The Art of Asking Questions

[Ras'kala'han]

Open Space​

Pirate Territory​

​

They were all dead - every last one of them, to the man. When he had landed in the hangar of the space station, the wounds were to be expected - blaster shots, the scorch mark of grenades. But as Antherion drifted idly on his hoverchair through the former criminal base, the bodies began to get interesting. Of course, they had lain there for years - their skin was pulling tightly over their bodies, their eyes had already congealed and bubbled over - but that didn't hide the sheer fear in their expressions. These corpses were etched with absolute terror.

If he weren't a Sith, he would be retching and sick with the stench, but Antherion knew that the most foul corpses could grow the most beautiful flowers. And, if you were there, you wouldn't see him intent on his surroundings. Just like what had lead the man here - pale-skinned, bleached-seeming hair - he was staring past his surroundings, at the swirling visions that only he could see. This was his true power: The Force revealed.

He paused, gazing into the void. His precognition was coming more freely now - an irony, given that his power had never worked with this clarity. It seemed that as he lost his ability to move in the physical realm, with the atrophy of his legs, he gained more in his ability to see through it.

"A Zabrak... an avenger. A murderer." He pondered aloud, heedless of the dead. His voice filled the silent halls where screams once echoed. "I wonder what will bring you back to the scene of the crime, hm?"

| [member="Thall Marr"] |

 

[grammaticus]

The freighter Shadow Lady exited hyperspace, its aged hull creaking from the sudden deceleration. Seated in the pilots chair, Ibrahm locked the ships trajectory, setting course for the hangar of the station. Floating in the void, it appeared to be derelict, just as he had left it. It had been years since he had set eyes on this place, and even now it still brought back dark memories. He had killed everyone there that day, but he had left a sensor behind, to tell him if anyone ever returned. Standing, he walked to the door of the cockpit, thumbing open the control panel and heading down the hall. Along the way, he stopped at the armory he kept on board, grabbing a pair of blaster pistols, as well as his favored rifle.

As he was finishing arming himself, he felt the ship shake, before coming to a rest. Walking down the hall, Ibrahm ducked his head as one of the overhead lights exploded, sending sparks and glass shards everywhere. Cursing, Ibrahm dusted the pieces off his sleeve, continuing down the hall. The bloody ship was falling apart, and Ibrahm did not have the credits left to fix it. As he lowered the ships ramp, he had to briefly cover his nose, as the stench of the place flooded his senses. "I forgot how bad this place smelled." As he walked down the ramp, he had to step over the body of a long dead pirate. "The bodies don't help either, really..." Bringing the rifle up, he set out, looking for whoever it was who set off the sensor.

[member="Antherion"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion paused for a moment, pursing his lips and closing his eyes. Things were proceeding as he had foreseen, but that wasn't enough for him. He believed in more than just perceiving the future - he must create the future. There were countless branching possibilities that were rapidly converging as the Darksider grew closer to him, and his next actions would determine which one became the dominant future. He weighed his options, and decided that strength such as this was too ambitious and overwhelming to be left out of hand, or out of control.

That means that this adept, talented and powerful, must be made his.

Hearing footsteps clattering on the harsh, metal floor, Antherion opened the door with a wave of his hand as Ibraham approached it. Unlike the flickering, electric-lit hallways of the space station, the bridge deck was bathed in darkness, Antherion visible only as a shadowy silhouette hovering in the midst of rotting corpses.

"Welcome." He said, his voice cool and clear. "I've been expecting you."

 

[grammaticus]

Ibrahm snapped around, the rifle rising up and locking on the figure. his appearance gave him pause however. "You don't look like a pirate. Who are you." As he spoke, Ibrahm kept his eyes moving around the room they were in, looking for any other possible threats or enemies. He doubted this an was a real threat, and suspected he was likely being used as bait.

"You have been expecting me?"

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"Of course I've been expecting you. There have been eyes on you ever since the massacre - of all of them, mine the closest." Their meeting was by-and-large coincidental, of course, and he doubted that an adept could have drawn too much attention over a short time period - even a powerful one. The lie came easily, though, and worked to impress several things - Antherion was powerful, part of a larger design, and that the young man before him was of privileged importance. When you take a look at it, half of being a true Sith Lord was simply seeming the part at the right times.

