[IC Diary] - Veilak's Journal

[Veilak]

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Brevity.

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The Twi'lek was sitting on a rock, surrounded by lush vegetation in the Graveyard of Lower Estate grounds.  He let out a pained sigh, as he put the pair of crutches together, leaning it over  something, out of the view. His lips curled in a straight line as his gaze fixated on the device - which was put a small distance away from the alien, enough to see his entire upper body. He didn't have a vibrosword on him, as well as his new armor. Just a simple, long-sleeved black shirt.

"Well, that finally happened...I got put in my place."

He stretched out his arms sideways, raising them above his head, while gesturing his hands as if he was making some sort of priest-like pose, about to begin his sermon.

"And now I've been promoted to a full-time rock thrower!"

The voice he spoke in, demonstrated thrill as the smile rose on his face alongside it. After a second, he unceremonially let his arms fall onto his sides, as a second after he folded them together, furrowing his brows, adopting a more stern look, as a smile dissipated.

"You try to be nice for a demented and senile Echani and that's what you get for speaking his language. Oh well."

With that he took a pause, as a red hand rose to his chin, scratching it. He narrowed his eyes, letting out a humm.

"Though can't shake off a feeling that he's somehow, uhh....Hmm...That sounds weird to say outloud, but he's...Attached? I mean, look he's an Alien and nobody likes him! He's literally like me but...Older. i guess he has a some sense of responsibility towards me, even if he'll admit to it. Or not."

He rolled his shoulders in a shrug and shook his head.

"No matter. I'll just avoid the man until I can move my legs properly. Few people told me so and I don't want to upset them. For a while now."

Twi'lek's gaze wandered off and fixated on something behind the device. His expression turned somber and his lips curled down. This pause was definitely a lengthy one, as he bit the lower lip, exhaling through clenched teeth and looking back at the device, now a clearly down-trodden look.

"I had that...Nightmare...Again."

Upon finishing his sentence, a visible shudder went down his spine, shown by him curling his shaking hands into a fist and wriggling of his lekku. He opened his mouth to speak, but they as well started shaking and so did his voice.

"Since that night during that trial when...When Kyra died...I-I kept SEEING this scene in my head. How that MONSTER crushed her, tore her inside out and...And..."

Rambling stopped for a moment, as the Twi'lek covered his face in both of his hands, before rising once again and clicking his tongue.

"Tsk. It's been so long since that day and yet, this memory sears within my mind...It holds so much power. The fear, the HATRED it invokes within me...And guilt...I am powerless."

Twi'lek has looked away, most likely at the graves, sighing.

"But that nightmare torments me whenever something fateful is bound to happen. The time I ascended, when I joined the Preservers and even now...Even after this whole beating from Old Flavian, it also resurfaced."

The Alien suddenly snapped, as his eyes widened straight at the device, visibly surprised by something - by an idea, as it would turn out by a vicious smile stretching across his tattooed face.

"Omen of change, huh? I guess it's time to make one. Demand Great."

With that the device suddenly lifted up, as the Twi'lek telekinetically grabbed it, and showing the graveyard before shutting off.

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[Veilak]

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Continuity.

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The hiss of shutting door fills out the room as the device comes to life. The image would reveal the selfsame Twi'lek, who appeared briefly in the view, before disappearing in it's depths.*

"...I admit I forgot about this."

Replied, his presence there, yet shapeless, his voice close, yet muted, in the moment of self-awareness. This was accompanied by the sound of scavenging through the room's contents. Clammoring of day to day items, which varied to one wooden box to another, then a book, a piece of cloth flying by before it happens. The slam of metal against metal, which turns out to be a sizeable locker which corner's peered into the view. With it came Veilak, opening the locker to pick out some small tools. After that, he'd sit in the chair properly and made himself relatively comfortable.

"Though it shouldn't be that surprising. It's been so long, and so much has happened." 

Stated with a characteristic lax tone, while his focus remained elsewhere. His hand, the right one, clad in a heavy gauntlet which he sought to remove with one swift motion. This revealed the silvery gleam of a prosthetic, which went further than just the hand. All the way to the elbow, even more was revealed, as he rolled up his sleeve. 

"In between barely making out alive as Stuza's apprentice, to be neophyted by him, only then to be taken as an apprentice by his..." - his words hung up in the air, as he reached for a screwdriver with his left hand. Beholden to the tool, it would roll in air idly, as he searched for an apt descriptor, - "Love?" - uttered with a slightly confused tone. - "Who made me the Overseer of Insight. Lovely."

Followed up by a soft sigh, the screwdriver was put over in a spot between the bottom of his palm and mechanic tendons of the wrist. Fullfilling it's role, soon one screw after another has been removed from the prosthetic.

