A New Term (Force Training)

[Professor Mors]

***Mustafar System, Atravis Sector, Grid Coordinates L-19***

It was with great trepidation that Sa’ato discarded his survival suit and stepped out onto the smoldering wastes of the Burning Plains. Mustafar was a hell-sphere of heat and magma no matter where one turned, but the professor had chosen this particular continent for his exercises given the extreme thinness of its igneous crust. The stability of the Plains was constantly in flux, and when its tectonics shifted, plumes of fire, born of trapped gases, blazed hungrily into being. So it was that the Neti stood and waited, his senses trained on the unstable ground below. Finally a minor quake reverberated beneath him, and the first column of crimson energy shot forth.

[Begin Pyrokinesis Application]

Reaching out with his hand, and with the Force, every plant-like fiber of Sa'ato’s body begged him to withdraw his digits to safety. His mental radar pinged rapidly that danger lay ahead- and he had to fight to maintain his resolve. Slowly, he reached out further, gasping with distress as the boundary of his energy field met with the billowing lash of fire. All at once, the two energies repulsed and attacked one another, the professor’s fear quickly enveloping his mind, in turn. A shower of sparks threatened his wrist as the rippling pillar expanded and thrashed angrily at his interference, and the Neti immediately took a step back.

Sa’ato growled and ran a finger along the scarred patch of flesh on his face. It itched with memory, and pain. It itched any time he was reminded of the inferno that destroyed his home, and the woman he had shared it with. And he was afraid, very afraid. But his Sith masters had no use for a coward, and after so many years, the academic refused to live the rest of his days cowering from the elements. His fear gave way to frustration. Frustration that boiled into anger, and then white hot rage: rage at the circumstances that scarred him so, rage at his own powerlessness.

Balling his free hand into a tight fist, the Neti silently bid his body to obey one simple command: forward. Likewise, he worked to sheath his right hand and arm in the Force. Reaching out once more, and fueled by his focused wrath, Sa’ato succeeded in piercing the veil of fire with his limb, only to frown. He was shielding himself, but he was not truly bending the flame to do his bidding. Closing his eyes, he let the field of his essence clash with nature’s own fury once again. Trying to grapple it into submission with his thoughts quickly proved futile. It was like trying to catch smoky fumes with one’s bare hands.

No, if the professor was to claim victory over the smoldering foe, he needed to become inseparable from the fire. Painstakingly, he allowed his defenses of his mental field to weaken, shrink, and crumble away like bits of so much sandstone. Nausea plagued the teacher next. The sheer speed of the energy was immense. Absorbing and redirecting lasers was one thing. All the particles moved more or less in the same direction. To accomplish the same feat here, Sa’ato fought reign in the chaos- to establish that his will, the microscopic elements of his being, were the driving force behind the otherwise inscrutable dance of cinders.

And yet, little by little, he was able to outnumber each flaming speck with one of his own, and claim dominance over the metaphysical herd. With a majority achieved, the Neti’s eyes snapped open, and with a determined growl, he thrust his hand down toward the blackened earth and forcefully slammed the sizable tongue of flame back from whence it came. Chuckling from a wave of like-adrenaline, the professor took no reprieve, and manically crushed his hands together before shutting his eyes once more. He had tasted the momentum that was needed, had become one with the chaos that leveled forests and melted the hardest of metals.

Not bothering to exercise the same caution with his other techniques, the academic let the Force fly free of his palms unchecked, and could sense a murky cloud of raw, unbridled energy condense around his limbs. The air trapped within became his hostage, his fuel, and the tool of his intention. Sa’ato infected the very molecules themselves with his thoughts, his unbroken will to know and master all. And he did not much like to be kept waiting. An annoyed surge of emotion crackled fiercely down his elbows and out through his fingertips, until at last, a new, but familiar heat pressed against his skin.

Opening his hands, the Neti could not fight the smile of sheer, malevolent glee that dotted his features, as he gaped in awe at the tiny puff of flame suspended before him, by him. Yes, there was no room for fear, no room at all…

[End Pyrokinesis Application, 693 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Centares, Maldrood Sector, Grid Coordinates R-7***

Though once a lush and vibrant world, Sa’ato had been alive long enough to mark the decline of Centares from a premier site of civilization to an overmined, backwater mudhole. He had once visited Rubyflame Lake when it was known by another, forgotten name. Now, its unnaturally acidic waters served as little more than a deterrent for bar fights in the vicinity of Malmuk’s Cantina. The Neti had only returned to the world and this lackluster place of nourishment to meet with a potential Sith informant. Having arrived early, he had little more to do than study his datapad and wait. Wait, and continue to hone his senses in the Force.

