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Darth Verrin

Imperial Kaar
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2,134 The One

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About Darth Verrin

  • Rank
    Kaar of Ancient Knowledge
  • Birthday 07/20/1970

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  • Alignment
    Corruption III
  • Social Point Purchases
    2 Protocol Droids - Gifted to Vanessa and Holle (-4)

    Mission Rewards
    Combat Stimulant Injector
  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    CT
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    Darth Verrin
  • Social Points
    71

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  1. Talons and Claws

    The wait for Vashlai to arrive probably wasn't all that long, but Verrin grumbled and groused with each passing minute. He felt it was important to be ready for her arrival, but at the same time he despised not doing SOMEthing while he waited. He argued with himself, that he was being too nice - that he should do whatever he wanted to do, and she could wait on HIM when she arrived. But that meant extending the time to confrontation, which rankled him more. He eyes the piles on his desk, thinking that he could clean up a few things before the inevitable. He finally reached for a datapad, and discovered a task he'd forgotten about, so he grumbled again and dug into it. SO when Vashlai finally showed up, and was ushered into the office by a cloaked Guardian, she found the occupant focused on the electronic device before him. He waved offhandedly at one of the two guest chairs that sat in front of his desk, and the Guardian shrugged at her. Whether she took a seat or not, Maggie - the Darth's assistant - wheeled over a small conveyance, a beverage cart. Politely, she offered, "Miss Vashlai - would you care for a beverage?" Maggie, diligent as always, had read what ecology of Vashlai's species she could find, and prepared the cart accordingly. It should contain whatever the guest desired. Finally, Verrin seat aside the datapad by unceremoniously tossing it back onto the top of the pile he'd extracted it from. He sat back in his office chair, steppled his fingers before him, and asked quietly, "Well, well. Vashlai the Vosh. What brings you to my office today, hrmm? A quest for knowledge... you seek an opportunity to impress me... you found your way here by accident... you came because you were summoned?" Verrin rattled off a few possible scenarios, even though both of them knew why she was here. "What seems to be going on today?"
  2. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    It was difficult to tell how much of Lucian's spirit was in his holocron and how much was automated. Arguably, every 'cron was run by some semblance of spirit - some piece of the creator. Verrin had long studied the nuances and intricacies of holocron crafting, but had only ever made one himself - a vessel to capture Eris. It was at times like these that he wished he had more time to pursue those studies. Perhaps one day, he would leave his own body, and take on another host, so he could continue that research. But that time hadn't yet come. He answered the holocron - or spirit, he still wasn't sure how much of either he was talking to. "So you gambled the fate of the Empire in an all-in affair? Big risks, big rewards, I suppose. But also the potential for big losses. I understand completely." Verrin had gambled everything too, in his attempts to raise his daughter from the dead. Every plan, every preparation had been made. It could have worked - it should have worked. But something had happened that he didn't foresee, and the years of planning and preparation went to the Dark Side. He smiled wanly, and added, "We may have regrets in our execution of our plans, but at least we don't have the regret of never having tried." But the more he spoke to this holocron, and the more he realized he wans't going completely mad and talking to himself, the more Verrin had concerns and questions. "So... your situation... how much of your spirit is in there? How much of it is 'out there'? Salvageable? Should I be preparing a host for you to occupy? I have the means, and the knowledge to bring about your return, if that is your will." He hadn't tried to forcefully bring a spirit back against its will before, but Verrin didn't feel that this was the time or situation to try. "Do you miss living? Your daughter?" He asked questions, partly of the holocron before him, and partly of himself. And then another concern rose to the surface. "The Grand Master is still out there. Do you want... revenge?" The question was simply put, but almost unnecessary. Verrin often said that if he had five credits for every student who came to him with desires for revenge on someone who wronged them, then he'd have a new capitol ship by now. But perhaps in death, the former Emperor saw things differently.
  3. Truth in Power

