would these be the final confrontation between master and apprentice, the oldest, most sacred right of passage found in the ancient history of their order? Maybe, or maybe not. It was hard to say for certain what would happen if two powerful sith began to cross blades. For years he had anticipated the day he could finally overshadow her, the day his power rose above that of the Pale Assassin.

In these years he had done more than mere daydreaming. With any skill and any tool at his disposal he had planned, had analyzed her abilities, her style and even what very little he had been able to see of her limits. Yet all this work only lead him to a quite disheartening revelation. There was no crippling weakness, no clear edge that would allow him to simply strike her down. Her mastery of form two was flawless, be it with one or two sabers. The shadows were his allies as well, but no one not even his acolyte brother Lykos had perfected the art of fading into nothingness to the level of Ophidia. His only chance was to use everything he had, every trick, any angle he could get or else he would fail. He didn't felt true fear anymore, but he was nowhere near certain that he would be able to claim victory. That gave him faith. Only a arrogant, and certainly dead, fool would underestimate the Aspect of Death.

"Master."

Like a cold breeze the disembodied echo whispered over the surface of the wasteland, the voice still but barley identifiable as that of the Mindeater. From seemingly nowhere smoke and darkness became one, slowly reforming into the hollow metal husk that the sith Lord had become. While the twisted figure was revealed the book that had hoovered besides him, only held by a simple chain attached to his belt, began to close amd descend back to its place on his waist, like moved by invisible hands. There wasn't much left of the boy she had meet so long ago at the Academy during the days of the One Sith. His body was metal, and so was the fixed grin below his mask. The mask itself on the other hand was still the same, as was the black, and unbelievable ragged, robe that shrouded even his new body.

For a moment the figure stopped in his slow steps to close the distance of roughly twenty meters between the two lords of the sith, offering a slight, yet polite bow to her. No one but her had ever received such a sign of respect and curtsey for another reason than deception, she was the only being he had for long accepted as above him. Again the twisted, distorted voice resounded in the air, a otherworldly noise spoken by a man that had scarified everything to ascend beyond this galaxy.

"Through victory my chains are broken."

 

[Darth Ophidia]

"Darth Abyss."

Her dream was of an apprentice that would force her hand to be revealed and break every limitation she could place upon them - Not for a wish of submitting, but for being surpassed in every way. The ultimate destiny of any Sith was to create a monster greater than themselves and release it into the galaxy. She had given this one more freedom than the others, left him to his own devices and only steered his course when she had to. Was that the recipe? Or was it perhaps sheer luck. The lords still disagreed upon the perfect format, but results were results none the less.

She turned part-way as he materialised, her eyes surveying his form. Some parts she recognised, others were alien to her. Yet, she recognised her apprentice, the Mindeater. Her burning eyes narrowed as she inclined her head in a reciprocation of respect. A master never bowed for the apprentice, nor ignored their fealty, The inclination was the right amount of respect and dominance given their situation.

As Darth Ophidia fully turned, she tugged the outer cloak off her shoulders with a single smooth motion and let it fall to the ground, but one hand retained her grip on its collar. Under it, the shell-spider silks of Death's Embrace hugged her form, and a dark serpentine form tightened around her waist. She wore no further armour, no visible plates of metal.

"Then the Force will set you free."

She threw her left hand up in the air, tugging the cloak with it like a momentary cover of cloth. Under it, her presence shrunk to sub-molecular dimensions, as though she was swallowed up my mere nothingness. Her physical form flickered and vanished under the force cloak, like a stygium-cloaked ship. She vanished. The cloak tumbled over the edge, sticking to a piece of dead, claw-like vegetation a few meters below.

With quick and quiet steps, the Pale Assassin strafed to the left, moving away from the cliff and beginning to circle the ghostly form of Abyss. She moved to set her feet on stone, avoiding footprints. Would he be able to see through her cloak of shadows? Or perhaps he had other ways of pinning her down.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

Any other opponent would've been meet by mockery for such an opening. He was all seeing, and not even the shadows could hide from his sight. When he forged his new body many spells had been bound to the twisted metal, most sith in their origin but some found in the ancient wisdom of the others that cherished the darkness. This particular one was an old art of the nightsisters, a simple yet quite effective technique that allowed him to see with more than just the force. Sounds became pictures in his head, the slightest movements of air translated into almost absolut sight. Unsurprisingly even that trick didn't allowed him to sense his master clearly, her steps to silent and light to be more than a blur. At least he knew where she was heading, while she couldn't know for certain if he was able to see her.

