Cursed

[Kita_Ikari]

Silvanius stood, bent forward as she stared into the vanity mirror of her bedroom. Biting her lip, she finally let out a sigh. "Never figured this would happen. Yet it's fitting." She said to herself. After being sent to the medic bay by her comrades and beloved nexu's assistance, no amount of medical attention was going to fully heal her wound. It had been weeks since the event, and as a consequence of her rash behavior and sneaky tactics between the duel for her Master's Holocron with Silas, Kita had now donned a seemingly matching eye scar to her missing Master. The only difference? It was her left eye. Her sight in it was practically gone, and she was left with a scar just slightly above her brow and down the full length of her eye. Ironic. That was the best word for the situation.

"At least I got the holocron."
Her nexu Warv stared at his master from her bed, curled up as she walked over to a painting of Tibrins beach. A simple reminder of where she once started her journey within the sith. Carefully picking up the painting, she set it on the floor and revealed a hidden safe behind it. Punching in her code, the door swung open revealing the holocron she had won in her duel. Grasping the cool metal in her palm, Silvanius brought out the object, turning it slowly as she observed the artifact. She could feel the darksides energy dwelling within, a remanent of her master's own power infused with the object itself as its red glow appeared ominously.

Lifting a brow in wonder she sat on the edge of her bed, stroking her nexu while deciding on beginning to open the holocron now or later. There were some things she needed to do around the citadel, including more training on her part. If she was to bring down Silas one day, she needed to up her game. Once she had made up her mind, Silvanius closed her eyes to focus on the artifact and open it, only to be quickly interrupted. Kita felt a large disturbance ripple through the Force, a cold distinct feeling crept within her very being, one she hadn't felt in months. It made her blood run cold, yet also filled her mind with happiness. Silvanius was not blind to this sudden dark energy pulsating throughout the galaxy. There was only one person who could affect the force this tremendously. The Lord of Darkness himself.

The holcron glowed brightly in response to the waves crashing through the Force like a tsunami, causing the artifact to open willingly through its creators call. She should have been afraid...but instead a smile crept on her face. Finally after dealing with Silas Karn on her own, she would have her real Master returning to the fold. Or so she hoped. But filled with happiness was also anger. The silver clad apprentice was pissed off that he had left her behind without so much as a word for so long. And she had a longing to also see Jacobi again. The very reason she had decided to first stay in the sith. "Your gonna be getting a huge scolding from me. I don't care if you can kick my ass in return." She spoke aloud to herself angrily.

Hearing her datapad go off on her nightstand, Silvanius quickly got up and picked up the device. It was a message from Kress.

Kress: “Did anyone feel that just now? Roll call. Where is everyone? Drop locations NOW and diminish your presence in the force. If I could feel it, that was BIG.”

Silas: “Lady Kressara, how is it that you don’t recognize the author of this announcement. The Lord of Torment yet lives.”

Silvanius looked at the messages, and laughed to herself over Silas response.
Quickly she types in her own response.
"Yes...he does in fact live."
She let that comment settle within the current Sith Lords mind. Meaning sooner or later, the Lord of Darkness would be eventually kicking his echani ass out of the position he had stolen from her master. Whenever it happened, Silvanius desired to be there...

[Darth Fett]

From: "Babygirl"
To: "Glitterbits"

Body: I don't believe so, no. Can investigate if you so wish. Say the word.

PS: Thank you for engaging this channel and thus exposing and/or confirming your own for cross reference.

May your wounds still tingle with my touch, even as they heal.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Cooling steam settled into the glade as a blanket of mist surrounding him. The gaze of the Dark One lifted unto the stars that glittered on high. Spying a certain constellation he noted that the star of the Moraband system shone a bit brighter than normal. Coincidence. It mattered as much as it was necessary but the signs were clear - something ancient was calling him and he had little choice but to answer it in full.

Wrenching his gaze down from the heavens he bade the Jidai Maras to diminish. Unrepentant yet obedient - the sword did as the master willed. Fiery demons extinguished and over the span of time that damned sword transitioned from a blazing beacon of light to a bright molten hue and on to blackened and cracked steel where finally the Dark Side itself sloughed off the blade and returned the sword to a beautiful and perfectly polished steel. Oh how false and how big a lie the Dark Side was.

Turning away from the center of the glade his trudge through the snows began once more and endured through the trees. His direction set, his ship was two days from here. He had a lot to think about in that time and even as that time bled forth he could feel the Force returning to him - its’ agonizing embrace stung at his mind ever as it once had and soon enough the throbbing and pounding pressures resumed. Pain lurking in the distance made home anew in the forefront of his mind, body, and soul. The feeling was dire - so too would be his retribution.