    Verrin's eyebrow rose skeptically. The Adept's answer to his question on training sounded a little rehearsed, or perhaps just too vague. It was unlikely that she simply taught herself to get to the level she just displayed, but among the Sith, it was also possible that she was not proud of her former instructor. Or perhaps he (or she) had died on Dromund Kaas, or Bastion. Though it had been over a year since those events, she might still feel the loss acutely. He resumed his demeanor, and replied, "I agree. Overseer Tomash is skilled, experience, and can still teach even you quite a bit. During my discussion with him, I'll suggest private lessons as well as a sharing of the responsibilities in training the Acolytes." Verrin noted the height on this particular individual, now that she was standing. She stood a couple of inches taller than he, though that wasn't unusual - he wasn't statuesque himself. She was young though, and now that he was close enough to see her more clearly, he could see that while she was mature, she wasn't far into adulthood. He reached out casually to touch her head, and brush aside her hair. There were no obvious injuries, and while she didn't have overly pronounced horns - not uncommon among the females of his species - she did have the bumps and ridges that all Zabrak were born with. He reminded her casually, "Don't forget your natural weapons, your orat, i'kep," referring to her thick skull, and calling her his child. He patted the side of her head, and then tapped his own noggin with his finger. His horns were mostly obscured by his dark cowl, but a few of them showed in the front - larger and in some cases, broken. "We aren't just Sith. We are Zabraki." He nodded affirmatively, and then turned to go. As he did, he spoke without turning back, "I'll be watching you, Adept. I expect great things from you."
  4. Talons and Claws

    Overseer Galladon did approach Vashlai, shooing away the other Acolytes, who appeared to be gathering to attack the bird-like being en masse. The Overseer looked at the cooling body on the ground with a mixture of emotions - half a smile, remembering 'the good old days' when such events weren't even blinked at, let alone punished, and half a frown, because he was all too aware of the fragility of the Sith organization in the current day and age. He then looked back to Vashlai. "Go to the Library, to the offices of the Head Overseer. He wishes to speak with you directly." His tone was simple and stern, suggesting that staying was not an option, and refusing the Head Overseer, a grave error. He then shot one more look over his shoulder to make sure no vengeful Acolytes were encroaching, or would attempt to follow Vashlai if she chose to go. Frankly, he was surprised they hadn't already cooked her with 'practice' Force lightning.
  5. Talons and Claws

    "Hrmm?" Verrin asked, when Maggie informed him about the fatality in the Pits. The report was prompt, taking place only fifteen minutes after the event. But usually, that meant that any offending (or deceased) parties were well on their way. Video surveillance hadn't been installed throughout the Academy yet, resources being what they were on this jungle world and with the Empire dissolved, but Overseers were tasked with maintaining order there, and ensuring that lethal displays of aggression were kept in check. "Who was Overseeing at the time?" Verrin asked. "Overseer Galladon, My Lord," Maggie dutifully reported. "His initial report was that some name-calling had been the catalyst, bu that the situation had escalated quickly from verbal jibes to a lethal retort from the target of them. It was the new Recruit, My Lord - Vashlai." "Ahh, great," Verrin sarcastically exclaimed. "I dare ask who she killed for name-calling?" "Acolyte Fermitt le Krog." Verrin cocked his head sideways at Maggie. He hadn't heard of this Fermitt fellow, but concurred, "It's not easy, being mean." Still... he needed to temper violent outbursts over menial offenses, else the Sith would retaliate against one another until they were extinct. "Very well - summon her to my office then."
  6. Truth in Power

    "Nadi," Verrin repeated, as if tasting the word, or sipping a fine wine. But his considerations were practical, and nothing more, and so he added, "We'll make that Adept Nadi then... no reason to have Acolytes giving you grief for training them while ranked as one of their peers." He continued his way across the Pit's floor, noting the deference, and appreciating the effort. It was a sign of respect that came from almost all Zabrak, so that wasn't so surprising. But many budding Sith took Verrin's easy-going nature as permission to ignore the small exercises in etiquette, when it simply wasn't. He stopped a few paces from her, and offered, "Rise then, Adept. I'll discuss your role with Overseer Tomash later today. You made quite a show of skill in that match - a leap for most students when they realize that using the Force and utilizing one's skills isn't an 'either or' affair. When working in tandem, they make all the difference between a mercenary and a Sith. Congratulations on the achievement. Tell me... who was your instructor, who trained you?"
  7. Truth in Power