[Begin Surveillance Application]

Not looking for any one thing in particular, the professor allowed the curious tendrils of his thoughts to arc out from the crown of his head and permeate the air like the branches of a wroshyr tree. Without too much concentration, the sinuous extensions of his mind quickly honed in on the building’s temperature, humidity, and even the direction of the breezy draft gusting in from an open window. Centering himself to a slightly greater degree, Sa’ato worked to trace more minute energy signatures.

The heat and froth of the drink dispensers, the water pressure of the prep sink, and the dynamic spark of the Force that gave the ceiling lamps their power all rippled noticeably amongst his senses. Likewise, just as Sa’ato could figuratively sniff out the active sources of energy, he could also detect where they were lacking. The metal detector by the door, for example. The radiating light strip at the top of the console gave the illusion of an active unit, but the Neti was able to penetrate the main scanning unit from across the room. He detected not an ounce of energy with his feelings. A bluff to ward off violent patrons, he guessed.

And then there were the patrons themselves. The myriad cloud of emotion was not easy to differentiate at first. Like some aurora out of a frozen landscape, the various thieves, crooks, and bystanders all contributed threads of vibrant color in the Force, constantly mixing and clashing with one another. Without purposeful concentration, separating out each individual strand would be next to impossible. But like some seismic scanner, the flow of the Living Force would arch and flare up when conflict ensued. So it was that the professor instinctively snapped his gaze to a spilled drink and near-altercation at the bar proper.

The heightened swell of energy lingered even after the two disgruntled men ceased with their angry stare-down. Sa’ato shifted about in his seat as a chill went down his spine. The man on the receiving end of the downed drink radiated violent, nigh-murderous energy. Without too much effort, the academic was able to roughly pinpoint the swirl of passionate energy building on the interloper’s body, evenly distributed along what the professor guessed was his dominant arm. Half-seriously returning to his reading, the Neti thought he might try and spiral his thoughts out under the doorstop, when his body stiffened with anticipation.

A gyre of energy was building in the adjacent corner of the watering hole, pulling the Force to its epicenter like a magnet hauls in iron sand. Attuned as he was, even the professor could not ignore the call of the cosmos. Something was happening, and as Sa’ato floated his mind in that direction he smirked as he identified the sight of the prenatal disturbance in the Force. The sabacc table. Obscured by a pair of curious Makurth, the Neti could not look at the table with his eyes, but his thoughts and feelings led him to the player serving as the impetus of what was to come. Even from a distance, the professor could sense the underdog’s fear, anxiety, and desperation.

Like all else, they fed the tumbling whirlpool of chance and fate. Only the professor knew what was to come. In an instant, the blue and red roulette came up- shift. All the collecting momentum of the Living Force then surged directly onto the down-on-their-luck in a single instant. From such a fierce spike over a simple game of cards, Sa’ato knew the outcome before the amazed onlookers called out, “Idiot’s Array!”: the strongest hand possible. The Neti smirked in satisfaction as he felt a tidal wave of fresh and conflicting emotion wash over the players and audience, content in the knowledge that he had gained something from the lone player’s victory, and their opponent’s shared defeat.

[End Surveillance Application, 640 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Yavin 4, Gordian Reach, Grid Coordinates P-6***

Sa’ato hollered and retched with reckless abandon as he wobbled feebly on the stone floor, his body stiff and all but devoid of momentum as several cc’s of pelko toxin coursed through this chlorophyll-clogged arteries. Of course, the professor might have taken a more sane recourse and lowered the dose, but he knew even as he had injected himself that there was only one way to achieve results. The stakes had to be high, much higher than a simple field test. So it was that he began to fight for his life in a private chamber, forbidding any assistance from the temple attendants. And in truth, the academic did not expect any offer of help anyways. It was not the Sith way.

[Begin Detoxify Poison Application]

First things first, Sa’ato had to get a grip on the Force itself. The boundary of his essence shuddered and grew slippery as the poison ravaged his system; and as he fought to keep his field of energy intact, there were moments where the Neti thought that it, and his body, would literally burst and wither away. The Neti felt fear, not of death itself, but the slow, paralyzing agony the pelko tincture would inflict upon him. But he was not dead yet, and while he drew breath, the retired teacher was determined to best this internal foe. That ambition fueled his passion, offering him fleeting moments of clarity with which to slowly construct his Force Shield.

Like a laurel wreath, the Neti devoted all his mental might to winding uncorrupted coils of the Living Force around the top of his head. From there, it was as if the weakened professor was patching up a worn synthcotton doll. Stitching the purer yarn of the cosmos through his throbbing, oaken skin, Sa’ato worked to strengthen each and every nerve in his body to the wellspring of natural energy that existed just outside it. And while he could not completely dispel the pain, he could lower the physical sensation just enough to think straight.

