A New Term (Force Training)

[Professor Mors]

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

Though he was neither a cartographer or anthropologist by trade, Sa’ato had recently taken to locating and excavating the various Seperatist bunkers long forgotten amidst the volcanic crags. For his next bout of training, the Neti selected one of the burnt-out, metallic grottos on the south end of Berken’s Flow. While the subterranean air was still as dry as the Sartinayian sands, it was at least closed-off enough to prevent atmospheric interference. Taking a deep, parched breath, the professor stood firm, and began his meditation…

[Begin Cryokinesis Application]

Like the branches of a great, ageless tree, long tendrils of energy spiked out from the crown of the Neti’s scalp as he began to probe the energy around him. Sa’ato could feel the psionic signature of the vaporous heat all around him, a swift, writhing chimera born of the Physical and Living Force. That momentum, that involuntary enthusiasm threatened to overwhelm the professor’s thoughts– but if he was to succeed, he had to slow those mental reflections, to control his breathing and mind almost to a grinding halt. And bit by bit, making full use of his concentration, the academic felt the world stall in rotation beneath him.

And for a moment, the air around the retired lecturer seemed to ground to halt, or at least threatened to do so. Now that he was centered thus, the Neti set to work lassoing the invisible threads of air currents winding about his immediate vicinity. Like the fine hairs of a carnivorous plant, the exterior of Sa’ato’s energy field latched onto the microbial tags of solar wind. Once he had them in his grasp, the professor grimaced and worked to draw the stream of particles closer to him, fighting to reduce their speed all the while. At times, the invisible tempest of heat and propulsion threatened to send the wandered spinning to the ground.

At those times, Sa’ato would have no choice but to breathe, calm himself, and sharpen his sense of self without losing command of the situation. Concurrently, there was a mental strain to contend with– the sensation of a fierce spiral conspiring to wear down the Neti’s nerves. Finally however, in contrast to the fires brewing in his head, a refreshing gust of lukewarm air blasted across the professor’s exposed face. He had succeeded in part. Sa’ato had managed to cool his surroundings, but there was still further to go. He had conquered fire, but water still eluded him. Thankfully, there was the means for a trial run, albeit a macabre one.

In an effort to get a handle on the psychic nature of moisture, Sa’ato growled and twitched some as he drove his thoughts into the myriad cell walls that composed his hand. Forcibly, he stretched wide a gap within earthen flesh, and sought to tug up droplets of fresh chlorophyll with his thoughts. The first few evaporated almost instantaneously despite the relatively cool haze the Neti had forged. It would not be enough to alter a single drop: Sa’ato needed to attain oneness with this microcosm of his person, and exert the same control over it as he did the rest of his body.

Though his battle lay in the Force, the Neti settled on a scientific solution for a spiritual problem. First, he charged a given bulb of green lifeblood with his full concentration. Next, at the cost of some physical discomfort, the retired teacher tore stagnant, motionless hydrogen from other components of his cells, and padded the now-airborne drop with a protective shell. This time, it held its mass and form. It was then that the Neti experienced a moment of inner clarity. Weight. Foreign in theory to the myriad realm of the Force though it might be, Sa’ato wagered that if he could physically ply traces of his essence to water vapor, or the air itself, it would halt its movement long enough to transmute to a colder paradigm.

Reaching out with his mind a final time, Sa’ato sent innumerous darts of pure focus and intention out in a three-sixty arc. Cold efficiency, desire for progress, perhaps even mild impatience, like a contagion, these elements of the man attached to the molecules all around him. In droves, he brought them to a standstill in line with his iron-will, until at last, a familiar sensation: humidity. Though he could not see the fruits of his labors with the naked eye, Sa’ato knew he had done it. And, as if to take a victory lap, he crushed a fist, and held it for a long time. When the Neti opened it, he smirked with satisfaction.

A perfectly rounded disc, the size of a small coin, glimmered in his palm. Chlorophyll once more– this time, frozen solid…

[End Cryokinesis Application, 701 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***Batorine System, Colonies Region, Grid Coordinates J-9***


Sa’ato had tried in earnest to be civil. Really. He had not meant to stumble upon the itinerant flock of Blood Carvers, nor had he intended to interrupt their latest artistic exercise. Nevertheless, in an effort to avoid an angry pod of giant mud-wasps, the professor had bolted into a nearby clearing and smacked right into the lead sculptor. This caused the upcoming artist to shift the approach of his knife, resulting in a perfect ninety, rather than the desired eight four, degree angle. To a local, the insult was obvious, and unforgivable. Sa’ato could barely muster a defense in the local trade language before the six faux-avians descended upon him with weapons drawn.

Several minutes of panicked, brutal fighting ensued before the frustrated Neti finally snapped. Disarming two of the younger aesthetic-warriors, he wrapped a sinuous hand fiercely round the neck of their leader, and hoisted him into the air. The would-be artist kicked ruefully about in an attempt to free himself, but so far as the Neti cared, his fate was sealed. He would make an example of this one, and deal with the rest accordingly. But first, an indulgence. A moment to savor the consequences these traditionalist fools have brought on themselves for the sake of their ‘Art Beyond Dying’...

