[IC] A perspective on finality

[whats1tsay]

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As the speeder approached the compound Wradaii's eyes locked on the tall spire of the estate proper. From a distance it appeared as a monumental obelisk, pushing through the tall canopy of Dromund Kaas trees. It was visible from miles out, it's obsidian black surface draining the light from the valley it stood in. There were all his earliest memories, its dreadful black halls still serving as his mental landscape to this day. He wouldn't return to them anytime soon. The time was not ready yet. He was also unlikely to see its inhabitants. The few of his siblings that would still reside at the estate rather than the academy would be young enough that he wouldn't know their names. As for his parents, his father was likely to seriously attempt to kill him when next they met, as a test of his abilities. For that reason it was likely his mother was keeping him somehow occupied over the coming day while Wradaii resided on the grounds.

The speeder settled at the removed landing pad on the limits of the grounds, and Wradaii was greeted by a pair of human assistants overseen by his Father's foremost apprentice: Vesticulon Dei. A gigantic Dathomiri with a single overgrow horn jutting from his forehead. He had appeared in light robes, clearly suggesting he felt no threat from his Master's son. Indeed, the only elder sibling Wradaii had left was a bastard, of such thin blood that he appeared human and could barely affect the Force. The only reason he didn't die as a child was because he refused to, even when these traits became apparent and he was left in the jungles to perish. He was currently serving aboard a campaigning Harrower as a commissioned officer, but had no claims to any part of the estate. As such, Vesticulon believed himself the heir apparent. Wradaii, despite the other's superior status, refused to bow. "Give Father my regards." He said as he started to walk on down the path, the assistants trailing after him. The creature broke a grin. "I'll give them to your mother too." He taunted, making Wradaii pause in his walking. He took a deep breath. "Considering you still have the stones to make such a remark, I can be sure the most you've given to my mother is a heartburn." He retorted, walking on and leaving him behind.

The walk through the oppressive heat of the jungle was perfect to seethe, helping pass the time as he walked the familiar path. Once or twice he caught a glimpse in the trees of a deep-red face, and an obvious presence in the Force trailing him. He ignored it, seeing the light break in through the trees beyond marking his destination. There stood a grey stone mausoleum, erected in the Ancient mode and covered in Kittan. The human assistants put on blindfolds, forbidden from viewing the sacred glyphs. They knew the way, though, and pulled aside the heavy stone door to allow Wradaii to enter. They handed him a pack of simple rations, and he stepped inside for them to seal the door behind him. There was little light here, and his eyes had to take a moment to adjust. He started down the steps, heading into his first stop.

The Hall of Failures was a long room with a raised path among the middle. It was flanked on either side by pits filled to the brim with the bones of the family's failures, the most intact skeletons bound to the walls in the barest wrappings. These were all the Sutta'Qo and their sith-blooded apprentices that had perished before achieving the rank of Sith. Bleached bones reached waist-high at the edges of the room. A the entrance stood a simple altar, a bowl with oil in it and a blade laid across. Wradaii pulled off his gloves and kneeled before the altar, holding his hand over the oil and releasing a Force Shock over it, igniting it in flickering blue flames. He picked up the knife in his right hand and held up his left. "Typhojem, ari iw ratsanius, iroi iw ri Zûtahori Nia, Nu atarsi an tauz sis udati."[sup]1[/sup] He chanted, his voice echoing across the hall. He brought the knife to the palm of his left hand and cut across it, letting his near-black blood drip into the flames, where it burned up producing a vile smoke. He laid the knife back down, holding out his hand as he stepped past the altar and walked down the hall, letting blood drip from his hand as he went and continuing to chant. " Ri arji ra tash ant wisa tnirma, Nu nayir tuti arji. Ri skysosûtas tash ant wisa tnirma, Nu nayir tuti cka qitsi. Ri tsûduma tash ant wisa tnirma, Nu nayir ruai. Sas Thyphojem ai waria."[sup]2[/sup] He walked through the hall repeating this chant, using it as a mantra as he let his senses open to the presences there. There were whispers in the Force here, remnant emotions of fear and rage, pain and regret. Fragments seemed to fly through his head, none distinct enough to make out. Each consisting of but a momentary impression, a past truth engraved to the core of these bones. He reached the end before he fully knew it, his blood dripping into a second bowl which immediately lit with more blue flame. He finished the chant as he sank to his knees, squeezing his hand to let a prolonged trickle run down into the fire. " Timias zûtawturwasa tuti zo nuritsi, diâ Nu dazik ri naiti- raka Nia dzis jiso mara. Qyâsik Isatri Satyi Tauz."[sup]3[/sup]

He spent some time meditating there, trying to grasp more of the whispers and the ripples in the Dark Side of the Force. There was a deep oppression there, the knowledge that despite his purest blood he was but one of many attempting to fulfil its expectations. The vast majority had failed at just that. He had to take this opportunity to learn from their failures as much as he could.

He remained there as long as he could bear. The impending dread of joining these pits had driven him from when he was first brought here, locked in for days as one of his Mother's cruel ways of teaching him. He rose as his stomach churned, and proceeded into the next room. This was the antechamber before the tombs proper, and here he knelt and opened the pack of rations. They were a pair of nutrition bars, but as he spread out the cloth on the floor another morsel was revealed. A dark-red clump of cured meat, coloured by various spices and covered with kernels of some pepper. A slight smile spread on his face and he picked up the clump, breaking it apart with his talons. He first ate one of the bars, and then put half of the meat into his mouth. It was barely enough to call a mouthful, but the variety of spices was divine. He hadn't tasted something so fine for years. The light tang of one pepper moulded so beautifully with the cool swell of another spice. He simply tasted it for a long while, unwilling to let this momentary bliss pass. Finally he chewed and swallowed, glad that the aftertaste lingered. He wrapped the remaining bar and meat back up and sat for a moment longer, before rising and passing into the tombs.

This was his true destination. Here, the generations of successful Sith and Lords, from the first Darth Sutta'Qo to the last but one, if the family boasts were to believed. It was clear that some of those here entombed were ancient. The earlier sarcophagi were clearly recognisable by the red stone from Sacred Korriban that they were carved out of. He walked through the hall to the main junction, a circular slab of stone at the foot of a great statue of a Massassi brandishing a gilded Massassi Lanvarok. Once more Wradaii kneeled and opened his senses, though this time he did not pray. He only opened himself to the whispers of the tomb. Here the Dark Side lay thick in the air, choking out the feeble flickering flames of candles. There he sank into a deep trance, letting himself be carried away on the eddies of the Force.

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[sup]1[/sup]:"Typhojem, lord of sorcery, foremost of the Old Gods, I commit to thee this offering."
[sup]2[/sup]:"The unworthy lay on all sides, I will be worthy. The weak lay on all sides, I will be mightier. The dead lay on all sides, I will live. By Thyphojem's will."
[sup]3[/sup]:"These failures are a gift, and I thank the left-handed God for his benediction. Force Eternally Serve Thee."