Indeed, the lingering, burning discomfort only drove the wandering teacher to greater determination as he closed his eyes in meditation. Tracking the toxin coursing through his system was like trying to spot a needle in a Rylothian firestorm, yet little by little, the sickly purple hue of Sa’ato’s microscopic invader blinked in and out of his mind's eye while he scanned his body up and down. This was a violent thing, an unthinking existence whose sole drive to kill and destroy registered clearly against the Neti’s more objective presence in the Force.

And thus like stars against an otherwise dark sky, the professor steadily came to recognize the energy trace of the toxin. He could not give names or values to the elements he sensed, but he could feel the potency of his would-be killer, the density of its fluid mass wriggling through his own, and the speed with which it traveled. Gathering each lethal speck with his feelings, Sa’ato growled hoarsely as he attempted to stop the particles in their tracks. To his minor disappointment, the atomic material of the poison would not halt entirely, but for all its efforts it had clearly slowed down. A good method to slow the progression of his intoxication, though hardly a permanent solution.

No, for that, the Neti would have to physically vaporize the toxin entirely. Using the Force like a radioactive therapy, he would disintegrate the invisible bonds that held each droplet of toxic liquid intact. It would be brief, and intense, perhaps even painful at first, but it had to be down. Using want strength remained in his limbs, Sa’ato balled two tight fists and sent steady puffs of CO2 out of his various pores as he absorbed the Living Force around him like a sponge. Gorging himself on it's incorrigible energy, the Neti labored to inflict his will upon the essence of his surroundings with the host of his thoughts: seek, destroy, banish.

One by one, infinitesimal tentacles born of the Force lashed out at the virulent beads of poison searing through the professor’s interior. Sa’ato winced and curled his lips inward as each bubble of toxin was diffused from existence with its own microcosmic disturbance to boot. The act of unmaking this lethal entity took a physical toll, and plagued the professor with a different sort of soreness flecked with patches of numbed muscle. And yet, when he opened his eyes, weary as he was, the Neti could sense that the threat had passed. The Force had guarded him from a grisly end, and Sa’ato hoped that with practice, it would feel free to do so with greater brevity.

[End Detoxify Poison Application, 653 Words]

[Professor Mors]

It did not take long to adjust one of the aged training amphitheaters into a makeshift maze, nor was Sa’ato delayed in his project by a lack of Sithspawn. The mutilated amalgamation of flesh was purposely imperfect: it knew nothing of speech, but it could feel pain, fear, and the other basic stimuli necessary to the professor’s next experiment in the Force. To touch the mind of another being and impart information, to communicate on the most basic level. There would be no suggestion involved. The Neti would merely relay his thoughts of caution, danger, and violence to the beast to encourage the appropriate reaction for the required tasks. It’s mind would accept willingly, given the otherwise absence of thought.

[Begin Telepathy Application]

From a vantage point above, Sa’ato extended his sinuous fingers as a foci for his thoughts and the raiment of the Living Force that draped about his person. First, he conjured thoughts of boredom, idleness, malaise. Almost to the point of self-frustration, he weaved such abstract thoughts and feelings about in his mind, as if to create a ball of synthyarn from sheer dejection. Then, like a child blowing a bubble from out a hoop, the Neti inclined his head forward ever so slightly to communicate his loathsome transmission down to the mindless brute. For a moment, the beast caught a shiver, it’s dull eyes blinking as the most basic of messages was absorbed by its oblong head.

And then, so spurred by the anonymous communique, it began to traipse forward. Sa’ato would have even smiled for the promise of this start, had the bothersome oaf not developed the unpredictable spark of an idea to trundle back the way it came. The Professor sighed, in light of this initial failure and the next step he had to take. Digging deep within his psyche, the Neti summoned his happiest memories- and specifically, those he could never repeat. The day of his wedding, long nights at the opera with his late wife- simply waking up and feeling like there was some sense of inherent purpose to the Galaxy. Then, he drew on his pain.

Sa’ato recalled the night of the fire, the madness of his lover’s death, the countless hours spent wheezing and dazed below a cruel moon. Almost bristling with agony, the academic outstretched a second hand, and worked to channel the depths of his sorrow into the boorish abomination. Within moments, it let slip a whinnying moan of dismay, stamping its cloven feet in anguish before finally turning about of its own volition. The Neti could not celebrate for long however. A reverse method would be required to help the creature navigate the various twists and turns in the maze.

