From The Halls of the Arcane (Warvanus, Training)

With Korriban, the ancient home world of the Sith, destroyed, the Sith Order have retreated to the sanctuary of the frozen realm of Zoist.
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Kell Sangros
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From The Halls of the Arcane (Warvanus, Training)

Post by Kell Sangros » Thu Apr 18, 2019 9:10 pm

In the Hall of the Arcane, Warvanus had studied and meditated determined to increase not only his power and knowledge but to gain an deeper understanding of the Dark Side. He had prepared for this ritualistic meditation by fasting and meditating for days before coming to the Hall of the Arcane that was overseen by the Mistress of the Arcane herself the Dathomiran Witch Karliah, one of the members of the Dark Council. she oversaw the Sith Archives, in which Warvanus had spent many an hour studying. He studied accounts from past Sith Masters, their views on the Dark Side, the subtleties of the Force. The Nature of the Dark Side. In essence all philosophical musings.

He had pushed his body to the limit by the fast,consuming only water, he would not break the fast until he had finished, nothing else would do, this would allow him to rely more on the Force and to be open to the Dark Side. It had been a long time coming, Ever since he had touched the Force for the first time in the presence of Darth Tormentous, and the Dark Side took an interest in him when he murdered his wife, and the people he once called neighbors and friends. It was a price to pay for the power he wished to embody. he had watched as the Dark Side consumed him through his journey, it was slow but as time went on the Dark Side left it’s claim on him, his body, and his mind.
Begin Level 13

The Dark Side was madness, constantly whispering to him, it would drive a lesser being to insanity. When he could hear the maddening whispers of the Dark Side he made his own voice louder, he would go over tactics, Lightsaber forms, anything to drown out the maddening whispers, as a result it made him harder to read and harder to predict as well, at times he could mentally shut them out, the times where it threatened to overwhelm him, he employed his own mental shield by focusing on other tasks. When he could not contain or shut out the voices, he would let them have free reign in his mind. At times he would look in the mirror and sometimes he could not recognize the being who looked back at him, his skin tone was no longer its normal light tone, it had gone pale, wan even, it was a sign of the Dark Side’s work in him, the corruption that happened in all of the Dark Side’s chosen, the raggedness in his features, the crows feet around his eyes. He had the look of a man who did not sleep or take care of himself. In truth he did, but this was the cost of being a devotee of the Dark Side. His features did not scream dark side disciple, but those who knew him before his journey down through the path to power would notice a difference. The Dark Side was an addiction, a disease, one he never wanted treatment or a cure from. The Dark Side was his ‘bride’. The corruption had been so gradual that it never shocked the War-Bringer as his features bore the scars of his power.

He reached out and claimed the power of the Force as his own. Its infinite energy coursed through him, flowing through him as the fatigue and the hunger washed away like a message in the sand on a beach. He lusted for more of its energy. In the past he had limits on the amount of energy he could contain, gradually he pushed that limit a little further, each time experiencing a measure of success. He drew more energy into himself. He was its conduit. It was as if he was in an open sea by himself, like the sea wanting to consume him, so it was the same with the currents of the Dark Side, and it would if he gave in to it. He kept his mind rooted in the physical realm, as he continued to draw more and more energy into himself, the urge to lose himself in it, to never return grew stronger in his mind, it became more of an effort to control his thoughts, to keep him rooted in the present he continued to will more energy into himself, he could feel the effects of his body containing so much energy but he still continued, the more he drew into himself, the harder it became to contain it. Sweat beaded on his forehead, he could feel the pressure on the sides of his head pounding like a drum. He could feel his nerve endings overloading, his body wanted to burst like a vessel overfilled. His body could not hold anymore of the energy, it was now by his sheer will to contain it, his will dominated over all, the Force was his to command, and his will kept the energy within, he could unleash it he imagined it would have destructive consequences, but this was not the time for that, It was about destroying the mental barrier that set his limitations, that separated him from where he was to where he needed to be. His body protested as the energy within threatened to eat him from the inside out. He gritted his teeth and re-asserted his will to keep it under his control. The rising feeling of being sick, threatened his focus, his Iron will pushed the sensations down that came from his rebelling body. He was the Master. The Force was his servant and as its’ Master he did not release the energy, he kept it inside himself. If anybody had been in the room with him, they would have seen some sort of distortion around the War-Bringer. Like intense heat off Asphalt. His body radiated the barely contained energy he was controlling. Inwardly the Energy amplified the madness that came with the Dark Side. The whispers were now indiscernible screams or torment and pain, sinister laughter, echos from long dead Dark Lords and Sith Masters filled his mind with its sinister voices, wanting to dominate his conscious to once again enter the realm of the living, which in the mind of the War-Bringer sounded like thousands of voices speaking in unison, taunting him to give into the madness, to surrender himself to it. He could not employ the mental techniques to keep it under control, so he did he only thing he could do, Warvanus surrendered to it.