    "Will you be replacing the instructor then?" Verrin asked softly as he descended the steps towards the Pit. He had waited for the students to file out, and then the Overseer too. All the while, he'd watched the 'student' with interest. She'd not only given the Overseer a run for his credits, but she'd basically defeated him, even when he'd finally begun to truly fight her. The show had been impressive, and while Verrin hadn't watched through the Force, he could tell when power was being used. There was even a moment where the Zabrak hefted the Overseer up, and slammed him down - an obvious feat of Force-use, rather than leverage, plus the woman wasn't heavily muscled like Darth Tanit. All in all, it was a surprising show of skill and power from someone who wasn't really a blip on the Academy's radar. Perhaps she'd been whiling away her time, growing in strength and skill until this moment. Many Sith would have used the opportunity to smash a rival, or unseat a Lord, but this woman... this, girl? Her visible tattoos showed that she hadn't yet taken a mate, nor had she earned numerous commendations or scars. She wasn't an adolescent, no, but certainly a young woman. Currently, she was cross-legged on the floor of the Pit. Verrin noted she seemed at ease, not winded by her efforts. Verrin descended the last few steps to the Pit floor himself, and spoke again. "Moving up in the ranks, are you? What's your name, Acolyte?" He'd already read her file, but asked all the same.
  8. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    "I could argue," Verrin began, having heard the hologram recite its history. As it shimmered through the various incarnations of its creator, Verrin moved about the room - first retrieving and smoothing the pages of the book that had flown from his grasp, then setting it down before returning to his seat. He nodded at the mention, and appearance, of Danael. Verrin remembered the day the young man had first arrived in his office, and he wondered if the 'cron could 'see' or detect that it was in the same room, even if that room had moved two planets since. It was difficult to tell what a 'cron was capable of, especially since not every one was the same. XoXann's holocron, for instance, housed her spirit. That spirit was mostly sentient, albeit mad from all her centuries in the thing. Other holcrons' spirits awaited a time when they could escape their temporary prison, and take over the mind and body of a new host, like a parasite. and still others were almost like computers - programmed, but not really 'aware', not real spirits. What had Lucian imbued his holocron with? Did it contain the memories of the man, or his spirit? "As far as I'm aware, your legacy... my apprentice... is out in the galaxy, growing from a caterpillar into a butterfly. She may not 'know' you... she may not have known you in life... but you've managed to create a scenario where she can learn about you in due time. Your bloodline lives on. I cannot call that failure." Verrin considered the situation. The many faces of Lucian showed what the Dark Side could do. It was well known and understood that the power of it took life energy as payment, but there were ways to mitigate that fee - to transpose other life for one's own. It appeared that the Emperor's final days were ones where he'd figured that out on his own, but Verrin felt a twinge of guilt for not better-instructing the man in how to do that earlier in his career. But then... Verrin seemed to recall that Lucian had another sort of parasitic condition that might have made any mitigation more difficult. Verrin had never learned of Lucian's vampirism directly, but rather through a young Sith named Darth Akasha... or Tyia Navaar. He had suspected that she'd either received the genetic 'disease' from Lucian, or he got it from her, for the two had shown similar symptoms for a while. But whether they had embraced it and fed regularly, or had found a way to cure it, he was uncertain. He supposed he could just ask the holocron, but didn't see the relevance, now that the man was in his current state. Verrin finally settled back in his chair and did ask some questions. "Tell me, Lucian... tell me what happened. Did you dismantle the Empire by choice or accident? What happened in the last few months before your... demise?"
  9. Truth in Power