"But if everything was lovely as that, then I'd be a quite telling sign that I'm dying." 

Upon uttering the line, a rather profound scoff escaped through his nostrils.

"After all of that bantha-crap I've been through, from facing that damned Jurgoran, running errands for Resurgence and dealing with whatever another apprentice felt crying about, suffice to say that I..."

Once more, his words were cut short, as the Twi'lek removed quite the substantial amount of pins, screws and bolts that held on the outer casings. Piece by piece, the metallic coverings revealed a highway of intriciately connected wires and electrodrivers which were meant to imitate a proper limb. How uncannily marvelous.


"..Regret nothing." - stated, as he looked directly towards the projection, showing a rather withered face. For he was still that, a young Twi'lek who's tattoo-covered face was sunken. Combine it with the saber scar that ran from the bottom of his right chick to the very edge of his left brow, one couldn't really say that this was a man barely in his early twenties. - "For what is a Sith, who can't live with the consequences of his actions? Through greatest highs and deepest lows, I am the only one who can to bear them, to live with them...To endure them."

Proclaimed loudly, and with he became more animated. His eyes widen, his left hand moves into the locker to pull another piece of equipment from it. This time it was a humble and small tube, which was nothing more but a lubricant. Opening it up, he'd began to apply the ever small amounts of colourless paste alongside the mechanical tendons. And as he began the appliance, his face have soured.

"And yet, somehow, someway, there's this lingering sense of doubt. Gnawing at the very edge of my mind, that this is all wrong."

Veilak deflated with the confession.

"I've been thrusted into this life unwillingly, I've learned so much, I've fought for so much...And yet, the further the road goes, the less I know. This grows more apparent, the more I reflect on what happened recently."

Reached for a small piece of microfiber, with which he began wiping off the excess of the lubricant from the prosthetic.

"Alsolun, a total debacle, as far I'm concerned. We went onto this world unprepared and ill-equipped, working of the scraps left unwillingly by the now deceased Governor and his lackeys. And what did that bring? Yes, we did push the Republic away, but when I've heard stories of Horuset's previous deployments, I can't help but to feel we've just clowned ourselves."

Stated, as he put the cloth away and once again his free hand plunges into the box, this time pulling out power callibrator. The device came to life with a small wheeze, before he put the power meter towards the prosthetic. Flexing the metallic fingers a few times.

"Took us too long to figure out what lived in the sewers, we've let a Jedi slip-by, and between all of that, these bastards somehow managed to do those hit-and-runs on the Garrison. And we couldn't do anything about it." 

With each passing word, his voice grew more visceral.

"Blast, we've even allowed Rose to get captured, the only one that's left from Leviathan."

Though at the mention, his face suddenly, yet briefly, grew solemn. That was until his nostrils flared, while his lips curled downwards by a snarl.

"And that's what we're supposed to call victory?"

His tone betrayed a taint of defeat, yet he left the question hanging. Focusing on the readings for a solid minute, before putting the device away.

"And then, Lord Teius."

Scoffed and shook his head.

"Why, the young Horusets do have my condolences, for this is the very least they deserve, even if they'd most likely see my head on a pike, alongside Nivalis and rest of the aliens, thanks to actions of now Lord Kelsa." - paused, for a brief moment. - "But all the power to the man, he at least had the gut to make the claim for the position after Lord Vipion seemingly vanished. Though, as they say, finders keepers.."

Shrugged, as he once reached for one of the casings and began screwing them back.

"Or maybe not, maybe the Sphere will keep on rotting away, only time will tell. But if anything that man is a living proof that you can just kill your way up and no one will not bat an eye. Well, most won't. But admittedly..."

Clicked his tongue, as he reached for one of the screws which was about to fall off the edge of the table.

"...Death of someone close should change a person. And yet somehow I can't help but to see that both Seran and Xulia have remained the same shit-heads since the day I've met them."

Noted, rather earnestly, before his face turned into a scowl. His eyes resting solely on the outer casing of his forearm.

"And that talk of tradition, stagnation or whatever buzzword fits their narrative at the moment. For at this point what even is this Tradition? Because, yes, worship of the True Gods is prelevant here. Of the very same Gods I fight and bleed for, even though they'd rather have me used as an offering than a follower, but does that really makes us any better from the rest?"

His face rose to meet the holorecorder head on.

"Because I've been to Jenkusk, I've seen the larger Empire and suffice to say we're the freaks. Not a soul knew the name Typhojem and it doesn't stop them from hurling lightning or using Sorcery just like we do here. I wouldn't even be surprised if some of the folk from Sphere of Sith Doctrine would scratch their heads upon hearing the ramblings of our Prophet."

Once more he shook his head.