"Not that you swept out the trash - " He motioned to the bodies around them, "- but rather how you swept it out. Such power, used in such excess creates 'ripples', so to speak. For those attuned, it's a simple matter to follow to the source." He pointed then, in a pointed fashion, at Ibraham. "And that source is you."

That much was truth. What's more, if a youth like this didn't bring their power under control, it would be easy for a perceptive Jedi or Sith to snatch him up, or even snuff him out if he crossed his paths. Such a waste for such a potent source of carnage.

"I am Antherion. I have no doubt you have questions. I have - I am - the answers you have been waiting for."

| [member="Corin Zanith"] |

 

[grammaticus]

Ibrahm grunted, lowering the rifle in his hands. "Alright, Antherion, what answers have I been waiting for, exactly." He didn't much trust this man, and even his untrained connection to the force told him this man was strong, and a risk.

Even now, Ibrahm was slowly angling himself towards the door, in case he had to make a tactical withdraw if things turned ugly.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion noted a bit of tension in the acolyte. This was good, this was promising - a bit of caution and a bit of boldness in equal measure would do well. His suspicion was natural, and now that he could look him in the eye, it was apparent that power shined from this one - this was too good an opportunity to let slip away. Antherion made a slight gesture and a few switches out of sight flipped - the electronically controlled doors behind Ibrahm ground shut, and the lights flickered on - a dull, fluorescent glow that cast them in a dreamlike, artificial hue.

Now that they could see one another clearly, Ibrahm would be able to make out the frail figure, unsuited for any sort of physical activity - almost sickly looking - in pressed, white robes.

"Energy demands an outlet. Fire demands to burn. Power comes forth the strongest when it has a use - especially when that use is violent." Steepling his fingers, the Sith shifted slightly, a smile playing across his lips. "I'm offering you a higher purpose. You were born with something that makes you special - now you have an opportunity to take your rightful place."

"That place can be Sith. All you need to do is tell me what you want."

| [member="Corin Zanith"] |

 

[grammaticus]

The moment the doors closed, Ibrahm brought his rifle back up to firing position. 'He's a Jedi! Probably wants to arrest me, or even kill me..' But as the lights came on, and the figure began to speak once more, Ibrahm slowly allowed himself to relax once more, however, he kept the rifle trained on the figure.

"What do I want? I want to be stronger, more powerful than anyone else. If I become strong, then no one can hurt me, right? And if I can kill anyone in my way, I will not need to be afraid."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

The darksider tilted his head, a curious expression on his face. The wheels in his mind turned as he assessed the well-armed Zabrak that stood before him - strangely enough, a Zabrak that was more at ease now that he knew he was a Sith. Perhaps he simply felt that he was among a kindred spirit. He quickly ran through mental options on what action would be best to take if this adept opened fire - this would require a degree of care, since it was far from him to effortlessly deflect a hail of bolts at will. Best to anticipate - he began scanning the alien thoroughly, his relaxed-seeming gaze watching vigilantly for tensions in the muscle that would signal an imminent attack.

He seeks freedom from fear, and a defense against the world. When one sees enemies everywhere, usually it points to one of several things: paranoia, trauma, or powerful enemies. None of these things are useful to me.

He sighed weightily, drumming his fingers against his hoverchair with idle expression. "Who doesn't want safety, security? Do you think that not wanting to be hurt is the key that will open the doors of Korriban? Even mundane mortals spend their entire lives constructing a careful armor of lies to insulate themselves from hurt, never leaving their comfort zone."

"If all you are doing is scrambling to protect yourself, you can only react - not act. When you are only on the defensive, you will open yourself up to greater harm. In the end, the pain will never cease. You will die a thousand deaths before someone finally kills you - even at the end of that road of terror, the only power you will find will prolong your torment."

He smiled, ever so slightly. "Is that your truth? Is that all you are? Or, tell me, is there something more that you want. Anything. Don't hold back, it won't protect you if you censor yourself."

| [member="Corin Zanith"] |