Through the dense forest was the path. Over fallen logs, around jagged stumps, the path was never the same. Depressions of high snow, lakes completely frozen over by ice that had never thawed since the end of this world at the hand of the Dark Side which cast it into eternal depthless temperatures.

As far as wildlife, Ziost held a host of prey and predator alike, however the trek during this rendition of time would produce not a living beating heart to accost of accompany him. It was a trip of nothing, complete silence save for his own heavy footfalls through the snow. Even the day and night cycle seemed to reflect his ire as it retained an alluring darkness for the totality. Of course this was as false as the Darkness that surrounded him but the measure of his presence could not be unnoticed. So was the light cast aside so too was the weight he brought with him to the very air surrounding him. Where many an individual was recorded to just be a man or a woman existing within the Force. Their presence actively shifting to the wax and wane of the Force. It was the Force that was drawn in and cast out by his presence. It was sent into constant flux with every footfall and every swing of his arms. Every breath was a testament of defiance for what should not ever be.

Not a single moment did he take respite during this trip through the landscape. A steady pace and unending trek brought the Dark One from that empty glade to the rocky edges of the canyon carved by the ancient rivers of Ziost where high on a ledge sat a ship.

It was not anything spectacular. Even still it was frozen for as long as he had been here the ship had been left abandoned and powered completely down. The only telltale sign that it was an object other than a snow covered rock at all was the entry ramp that was awaiting him. A Sith Infiltrator model with no labels following that. It sat as dormant as the mountain and silent as the stones beneath his boots.

Approaching the ship and assailing the ramp without so much as an eyeblink of ceremony, he mag-locked his sword to his back and entreated the vessel with his vile form. Frozen indeed. The interior of the ship was the scene where every surface was covered in a glittering, crystallized ice. If not for his own tremendous weight and mass he would likely have slipped from the slick coverings he traipsed across.

Making his way directly to the bridge - he did not bother sitting in a chair that would not respond. A single finger jabbed out and stabbed the ignition button. It only plunged in and activated once the icy covering was shattered. Rumbling from the inner depths of the ship, the core stirred and gave that ignition that he’d commanded. With the generators warming up after a painstaking amount of time a green light ushered the ship’s readiness to ignite the engines. Tooling across the control pannel he set the sequence correctly and just as planned the engines spurred to life with a growing whine followed by a strong and constant hum. Within the next minutes the ice began to thaw and crack from the exterior thruster engine vents.

This process was reflected throughout the ship as well. Warmth finally began to bleed from the engines and sink into the interior of the ship. While patience wasn’t his strong suit - he had little choice but to endure this nonsense. The next time he parked the ship he resolved to have his droids maintain it for the annoyance of this tedious event was stinging his impatient pride. He also would soon regret not installing seat warmers.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

The vessel thawed and the engine turning to the appropriate RPMs, its heat rose to a level more tolerable to all those within. Which to the truth of the tale was accountable to himself and his dormant Warbot that remained housed in the charging station back within the cargo hold. As the crisp air flitted from his nose and mouth it burned his damaged lungs - the pain wore at him yet gifted upon him a desire, no, a lust to exert the fuel that it provided. Immediately his destination had been afforded him. With his own frozen hands he dialed in the launch sequencing and in turn the Sith Infiltrator lifted from its would-be grave. Turbines winding up and bright green engine flares breaking the darkness of the night, the ship rotated and slowly accelerated into the night skies.

His eye never needed to grace the instruments, orienting the nose of the ship to point across the mountain chain and rising into the clouds ever picking up more speed. Had the ship been in a higher orbit the trip would have only taken minutes but with this lower altitude the trip time was conflicted by drag and atmospheric resistance. Not maintaining the desire to prolong this trip further the Dark One ignited the thrusters to burn ever hotter and the ship pierced the gentle blues of the atmosphere and escaped the planet’s hold into the midnight hues of space.

Almost as soon as he leveled the ship out did he dip the nose back down into a descent. Having dealt this maneuver he cut his travel time down to a far more manageable way. As the ship made its decent the looming form of the Sith Citadel of Ziost speared its way through the clouds and promised a dire fate to those unwelcome.

Altitude decreased the grounds around the Citadel were a vast and sprawling affair. The Sith War Machine was well at work. Armories and vehicle hubs servicing heavier equipment. Firing ranges sending bolts of red to targets fixed before the firing parties. But more importantly the inner grounds of the Citadel were home to the actual Warriors of the Sith. These were sadly set to minimal use - his eye narrowed at this. What stagnation could have poisoned the Sith in so short a time. Perhaps though it was not stagnation at all and in truth it be far flung deployments or missions. Whatever the case it did not please him either way. The functionality of the Sith would remain - with or without him.