That his new state of being was utterly alien to her was probably the biggest advantage he would get, an desperately needed edge to beat someone as experienced as [member="Darth Ophidia"] when combined with his affinity to trick and deceive those that stood against him.

Despite having an general idea of her position the metal figure began to move his head, seemingly searching for a hint but only for a second. Then his left claw rose into the air, as did power of the dark side that was summoned by the Spirit held by the armor. There was an mumbled whisper as more and more power began to build up, not unlikely the ancient spells he called upon. Yet in truth nothing of it was real. The power lacked any focus and direction, and his gestures and words held no power whatsoever, even if they very clearly made a different impression.

For a few more moments he simply stood, allowing the dark power to reach his peak. Suddenly, the second a real spell would've come into effect, the collected energy faded into nothing, and in one swift movement Abyss turned around, one of his trademark throwing knifes send flying towards his master from his right. He had been far above average with those small weapons before his elevation, and now he almost never missed his target.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Abyss would be one of few, but not the first to see through her cloak of shadows. There was exactly one other who had seen through it. Were it not for this experience of its limitations, she would have thought herself safe. Darth Ophidia did not know that Abyss could sense her proximity, nor could she discern how he would be able to do so, but she was fully aware that it was possible. This simple knowledge kept her prepared and on her toes; she was never safe.

He did not appear to see her, judging by his actions. The way in which he gathered the Force to him made her think he was about to unleash an effect of area in order to flush her out, not a bad strategy, but she expected better. It kept her at a distance as she strafed towards his back. Not because he would not see her, but because it would require him more movement to react.

Fighting a Sith Lord was a question of milliseconds.

She saw his hand fly up, the gesturing of sorceries. It looked convincing indeed, but she had fought many sorcerers. Such weaving of the Force called to it an indescribable tension, like the coming of a storm. This, she felt the power, but it did not weave into the fabric of the universe and twist it into submission. Something was off- Knives.

The purpose of small blades was never to kill, but to debilitate. She reacted before she could think, the Force guiding her by the habits of self-preservation. Swiftly, she ducked sideways into a roll. Her body made an imprint on the dust, but in that moment she did not care. The knife sailed past, cutting the sole of her boot, but nothing more. Yet, all too close for comfort.

In an instant, The Pale was back to her feet her form semi-translucent against the background. As she rose, fluently without pause, she drew a knife of her own and flicked it in the direction of Abyss. The blade whirred with super-sonic vibrations as it flew towards him, completely visible. Her throw was nothing compared to his. Nor was the weapon as perfectly formed for throwing. However, a spark of electrical energy flew from her fingertip, chasing the vibroweapon. When it connected with the knife's metallic components, the sonic emitter in the vibrodagger's hilt would overload and explode.

By then, it was hopefully closer to Abyss than Ophidia.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

That [member="Darth Ophidia"] managed to evade his little projectile was as displeasing as it was expected. Abyss had seen many master of the force fight at their peak, but neither of them had rivaled the speed and agility possessed by the aspect of Death. Even his deception had not granted him an easy hit, and while the marks left on the ground were a clear sign that he had caught her somewhat of guard, the lack of blood and pain revealed that he still had been to slow for his master over years forged and perfected reflexes.

The knife thrown by Ophidia managed to surprise him. Not that he was the only assassin in the galaxy that preferred such weapons, but in his studies he had figured that his master was more upfront and personal when it camer to a duel from sith lord to sith lord. It took him a second to realize that the small, sharp weapon was not the true danger of the attack, but the blast of lightning following after it. The knife itself would've been no challenge at all to him, it was far from the first time, even before his transformation, that he had been able to simply catch such a weapon in flight and use against the opponent that had thrown it.

This time the spell was real, the tome attached to his chain suddenly jumping into the air and its pages turning rapidly while the weapon was still in motion. His twisted words echoed over the battlefield, as power, given form by the ancient language of the old lords, burned into the pages, runes painted with a mix of blood and ink shimmering in crimson light. Reality itself submitted to his voice and to his left hand that rested besides the corrupted book.

"Tnamli ra ir Svistuis ra." ("Unbend and Unbroken")

It was neither the most powerful nor the most complex spell Abyss had bound to the Tome of Twisted Ink, but it was easily one of the most useful. In itself not more than a slightly more elegant version of summoning a protective bubble around himself, it didn't required nearly as much focus on the technique as the force was guided by the words and runes embedded into his book.

Considering that he had casted a spell it was quite surprising how fast it came into effect, but not as fast as lightning and a knife thrown by a master assassin. The bubble consumed most of the impact, but it closed around him aftert the explosion had already touched him. Almost soundless the metal demon stumbled a few steps back, his chest plates marked by remnants of heat and kinetic energy. Yet these damages only scrapped on the surface, leaving no real damage at all. The human Abyss would've broken a rip or two, but to the new Abyss it was merely a slight cut.