    The fight continued, escalating as one might expect. But rather than seeing the Overseer trounce his student handily, it was the Overseer who ended up on the ground - not once, but twice. The student had taken a hit, certainly, but seemed to be moving faster than even the Overseer's skills could account for. Verrin smirked a little in unabashed pride. Zabraks were born to a martial lifestyle, and if this woman hadn't shown up prepared, Verrin would have been disappointed in his own people. Every Zabrak, no matter how seemingly small or frail, was put through basic training. And while they all didn't graduate and pursue lives in the military or the civil service, they were all expected to be able to defend their homeworld from attack. But this woman wasn't just Zabrak - she was a rising Sith. And it quickly became apparent that she was a little more advanced than her more 'basic' peers when she seemed to move faster than Tomash anticipated. The instructor hadn't yet implemented his own considerable Force talents, though Verrin suspected that was about to change - especially when the Zabrak used the Force to push him when she struck. Verrin folded his arms, more interested than before. The other students, too, who had been interested, but not attentive, were now watching raptly. It wasn't every day that they saw their Overseer humbled - even if only momentarily. The instructor was no slouch in hand-to-hand. He was no master, but he was accomplished - certainly an adept. Once he adjusted, once he started using the Force himself, he should have no trouble putting a student in their place. But Verrin's keen eyes spotted abnormalities in the combatants. The Instructor made an almost rookie mistake of attempted to kick the zabrak in the head. Had he done such a thing with Verrin, Verrin would have simply tucked and turned into the blow - his horns and thick skull would have injured or even crippled the man. But the student erred too, by not embracing the simple, defensive move that Verrin would have done. In a way, it was almost like she forgot her most basic attributes - the genetics that made her in some ways a more capable fighter than a human. If she'd done it on purpose, Verrin would be more impressed, but she didn't follow up with anything that looked intentional. There was no counter - just the leap away. How odd. Ahh well - mistakes were made, and lessons were being learned. At least, that's what one hoped.
  10. Truth in Power

