Hera
Sep 4th, 2011, 12:01:28 PM
KORRIBAN
The flame in the iron sconce flickered in the draft, but Hera kept her pace unchanged. The lay of the stone steps that lead downward into the cloying darkness were almost second nature to her now, so often had she been down them, being able to see them was almost unnecessary.
The thick walls she passed along were the foundations of the Academy itself, dry unyeilding stone set a hundred generations ago in the deep earth of the planet. Their rough uneven surface pulled the light of the flame inward, dimming its illumination and attempting to overcome it by their cold, hard immovability. There is a lesson here, Hera guessed as she passed deeper within the labrynth.
The power of the Dark ones was infused in every crook and cranny of the ancient ruins - latent, silently waiting to move against the unguarded. She could feel it every where she went, and here most especially, in the stairwells that lead down to the Master's Cloister. Only natural light could abide here, hence the open flame - glow sticks, lanterns and other means of illumination were useless, their cores failing within moments of decending into the tunnel. The same was true of blasters and weapons that were made from anything other the elements. The force had ultimate rule here and the dark side was only what was required for armament. Even her lightsaber was not effective here, despite its energy center being drawn from crystal. The powers here preceded the graceful weapon of the Force User. Down here, in the Cloister chambers of the Ancient Ones, the integrity of the Dark Side was pure, and so too must be its acolytes.
Hera felt her skin prickle in the presence of powers much greater than her own. An apprehension based on her own audacity to venture here. Despite her allegience to the Dark Side and aside that she was amongst the cradle of her mentors - those she honored and aspired to - she would be hard pressed to say that she was among friends. Sith have no friends. Hera knew that to be true enough.
She came to the landing and entered a thick wooden door which lead off to her right. The air inside the chamber was stale and the blackness within complete. Hera's torch brought with it a suffused circle of light that struggled for life and was all but smothered by the darkness that shrouded the room so heavily. A startled whimper reached out to Hera across the room, assuring her that her captive had not yet succombed and died from his terror.
She stretched her hand and touched the flame to a wall sconce, igniting a second meagre source of light. She did this half a dozen times until the small cell was set to war, shadows against light. She stepped forward to stand by the stone altar (more like a big flat rock, Hera decided) to her softly weeping prisoner and gently touched his head, stroking his matted hair.
"Did our Lieutenant say anything yet?" she queried.
Stretched out lengthwise upon the cold, rigid body of dead <a href="http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showpost.php?p=367516&postcount=11"> Lt Jarros,</a> the captive man shook his head, making his iron chains rattle feebly.
Hera was not surprised, yet she still felt disappointed. This was proving more difficult than she had thought. She placed the leather-bound tome on the ceramic tiled floor, the rune patterns just faintly seen in the flame glow.
"Pity. Looks like we will have to move on as the Dark Lords directed"
A small whimper and again a feeble rattling of chains from the man, "..no, please..."
The blonde sith crouched down to open the book to a particular page and, ignoring his pleas, began to speak words that had not been spoken by a Sith tongue in this chamber, in this Cloister, in over a millenia.
The flame in the iron sconce flickered in the draft, but Hera kept her pace unchanged. The lay of the stone steps that lead downward into the cloying darkness were almost second nature to her now, so often had she been down them, being able to see them was almost unnecessary.
The thick walls she passed along were the foundations of the Academy itself, dry unyeilding stone set a hundred generations ago in the deep earth of the planet. Their rough uneven surface pulled the light of the flame inward, dimming its illumination and attempting to overcome it by their cold, hard immovability. There is a lesson here, Hera guessed as she passed deeper within the labrynth.
The power of the Dark ones was infused in every crook and cranny of the ancient ruins - latent, silently waiting to move against the unguarded. She could feel it every where she went, and here most especially, in the stairwells that lead down to the Master's Cloister. Only natural light could abide here, hence the open flame - glow sticks, lanterns and other means of illumination were useless, their cores failing within moments of decending into the tunnel. The same was true of blasters and weapons that were made from anything other the elements. The force had ultimate rule here and the dark side was only what was required for armament. Even her lightsaber was not effective here, despite its energy center being drawn from crystal. The powers here preceded the graceful weapon of the Force User. Down here, in the Cloister chambers of the Ancient Ones, the integrity of the Dark Side was pure, and so too must be its acolytes.
Hera felt her skin prickle in the presence of powers much greater than her own. An apprehension based on her own audacity to venture here. Despite her allegience to the Dark Side and aside that she was amongst the cradle of her mentors - those she honored and aspired to - she would be hard pressed to say that she was among friends. Sith have no friends. Hera knew that to be true enough.
She came to the landing and entered a thick wooden door which lead off to her right. The air inside the chamber was stale and the blackness within complete. Hera's torch brought with it a suffused circle of light that struggled for life and was all but smothered by the darkness that shrouded the room so heavily. A startled whimper reached out to Hera across the room, assuring her that her captive had not yet succombed and died from his terror.
She stretched her hand and touched the flame to a wall sconce, igniting a second meagre source of light. She did this half a dozen times until the small cell was set to war, shadows against light. She stepped forward to stand by the stone altar (more like a big flat rock, Hera decided) to her softly weeping prisoner and gently touched his head, stroking his matted hair.
"Did our Lieutenant say anything yet?" she queried.
Stretched out lengthwise upon the cold, rigid body of dead <a href="http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showpost.php?p=367516&postcount=11"> Lt Jarros,</a> the captive man shook his head, making his iron chains rattle feebly.
Hera was not surprised, yet she still felt disappointed. This was proving more difficult than she had thought. She placed the leather-bound tome on the ceramic tiled floor, the rune patterns just faintly seen in the flame glow.
"Pity. Looks like we will have to move on as the Dark Lords directed"
A small whimper and again a feeble rattling of chains from the man, "..no, please..."
The blonde sith crouched down to open the book to a particular page and, ignoring his pleas, began to speak words that had not been spoken by a Sith tongue in this chamber, in this Cloister, in over a millenia.