Not getting instantly fired upon was a good sign. At least his friend or foe indicator was still working. Hauling the ship around the CItadel he finally spotted an open landing pad within the folds of the Citadel itself. Without awaiting an invitation or asking for one he blitzed the Infiltrator into the hold and set it down hard. Uncaring of ceremony he made down the ramp where a young officer approached holding a datapad.

Unfortunate. The boy was only doing his job and running it with efficiency. Had he known to whom was making his way down that ramp he would have made way and never have dared to address his Lord for his station was by far unbefitting this peon. Tormentous never hesitated nor did he slow down. The boy lifted his hand to obtain the attention of the newcomer, polite and all, it mattered little. A blast wave of darkness erupted from the very proximity of the Dark One and the boy was no more with less than a thought. His uplifted hand crumpled inward as the Dark Side of the Force poisoned the body and it shriveled into little more than a pile of refuse, rapidly stealing the life away. Eyes dimmed and died, dark smoke spilled from every fold of the being - eyes, ears, nose, mouth - not even a scream was proof enough to escape.

Before the boy even hit the ground the body had become a broken form aged half a millennium in an instant. And Tormentous cared not. Seeing the demise of their fellow the occupants of the bay vanished, scurrying away at the approach of their better or falling on their faces and being spared their ignorance.

Two Warbot sentinels activated their weapons though their identified a Lord of the Sith and instead of engaging the threat they lowered their buzzing weapons and fell to a knee in deference. So it seemed even the inanimate knew their place. Tormentous delivered them no heed and proceeded forth.

Navigating the Citadel from any point was not a prospect delivered in any way to the thought of time. It took Tormentous a great amount of this time to deliver his precense the throne room. While the current seat of Sith Rule took place on Moraband, the ancient Citadel of Ziost also held such a chamber worth of the visitation of the Dark Lord of the Sith. This however was not Tormentous’ current claim. Proceeding onward he arrived to the rear of the chamber where the private chambers of the Lord were parted and it brought him into a gloom that served the cold better than him. This room’s absence of use was obvious but this brought him no ire. Moraband was the gateway to the Caldera, there was no need for the chamber to be in much use at the current time. These things also were beneath his notice.

But what was not was the armoring chamber. The doors parted before him and sealed behind him. It was time to better equip himself for the coming days would demand more suitable equipment than merely a tattered black robe.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

Sealed within the armoring chambers the Dark One disrobed and hit the refresher. Even the darkest of souls and most horrible of beings desired creature comforts from time to time. Cleaned within time he assumed a body glove, black in form and fitting firmly. Standing on a mannequin at the center of the room was his custom armor. For the most part unpainted of color lest the dark steel grays - Sith Eradicator Armor from the old age. Secure knee length boots, thigh plates, hip and groin protection complete - he unceremoniously clamped it all in place. By now the cold air was fully settling in to the chamber and his breath stole into the air. It was crisp and calm despite his imposing form daring even the Force to disturb him.

He moved to the chest and back plates, the feeling of protection did little to serve his mind to ease for he knew how easily such material parted before the enemies’ blades. But armor was armor and without it he tempted fate. Aside from the Dark Side of the Force the form of fate was something entirely different. He defied fate, but fate also defied him as for the number of foes it had stolen from his sword edge. Fate was very real and the chance given to the swing of the pendulum was not something he wished to entertain. Armor satisfied his feelings on this in that he would not tempt fate nor would he allow fate to decide for him.

Shoulder guards and forearm gauntlets and finally gloves which held spiked knuckle dusters her knuckle. Flexing and shifting his body around he settled into his armor. Contrary to his initial thoughts it felt good to be ready for battle again.

Returning now to his tattered black robe he kicked it aside in exchange for a large and heavy cape that clasped to the inner shoulders which allowed the cape to flow and cover the shoulders and even drape to fully encase him should he so desire. The cape came with a hood that enveloped his head comfortably. Lastly he approached the door where he took up his face mask. Taking it up in his hand he lifted it up and inspected it a moment.

The mask itself was simple in form and design as well was its’ functionality. Filtration system combined with a breathing apparatus that permitted his heavily damaged lungs to breath easier. Since that fateful day on Belsavis, the shrapnel cast into his body was lodged deep and granted him this constant pain. While he did not need the mask, it allowed him to focus on other things rather than the mundane simplicity of how and where to breath the easiest. It was also another facet in the war against fate. He briefly wondered if he was just being paranoid, but then again, of course he was.

Equipping the mask to his face, its systems activated and instantly the harsh cold air stinging his insides that bore through him ceased and the warm filtration system gave birth to renewed energy as purified oxygen filled him. With this boon soon came fully oxygenated blood and functionality to his muscles. It was almost like a stim in a way. Red lights engaged on either side of the mask and confirmed its operation. Complete now - Tormentous was fully prepared.