    IT was not unusual for Verrin to visit the Training Pits. He seldom taught lessons himself, but it was his job to oversee the day-to-day operations of the place from time to time. From his position, he could ascertain whether his Overseers were instructing properly, or whether they were slacking. He could tell if they were being overly cruel, or merely forceful in their process. It was now generally accepted that students could be beaten and sent to the Infirmary, but limb loss was frowned upon, debilitating injuries were too. The 'old ways' would have been more accepted if this Academy had more access to technology and healing facilities like they had on Dromund Kaas, but today, the Sith Remnant was only a few steps above the local native tribes in terms of relief and salvation from trauma; Kolto baths were possible, but not commonplace, usually reserved for the leadership or extenuating circumstances. Today's normal operations appeared (at first) to be exactly that - 'normal'. An Overseer was overseeing a group of students, instructing them in basic hand-to-hand techniques, and basics martial training. A quick, cursory scan with the Force told Verrin most students weren't even exercising their connection to power - strictly sticking to basics of form and function. Eventually, the Overseer would dribble in some instruction on how to do just that - how to use the Force to increase one's awareness, empower one's blows, or make a Sith a little bit faster than their fellows so they could excel and rise to the top of the pack. Verrin briefly pondered whether it made sense to integrate some of the natives into such training - tribespeople who were a bit more 'raw' in their techniques, but who were still effective at surviving in a harsh environment despite what many would consider to be 'primitive' fighting skills. But his thoughts were dismissed when the Overseer himself stepped into the arena and confronted a tall Zabrak woman. From his lofty height, circling the Pits from the upper tiers of the place, Verrin hadn't realized the woman's race at first. She wasn't the only Zabrak here, of course, but there weren't a lot of them, and Verrin had met all of them at one time or another - this one was no exception. She had been a promising Acolyte, who had joined the Empire not long before the decimation of Dathomir, escaping like so many others. First, she was ferried of to Bastion, and then as part of the 'saving the Sith' effort, Verrin had brought them all here. He could distinctly remember her being present when Darth Atrox reappeared, many months later, with Darth Sanguira and several other high-ranking Sith. The Pits had erupted in cheers at the Sith'ari's impassioned speech, and then all had dispersed. Later, Verrin learned that many Sith had gone of to pack up their meager belongings, thinking the exodus of Dathomir was taking place immediately - that they would all board ships and retake the galaxy. That hadn't happened. Instead, this had - the day-to-day doldrums of training and exercise that no Sith could succeed without. There were no fast-tracks to power - everyone had to earn them with a combination of hard work, talent, and skill development. Verrin smirked. If one was to believe the youth of today, then the Empire was such an old regime that they couldn't imagine it - ruling the galaxy. The mention of an Emperor prior to Valyrian was laughable - most young Sith couldn't name a single Emperor prior to him. But Verrin could - he'd served a few changes in power. He'd seen Emperors come and go - relatively quickly, as far as he was concerned. And he'd only been among the Sith for twenty years. He typed into the datapad attached to his arm, and brought up the profile for the tall Zabrak woman. Her name, age, and some background information came up - she apparently was following a path of a Sith warrior, rather than an academic. Other than that, she had no outstanding marks on her record - no awards, and no severe reprimands other than some honorable mentions in athletics. Verrin glanced up in time to see her backpedal and throw out a leg. To his eyes, the kick was executed poorly - more of a reaction than a planned effort - but it caught the Overseer off guard. He likely thought she would be an easy opponent, so he hadn't engaged fully. Verrin knew the Overseer, Tomash, and recalled that his and Verrin's views had clashed at first. In his mind, Verrin was a bookworm and not a warrior, and he rankled at the idea of 'going easy' on his students. But Verrin had taken the time to spar with him, and Tomash came to the quick realization that Verrin had earned his place as Darth, Kaar, and now Head Overseer of the Academy. Verrin was no monster of the warrior caste, but he more than put Tomash in his place. Tomash didn't know Verrin had been trained by many over the years, and most recently by Darth Tanit, who worked more strength and technique into his repertoire than others could guess at. After all - Verrin hadn't been challenged since Korriban, when Corey Black, and Darth Venix had tried to assassinate him. So it appeared Tomash had 'dialed it down' too much, and had taken the embarrassing kick from the student. But though his guard was now up and fully ready, Verrin could feel his eyes glance up to look at him. Verrin met him with a steady gaze that both understood the pride, and also the fact that the Sith weren't so numerous that 'pride killings' were acceptable. The Overseer was professional though, and wouldn't lose his mind over one mistake. He readied himself for the next flurry, and Verrin paid a little more attention to the match.