To accomplish this, the professor returned his mind to easier times. Not anything remotely related to romance, but small idiosyncrasies that brought satisfaction to the retired academic. The moments the rarest of his plants bloomed, the climax of various symphonies he enjoyed. Every time the Sithspawn cocked its wretched head in the proper direction, Sa’ato would transmit positive, enthusiastic thoughts straight into its artificial synapse. When the chimerical being looked as if it would take a wrong turn however, the Neti summoned the sum of all his fears- the tantalizing bite of fire, or the suffocating grip of absolute zero. This dissuaded any incorrect decisions on the mindless hulk’s part.

Still, one last obstacle remained. A basic combat training droid at the end of the maze, incapable of injuring the soulless mass but articulate enough to bar it from the exit. At first, the professor manifested his rage, his scholarly failures, the faculty that had grated his nerves, and funneled the emotion of it all in through the beasts malformed ears and winding up through its skull. This could provoke it to violence, but its motions were sloppy, disorganized. The droid had a built-in weak spot just below its chrome cranium- but trying to convey that with limited means was aggravatingly troublesome.

Then, all at once, Sa’ato engineered a solution. He summoned the embrace of a nurturing sun, the chill from a skyward gust of wind. The professor thought of light, and rain, and all of the phenomena of the heavens that would inspire his clueless ward to turn his gaze up. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a twisted sort of innocence, the creature followed the images and sensations the Neti had sent him. In one last triumphant burst, the Neti called forth all the primal ferocity he could muster, sending a murderous cacophony of encouragement to the beast on a one to one ratio. Finally, the fatal blow was struck, the droid shut down, and the maze was complete.

Amazingly, the spawn began to look about, from wall to wall. Not, Sa’ato realized, seeking out a new task, but rather, looking for the source of the guidance. Looking for a speaker that had not uttered a single word...

[End Telepathy Application, 702 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Myrkr, Inner Rim, Grid Coordinates N-7***

Sa’ato was not given to sentiment: at least, not overtly. His species’ scattered history helped the professor distance himself from the material decadence he noted in other races. That said, the ancient forests of Myrkr were known to his kind, and the Neti’s kin did make pilgrimage from time to time. So it was that the teacher had come to pay a visit to his ancestors’ adopted homeworld, though his aesthetic quest was far more concrete than spiritual. The native olbio tree was lauded for its blooms in Neti literature, and was partially responsible for these occasional visits from off-world juveniles. The other, more logical rationale was the extreme difficulty involved in removing one of the thin deciduous plants from their home.

Sa’ato, for his part, sought a middle path between the two extremes. This was his third trip to gather bio samples in the hope of cross-breeding a hybrid between the olbio and Arkanian whitethorn. Unfortunately, not only had fresh seedlings been irritatingly scarce, but having wandered some distance from his ship, the professor was overcome with a foreboding sensation. Someone, or something was out there, and it meant to harm the put-upon teacher. No matter how much he searched however, the would-be-Sith could not detect any life in his immediate vicinity. It was then that a cruel thesis formed in his mind: the hunter might be using the very same tools as he.

[Begin Sense Force User Application]

Sa’ato was not completely unprepared to dance this articulate dance. Channeling his essence down toward his feet, he blanketed the endpoint of his limbs and the surrounding earth with his mark in the Force as one drapes cloth round the base of a Life Day tree. From there, the academic funneled his most basic survival instincts into an invisible spike that began to plow through the soil before him in search of his impending foe. After some zigging and zagging, the Neti shuddered and cried out with surprise as the positive stream of his thoughts seemingly ricocheted off another psychic tendril, identical in texture but spiritually distinct from the teacher’s own probe.

Grimacing in concentration, Sa’ato gave chase to the palpable thread of energy, catching it again by luck and attempting to foist his mind up the ethereal stalk to its origin. It was slow going. Not only did the owner of the mental disturbance dart about in the physical realm with fierce speed, but each time it fought back against the Neti’s intentions, his very soul felt fuzzy and dazed. It was then he realized a potent obstacle. The retired teacher was registering bursts of the Living Force, but by throttling these microcosms with his thoughts, he had failed up until now to truly identify the unique signature of the rogue lifeform- a lifeform that clearly had some mastery of the Force itself.

And just the Neti was about to change his tactics, the link between himself and the unknown entity was broken so violently it knocked the professor down into the muck. The Force, no, some great wound or absence in the Force had snapped the connection like a twig. Dumbfounded by this, Sa’ato carefully let his mind creep back in the direction of the psychic boom, his limbs shivering with acute discomfort as his thoughts scraped in vain along what felt like a large, impenetrable bubble. The teacher shut his eyes in meditation for a moment, processing this anomaly, before tilting his head back and releasing a shrill chuckle. The ysalamiri! Of course!