Retrieving once again his sword and clasping it to his back via magnetic-lock he made to depart and stepping through the chamber doors into the gloomy darkness of the private quarters within. Taking steps to transition, the door sealed again behind him and he was brought into the view of five individuals.

Four of them were very well equipped and intimidated guardians. Fully clad in armor and weidling terrifying halberds, these Sith Warriors were imposing to behold for certain. The final and middle standing figure was a being in black and red robes. A lightsaber resting comfortably in his hands folded together in a mostly non-threatening manner. Clearly the Lord assigned dominion over the Citadel in place of the current Dark Lord’s physical absence.

“Greetings,” So the Lord quipped in address. A moment of silence followed, Tormentous paused - almost entertained by the prospect of a warmup. “Your presence has most certainly been felt, Lord.” Tormentous could see - no - feel the thoughts flowing through this fool. The thoughts of loyalty to the Dark Lord, the prior loyalty given to himself, the ambition, it was these flowing emotions that were all to tempting. Already in only these few moments the Dark One was fighting the urge to attack and wrench these peons’ lives if only to hold their dying forms just a moment. The results would be intoxicating. But as wisdom came in the flitting moments of time, so came it to this man before him. The elder Lord slowly and methodically fell to a knee. The guardians set their halberds in salute and bowed their heads. “Much has transpired, Lord, in your absence. Might I take the liberty to inform your subjects abroad?”

That in itself spoke volumes and he immediately knew someone else had taken up his throne. Very interesting. He thought to go and seek out this ambitious Lord immediately and throttle him into submission, or to string him up, or many manners of ubiquitous torture. But then there was also a moment of ambitious opportunity for himself. While yes certainly the seat of power was lofty and comfortable, the new anonymity this very moment provided would allow him to do things that the literal Dark Lord of the Sith could not. Interesting indeed.

Therefore he was presented with a new quandary. To maintain secrecy he would be unable to allow these individuals to remain - unaltered. The old adage that dead men told no tales was most certainly an option but was it a necessary one? Thus far only a hangar operative had died and that was easily swept underneath a rug as it were. To slay a sitting Lord of the Sith would absolutely attract attention. To simply trust these men to keep their mouths shut was laughable. They were all ambitious Sith. Even the guardians. Information was power and they would wield it as effectively as a sword. There was only one option for these five and it was no short order.

“No.” Tormentous spat ominously drawing his sword, inverting it and touching its tip to the decking below. “But I shall need something from you.”

[Jacobi Wylcott]

---BEGIN MEMORY WIPE - 600

The invasion of the mind. It came suddenly as the shadow cast from the sun, it was what it was and it could not be undone. For the Dark Side of the Force was a tool and one that Tormentous carried with familiarity. He opened what was called the Way and tapped into the infinite energies beyond. In the moments that would pass during this session he would weave a tapestry. First unto his own energy field. That damned torrent of bastardized energy, the flow of which was terrible to behold. There was no harmony, there was no collaboration. There was only a deadly chaos behind what he felt in this moment as he looked upon his energy field. But this was the first step upon the path to power.

Filling his mind with the essence of the Dark Side, it tore and stole whatever sensibilities of barely chained rage within him. Such power behind this emotion was kindling and fuel for whatever he so desired in this practice of the mind and would benefit him greatly here. So did the energies of his uncontrollable rage surge forward. The emotions feeling was a hot and searing pain subsided by nothing at all - no filtration - pure unadulterated hatred. How it would have been a simple thing to vaporized the men before him and end this charade. But to the purpose he desired their death would not suffice. He utilized this new energy, aside from the pain it was casting upon him, casting it in turn to the energy field surrounding him.

To his sight he could visualized burning red fire filling the spaces around him and turning it upon the swirling miasma. Within moments the burning fires of energy flowed as violently as the natural energy field around his own being. Prepared now to reach beyond his own senses he looked upon the subjects he sought to affect. Their own energy fields were so very much unlike his own. His was a wild fire with no pattern and no measurable constraint. Theirs were smooth flowing as an orbiting star system. In sync and without deterrent. His mind approached the first of the five and with the fuel he had provided himself he overwhelmed the unprepared defenses of their mind. The threads of his energy field would have collided with violence and destroyed said flowing grace. Instead of this approach - he assumed - a willing or at the least an unknowing subject would be easier to manipulate than one that actively opposed. Crashing through this energy field and dominating to his will was thusly not the address he desired at all.

With patience and care he took a strand of his powered energy and threaded it into the subject. At first there was natural resistance for his own energy field was so horribly put together. Two like flowing energy fields would have meshed with far more ease. But in Tormentous’ case he would be forced to literally lie to the Force and make it believe that the mesh would be able to take place without so much as a notion of the other being’s awareness to the matter.