  11. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    "Darth Verrin," The book Verrin was just starting to read went flying up and over his head. It's pages fluttered wildly as it soared several feet before crashing to the floor in a heap. In contrast, Verrin leapt up from his chair with a yelp of alarm, causing Maggie to power on, and the Guardian posted outside the door to open it in concern. At first, he thought this was the work of Eris, taunting him early in the year, and appearing as the deceased Emperor. But the Force quickly told him what his other senses couldn't come to grips with - this was no Force spirit, but a hologram, or projection of sorts. As it continued to speak, he waved off the concerned parties and listened to what it had to say. As far as he could tell, this was a projection from the former Emperor's lightsaber, or holocron. Verrin remembered that the 'cron was housed in the ex-monarch's saber hilt, and then he remembered the weapon had been floating around his desk for a while. He guessed (incorrectly) that he must have put it in the bag under his desk at some point, intending to pursue it, or place it within the Vault... or a display case. With the surprise crisis averted, Verrin spoke to the image - not quite sure how much of Lucian was present in the device. He also wondered why the device activated just now, after all this time. He answered, "Too long, My Emperor," though that was only true in a sense. Verrin guessed that Vanessa - the last person to trigger the 'cron - had departed from him about a year or two ago. He thought she'd taken the device with her, but seeing this image now... he realized she had not. Still... curiosity that the 'ghost' returned now, caused Verrin to ask it, "What causes you to wake, My Lord... Lucian? Valarian? Valyrian? How should I address you?" The Emperor even had another name, prior to Lucian, but for the moment that name eluded him. "And more importantly... what causes you to rise from your long slumber?"
  12. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    A while later, sweaty and slightly fatigued, Verrin ceased his training exercises and reached for a towel. It was probably late at night, anyway, so a few hours rest would do him good - freshening his mind for the next day's tasks. He exited the training room and looked around. Again - all was in place, from the books to the Guardians, but not a single other soul was in residence. It was odd to him. But thinking back, he realized he'd been so wrapped up in his work, in his own pursuits. The day-to-day matters, the meditation, the training... had the Academy's population been dwindling without his even noticing it? Had people left the facility to pursue their own goals? Was there another Sith organization in the galaxy, attracting their attention and recruiting Force sensitives en masse? As those thoughts went though his mind, Verrin considered the galaxy outside of Dathomir's influence. Had evolution simply stamped out the gene that gave Force users their power? Were the Jedi ranks dwindling as well? Was anyone happy about it - the disappearance of those who could manipulate the Force - or were they disappointed? Verrin shrugged and dabbed at his forehead with his towel. His imagination was running away with him. For all he knew, one of the recruits had a birthday, and the Academy all went to the party... without him. Verrin rolled his eyes at the prospect. He returned to his office briefly to obtain a couple of datapads that he wanted to review before bed - topics about genetic code, DNA research, and manipulation of the strands - the sort of 'light reading' that put most people to sleep. He was about to leave when he spotted the binding of an old book that he'd been using to prop up a few other datapads. The book covered the topic of holocrons, and how to build them. He'd read through it some years ago, but almost as an afterthought, he hefted it along with his datapads. Then, with a smirk, he grabbed a bag from under his desk and packed the items into it. Ready to carry his load now, he left for his apartment. Ever since the Sith went into hiding on Dathomir, luxuries were sparse. Where Verrin once had a significant living area - an entire floor of an apartment building - he now possessed what could be considered a studio. Everybody was quartered similarly here, and in all honesty, it wasn't the poorest arrangement Verrin had ever owned. It was simply barren of the amenities he had grown accustomed to back on Dromund Kaas. But it had a bed, a sitting space with table and light, and a tiny refresher - the basics. At least it was climate controlled, and he didn't have to sleep with the humidity of the planet's surface bearing down on him. The natives were used to it, having been there all their lives, but he hadn't experienced that. Even in the first forty years of his life, the planet he'd lived on had been more temperate. He utilized the refresher to clean up, and when he stepped out, a hot mug of tea was waiting for him. Maggie had returned from wherever she'd gone off to, and after seeing to his need, she sat herself in a corner to recharge. Verrin was grateful though - she was a good assistant. He didn't even have to add, 'for a droid'. She was simply, 'good'. Donning a robe, he took a seat and opened his bag to retrieve his book. He cracked the spine, reveling in the sound of it, and the smell of the paper. Holocrons...
  13. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    Treating his drink like a friend, Verrin left his office and trod upon the Library's main floor. His eyes scrutinized the location of everything he was used to, and everything seemed to be in its place. The Guardians were present, as always, floating around the perimeter of the place like dark spectres. And somewhere, a cleaning droid carefully polished the tile floor, as it always did. But other than that, the place was silent - empty. It was like a tomb. Verrin didn't mind the quiet overmuch - he got his best work done when he could focus and concentrate. But he did find it odd that not a single student or master was in the place, researching something. There was a time not so long ago, on Dromund Kaas, when there would be a dozen or so students in the place at all times, all hours. And during peak ones, there were four times that many intellectuals. Their absence gave Verrin pause, as he wondered if today was a national holiday, or some kind of funeral. He dind't think so, and it wasn't, so he sipped and continued on his way, letting his mind muse more extravagant scenarios. In one, a sickness had befallen the Academy, an all of the students were quarantined or bedridden, affected by a rare Dathomirian Flu. Another story was that the Sith'ari had come and demanded everyone go with him to re-conquer the galaxy, and Verrin had been in the loo, or the holocron chamber, and so he'd missed the message. Everyone had left to defeat the Jedi, and here he was with the droids, wondering 'which way did they go?' Then there was the typical zombie plague, where all of the students were turned into the undead, and somehow Verrin had slept through the apocalyptic event. And still another involved the Rakata, an invasion, and shrink-ray technology that reduced everyone to the size of a bug. Even now, Verirn's giant feet were crushing them by the dozens, and he was completely unaware of the assault. None of that, of course, was the case. And soon, Verrin's walk led him to a room that was used for meditation or the practice of saber techniques. He finished his drink and set it down, initiating a cleaner droid to come by and sweep it up. He stepped in the room and looked around. All was still and quiet, so he closed the door and withdrew his saberstaff. The twin violet beams burst out of either end of the hilt with a harmonic hum, and Verrin began training his Ataru form. The moves came easily to him, after so much time, and he found the exercise to be therapeutic. Soon, he built up a sweat, gaining speed with each maneuver, until his weapon sang in constant motion. It was good to stay in practice.