"You can step out of the shadows now master, they can not hide your from my all seeing eye. I always thought you to be many things, but never a coward."

There was little meaning to his words, in fact it was only the first cautious step along the long path that was the art of Dun Möch, an art Abyss had master alongside mentalism and the perception of the past. It would take more than a single petty insult to break her focus, but time and persistence often made the deciding factors in the game of words. Slowly the metal figure made a few steps backwards, with the intend to bring more room between them, while again whispering twisted words to his tome of dancing pages. If this spell would be an actual arcane assault or yet another layer of deception was up to his master.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Dün Moch, a time-honoured tradition and a slow poison of words that could wear down many a strong warrior. However, it was difficult to find the right words, even for an experienced wordsmith. This was one of the reasons Ophidia lived her life in such obscurity; if none knew her fears, her secrets, her disappointments, then they would be fumbling in the dark. Abyss had, however, remarked on something very general. It was a good approach. There were replies she could speak, but her lips were otherwise occupied.

She had expected him to stop the dagger. Such tricks were tools for buying time and taking her opponent off guard at best. Some things the Pale kept from all of her apprentices until they were ready, and Darth Ophidia still had a handful of cards Abyss had never seen. Or at least not something he ought to expect to find in her deck; Abyss was not alone in his sorceries.

"Sutta Chituskak." Bolt of hatred.

There were those who were better at sorcery than herself, Abyss himself was probably among them. However, Ophidia had mastered exactly two spells, and this was one. In the moments following the explosion of her dagger, her nimble hands weaved with practised accuracy and rolled the Force into a fatal weapon.

What was it she hated?
It would be wiser to ask what she did not hate.
All things that spoke, that crawled out of the mud and breathed air, all that broke the silence.

She held for a moment as the smoke and shrapnel cleared around the opaque bubble that surrounded her apprentice. Her eyes narrowed and air escaped over her lips in a controlled stream. Her right hand held back, holding on to an invisible spear of hatred. The moment his bubble opened up, she would throw the bolt.

No words for now, but eyes intent on destruction.
Honour?
Courage?
Only fools held on to such notions.

[member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Darth Abyss]

It took Abyss not even a second the recognize the words and the gestures of [member="Darth Ophidia"]. The Bolt of hatred was a common arcane technique, or at least as common as something belonging in such a obscure art as sith magic could be. He had read about it various times, often linked to Freedon Nadd and his cult the Naddist which had either created or at least perfected the spell. Had she truly thought that a Scholar that had dedicated much of his life to the study of the ancient lords was not perfectly aware of what she was doing?

The book that been levitating in the air returned to his belt in an instant, the sith lord hurling his metal shell towards his right side once the bubble of protective force around him died down again. Not a second to late. He could feel as the pure, focused spear of darkness passed by him, only mere centimeters apart from his left shoulder. The kinetic energy of his evade ended in a light stumble, but before he even did so much as slip his left raised into the air again, a telekinetic grip straightening the stance of his own body in the matter of a split second.

"Are you trying to amuse me with your little magic tricks master?"

The mocking, broken laugh that followed had little in common with that of a man. More noise than anything else, distorted echoes layered upon each other into a dissonant cacophony that jarred over the battlefield. From each of his sleeves a object suddenly jumped into his hands. In his right a purple blade came to life, the saber held in front of him in a defensive position. The object in his left was far more interesting.

"Tu'iea akute gal buti gtukvi, chaosas buti visa anas valia buti imyeji" ("Your eyes can be deceived, chaos is all that will be perceived")

The chain of a small pocket watch and also focus point for the arcane arts wrapped around his hand, the watch itself slowly swinging from side to side. He had dubbed it the Everlasting Clockwork, and imbued it with many hidden tricks. One was the seductive pull of the object, catching the sight of those caught by it so he could cast his power upon them. Another was the spell he had just spoken, a mental attack forged to disrupt the perception of those looking at the clock.

Yet it was just another trick. While his master would clearly feel the slow onset of his spell, the effect itself would be at the absolute minimum as his artifact could only unfold its true potential over prolonged exposure. Hopefully she would simply believe that his spell lacked the desired strength to affect her mind. Slowly he stepped forward, the clock still oscillating on his left. Then there was a sudden movement. The blade in his left, still to far away from her to land a hit pointed at her, a finger on his right pushing a small hidden button in the hilt. From the tip of the purple blade a sonic blast was released, aimed at her chest.