The Dark Side of the Force convulsed with his power and threatened to overtake his plan immediately. Threading a wild portion of combative power into another strong yet comfortably flowing energy field was like pushing a needle into a wall with the desire to penetrate.

It was with great care that he pressed upon this path. As uncharacteristic as it was - if he desired victory then he - no - such weakness. His mind recoiled at the idea of discipline and control. How dare he and even the Force allow such foolish idiocy. With a roar of defiance he tore away the veil of faux control and what a sham it was. Control indeed. He would control the energy field his own way. With his mental strength and willpower overcoming such delicacies. He spat with rage further fueling his efforts. Newfound energy took up that tiny thread of red fire and shoved it deep, spearheading its way into the subject’s energy field with such force that it was as a shard of power and violence.

Failure. His impatience was rewarded with utter failure. The being before him, a mind destroyed, crumpled to the ground in a pathetic puddle. Regal presence, dominating stance and terrifying weaponry - all spat to the ground in a pile of unceremonious refuse. Not his desire at all. Just a peon though and he would go unnoticed.

Turning his attention from the dead was easily as he would a crushed insect. He peered his way to the next of the five. This energy field was similar though different in that this was an individual and there was a spike in this energy field that flowed in a pattern. Tormentous took a moment to view this intricacy. He needed to learn how to seek the inner mind without viciously tearing the mind open as the Drain Knowledge technique. He needed these memories and thoughts in tact, not in fragmented form. The swirling energy field came forth and Tormentous spied the anomaly in its rotation. Once more his violent approach was utilized though not with such ill thought of the other being. Instead of charging headlong he awaited for that spike to approach and then he lunged forward with that same thread of energy. Shooting into the energy field of the other, his fiery tendril snaked its way into the opposition. At first the thread of energy jostled for control and even dominance but in time it soon became the reel upon a spool. With every rotation the red energy made the man’s own energy field just as his own and the lie became real.

Tormentous had a more or less non-invasive, or rather non-destructive entry into another’s mind. Moving now with initiative as a thief among the shadows he sought forth the memories of another. This would not be as simple as seeking out a string of text on a screen nor a holovid filled documentary. It was rather more a pattern of feelings, fleeting and faint to construct images that only a mind could erect. Tormentous viewed these feelings and found the issue. His feelings and this man’s feelings were completely different. Where he may have felt and viewed a set of images to be one thing, this man could have seen and felt the same things and was made to interpret them in a completely different way. So troublesome.

Looking inward to the being’s thoughts he could feel each and every conflict surrounding him. He had no idea what he was looking for at first and in turn he was like a reek in a fine ware’s shop. Trashing the threads of the mind without care or concern. Such rampant and uncaring control of his actions killed the second of the five. He collapsed with indignity and shame.

A sigh followed and another failure revealed.

The third then. Tormentous issued himself in a similar manner though now with a learned approach. Waiting for the right time to strike in the right way and the right pattern. Control and dominion came at cost. Even to his own willingness and consciousness. He had to sacrifice his own dignity in knowing that he was not everything. While he controlled the Force in many a way, he also had to understand that the Force needed moments of cooperation when others were involved lest the mind be shattered, destroyed or otherwise irreparably mauled to nothing. This had to work and he would do whatever was necessary.

Into the third he bade his consciousness and into the mind. Now willing to wait and understand what he was looking for he viewed the thoughts ahead of him. Streams of flashing images were before him, at first just colors and sounds but as he allowed the Dark Side to guide him he soon found these fluttering shades form into solidified beings. Where he could have simple Drained Knowledge and used his mind as a battering ram to force his way in and yank the thoughts free, he needed to leave nothing in its place. Not just reveal. But to remove. He needed to find every trace and every feeling similar that could lead to his existing presence.

Fortunately for what he was seeking it was then aimed at his own presence - which was familiar to him and even then - unique to the Force as it was abominable in nature. So he sought himself under this realization and as the images of understanding flowed into beings he began to shuffle through them. In time he found himself amongst the foe.

These images and feelings was that which he sought and this time he resisted the urge to scoop them all up and tear away. He needed the subject alive, not as a vegetable or dead. With albiet a violent clarity he teased these thoughts and corralled them. The energy of the Force was just that and so as energy itself he moved these memories as energy as well. Taking the feelings and pressing them to a central location. Feelings in every way that associated with the Lord of Torment he took up and moved them. Transitioning from the central area of the mind to the outward energy field he eased the feelings back to the entry point of the fiery red energies of his own mind like a beacon which made it easier to locate.

Every sound, every feeling, every formed image - he wrought them all to the exit point and transitioned them suprisingly seemlessly. Perhaps it was his new understanding of the ways he’d just learned. The eyes of the subject seemed to flicker a moment and the stout form of the guardian staggered, yet stayed standing and more importantly - alive.

