Log:Bloody Resonance

Bloody Resonance

OOC Date: November 6, 2015 (Optional)
Location: Morriban
Participants: Alys Zapal Qar-duun Tamsin Cas Bors Thul

Alys got herself some Kyber Crystal fron a raid on a facility moving black market items through it. Apparently some Mandalorians were upset about it, but she slipped in, killed a few guards, and got what she was after before those Helmeted Weirdoes blew the whole place up.

Which brings us to here and now. It may not be common to have witnesses to Bleeding a crystal, but like any Sith, Alys is made of Ego, so she desired her triumphs to be witnessed and appreciated. Thusly, she invited superiors and equals to witness her bleed the hunk of crystal she chipped free for her lightsaber.

The small chunk of crystal, no larger than the first joint of her thumb, sits on the bloodstained altar in the middle of the room. It's blue glitter seems to be warring with the ambient Dark Side energy in the chamber, almost making it pulse. Alys is dressed in a hooded robe, standing by the altar and waiting. Her eyes flicker to the crystal now and again, anxiety flashing across her face.

Failure is unacceptable.

Qar-duun does his best to keep his back to the wall, unless there is assigned seating, but may merely be gathering crucial data or awaiting disaster. Mainly silent, he observes and paces along the chamber's interior.

Achlys has been informed of the acolyte's attempt to bring their chunk of kyber to heel, and thus, has been instructed to observe the ritual. There was very little in this room which would have reminded the Sith Master and erstwhile Knight of their own bleeding ceremony, but then, perhaps it could be said that there was very little of the force user who had been, in the dark robed figure who made their way into the room's interior. Silent, as was their preference, in voice, and in motion, the sound of their robes a bare whisper to disturb the atmosphere as they found a place to stand on the boundary wall of the chamber.

Not a place for robes of state. Even if not the Count of House Thul... he was an honored elder of the Great and Ancient House. But today he was in armor, maybe as much as for support of old joints and battered frame the former commando and sometimes again still as such stood and looked on.

Expression neutral and hands folded behind his back, Bors stood with his head tipped slightly as to focus more through the monocle over his right eye.

Curious works, interesting he would be invited to observe.

Observers are here. Present and ready and all eyes on her. Alys draws a deep breath, and silently moves to stand before the altar, facing the room. One would think she would intone something. Signal a start to the ritual. She does not. All present can feel her draw upon the Force, filtering it through Anger and hate. Through pain and passion. Darkness seems to coalesce around her briefly as she levels her hand towards the glittering blue crystal. A thing alive in the Force.

With a wordless snarl, she vents raw Dark Side energy into the crystal. It sparkles, shines, then glows a brilliant blue as it fights back. All of this is normal. Until it isn't. Alys's eyes blank as she enters her own personal war with the crystal, fighting against the things it shows her.

The room trembles like a bell as waves eminate from the crystal. From the altar. From the temple itself. The Force itself, Living, Unifying, Cosmic, Light, Dark. It resonates through the ritual chamber like some kind of radar emitter, washing over those present, and dragging them into their own visions. Showing them things that were. Things that could have been. Temptations to walk another path.

What do you see, Lords of the Sith? What could have been? What could you have chosen instead?

Qar-duun's life has been as all our lives are: one inflection-point after another. One branch, one choice, catapulting us down a wholly new path! Would he have been a revolutionary guerilla on Dathomir? Would Qar-duun, the man who stood between him and a future in the Sith, have lived a changed life? The longhouse is gone, the man who threatened his ascendancy now, surely, dry bones being aggressively composted by the jungle. But... what if?

There is no great outpouring anger, of hate, of pain, nor regret, as the vision comes to Achlys, a snapshot of a life long-lived, snippets of things that were, that might have been, that should never have been. A flash of a room, an ancient reactor, a dark-skinned, dark-haired, dark robed figure in its center exploding into light, incandescent in its brilliance, too painful and too powerful to look at, leaving behind, in that moment before instinct forced eyes to close, a vision of rolling green fields, and the sound of the thundering hooves of wild guarlara. You've received a +nom from Tamsin Cas. +nom/pending to review.

Stories of the world of his birth abound, tales of the wonders he was robbed of by family. The hills that were artwork of the flower painters. Architecture that was passed down from hand to hand to create works envisioned by many and seen never by those who first put down the plans. Statuary that would be the singular work of a lifetime and often times only enjoyed briefly by the artist before their demise.

All gone. Lost. Memory swallowed up by history and now poured wholly into the minds eye of Lord Bors, Champion of Thul. Queen Cortess's Black Knight.