"And aside from Lord Vi'kas, who's really a traditionalist here? In a way, they truly believe not just because it's suits them. As far as I know the only other people who even matched the same level of insane reverence just as the prophet, were Sith Suyni and Sith Hazlem. And where are they now?"

His arms spread to the sides in this unassuming shrug. And in that moment, the casing on his forearm came loose causing to hang on a single bolt.

"But if anything, the Pentarch must be blind, to put these two Horusets as "enforcers" of Doctrine. One is less articulate than an Ugnaught that tries to speak Basic, the other is an impetuous whore and a heretic."

His attention was taken away from the recorder and back to making sure that his prosthetic is returned to one piece.

"And that's not even the most annoying part. It's this...Petulence, the play-pretend like we're actually the stalwart protectors of the Old Ways, the truest among the Sith, favoured by the Left-Handed God Himself. And yet all I can see are just rampant hedonists, blind zealots and stuck-up fools who can't refuse  to see past the tip of their own noses."

The Twi'lek remained in silence as the recording kept on going. For few minutes there was nothing more but the gentle metal pings and creases, as the cybernetic was fully re-assembled. Bringing ahead of itself, he'd flex it a few times, noting carefully how it all moved which was supposed to be perfect harmony.

"This grows more apparent when you look at the current cadre. Kill the entire lot, pick the bodies apart and you won't even find a single bone of a true Sith. And as expected, they all have their little alliances, those little schemes and hollow proclamations of grandiose, thinking they're above the rest. After all an Acolyte had the audacity to speak ill a Lord, another sees himself above the station of the Overseer so he can boss next one, which is an obese cretin."

Suffice to say, his tone was less than pleased.

"All of them took a page from the exact same book, and none will admit it no matter how much you talk to them or beat them up."

Exhaled sharply, as he sunk in the chair. His fingers interlaced on his solar plexus.

"And who's fault is that?"

And as he slumped away, his mechanical index and middle finger sejected out of the bind, as he used the Force to turn the machine off and the recording with it.

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[Veilak]

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Entropy.

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The recording began with no visual cue whatsoever. What was left upon access is what one would expect from such machine – the constant flickering of blue light. However, what was audible, was the clashing of metal. In rhythm, dictated by what sounds like a melody of sorts. Hummed in a rather jovial manner, as it was further accentuated by the mechanical ambient of the almost uncerognizable background. An educated guess could be made that all of it it came from within a room on board of a starship.
th

The clashing continued for a good minute, maybe two as the tune altered ever so slightly between each three strikes. There was a method to whatever was being a subject to it. Yet, that faded into the background, as steps grew close  towards the machine. A passing silhoutte of a Twi’lek could be spotted, accompanied by his voice. One bearing a husk, as if that throat was torn apart time and time again, only to never heal properly.

"Ahandra Yaria Horuset is dead."

Zveris stated in an utmost off-matterly tone in a stark contrast  to the melodic hum. And when it was uttered, the clashing of metal subsided, only to be followed by mundane rummaging of whatever passed the Twi’lek’s hands. Yet, after that there was another moment of woeful silence, which was broken by an exasperated sigh.

"Quite the mouthful, really. Could've been  just kept to Darth Horuset, as she seems to be the only one who died in the living memory. Obviously the memory of the dead has to be honored somehow, but I don’t think she’ll be mourned for long. Though she did die like a real star – by blowing up."

This time silence wouldn’t be able to take hold of the scene, as the Alien continued on. But before that came a scoff.

"And now there’s blood in the water. Or ash, even as she’s no more, there are sure will be scavengers who’ll be more than happy to gorge on what’s left of her. The question now is just when. Because that will come and it has to. Else most of these spineless mongrels wouldn’t call themselves Sith."

Barked on, his tone audibly became tainted by disdain at the prospect of such.

"Like these little Horusets left in her wake. The only one with a semblance of cohesion is Atas and he’s mad as well. Perhaps not as much as the Dark Lord, but that seems to run in the family which will come to bite us all in the back, sooner than later."

At which the Twi'lek brought himself to a halt, letting out a sigh for momentary composure.

"The rest of them? Irrelevant. The pursuit of glory that'll never be theirs, unless they'll try to follow the same path as the late Matriarch. For that it seems to be the trend, or rather, the norm given what sort of lifestyle we all lead. And each of them ends in the same way - damnation. All that differs is the way we meet it..."

His words hung in the air for a split of a second, as his marred visage finally appears in the holofeed. For once the expression seems to be cursed with a higher thought. 

"...And I should be rejoicing that she's dead. The woman who had left the towers of Citadel, just so she could straighten her dusty old bones over my neck. Me and everyone else who's not tainted the same way she was. And yet..."

What followed was but a crease of a chair, as the Alien leaned back into the backrest. 