Tormentous couldn’t tell white and black if the memories of his passing were gone. But he could certainly not feel the same essence of himself in this man’s mind that he had before. Whatever these feelings were, he had two more subjects to perfect this technique on. It seemed he had only just begun.

---MEMORY WIPE END - 1712

OOC: Sorry about the length. Got carried away in writing this one up. Fun app.

[Jacobi Wylcott]

---BEGIN SHADOW WALK - 800

With the continuation of his effective channeling of the Force the next step of the schemed plot ensued. This time without the need of consideration for the harmonious tribute to the mind of others, this time Tormentous could wrench his desires to the fore and command the Dark Side of the Force to the dominion of his will. Pulling his full consciousness unto the full control of his own energy field he began to tap into it in full. The depths of its own mystery was timeless and with his mind touching upon it he was as looking into the endless sea. It was certainly overwhelming as he peered into the Dark Side of the Force. But instead of that common nothingness that so desired to cast his mind into insanity, he spied the emotions. The colors and feelings of emotion were bright and powerful in this infinite pool of darkness. Those emotions were that of his own desire for power and control. The urge to want and even need them all. Such power and such pull were like the gravitational domination of the oceans affected by the moon. It served as a guide. And it served him well.

With the minds of those before him either destroyed in accident or for those who had survived - befuddled. Now was the moment that he was complete the sharade. Wiping a memory was fine and indeed affective but now to remain unknown to those same men was the key - lest he be forced to continually wipe the minds of the feeble few and the inevitability of their own annihilation would be assured. Having heard of a technique and studied upon it some time, it was now that he would enact his training and learn it in full.

In the gloom setting of the room before him he had to reach out and seek the Force’s presence in all of it. First he had to see the flow and learn the differences in how the natural flow of the Force occurred. Then of course it would lead to the difficulty of how he would set his own chaotic essence into that of the flow of the Force. So the Dark One set forth upon his desired path.

His mind traveled to the apex of the room. The Force traveled naturally in a gentle and even slow flow - almost like the breeze - from one side of the room to the other. Here was where the differences began to occur. Bodies stood in the room. Where each of these bodies stood there was also their own energy fields that surrounded them and finally his own buzzing and blurring mess of an energy field. Absorbing this information took some significant time. But he needed the entire layout of the room and the presence of those within it. Even the dead bodies felt different from the empty spaces of the room itself. As they were no longer effectively conjuring their own bound energy fields as living beings would, the dead still maintained a presence in the Force. It flowed through the dead in a similar manner as it did to the inanimate objects such as desks, chairs and boxes. Though with the differences that this was organic tissue and so it flowed more freely here.

Now was the point that he could sense and feel with thoroughness, the entirety of the room. But this would be the first time that he ever made an attempt to sense the physical form of a shadow. Initially he looked upon the room with his mind, spied that of the shadows but felt nothing in return. Literally nothing. It was frustrating beyond description. How foolish an idea this was to be able to sense the form between that of a shadow and the basic empty space of the room.

But just as he had begun to diminish his presence from this room had a minute feeling passed through his mind. Just as current of the Force itself was different from the current of flowing air and oxygen. Just as the dead body had the different feeling of organic tissue yet no longer alive, compared to the unliving material of the pillar next to it or the desk at the far end of the room. These differences in the grand scale may have been tiny and fleeting, but the differences were all the same. Their specific identities through the Force. Their makeup. Their signature. It was the same exact concept as the shadow cast down from that same pillar as the shadow cast from the desk compared to the emptiness of the room itself.

The flow had a different feeling to it. A coolness wherever they sat. A quietness. A coloration of greyness, perhaps even a visible static. But as sure as he could sense it - the differences were there. Identifying these difference was no doubt the most difficult act of this technique for their was a matter of faith that went with it. To simply believe that this difference in fact did exist and to allow the closed mind to see it for what it was.

To amply the action he created his own looming darkness to swell within the room. With renewed ability he went about his work. The threads of essence just behind him was within that grayness and mystery that was the shadow. He cast it with his own body and it was the easiest to manipulate. His mind touched the greyness and he began entangling his own essence with that of the darkness cast behind him. He could feel a tug though he was unsure yet if it was something he was desiring or something that he was actually effecting. The binding of his mind with that of the shadow was quite easy enough as he was not teasing the threads of another’s mind and not wanting to destroy it. He bullied his way into the flow of the shadow and he became that same grayness that he was feeling. In fact at first it was completely unintentional. But sure enough it was so.

Looking into the gloom was as if seeing himself in this moment. A fading facet of this mind in almost an illusionary form. So he stepped backwards - unto the realm of the shadow.