[Begin Feed On Darkside Application]

Reaching out with his thoughts, Sa’ato connected his mind to the struggling whelp’s with so many invisible tethers. Telepathic ripples of anger and anguish dripped down mental wires from the brigand’s brain, and soaked into the Neti’s energy field. It was a delightful sensation. Not so much sadism, but a natural re-balancing. The Carver’s power, meager though it had been, had been outweighed by the professor’s own. It was only natural and right that the academic’s presence in the Force gorged itself on the energy of the defeated, as it was doing now. Yes, the Neti could feel the fruits of his victory cause the field surrounding him to vibrate and flare up…

It was time to put it to good use. Normally, a pyrokinetic maneuver like the one Sa’ato had in mind would require thorough preparation and forethought. Empowered as he was however, the captive Carver could only gasp in anticipation as he called upon the Force to set his helpless victim ablaze. The Neti barely heard the cries of his victim as he was bombarded by the rich psychic flood of their agony. The preponderance of their pain was like a nectar being poured over the professor’s mind. It nourished his militant thoughts, and stoked the flames of the Living Force within him to even greater heights.

By the time the vengeful teacher let the charred corpse fall from his grip, he had more than enough stamina and focus to jump forward with the full weight of the Force within him. Grabbing his next victim by the beak, he slammed the nearest Carver down into the swampy earth, and suppressed a cackle as he witnessed the panic in their large orange eyes. Fear tasted different than pain. The nervousness of emotion as it was absorbed into Sa’ato’s person was electrifying. It was as if the Life Force of this new target were leaving early before the body had been laid to ruin.

The normally entropy-bound sphere of the Force that surrounded the youth, now tainted with the shadowy cowl of the Dark Side, lapped at the Neti’s outstretched forearm. It dove willfully into oaken flesh and offered the professor yet more renewed vigor in exchange for refuge. Once Sa’ato had supped to contentment, he lifted his prey overhead, and threw them viciously into a nearby boulder where they impacted with a sickening crack. Turning about to take stock of the situation, the professor observed that of the remaining four interlopers, only two remained within sight. They attempted to flee in light of his onslaught: that attempt would fail.

Using stolen vitality to accelerate his own natural shapeshifting, Sa’ato summoned the Force once again, rapidly altering the flow and composition of his molecular structure. Like cruel vines, his arms stretched out to five times their normal length, as he caught both Carvers by the nape of their tunics. The immediate response was desperation. Pure, invigorating desperation. The two began to beg and plead for mercy, promising riches and other sweet nothings that, with the Force’s oversight, the professor knew to be falsehoods. Then, one of the pair made the ultimate offering: a one-of-a-kind art piece, cleaved from the body of his still-breathing friend.

Now this was a feast. Alien curses were flung heartlessly between the two, but Sa’ato hardly noticed. The symphony of betrayal, hatred, and animalistic angst resonated with the core of his very being. The Neti shook with near-primal glee as a veritable haze of malevolence bled into his every pore. Despite a near twenty minutes of combat, within moments, the professor felt fresh and new again- reborn through the wicked harvest only the Dark Side could provide. It was almost- no, it was intoxicating, and time slowed for the wandering academic as he converted every last ounce of negativity into virulent fuel.

Finally, he decided a drink was in order to wash it all down. As he had already eagerly siphoned much of the Immaterial Force from the jabbering duo, dining on their lifeforce was simple enough for the Neti. In a gesture of irony, Sa’ato pierced their flesh with points of his fingers, and let their death wails provide him one final psychic boost as he rendered them dried husks, devoid of plasma or much else…

[End Feed On Darkside Application, 712 Words]

[Professor Mors]

***The Jaguada Moon, Southern Hemisphere, Grid Coordinates R-5***

After days of wandering and backtracking, a beleaguered Sa'ato had finally located his latest archaeological obsession deep in the labyrinth caves of the lone Jaguada moon. Using rootlike appendages to pry open an stone slab etched in ancient runes, the Neti heaved the sealed door aside with a triumphal groan and was instantly bombarded with a rush of stagnant, undisturbed air. Stepping over the threshold, the professor was most satisfied with what he saw. Six sets of mummified remains, bodies contorted and set at strange angles, like petrified flora caught in a wave of ash.

