We all know what kind of story this is…
Despite her closed eyes and the door’s own silence - a testament to the level of care her Masters demanded of their staff - Verse knew the moment the entryway to her chambers opened. This knowledge alone was unremarkable. Surrounded by Dark Jedi with years or even decades of experience, she had grown accustomed to the prescience and preternatural perception they routinely presented. But its source - the same wellspring as her frustration - was all her own. The change was minor - E minor to be exact - but the burr in her quintolium’s melody was obvious to her own ear.
With effort she ignored it, her graceful fingers dancing across the instrument’s strings. They moved neither quickly nor with placidity. Rather, each strum was precise, a display of practiced perfection. Melody leapt forth in response, a tinkling of carol bells over the torrential tide of bass thrums that underpinned them. Her eyes remained closed, unmindful of the intrusion. There was only the song, the need to recover perfection from the maw of altered acoustics the open door injected.
Finally he spoke, impatience plain in the gruff voice that so contradicted his lilting Cheunh accent. “Stow it before I shatter it.” The Sith made a movement, as if to confiscate the delicate, stringed device, and Verse flinched away from him. She set it to her side then, turning her head up to look him in the eye, as if daring him to take it by force - or by Force. It was a game for her - and a constant source of frustration for her Master.
“Why the sudden urgency?”
“Your freighter’s almost done loading,” he replied, weariness and relief vying for dominance in his tone. “You have about half an hour to pack, then your ass better be in their passenger quarters. If you’re still here when they leave the airlock, you’ll be following them. Without a pressure suit.”
Home, she thought. He’s sending me back to Hapes. Alive. Emotions welled within her, too many to sort through. They threatened to overpower her, to drown her in their clamor. Years, millennia, aeons passed while she fought against the undertow. Memories of the Consortium - both cherished reminisces from her childhood, and the nightmares that had haunted her since her recent abbreviated sojourn - vied for supremacy. After what she had seen, she hated the hutt-cursed planet. The very idea of returning twisted her guts. She was repulsed by its peoples and politics. But the opposite was true as well.
There was a Hapan proverb, from the days of the Lorell Raiders: We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because. That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.
The Chiss pivoted on his left heel, turning abruptly to leave, but her porcelain grip on his sleeve pulled him up short. He moved like liquid flame, spinning back to her, his arm snaking around her own and breaking her hold. She was on her knees before she could blink, her left fist clenched painfully in his right, and the fire in his crimson eyes swore to drown her in their depths. She tried to speak, tried to tell him that she had changed her mind. She had thought herself content to leave, to return to a life of easy, safe matriarchal machinations. She tried to cry pardon, but her throat wouldn’t work. It was as if the sound of the words were fists beating ineffectually against the walls of his mercilessly implacable gaze.
She thought of returning to the corruption that plagued her home, with nothing to show for her journey. She thought of returning, of seeing the pestilence of Jedi ideals that threatened to subsume the proud traditions of her people, and being powerless to change it. She thought of the power he had offered her - the power she had spurned. And mute, she pleaded with her eyes.
The fire and rage still roiled in his eyes, but nonetheless his gaze softened as he spoke. “The day we mourn our future is the day we leave our childhood behind.”
For all that his words hinted at the possibility of reprieve, she bristled instinctively at the presumption. Which, of course, was when her tongue remembered how to work.
“You do not know the first note of the music that moves me!”
“I know more than you’ll admit, k'eten'bah'ticsi.” An arrogant grin hardened his features, as if he had weighed her very soul and found it wanting. “I know you would give anything to usurp the pretender that sits upon Hapes’ pathetic excuse for a throne.” Her mouth grew parched at his words, at the knowledge of her treason they evinced. She had been sure she had covered her tracks. With a Hapan Consul, she couldn’t risk the truth getting out to any of his allies in the Consortium. If any remained after the recent debacle. Heedless of her thoughts, Invictus continued his diatribe. “I know you were embroiled in plotting to assassinate your own Queen Mother when those Etti slavers captured you. I know you love your people more than life itself.”
Verse swallowed and bit the tip of her tongue, working moisture back into her mouth for a rebuttal her lips refused to form. It was true. There was little she could do to refute his claims. And there was an undercurrent to his words, a hint that if she were to take his offer she would arrive safely back on Hapes - only to discover her treason already known. Still, it was clear he knew less than he thought, if he believed that her people were the sum of her soul. She nearly flicked a glance at the polished bowl of her quintolium, still resting on the settee she had vacated. Whatever might happen, she had that. Even if she were sent home, forcibly banished back to Hapes, he couldn’t rob her of her music. Through the trials of her forced apprenticeship, it had been her solace and her motive force. In that moment she wanted nothing more than the reassuring light that reflected from its sun-bleached curves, but she knew better than to tempt the clockwork precision of her Master’s mind. And in the end, as he continued, even her restraint was for naught.