"I still can't believe it. Even though the Old Man once said that everyone is just a sack of flesh and blood - Darth or else - where all you need is a method to take them down. In this case, the method being letting her be eaten by madness of her own making and surviving it. And it did happen. I survived it."

Zveris' expression turned blank, yet his eyes trailed from left to right. Gears churning behind the glimmering brimstones, which would soon close, as his hands join on their respective temples. Exhaustion painted itself all over his tattooed face as he slinks down the chair. 

"And so did everyone else present, in one piece or few. The game hasn't ended yet and it is still going. Another question this time is how, if at all, the rules will change. Most likely they will. After all,  we need some grand pretense in order to kill eachother. Not that we all did anyway and for less too."

A groan slipped past his lips. One that turned into an exaggerated raspberry.

"Another thing is this...State." - his hand rolled out that, where the clicking of prosthetic joints permeated the recording. - "Since my ascension. All this trouble for a title and a new name. Frankly, I don't know what I've expected, if anything, I never thought I'd get so far. Or did I? What is a Household Sith if not a glorified apprentice?" - the Twi'lek leaned forward, eyes opened wide with what could only be described as haunted look to them. The tattered lips beneath those eyes pursed into a straight line, which would then give way to a hushed voice.

"More responsibilites where each mistake is put under even greater scrutiny than before. And each one of them is yet another chain, curling over my neck and shoulders, hell, in every bone that's left in my body. Then... - a brief pause. Halting himself as his voice deepened with disbelief. - "The nights grow restless, I can see -them- in the corner of my eyes. Always there, always watching and whenever I turn to look at -them- they are...Gone. Unwavering and unrelenting in their vigil. I have no idea what they are, the medical scans say everything healed properly and yet it's that taint that lingers most on my mind..."

It was rather apparent the Twi'lek himself was losing it, as his hands moved to cover his eyes. Fingers curled over his forehead and a small trickle of blood could be seen escaping from each side.  His head tilts, as his face appears once again. What should be a red face marred with scars and tattoos, now was as white as the snows of Hoth as it closed to the light source. Eyes unblinking through the remainder of the passage.  

"These talks of alien blocks, these allegations made by the daft and the deluded, all done in order to undermine...What exactly? Another life chewed and spat out by this galaxy? What are these words if not an echo that reverborate in the wake of the Dark Lord's death? Or were they there before? Have I...Died then? When the durasteel clamped  down on my skull, biting into every nerve, rewiring what I am? Or is this some purgatory as I lay dying in a ditch somewhere on Dromund Kaas? Does it...Does it even matter?" 

Yelped at first, but it quickly turned into a forced cackle. As brief as it was, for the Twi'lek rocked back and forth, his head shaking sideways, whlist tapping can be heard. Presumably of his foot against the metal tiles beneath.

"I ignore them. Or try to. Or do I? Everything melds into one - yesterday, today, tomorrow - all is the same. Each day, a same story unfurls where life begets death and each day I ask myself - when will be my turn? Will I even get a say in how it happens? Or when? Did she thought of the same when she died? Maybe, maybe not...Most likely not. She was too far gone. Me? I am but a fraction of a fraction of what she was in life. In death? We all turn into ash. Everyone knows it and they simply tell themselves otherwise. Because really what other answer is there?"

There it was - a semblance of sanity permeated through the Alien as he let out a snarl, head snapped to the side while in a brisk moment he was no longer animated.

"In the face of entropy, what can a man do other than laugh? When this realisation settles in, that we all run on borrowed time and every death, every struggle ultimately amounts to nothing. Our legacy? Our apprentices, assets, knowledge passed on to the few who'd care to listen in a face of a galaxy that never cared to begin with?"

The prosthetic arms stretched out to the sides in an encapsulating gesture as he spoke, emphasising the fatality of their reality. Then these same arms barreled forth, hands curled into fists as they slammed into the desk upon which the recorder stood, shaking it's video feed as a result. The Twi'lek leaned into the projector. For a moment, the recording froze, leaving nothing but rasped breath and a thousand yard stare regaling whomever might view it.

It was a woeful while of a glitched out image and it wasn't until few minutes later when both audio and video feeds returned to normal. Zveris sat sideways to the device, seemingly staring into empty space. Saying nothing and doing nothing, until a sigh escaped. Whether he knew if the machine worked or not, was anyone's guess.

"The worst part? I am no better. Fear grips my heart like any other being, sending shivers down my spine. Be it fear for myself or those whom I care for, I can't help but to see the end of it. All dust. And how can a man bear himself to care for nothing but dust?"

The last thing that came to view was the Twi'lek speaking with a defeated tone, before his hand extended. Summoning the device to the prosthetic which subsequently shut the feed, ending the recording in silence.

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