Memories light and dark surging through the older man's consciousness, all of it reverberating against the confines of Bor's thoughts. Long millennia spanning chapters of wars and ultimately peace that rush onward to a singular moment. Confusion and fear becoming a thunderclap of terror.

A moment he would not be privy to, only in speculation. Spared by random chance but now lived and relived again as living memory claws its ways through the man. Millions of eyes and memories each taking their turn to show themselves to him unbidden.

Millions of voices crying out in fear.

Then suddenly silenced.

And when that silence comes at last the old man is on his hands and knees, bent over and gasping.

This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) - You have nominated Bors Thul. A life of no consequence. One of scraping and working to the bone, but full of the simple joys of others. Of children and family. Of the honest satisfaction of doing something you're good at, doing it well, and making the lives of others better.

A life of grease and parts. A life of ships, speeders and droids. Of being a little luckier than everyone else. A little quicker. Nothing else. A life that ends with her old and in bed.

This is what you've lost, the crystal, the Force, tells her. More joy in one day than in a year. Simple, uncomplicated happiness. No violence. No blood on her hands except for scraped knuckles.

'You can still have this. Just walk away. Leave the darkness.'

"No," she hisses, redoubling her efforts, electricity arcing across the altar. "-No-."

The crystal tries again. Another what if. Another ringing blow. Stronger. Brighter. What could have been if the balance was chosen. If the Enemy found you. A bright blade in the darkness. Peace. Harmony. Knowledge. Wielding the Force to hold back the darkness, not to bolster it.

To be a true hero. One who knows they are free.

Still, Alys fights.

Qar-duun doubles over, dry-heaving into his helmet. Visions of a life in the Stone Age, free and honest. Living to become a revered storyteller, or a master of shouted boasts and cutting japes. Being -one- with the jungle, not seized by the notion of every light in the Force as "HOSTILE DETECTED. SAFETY PROTOCOLS RESCINDED." It's-- too much--

A pyre, ablaze with light, the body wreathed in flames incandescent, as Achlys, Tamsin Cas that was, stands shoulder to shoulder with a tall, rakish man, his ebullience palpable even in complete stillness, not touching, and yet there was a twinning between them, of shared life, shared experience, shared emotion. The time spent flashes in an instant, thought here's an echo of the endless in it, before her focus shifts, a cairn rising, moved by unseen hands to make of themselves a crypt. A memory. A memorial.

A wheezing, creaking and clatter as the old man sinks back to sit awkwardly on one hip. Hand resting on his stomach and the ringing of precious metal on stone turning into the juttering drone of rolling as the monocle skips along having fallen from Bor's eye. Bouncing when the chain catch touches and twirling into the air until it comes to an abrupt and jerking halt at the end of of the thin silvery line connecting it to the collar of Bors's armor.

Turning to fall flat with its HUD display scrolling slowly with error screens without a retina recognized for interface.

A blade of shining light in her hand, Alys Zapal, Jedi Knight, races through the pirate vessel. Blaster bolts fly as she defends the captives she ushers to her ship. "Go! I'll protect you! GO!" She throws a hand out, hurling pirates away, giving her time to catch up to the terrified people.

Just in time for a pair of Droidekas to roll out, set their shields up and ready to fire.

'You're scared," a voice tells her. 'Use it. You can be powerful if you use it.'

"I'm a Jedi," she mutters, moving to stand in front of the terrified people.

'You might live, but they'll die if you don't.'

She frowns, looking at the droids, hearing their capacitors spool up. A choice must be made.

In the real world, Alys roars so forcefully her voice becomes a rasp, the Dark Side crackling across her body and feeding into the crystal. "You...You are MINE!"

One final shockwave resonates from the altar. This time, a physical one. Alys is hurled from her feet, rocketing across the open space and hitting the ground in a terrible skid. As her momentum bleeds, she's still, body smoking, robes shredded.

On the altar, the crystal is Red. Qar-duun struggles to his feet, shoulderblades planted like crampons in the wall to keep him upright. "Darth Achlys. Sir Bors. Are we fit to fight?" This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) The wave crashed over Achlys, and yet, they stood unmoved, as though their physical body had no import now, if it ever had. The force brought with it a wine dark sea, and a trio of figures staring not at each other, but out into the distance. A human, a falleen, and a golden haired Achlys, shorn of her helm, if only for this moment. As the wave receded, so did the sea, leaving only barren rock behind. And a figure cloaked in pure, bright, brilliant snow white, stepping forward to join Achlys, who was now, the only figure on the shore. As the power of he force faded, so two did the two figures, as though they had never been at all.