  14. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    The thoughts of his earlier reverie followed Verrin as he went about his evening. Here, in his climate-controlled office, he was surrounded by the fruits of his labors - the Library. It wasn't just the Library though. There were the many shelves, stacked high with flimsi, datapads, books, scrolls, tomes, and tablets. There were pieces of art, and hidden away, the holocrons of the Sith Remnant. There was Maggie, his droid assistant, of course... and memories to last the remainder of his days, however long that was. But the memories are what stood out the most to him. Every time he'd had to move the Library, he'd done so with meticulous precision. It had begged the question, 'why'? Why not build a new facility, a new Library? Why not furnish it differently, design it differently? Why not make it better... more efficient, at least? He'd never answered the question, because it had never been posed to him directly. If it had, he might have smiled and made reference to a blind man knowing his environment. Perhaps he'd poke fun at the questioner, claiming he did it because he was old and despised change. Or maybe, in a moment of openness and honesty, he would explain the reason that seemed all too clear after his last meeting with the ex-Emperor, Valyrian. He and Valyrian had discussed their 'legacies' - the things they left behind when they were gone. For many, that legacy was family - children who grew up, and either went to do their own thing, or followed in their parent's footsteps. Verrin had a daughter once, who had followed the path of the Sith. She was gone now, as was all of his family, so that wasn't his legacy. Others built statues, wrote elaborate works, created art, or composed music that would outlive them. But while the Emperor had indeed managed to build his legacy in his daughter - even if that was realized post-mortem - Verrin's legacy was the Library. The desk he had - the one that sat upon the area rug in the center of his sparse office - was one of the first pieces of furniture he'd obtained for himself as a Sith Acolyte. It had been restored from a broken-down piece that had been covered in dust and scratches when the Library was a shambles, back on Nogatan. As a newly-accepted Sith recruit, he'd taken to sleeping on the desk in the vacant Library as a means of survival. None of the other students or masters ever went to the pathetic excuse for a place of learning, so he found respite from the constant barrage of challenges that came his way. The curio cabinet in the back of his office contained his first training saber, and the lightsabers of the first Sith master he'd ever killed. Excrucio had been his name, and against impossible odds, Verrin had lived through the encounter. The other - a Falleen - had not. There was a saberstaff - a gift from his deceased apprentice, Muriel Yar. There was a rare book from a mistress who had taught him sorcery, and the key to a long-gone building where he'd been put in charge as Overseer of the Empire's Labs. The block of stone across from his desk - looking for all the world like any other wall in his office - housed the corpse of Darth Parasis. In their fight, Verrin had won by phasing her inside it... and letting her go. The earring he wore now had been her nose ring - a souvenir of sorts, but also a reminder of how fragile a position of power could be among the Sith. On top of the organization today... gone the next. Beneath the area rug, under his desk, was an elaborate protective circle - crafted by Verrin himself in his efforts to capture a Sith spirit named Eris. Even the rug itself held memories... though it had been replaced once or twice, Darth Tanit had once bent her knee to him there. And his newest apprentice, Holle, had spat upon it. She never understood why he'd lost his temper at that. Then again - she'd never asked. Outside, in the Library proper, hung the portraits of all the Temple Lords Verrin had served over the years. Some had become Emperors, but that ruling class wasn't what the collection was about. Then there was the AI research assistant, Aggie - a hologram that interfaced with all the many resources. Watching over all were the Guardians - a group Verrin had helped to create and refine - whose oath was to protect the Library and its contents. It wasn't a family. But it was a Legacy. At least, it would be, until he actually passed on and someone else took control of the place. Verrin assumed that if he wasn't there, some Sith leader would dismantle the place, or change it to suit their personal needs, rather than the needs of the Sith as a whole. Or perhaps the Jedi would find and destroy it. Or... at this point... maybe the Sith would disappear and Dathomir would swallow his legacy as a whole, digesting it for years to come, until it was no more than earth, plants, and worms once more. "Well... there's a depressing thought," Verrin mused, and eyed his beloved beverage cart. Even the beverage cart was something of a staple - a relic - of the place. In Verrin's mind, a Sith might be powerful, a Sith might be aggressive, a Sith might be angry, hateful, or violent. But there was no reason for a Sith to be... uncivilized. And certainly... not rude. He smirked and went to the conveyance of libations, and poured himself two fingers of Corellian bourbon. He drank it more sparingly than in the past, given the difficulty of importing supplies, and the cost of luxuries. "But now and again," he argued, "it's good to remember to stop and smell the roses." He inhaled deeply, smiled, and sipped.
  15. With a Quiet Sigh, Not a Bang

