The small communicator resting on top of a shelf, away from its power station, lit up the darkened room and produced a quiet, but pleasant melody reminiscent of ancient music heard in theatrical plays. A serene, yet haunting melody, entirely fitting for the atmosphere the room had. Tapping it once the Sith, Atlas, viewed the screen, leaving it on top of the shelf as he stood there, a bowl of old, re-heated Hoi-broth with a few boiled topatoes thrown in for good measure in hand. He skimmed the contents of the message the small device displayed quickly. Curious, the Khil from Gravlex Med wished to speak to him? Well, there was no reason to deny him this request. He was being quite a bit boulder than his peers by contacting Atlas, someone usually very averse to social encounters. It spoke of his courage, or perhaps foolishness. Either way, they might both learn a little more about these mysterious stones during this meeting. Setting down the Hoi-broth on the small table that doubled as his nightstand he tapped in a few words into his personal holo-computer, a reminder to meet this Tsisaar on the day he'd requested. With that out of the way, he returned his attention to the stale soup slowly cooling on the table.
A few days later a louder, more aggressive noise rang through the small room. Its unwelcome melody brought Atlas out of his slumber and into the realm of the living once more, interrupting the rare commodity that eluded him too often. Grumbling he turned in bed, momentarily blinded by the bright light the holodisplay projected into his eyes. Once his eyes adjusted he tapped the large button labelled "sleep" without giving it much thought. A message displayed itself on his screen "Tsisaar Taral - Bastion Temple". It took his tired mind a few moments to recognise what the string of words meant and when he did he could only grumble more. Standing up, he left the cold mattress behind to prepare himself for the meeting that had been arranged by the Khil. He only spent a few moments in the refresher, putting on the familiar tattered white robes and armour plates afterwards. He was already out the door when he remembered it may be wise to bring his own stone to this meeting.
A few hours later he found himself at the Sith Temple on Bastion, having stopped only briefly along the way to catch a quick bite of a Sithwhich, a most popular dish with servants of the Empire. It gave him a little strength to survive the day, yet the miserable feeling of pain and sleeplessness remained fairly prevalent in his mind. It was a fact of life by now, a time without it was a distant memory. But it was something he could drown out by focusing on more important matters. On his way to the fairly secluded training room the Sith didn't meet a single soul, something he thanked the Force for. He was not at all in the mood for idle conversation or chit-chat with inconsequential acolytes and knights, or worse, some of the Lords. It also left him with the time to admire the few works of art the academy had collected, one piece in particular caught his attention, enough so to make him stop for a moment to admire it.
It was a curious piece, depicting several open graves on either side of a walkway that spanned the entirety of the middle of the painting, from bottom to top, until it reached a black statue drawn in most beautiful detail. Something about the scene resonated with Atlas, a memory of what he'd acquired on Pho'phea. His expression grew grimmer and he turned his gaze, resuming the path to the chambers he was expected in.
Moments later he arrived at the door, allowing it to open before him to reveal the waiting Khil inside the training room.
"You requested my presence, ashen Acolyte."
[member="Tsisaar Taral"]