At one time, these were Kissai, the pureblood priests that served the Sith of eld. This group, from what Sa'ato could find in the manuscripts, had served a rebellious upstart keen to obtain the mantle of Darth through cunning rather than force. As thanks for their assistance, the firebrand buried the priests alive, so that they could not betray his intentions later. The mastermind's name had long since been lost to time, but the cadaver priests had been well-regarded for their knowledge of the Dark Side's more esoteric applications. Now, Sa'ato would reclaim that knowledge for the Order– and his own scholastic appetites…

[Begin Sith Sorcery Application]

To begin, Sa'ato exhaled slowly, drawing his thoughts down through his arms and into his hands. As if cradling a sphere of glass, the Neti slowly siphoned the inert energy from the darkened tomb. Gathering microscopic tears of the Physical Force one by one, the professor suddenly pressed his palm together, altering the flow of his lilliputian captives to birth photons in a flash of light. Parting his digits, a dim, phosphorescent orb floated patiently at the academic's beck and call. Holding his left hand close to his torso in a ritual gesture, Sa'ato began to chant in the primordial language of the Sith, reaped through study and many psychometric supplements.

All the while, the Neti guided his unnatural lightsource overhead, and set it in orbit a half meter out from where he stood. Like the single planet of the Jaguada system miles above, Sa'ato caused the orb to spin faster and faster, the pace of his incantation growing more intense in turn. Working on instinct as much as borrowed experience, the professor engaged his pyrokinetic gifts, causing the unnatural ball of light to blaze and heat up in tandem with a rise in his own internal temperature. With another sharp gesture of his right hand, the retired teacher drew forth a blinding needle of pure energy from his miniature sun.

This small but potent extension lashed out like a limitless solar flare, until it sizzled harshly into the tomb's rocky floor. The concentrated conflagration continued to rotate at Sa'ato mental insistence, tracing a perfect circular with a single revolution. Despite the heat and psionic gymnastics, the Neti sent his blazing servant round again and again, lasering in four rings-worth of archaic symbols while fighting to maintain the volume and consistency of his spell. When this was complete, the professor closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Feeding a measure of his very essence into the flaming orb, it doubled– then tripled in size.

All at once, gilt eyes snapped open once more, and Sa'ato threw his right hand forward. The artificial sun went supernova, expelling crackling meteors of flame toward every corpse in the room. Rather than combust however, the otherworldly fires nested within the eye sockets of each withered Kissai. The professor's chanting reached a fever pitch, his oaken form racked with a tingling, burning sensation that would not abate. One by one, the corpses wretched and shook free a millennia of dust, gaping mouths and glowing eyes settling on he that had broken their restless slumber.

They lumbered forward with an unnatural gait, but the ghouls had barely walked two steps before their thoughts bombarded the Neti. Agony, hatred, the grudge they held for the one who had betrayed them– all of this burned its way through Sa'ato's mind with the lethal promise of vengeance. Soon it was as if the professor's very soul were ablaze. The flaming pupils he had gifted to those long dead flared with unblinking malice as putrid limbs latched onto the overzealous academic. The Neti fought to lift a psionic shield over his thoughts, lest they break his concentration; he labored further to swat his attackers back with targeted, telekinetic gusts.

Both were futile. To open the pathway from the living to the dead– from the mortal islet to the endless sea of chaos, was to affect a two-way hyperlane. Now, the shades Sa'ato had called from the netherworld threatened to overpower and consume his essence. It seemed he'd no choice: he would have to engage his sorcerous failsafe. Throwing down both hands, the Neti's chant grew to a roar, his spell shifting from vowel to vowel as the glyphs he had previously carved began to illuminate. One by one the rings ignited in a crackling pale blue. The exertion coupled with the repeated assault from the ghouls nearly caused the academic to collapse.

He was unsure if his command of the Force was sufficient to bolster his consciousness and perform what came next. The abyss stretched out before his mind's eye: rather than fall into the unknowable darkness, Sa'ato leapt. Closing his eyes once more, the Neti continued the new incantation, calling on the collective aura of violence, pain, and suffering that had been absorbed by the wicked moon since the time of its settlement. Slowly, silently, strings of what could only be described as shadows made manifest sprouted from the earth. Tendrils of the Dark Side, the concentrated absolution of death, the anti-life.

Like ivy, they rose innocuously. Like ivy, they crept, and steadily constricted each of Sa'ato's would-be assailants. Though his eyes remained shut, the retired teacher could sense the ethereal tentacles lapping at his person. Without the protection of the innermost circle of runes, perhaps they would have consumed him with the same fervent desire of the wayward Kissai. Yes, he was sure of that. Finally, the academic looked on the scene. His second, amorphous guest had restrained the rebellious ones that had come before. The reanimated priests could hiss and gnash their fangs, but little more as the cursed flora of the Dark Side restrained them.

His confidence reconstituted, Sa'ato drank happily of their frustration. Inclining his head, the professor invited the tendril to burrow into their mummified captives. Unworldly shrieks followed, and the Neti supped on the priests' pain as well– the first they'd felt in an age. The whole affair was no less exhausting, but the academic knew this brief, Force-fueled feeding-frenzy would be enough to see his task to completion. With a flick of the wrist, the vines wrenched every undead face toward the ascendant acolyte, who smiled, albeit weakly. Now, the priests would tell him everything he wanted to know.

Yes, they would surely comply. For if they did not, an agony beyond any they had yet suffered was sure to follow…

[End Sith Sorcery Application, 968 Words]