They were the source of the disconnect, to be sure. But more importantly, their crude, nullifying sphere within the Force gave Sa’ato just the control he needed! He drank deeply of the spiritual absence they created as a defense mechanism, and burned its cold, almost lifeless signature into his memory. From there, he set out on the search once more: and this time, he rediscovered his foe much more quickly. Ripples in the Force echoed through the back of the Neti’s oaken head. The creature was using the Force to enhance its movements. But more than that, it was the way it did it, the unknowable figures of the beast’s unique motion physics, informed by the Force, that told the teacher this was the same stalker from before.

Seemingly aware the hunter had become the hunter, the creature leapt high into the air, and sought refuge in the vine-ridden canopy of the trees. It was then that Sa’ato experienced a sort of deja vu. Were his senses failing him? Or was the beast projecting doubles of itself? No, not doubles. This penumbra of feeling, the Neti realized, was the phantom trace of other wielders of the Force. Like drops of condensation, the professor flicked small traces of his thoughts off of the main aggressor, thoroughly infecting the newcomers until he knew their own distinct presence in the Force, and the particular flair with which they each manipulated it.

So it was, when the trio of beasts closed in, Sa’ato did not look upon them with his mind’s eye as he would the flora or insects. Direction, time, and vision become irrelevant. All that remained was the concert of the four as they shaped the Force to suit their needs. The hunters, the professor inferred from their sloppy, overexerted command of the Force, were pack beasts, vornsks. At that moment, he did not confirm the outline of the quadrupedal form, only the confluence of psionic energy as all three launched themselves down from the tree line. And, for a moment, Sa’ato thought he could detect a quivering in the energy field of each as he let plumes of pure aggression burst from his aura.

[End Sense Force User Application, 708 Words]

In an instant, the professor activated the flamethrower mounted on his wrist, and calling on the Physical Force, sent a winding, miniature firestorm whipping across an intersect vector towards the three clueless pups. Suffice to say, the impact was immediate, and effective. One managed to avoid being flash-fried on the spot. It whinnied and whimpered in pain and fear, and Sa’ato followed it with his thoughts for some time. To let the victory sink in on the craven beast, and test the limits of his newfound skill.

[Professor Mors]

Sa’ato hissed with anger as another unruly sample of crystal detonated in front of him, spraying needle-like fragments across his workstation and into an unfortunate power droid that was loitering nearby. For two days now he had been hard at work priming a worthy chunk of Mustafarian gemstone for a smaller, more surgical light weapon. And for two days, the professor suffered failure after failure. But no more. This attempt would be the last, so help him, the Force would see the academic’s will accomplished. Releasing a choleric gust of oxygen, the retired teacher emptied his mind, and began to spray a thick chemical compound onto his next sample.

[Begin Alter Level 2 Application]

Within moments, the lurid cocktail of manufactured liquids reacted with the luminous gem, which crackled for a moment before spewing a cloud of toxic gas into the air. Rather than dive for cover, Sa’ato drank deeply of the poisonous mist, his thoughts swiftly moving to identify the virulent byproduct’s unique signature in the Force. He had no time to waste digging around for a rebreather. Instead, the Neti threaded each lethal molecule with his thoughts, and began to tug them out through his oaken skin like an angler working a line. Most of the gaseous material fizzled away upon reentering the outside air.

The more stubborn clumps, in contrast, were diligently sundered with a rueful pulse of the academic’s own energy field. Thus doused with acids of varying origin, the professor’s crystal subject was rendered more open to the persuasion of heat. With great haste, Sa’ato brought not one, but five laser scalpels to bear on the gem’s surface. Within moments, the inner cluster of the lava rock started to fight the invasion, and sent several smaller rays refracting out towards the Neti and his work station. Bathing his hands with the raw energy of the physical Force, the professor sent the first dozen threads of light whining down into the floor.

When the fractal discharge continued however, the academic grew weary of the exercise, and began to draw the offshoot beams directly into his sinuous fingers, letting them gradually dissipate in severity while traveling up his limbs. And then, once it became clear that the initial carving process would go on longer still, Sa’ato pressed his slender digits directly on the cracked outer layer of the gem, and forcefully siphoned out the stray power spikes at their source. Normally, the superheated exterior of igneous rock would have melted flesh like ice under a hot sun. But with the Force at his beck and call, the rippling waves of heat merely retreated out and away from the Neti’s hand.

At last, the imperfect sediment blocking the inner crystalline structure was gone, and the malleable stone within was ready for shaping. Letting his fingers dance across the knives of a recently-deceased jeweler, Sa’ato summoned the knowledge of a seasoned expert to the front of his mind, and slowly cut away at his specimen. He had to work quickly before the rigid bonds of the gem had the chance to set in. At times, a sliver no bigger than half a fingernail would curve or bend out of place. In those moments, the Neti had no choice but to inject his mental presence into the very quarks of the rock, bullying them into lying fallow in accordance with his will and the swell of the Force.