    (Some months after the departure of Vanessa Salin, the return of the Sith'ari, the discussions with Darth Renatus, and the arrival of both Kai Tsintah and Vashlai... exact time to be determined.) The Academy on Dathomir was a building largely covered in plant life, making the place appear to be no more than a large hill or small mountain in the vast landscape of the jungle surface. It was camouflage protection from would-be assailants, and kept the local tribes form becoming too curious. But high atop, at the 'peak's' summit, was a small balcony that overlooked the lands, a bucolic vista in every direction. The jungle teemed with life, and birds could be seen both above and below the balcony's level. In the distance, a burst of activity occurred when a flight of fowl was disturbed by the passing of a rancor beast. But aside from the liveliness of the jungle, the world was quiet. It was at peace. According to the Sith, that's a lie. Verrin stood on the balcony, overlooking the lands around him. Sunset was coming soon, but the air was still humid - as it should be. It made a person sweat, even when standing still. And if not for the smoking burners on the balcony, the mosquitoes would surely have feasted on him. His sharp, golden-yellow eyes peered this way and that, seeing all, but looking at nothing in particular - nothing in the current time, anyway. One of his apprentices, Vanessa, had gone off on her own - presumably to find herself, or come to terms with her family lineage. She was the daughter of an emperor, but had never known until after the monarch's passing. She had such potential as a Sith, as a ruler herself. But she needed to embrace or reject the past to take command of her future. It was a common problem among young people her age, but one that they all had to deal with in their own way. Nobody could do it for her - certainly not her 'master', if Verrin could still call himself that. The Sith'ari had returned with a small fleet in tow, his budding empire-to-be. The presentation he'd made had been impressive, the speech had been impassioned. But since then, not a word had come back of any plans, any efforts. Verrin didn't assume the worst - that some Republic/Jedi group had hunted them down and squashed all possibilities of a return to power from existence. But the quiet was somewhat disturbing, grating against the Sith's mantra that peace was a lie. Perhaps the young woman, Darth Sanguira, had defeated the Sith'ari and feasted upon his entrails. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but Verrin was sure he'd feel something in the Force if that happened. Granted, Dathomir's presence int he Force tended to mask such sensations from outside its atmosphere, but one would think that such an event would be noticed by even mundane means. And word would get back to the Academy... somehow. Verrin hadn't been idle in his time. Aside from running the day-to-day operations of the Academy, he had his own research to attend to. He was attempting to 'breed' the next generation of Sith, using the resources that Dathomir had to offer. His other apprentice, Holle, and a relative newcomer, Kai, were assisting in that effort - whether they knew it or not. But his partner, Darth Renatus, had fallen quiet after agreeing to help him in his experiments. He was largely operating alone, and progress was slow. In a way, he longed for the days of the Empire on Dromund Kaas, when credits and time were more plentiful, and resources were easier to acquire. Even the Sith were more plentiful, prior to being decimated by the nefarious Jedi. Verrin brought his mind back to the present just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting all of Dathomir in a colorful display of serenity. Was it mocking him, the planet? Or was it - and this was far more likely - simply doing what it had done for millennia: turned upon its axis and revolved around its system's central star? Verrin smirked, and finally retreated from the balcony to re-enter the facility. He wanted to return to the climate-controlled, familiar-smelling Library that he adored. He passed uneventfully through hallways that were largely bereft of other sentients. Though they had survived, the Sith hadn't blossomed here. There were as many new faces as there were ones who had disappeared. Their numbers hadn't grown, but remained stagnant, leading one to wonder if being Sith 'wasn't in fashion'. No one knew what it was like, to be the bad man... to be the sad man... Verrin mused that he should write song lyrics. In short order, his footfalls fell upon the black marble tile of his Library, and took him back to his office.
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