“I know the only thing that compares to your passion for your people is that waste of wood and carbon over whose frets you fret. I know you waste your hours seeking solace in its notes, while the galaxy spins off its axis, threatening to descend into turmoil with every passing second. You myopic Krath with your academic and artistic fixations do nothing, while those of us with eyes to see spend every waking moment counterbalancing the chaos! The One Sith stand poised to sink their unseen fangs into the heart of our existence, threatening to destroy everything we have worked for decades to achieve. The last thing we need is more wasted space.”
She opened her mouth to contradict him, or at least quell his raging, but he spoke over her protestations.
“I offered you the power and knowledge of half a century’s ceaseless effort. The power to manipulate people, and cultures, and reality itself. The power to save your people from the greedy, obsequious mediocrity that threatens to supplant their legacy. And you sit here, strumming your ktah melodies, like some heartsick maid mooning over a man. I thought there was a glimmer of hope for you, that day I saved you from Marick’s mindless wrath at all things Hapan. Clearly, I was wrong.”
She saw, then, the nature of this song they sang. For all his baritone chanting, there was room for an aria of her own. She knew how to convince him to let her stay, to let her learn the things needed to save Hapes from the doom she saw threatening it. He had spoken of it before. The Sacrifice. The capitals had been clear when Invictus described the Sith tradition, so many weeks ago. If you are to champion that which you love, he had told her, you must sacrifice your love itself. And now her eyes did stray to the quintolium. She caressed it with her gaze, lingering on its meticulously polished form, then at last turned back to the Chiss still towering above her.
“I’ll do it. I’ll complete the trials.”
“You just did,” was his impassive reply.
Sudden pain blossomed in her right hand, mirroring the increasing pressure in her left as his fist, still clenching her own, tightened its grip. She realized, suddenly, that her cerulean-skinned Master was capable of far more cruelty than she had credited to him. Rather than just her instrument, it was the music itself he demanded.
The staccato percussion of her finger bones shattering filled the otherwise silent chamber, and she knew it was the last song they would ever play...
One of the main things I look for in members as they move through the Journeyman ranks is some area in which they truly excel, where they hold some distinction or particular skill. This can be a savviness with the wiki, an artistic or creative talent, the ability to code, or any component of Brotherhood life where a member is above average. In the case of Verse Theris, it is easy to see where that distinction lies -- for Verse, it’s writing, and especially combat writing.
Arcona recently opened a battleteam focused on the Antei Combat Center, meant to train and prepare members to ACC well on a vendetta stage, lead by a former Combat Master. Verse quickly found her niche with this team, and in her very first ACC battle in the past two weeks, beat another very talented Arconan writer during the Beta Tournament. She is the only Journeyman advancing to the second round, and I am excited to see how far she can go.
Beyond her own battle, Verse has been very involved in proofreading and assisting other Arconans in their own fights, and I’ve been on about a half-dozen documents with her collaborating and proofreading other members. Her criticisms are always superb and well-received, and she genuinely cares about seeing her friends improve. She is a consummate team player in this regard, and a tremendous asset to Arcona’s contingent of ACC writers. With her strength being writing, we knew that special care would have to be given to her promotion fiction -- a special thank-you to her master, Invictus, for the beautiful work above.
I could talk about Verse’s intangibles at great length. I could tell you that she’s unfailingly cheerful and friendly, and greets everyone with a smile on IRC. I don’t need to tell you that, however, because chances are you already know -- her reputation for kindness has already spread beyond Arcona. She is an excellent addition to her battleteam, her House, and her Clan, and her presence alone is often enough to help improve the mood.
I hope that the grittier details of Verse’s accomplishments and achievements in Arcona have been adequately chronicled by our Rollmaster, though I am certain that even he could not address every contribution Verse has made in her short months in Arcona. I am delighted to recommend that she be elevated to the rank of Dark Jedi Knight, and I look forward to seeing her continue to be an integral part of our Clan.
Congratulations, Verse!
Proconsul of Clan Arcona
Legorii Arconae, 2014-02-19 05:28:18 UTC