On other occassions, the prenatal gasp of a bubble would begin to form. In these instances, the professor would have to turn the tip of a single finger into a momentary blow-torch, or else cause his skin to jump in density. With some effort, the academic could alter a faux-thumb to emulate the toughness and stability of a durasteel anvil, or a well-balanced hammer. Throughout these various micro-adjustments, Sa’ato could not afford to concentrate the whole of his consciousness on any one fluctuation across the gem’s surface. Instead, he bade the Force to modify the very outline of his energy field.

Remodeling his physical presence in the cosmos to mimic a patch of wiry weeds sprouting along his chest, the professor let the hair-like tendrils scan and survey every minute change in the vicinity of his work station. It was not merely a matter of the senses, but rather a forceful, temporal reconstruction of his objective psyche on a physical, and metaphysical level. And it was tiring. Indeed, it required the professor to gorge himself on much of the Living Force that permeated the musty, underground tunnels in which he conducted his research. In time, the threads of Sa’ato mind quivered from fatigue, but likewise, with an added awareness.

The minute alterations were complete- the Neti could feel it, the very exertions of his thoughts were receding from the patches of his power made concrete within the gem’s interior. Returning to a more collected consciousness, Sa’ato eyed the smoldering gem, now in an all-but perfect diamond shape, barring a few fissures along an otherwise smoothed surface. To remedy this, the professor plunged the gem into a bubbling beaker to his immediate right, ruefully calling to the Force once more to scatter a puff of smoke from his sight. The vat contained synthetic kyber, mass-produced in the High Imperial era, and liquified by the Neti upon acquisition.

As the equivalent to geological drywall trickled into the cracks of the almost-completed gemstone, Sa’ato held a hand on either side of the container, and summoned all of his concentration. With one half of his mind, he formed an invisible shell around the precious rock, as well as the lucky liquid that managed to leak in, creating a barrier that kept the rest of the mixture from creating unnecessary calyces on the exterior. At the same time, with the remainder of his conscience, the professor began to spin the atomic backbone of the simmering drops outside the seal, causing them to spin faster, and grow hotter- and hotter.

It took some time and doing, but eventually, the mixture developed to a molten pitch, bubbling violently over the top of the beaker and immediately eating its way through the solid metal table. Gurgling along as it went, the small tide of liquid alloy nearly threatened the Neti’s person. He was not concerned however. Removing one hand but keeping the field around the soon-to-be heart of his newest blade, Sa’ato reversed the method of his original trick, painstakingly slowing the molecular dynamo of the crystalline tide, and causing it to slide slower, and slower still. Though it eventually extended out over the table, by then, the greater host had hardened to a standstill.

It was a pitiful, clear clifface of calcified rock by then, but the Neti cared not. Half-floating near the top of the mostly-solidified fusion of crystal and synthglass was the professor’s perfect, finished specimen. In a rare dramatic mood, the wandering lecturer let loose his previous frustrations, striking at the ruined container with Force-empower fingers in just the right areas to chip away small swathes of material. Somewhat crude, he sat back to observe the geometric display stand now born from a whim, with the shimmering lava crystal resting at its apex.

There was still the proper crafting of the shoto that remained to be seen. But for now, the Neti was content. Content, and in need of rest.

[End Alter Level 2 Application, 1,110 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***The Temple of Exar Kun, Lower Catacombs***

Sa’ato tutted with annoyance as his hand lamp gave a foreboding squeak. Was there a single piece of equipment from the Sith storehouse that wasn’t running on second-hand power cells?! Clearly, the time was now for a more reliable, and permanent solution. In a burst of rage, the Neti threw the faltering lamp to the floor, where it shattered on impact in a small cloud of sparks. The tunnel in which the professor found himself immediately went dark, but his mind was no less dimmed.

[Begin Create Light Application]

Like a budding ficus, Sa’ato extended an open hand up toward the unseen ceiling of the catacomb, encouraging his own living essence to surge and rise up along his fingertips. The photons which ferried light were no different from a radio frequency: all the Neti had to accomplish was forging his limb into an antennae, and sending the right coded response out through the Force.

Like small threads, or needles, he sent his thoughts lancing out from the points of his sinuous digits, five in total, which met at the apex of an invisible, pentagonal pyramid. With this accomplished, Sa’ato let his mind wander on instinct, calling on his subconscious bond with the Force to guide the flow of energy. For a few moments, the academic struggled to find the right tune to goad the particles to life.

Then, ever so slowly, the silent music of Force, conducted by the retired teacher, began to draw an audience. Closing his eyes, Sa’ato fought to increase his concentration. Even with his lids firmly snapped shut, the sensory response of a slight glow permeated his mind. Two centimeters, then three, then four across, until the growth was rapid.