Containing so much power, more than he ever had in all of his training, he stretched out with his senses, his eyes were closed tightly but he could see the room as clearly as if his eyes were opened. The candles surrounding him, the lightsaber and helmet in front of him, the banners that adorned the walls. He could see it so clearly, the imperfections in the wax candles, the unevenness of the thickness of the wax stood out like a sore thumb to him, the imperfections in the fabric of the banners, the dents in his helmet, and the areas that were hammered out, stood out like a pulsing beacon in the mind’s eye of the War-Bringer. He never had been able to see in such clarity when submersed in the currents of the Dark Side. Even when he had poured so much concentration into his senses he never could see with such clarity, he could see the shadows dance that were cast from the flames of the candles as the fires consumed the wick. He extended outward, he could see the next room over, it was unoccupied but could see the simple furniture that adorned the room, there was no banners hanging on its walls but in the room sat a table with a red and black cloth draped over it, it was a fine silk, he could perceive no imperfections in it. he continued to extend outward, he stretched his senses to outside the Hall of the Arcane, he could see the comings and goings of beings, most whose lives were static, he could not feel the Force stirring in them. Their lives were like a dimly lit candle. He could see apprentices that were training outside, through the Force they came off as something brighter. He could almost smell the air, it was humid, it smelled as if a rainstorm was imminent. He felt at one with the Dark Side, In that moment he was the current, he could go on and on until he was so immersed in its currents that he would not be able to return to himself. That was not an option, he had work that had to be done, he had much to do still. Slowly, reluctantly he pulled his senses inward slowly and steadily.

He had slowly come back to himself; he swept his awareness to the lightsaber in front of him. He willed it to rise; given the heightened state he was in through this meditation lifting the saber with the Force took no effort. The lightsaber came alive with the snap-hiss, the red blade shone bright in the room. He had opened his eyes and had watched the Lightsaber float there, he briefly recalled his journey that brought him to this point. He paid it no further thought now. He rose to his feet and extended a hand, the Lightsaber flew to his hand. It had been the only Lightsaber he had ever constructed, the crystal had been a gift from the Sith Lord Kroxota, he had told him that the crystal had been once used in Tormentous’ own Lightsaber. The blade was humming with a life of its own, ready to do its’ Master’s bidding.

The power he was containing had become easier to maintain his containment of it, he had never summoned as much power as he had on this day, the physical toll it was taking on him was beyond exhausting, but he had done it. He slowly let go of the power he drew into himself. Once this was done he fully came back to himself. He opened his eyes, something felt different. He felt more in tune with the Dark Side as if it was a steady companion, he had been marked by the Dark Side, they belonged to each other now.

That was not all that was different, Warvanus knew that his powers did not actually increase, or that his midi-chlorian count increased, it was more of an intensification of his existing powers, a deeper understanding of the nature of the Dark Side. It was as if the gates were opened before the War-Bringer and he stepped through. He did not feel like he was ready, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was ready for the Higher Mysteries. As he had gone from a being who spent all his energy just to sense a piece of metal less than five feet in front of him to feeling as if he could lose himself in the eternal currents of the Dark Side never to return. He felt as if his perception of the Force sharpened in clarity, never had he felt so in tune with the Dark Side of the Force as he did now, it was a realm of existence that only Masters knew.

End 13
1635/1300
His journey to power had been carved in self study, meditation, blood, war, successes, and failures. All were good teachers, but the greatest of these was his failures. It was through Failure he would grab it and turn it into success. A Master’s understanding did not end here, it was just the beginning. These things had honed him into the weapon of the Dark Side that he is today.
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Darth Warvanus
=Lord of War=
-=Emperor's Hand=
=The War Bringer=-
-=Master of the Warhound Battlegroup=-
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