The Waitin's Over, We Takin Over, We Bringin it Back Like Baking Soda (Training Pt.1)

[Mason Bishops]

Time never stopped.
Time was a ceaseless interregnum that hesitated for no one. Yet time seemed to elapse in various and sporadic intervals. Sometimes, hours passed by in a heartbeat, and at other times it lingered away slowly. The advanced travels of light-speed didn't seem to increase the rate of which time and distance elapsed, no, it made it seem even more...distant. Planets and stars blurred past the large gaping observation windows, all going by without a second glance in his eyes. Yet, how did all of this have to do with time? Everything had to do with time. The mere concept of the material-less perpetuity known as time dumbfounded the man. What if time really didn't exist? He knew it did, but he could not touch it, smell it, sense it...yet it affected everything he ever did and would do. Moreover, time would not stop his thirst for blood and victory over the Jedi...and ironically enough, Mason was going to become a Jedi, albeit a Dark Jedi. What's the saying? Fight fire with fire?

...A clouded mist swept across the cold stone floors of an abandonned Church on Mos Espa, concealing Mason from all physical sight. But he was there...at least in the presence of the Force. Consumed in the fog of vengeance, rage pushed him to unprecedented leaps and bounds. Like a pulse, a steady beat of life emerged from the shadows, reminiscent with the darkness about him. This deviant aurora was ample evidence for his vile insurgency, quenching his thirst for upheaval and death. It was a calling to his Brothers of whom he'd never met. A calling to kindred spirits that would teach Mason the way of the Darkside, a path he was already walking simply without a compass to guide him.

Habitual droplets of water interrupted the deadly silence that befell this peculiar scene. The leaking crevices were from but mere perspiration of the damp and moist air that filled the muggy and humid room, straining Mason's complete and total concentration. Sighing, the soon to be Dark Jedi re-focused his mind to prepare himself for the trials and tribulations ahead of him. Awaiting his finest hour, Mason contemplated his past and his future, peering into the mantle of a new age with the help of the midichlorians themselves. In the distance, a jolt of nothingness was felt...it brought on no physical recognition, but rather, every sign of a noise. Confused by its origin, the warrior's eyes slowly crept open and shut again. The vague darkness that lingered within the large room blinded all of his senses; hiding what was really there. Mason did not realize how deeply he had delved into the realm of meditation and decadence...but now it was abhorrently clear.

...Mason was but anger and hatred. He was the physical embodiment of pain that had cramped and built over time. At last, it was all being simultaneously released. Thinking had become both the spark and the fuse for this bout of fury and uprising. His dark virtues had become an enigma for what lie beneath his flesh and bones. The riddle of the past collided with the mystery of the future, combining to make one complex question that could only be answered by the cataclysmic event of two souls colliding together in the mysterious bond of Master and Apprentice. Now, he and the Dark Jedi would train on behalf of similiar morals. A new war would branch from the seeds of uncertainty, and Mason looked to reap what he had carefully sowed...

Mason's amber eyes peered down the long hallway which was all that now separated the two intertwining fates; it was but a mere corridor that led to the equivalent of the grand chamber within the Church. The slightest noise echoed repetitively over a distance which never seemed to cease...giving way to the eerie silence that plagued his loathsome meditation. It was anticipation that got him. It was like an insurmountable apex of fear, excitement, and rage that consumed every machination of his waking mind. That very pulse, the very signature of his existence, steadily increased as his heart beat out of his chest like a war drum. Mason sat cross-legged, awaiting someone, anyone to come and train him. He was but an dull instrument at the moment, he needed to be sharpened and used for his higher purpose.

 

[Mars]

A man entered the 'Church' on Tattooine walking slowly. His body was covered by black robes that hugged his body slightly. Underneath the robes he wore black cortosis-woven armour. Around his waist, he wore a red sash and on his hands he wore half-fingered gloves. Hidden beneath his robes were a pair of curved-hilt lightsabers that were his prized possesions. He was one the most talented duelists in his order. His name was Aiden and he was an assassin, a murderer and most importantly a Crusader of the Dark Jedi of the Bogan.

Aiden had been on the planet taking a bit of a break from the rigors of training and missions he had been subject to for some time now. About an hour ago, the Miralukan had sensed a presence in the force. It was dark and powerful, and....here! Aiden passed a few lone monks as he walked down the long corridor.

There was a man kneeling and instantly Aiden recognized him as the center of his search. He kneeled about three yards away from the man and began to meditate himself, bringing the Dark side to him slowly. He grinned as power began to flow through his veins in a small display of his power. To the man next to him, he would feel a cold shudder, as if something evil was near and wanted to get to him. If he knew fear, the man would feel it.