Finally stealing a glance at his handiwork, the Neti let slip a chuckle as he observed a luminous, half-meter sphere tethered to his hand. Carefully, with a myriad procession of thought, the lecturer ‘unhooked’ his psychic radio ties one by one, until a single thread of his consciousness remained fixed to the orb like an umbilical cable. With this last tether, he offloaded the unknowable cosmic rhythm that had come to him moments before, and tied it round the bundle of photons.

When it did not move, and did not dissipate, only then did the Neti shrug his shoulders. Almost playfully, he swatted the manifestation a ways down the corridor, and set back to work.

[End Create Light Application, 310 Words]

[Professor Mors]

Hours later, his mind still ablaze from his latest experiment, Sa’ato settled in a perfectly square chamber, flanked on all sides by pairs of oil-burning torches. The Neti had succeeded in bringing light into being. Now however, he faced a more daunting challenge: snuffing it out using only his will and the power of the Force. With a quick breath, the professor centered himself, and set to work…

[Begin Darkness Application]

Taking a wide stance and extending both arms out to either side, Sa’ato sent a barrage of mental fibers flying out toward the wall-mounted light sources. First things first, he had to identify the exact wavelength of the photons at play. It was not a value or figure he could put into words, but something he could detect innately through the unspeaking realm of the Physical Force.

When the answer came to him, stuck just on the edge of his faux-tongue, Sa’ato worked to alter the psychic constitution of his own energy field accordingly. Sucking the energy from the bundles of flame would be a failure in Sa’ato’s eyes: instead he had to lure the wriggling photons to his person. Operating on instinct, the Neti molded his psionic signature in the Force to act as a sort of lightning rod.

Steadily, the torches dimmed to a softer glow as dewdrops of light trailed along the professor’s unseen strings. In time, he even seemed to capture some of their gleam across his torso and head. But this was not the end goal. Within his waking mind, the retired teacher’s plan was simple enough. He had to serve as a magnet for the particles of light, tugging them towards him, but slowing them to the edge of non-being: dead air.

Bit by bit, Sa’ato sucked more and more of the inscrutable particles toward his center like some horrid gyre. However, with great deliberation, he robbed them of their dynamic energy only, leaving what remained as almost-immobile husks. After several minutes, the room fell into a state of pitch and impenetrable darkness, permeated only by the crackle of weakened, but very much alive flames, coughing smoke into the invisible din.

Shrugging his shoulders slightly, all that remained for Sa’ato was to automate the process. Migrating the laboring strands of his essence up along his body, the Neti’s psionic web came to rest on his back, like the legs of some lithe and vindictive arachnid. Satisfied with his feat for the time being, he allowed himself a long exhale, and sat down on the floor, content to meditate for a time.

[End Darkness Application, 357 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Nespis VIII Spaceport, Auril System, Grid Coordinates R-6***

“I grow tired of this guessing game”, Sa’ato hissed at the prone, bloodied Klatooinian lying by his feet, “So for each new answer that doesn’t satisfy me, I break a finger”. The downed humanoid only snarled weakly in defiance. Sa’ato sighed and shrugged his shoulders. This man was his last link to a conspicuously-missing weapons shipment. The Neti needed the true shape of things, and having exhausted traditional interrogation methods, all that remained was a shot in the dark: the Force. “Very well”, the professor sneered with contempt, “Have it your way–”. In an instant, harsh tendrils clamped tightly over the bewildered Klatooinian’s face as the academic started anew…

[Begin Truth Sense Application]

As Sa’ato began to question, and bludgeon his captive once more, he turned all of his thoughts toward the broken man’s Huttese utterances. It wasn’t enough to scan blood pressure or chemical changes within the Klatoonian’s body: the Neti had to measure the truth, the belief of the man’s words as they registered in the Force. Much to the rogue’s confusion, the professor drilled the man with simple questions- the name of the system, the day of the week. As expected, that same confusion took on color and dynamism in the Force, as well as in the academic’s mind’s eye.

At first, the professor could not determine the true ‘veracity’ of the man’s sensation. He could, however, measure the intensity of the emotion, and feel it erupt across his mind like a telepathic fireworks display. Now was the time to narrow the scope. Sa’ato returned to his previous line of geographical inquiries, watching how each answer rippled out in the Force. Some were obvious lies. Like two music notes caught in diminuendo, their echo in the cosmos started strong, but weakened, as if to signify that the speaker’s heart was not wholly committed to his spurious declarations.