The sound of Qar'duur's voice brought Achlys back to the moment, and instinct and that other dark gift shifted her focus, as they moved to approach Bors. "I am well."

Coughing and scooping up his eyepiece in the wake of the rushing emotion memory and pull of the sorcery he has been brought to witness, Bors's joints groan even as he keeps his peace while rising back to his full height. Expression a twisted form of Noble's Peace. Eyes bloodshot and the monocle put back before his eye,

"How would I be anything other?"

A deep inhale, nostrils flaring and his upper lip stiffening,

"Ere I would be remiss were I anything les..."

Wavering slightly to his left, the knee trembling in threat to buckle and his hand raising to halt the approach of the butler droid that steps forward slowly with a rumbling growling sound.

This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) Alys is still for a moment, then she stirs, rolling over and pushing herself to hands and knees. She breathes heavily, eyesight wavering for a moment. Slowly she pushes herself to her feet, wobbling a little as she looks around.

"Is... Is that -normal-?"

This is likely the most unsure anyone has heard her about anything. She staggers back towards the altar, looking at the crystal. "It worked, though. That's the important part." She scoops the crystal up, holding it in her hand, feeling the seething hate thudding within it.

"Thank you for witnessing me. You honor me." Qar-duun nods, admitting carefully: "If 'that' happens every time, I can see why finding an eager audience would be a rarity."

As Bors turned aside his butler, Achlys paused as well. The way in which she stood a clear indication that help was offered, but not insisted upon, from the Noble Alderaanian. As to the question, "Every person joins with their crystal in a different way. The ritual is unique to each ritual caller. The force did as it felt it was necessary for you to achieve your aim." Why does Achlys sound so much like a philosopher, in quite a sharp contrast to the engine of destruction which she was called to be so often now? Perhaps the past brings out that aspect of her so rarely seen in these darker days. This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.)

Nose wrinkling, momentarily, "Curious thing, that which binds stars as I come with understanding bared yet blind..." Jaw shifting side to side, Bors gruffs for a moment before his gaze swims back into focus. Turned on Alys again now, though there is the barest of nods towards Achlys.

The old man looked again to L7, fractionally, as if willing the droid to not abide by its programming. Then forward again his attention was. Mouth opening a fraction before clicking shut again.

This is not the command you're looking for. (Try "help" or "+help" for help.) Alys almost cradles the Kyber in her hand, looking to Alchys as they explain. She simply nods once. "I see. This seemed ... very intense. I wonder if the temple had anything to do with it," she muses, looking between the Black Knight, Darth Alchys and her fellow Acolyte.

"All that's left is...building it."

As Bors nodded his well-being, Achlys returned the gesture, allowing him to do as he would. "Should it not be intense? You are touching the very force which binds and moves through very atom of existence in the universe. Communing with it, using it to forge your will made manifest in crystal and bone." A moment of silence, before Achlys continued, "That is the true test. You have its heart. Now you must build the body. It's perfect vessel."

"Realization stands that something ere cleft to thine core be important, if the works of My Queen are to be learnt from in the smithing of thine hand completed." Mouth a slash across sallow flesh slowly rekindling towards the aged blush of health that only a mountain of wealth can afford to have.

A hand stealing to a pouch at Bors's hip, the old man frown grows when he looks upon the small silvery disk resting in his palm when withdrawn. His expression speaking volumes.

How very proper.

As if expecting the sorceress's prescience to do the rest, Bors's arm swings wide before it comes to fold behind his back again and the tone of metal briefly sounding against armor plasteel chases the little spinning item that is sent with eerie accuracy for one nearing his sixties.

Interceptor pilots... A-Wing pilots.

A coin bearing the profile of Bale Antilles sent soaring towards Alys,

"Momentous for its miniscule nature. A piece of a world, now gone."

"Yes," she says, looking down at the crystal in her hand. "I need to...make something worthy of it." Her hand closes around the crystal as she tucks it away to safety.

The coin comes flying, and because of both her physical prowess and the Force, she catches it with ease, looking at it. Old. Quite old. "Thank you, Sir Knight. I will...incorporate this into my weapon," she says with genuine gratitude.

She pauses, looking around. "I think, though, we are done here. Unless my fellow Acolyte is ready to Bleed his own crystal?"

Qar-duun smiles, wry. "Not before a sonic shower and a salad, I'm afraid."

Achlys made no more comment, in regards to the crafting of the housing for the crystal. That, as with most things, would come in time. They noted the coin sent flying, and then offered a nod of their own towards Bors, "There is nothing more that this room can offer us, for now." Robes still silent around them, Achlys moved to depart the room. They had observed, their work was done.