The realm of shadow was a space where matter did not belong but in the moment where he had become the grayness - so too was he un-matter - even shadow. But to immediately understand such a term in such a realm threatened to cast his mind further along what was and what was not. In this instant he thought of the ease in which he could likely lose his very mind and be physically lost in this realm of shadow forever. How dangerous was this method of transition?

Commanding the Dark Side of the Force to his side he overcame this momentary lapse of his willpower even as at the edges of his eyesight he could see from where he had summoned the demons of shadow and smoke - the dreadful Dwomutsiqsa. He nearly shivered from the realized true existence of such beings.

Righting himself now he dragged his being from the scatterings of his own shadow into the consolidated flow of the Force. He then looked across the room. This is where he desired to stand. The Force was easily manipulated in this way and his mind transitioned itself to this location with ease. But the easiest bit of the task was over. Now that he stood among the shadow of the pillars on the other side of the room he needed to actually be there which meant coming forth from the realm of shadows unto this material plane. With the thought that it was easy as stepping forward he attempted just that. He felt nothing but the coolness of the shadow.

With the grayness surrounding him he felt the static line of the shadow from the curtain of light that was actual reality. His hand reached out after simply stepping forward failed. Being trapped forever in this gray realm was unappealing so he redoubled his efforts. Concentrating on the task at hand his metaphysical hand touched upon the veil and he pressed his consciousness forward. At first nothing but in time a tear appeared. Now it was the time to ‘step’ forth. His mind repelled the cool factor of the grayed shadow and so he extended his hand piercing the curtain of shadow. Slowly yet assuredly he moved not only his mind but now his body from one place to another and from the unreality of the gray unto the reality of the natural gloom.

Within the moments passing of his mind he became real once more. Stepping from the shadow. Before him he thought he saw the afterimage of a cloaked being stepping back and seeming to fade away into the darkness as if he had never existed at all. Soon that being stepped out from nothing - and it was Tormentous.

The Dark Side of the Force was strong in this room and he had manipulated it to his will. To those before him, their memories wiped and with nothing in front of them - it was truly as if they had come here for little to nothing at all for he was certainly far from their minds and so he would remain.

---SHADOW WALK END - 1574

[Jacobi Wylcott]

---BEGIN CONTROL WEATHER - 900

The forsaken mountains were quiet and at relative peace as midday turned to afternoon and that turned slowly into the evening. Cloud patterns and wind currents often originated or were assembled at the peaks of the mountain tops. These lonely mountains were no different as the very Dark Side of the Force agreed with Tormentous’ will in this moment. He called the Force to him and to surround him in all things. It currents full of pattern and control were so unlike his own which were of chaos. His currents flowed not with the Force but against it.

First he began to focus his will. For one could not simply reach out and manipulate the outside world without a serious amount of control over oneself. He began from within. Speaking inwardly to the Force within himself he sought to harness his own energies to connect to that which was outside. The static of his energy field was granulated and rapidly changing from point to point. His insufferable will would not be undone by the weak temperament of his creation.

Focusing his willpower he forced his energy field into submission. To obey him and his every command. It not longer flowed at the whim of freedom but rather it now began to flow to his sight. Organizing the Force’s flow to a more sensible rotation - much like a clockwise tornado - he smoothed the edges of the flow and prevented escaped energies so that his measure of command would not lack potency.

Now with the current of the Force within him flowing properly enough to work with, he began to seek that which was abroad.

Many times before he had sensed the inner workings of the Force’s natural flow. How it wove in and out of things and gave life to all things around it. He also knew how the feeling of air currents churned. They flowed much like the Force but rather than the ethereal they were of a more physical nature. He desired to harness this.

Something as simple as the breeze. It became more complex than he could realize.

Watching the currents before him he extended the hand of the Force and issued his command. Immediately the Force obeyed him. But this was not his goal. To manipulate the Force and the currents of it was something he could do second nature. He had to refocus and feel that which he desired.

Lifting now his hand to the sky he let the cold air touch his fingers and glide over his skin. It was freezing and damp with moisture. With the physical feeling of the air around him, it gave him something to focus on. He had never realized in all his studies that temperature would be a thing to really focus on or even moisture. But as he swept his mind over the details he could see how the Force was working. The common flow was the basic sense. It was within this natural occurrence that held that which was more.

To his sight it was not so different than water. Where the Force moved, so too did everything around it. Faster flowing such as within a being - himself - gave the representation of warmth. Slower moving, such as the very air around him, gave the representation of cold.

With a minor understanding he pulled the flow of the Force towards his open hand. Now with an area to work within instead of the entirety of the mountain range, he focused on the Force surrounding and within the grip of his open palm. He controlled now the smallest of flowing currents and rotated it within his palm in circular fashion. The rapidity of the movement in this manner created warmth. Temperature increased. Where snow landed it no longer froze or sat still but it now melted from the surface area as within the radius of his hand was now a zone of minor warmth. Such increases would not do much in the grand scheme and so he extended his control and the Force responded in kind. Flooding the area now with warmth around him. The snowed upon earth crystallized. When snow melted and froze again it created slick ice. An accomplishment then as the very temperature around him began to unnaturally heat.

