[IC Diary] - Veilak's Journal

[Veilak]

Continuity.

*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 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 are the same shit-heads they've been 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.*