Finally, making good on his threat, the Neti crushed and pulverized three of his captive’s falanges with a free hand. The Klatooinian screamed in agony, and let slip the name of another inconspicuous planetoid. This time, with the Force as his ally, Sa’ato was prepared to detect the sheer emotional brilliance of the remark. Like a phosphorescent flare, the naked belief of the man’s word glowed consistently in the professor’s mind. Narrowing his focus further, the Neti wrenched his prisoner’s arm behind his back to elicit a repeated response. The cascade effect was even stronger this time, the convergence of the Living and Physical Force ringing out in the academic’s mind with the marker of ‘truth’.

Letting his unwitting guest pass out of consciousness, Sa’ato took to casual experimentation. He whispered his name, his age, his occupation, and watched as the watercolor veins of veracity lit up within his energy field. When he changed his answers to falsehoods, the emotional kaleidoscope became more muddled– but beneath it all, the professor could detect the fragility of the Force signature, an inherent psychic weakness to the lie that an honest response did not possess. Chuckling at this scholarly triumph, the Neti bellowed his innermost plans to the night air, tracking the size and shape of his tenacity-given-form with his mind as it rocketed across the sky.

[End Truth Sense Application, 421 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Pursuer-Class Enforcement Ship Mudhorn, Sith Space***

Sa’ato growled and hissed with contempt atop an operating table, a series of stun prods, IV leads, and other instruments strewn across his body, all for the same purpose: to deprive him of consciousness. Having dismissed his droid accomplice, an automated program had begun to steadily increase the soporific torture, and now, sheer will alone would not suffice to stave off the looming lethargy. As his mind grew foggy, and desperate, the Neti opened himself to the Force, and set about seeking a solution before he failed this test of his own making…

[Begin Remain Conscious Application]

First things first, the academic had to prioritize the upkeep of his ‘brain’, or in his case, a full-body nervous system. Siphoning precious energy from his senses– eyes, ears, and the like, the Neti concentrated droplets of his essence into the largest cluster of nerve endings within his person– the one largely responsible for mental functions. When he felt himself waning further, Sa’ato forcefully tore the life energy from his limbs, grafting every metabolic shred he could find onto his key internal mechanisms. Now slightly more centered in his thoughts, the professor considered other means to enhance his rather extreme measures.

For one thing, the Neti’s faux-bloodstream could be stimulated to maintain his conservative nexus of the Living Force. Altering the flow of chlorophyll in his rootlike veins, the retired teacher overcharged his nerves and pseudo-organs with fresh glucose, on-demand at a moments notice. But there was more: he could go further, he had to. And so Sa’ato did. Focusing inward, the professor applied his pyrokinetic talents on a molecular level, drawing his thoughts alongside countless mitochondria and deliberately heating them up to convert his solar sustenance in greater quantities.

This proved successful for a time, but another painful round of shock prods left Sa’ato no choice but to forge ahead. He was slipping, and he had exhausted all internal options. Externally however, on the periphery of his mind’s gaze, the Neti could detect hordes of life signs. A planter of Zyggerian lakeblooms sat at the far end of the room– samples that he had studied prior. Studied, and no longer needed. Groaning from the strain of the ongoing assault to his system, Sa’ato sent a posse of psychic tendrils lancing out from the crown of his head, all of which struck home on the helpless plants. Within moments, the professor started to slurp the excess sugars, and indeed, small doses of the Living Force itself from his floral assistants, absorbing their energy and making it his own.

Alas, this method too was a bandage, not a cure. It sufficed for a while, but the unceasing sea of drugs and other substances gave Sa’ato no reprieve. He would have to encase his ‘consciousness’ in the Force proper. But with what locus? Though the Neti tried to sheathe himself in a Force Shield as he had done in other scenarios before, it did little to deter his biological attackers. He grew frustrated, furious. And then, as if in revelation, the retired lecturer clung to that fury. He recalled years of ridicule from colleagues, his wife’s illness– and her passing. Though his vision failed under the current strain, the professor’s thoughts became doused in crimson.

That mounting anger bubbled into hatred, and electrified Sa’ato’s mind and soul. And, as it tainted his emotional and mental responses, so too did it color and shape his elliptic signature in the Force. The growing tide of malice within the wandering teacher steadily engorged his essence, and caused it to sprout across his body as if to overlay the wires and other devices enacting his present dilemma. Giving in to this web of anger, and the swell of Living Force it contained, the Neti found he was no longer tormented with drowsiness or the oblivion of a coma. Carefully, he flexed his mind in tandem with the wriggling mass of energy that had come to his defense.

With his purposeful guidance, it continued to expand and thicken like a thorny carapace. One by one, Sa’ato reversed his early, body-focused countermeasures, until he sat up violently and tore the rueful apparatus of machines from his person. And then, finally, he grinned. No one would deprive him of his faculties hence. Or at least, not without a serious battle of wills…

[End Remain Conscious Application, 623 Words]