Tormentous determined then that as far as the basics of temperature went - he could command it. To prove the point in his mind he stilled the flow of the inner Force around him and where it was once rapidly flying from point to point and responding to every movement and action with haste - it now began to slow to his will. Just as he suspected the tiny amount of heat haze that had once occurred from his being had begun to vanish and soon the snow that landed once more solidified in layers. Temperature cooled and then chilled and then froze. Upon his armor after the metal had sweat it was now chilling and hoarfrost covered it.

His attention turned now to the wind. Where the inner Force - the inner details - was where he could change the very temperature around him, the wind was another beast entirely. He had to see the difference between the natural flow of the Force and the actual air.

Looking upward with this perspective he did not loose sight of what he was after. The Force churned on the wind and flowed over the mountains with a fervent fury. Such mountain weather was often volatile and wild. Tormentous affixed his gaze and so therein he commanded the wind. A gust was moving in from east to west - a perfect moment to flex his influence upon the outside world.

It came in, churning and shifting as one yet apart. Wild and free. Extending his hand towards the gust of wind as it came - it crashed into his hand. First his fingers and then palm and wrist. It parted ways yet stayed together. Like a wild herd of herbivores running around large rocks or through a forest of trees. It did not stop and it hardly yielded at all. The gust went onwards and vanished into the mountains. Tormentous now had the feel of the wind. Another gust was moving in and this time with his hand extended he sought the Force.

As the wind came upon him - touching first his fingers - he looked at the Force. The aura of how it flowed with the wind yet like the wind it was set apart. Almost as an alternate flow. One was wind. One was the Force. The same yet set apart.

His energy field touched the Force’s flow within the wind and channeled it. Instead of breaking over his fingers as before and keeping its flow steady, he willed the Force to stop. In that moment the Force and the wind alike crashed into his hand - yet - as an invisible barrier - his will defied nature. Before it actually touched his palm the wind blew itself upwards and away. He knew this for the gust never touched his face and as he viewed the event the snow that fell suddenly blasted away into a million directions.

Another gust buffeted the upturned wind and righted its flow. Continuing down the mountain. In simple measure, Tormentous had just seized wind itself.

Knowing that he was only at the tip of the ice. He dove further now. Moisture. Many times he had gazed through the Force and had come to know the feeling of moisture. But now he wanted to do something with it. Upending the scale of his palm and even his own body he looked up to the clouds. They were already brooding and frightful up at the highest peaks. It wouldn’t take much to tempt them to unleash their holdings.

Expanding his sense up unto the skies above he sought out the form of the clouds. All through the air he felt moisture but these dense monoliths of vapor held the greatest portions of all. He felt the temperatures up here - they were well beyond freezing and plummeted down into the negatives. Oxygen itself became scarce. Thin. While the density of the clouds were far beyond that. Up he reached until he skimmed the surface of the first cloud and took in its feeling.

The wind was not different here, though thinner. But its feeling, its sense, was the same. But it was the moisture that was most demanding. Its thickness was severe and as he penetrated the cloud with his mind he could touch the moisture within. It was a slick of frozen water just waiting for the right moment.

Satisfied with his purpose he looked beneath the cloud and sense the moisture in the air surrounding it. Reaching out with the Force he began to gather this thick moisture from the air and pull it to a point beneath the cloud. It condensed and churned thickly in the air. More and more he gathered with the Force that he could actually feel its weight increasing. Soon it would begin to turn into a pool in the air if he was not careful. This was not his purpose and so he pushed his gathered moisture upwards and into the cloud nearby.

At this moment nothing was in reaction to this event. But then he began to knit the moisture gathered with the cloud’s own complexion. Intertwining the threads of water and soon the cloud began to swell and lose its white puffy innocence and turn into a menacing dark grey and glowering head of non-inviting weather.

Within the next few moments he had accelerated the process of which would have taken hours to form naturally. Although all was not as he had willed - entirely.

The cloud was swelling, the storm was brewing, but where he expected to come a snowy blizzard was more akin to a hail storm. The density in which he had packed the moisture into the clouds had been too dense and not spread apart enough. Chunks of solid frozen matter began to fall.

At first the size of pebbles but as the cloud filled to burst, the size increased to fist size and larger.

At this point Tormentous could have created his own heatwave with the furious abandon of his heart without controlling the weather as he ran back to his ship under the cover of being pelted with his own hail.

---END CONTROL WEATHER - 1754