Ask Under Umbaran Skies

[Darth Arcanos]

He was done with teaching for the day, so he found himself in his garden in the Umbara Academy courtyard. He could hear some acolytes loitering around in the distance as they discussed their plans for the holidays. Others were practicing with their sabers with plenty of antagonizing one another. The hustle and bustle of the academy almost became a welcome sound of familiarity to Azar. He heard it day in and day out, and it reminded him that he had a new home now.

The garden itself - composed of bioluminescent Umbaran plants and imported flora alike - had a vibrant glow to it. The flowers smelled incredible, and he was in the process of walking through the area and picking off any he needed for his potions. Every plant here had a purpose, and mixed together in the perfect combination they could prove deadly.

Azar always had a healthy supply of acolytes to test his potions if they misbehaved. Though he thoroughly enjoyed the illusion of giving them deadly potions to fan their anxieties, in truth the worst the students faced was socially embarrassing scenarios. One of the concoctions caused a student to run around the entire academy leaving behind a trail of diarrhea. Naturally, that student was also responsible for cleaning it all up.

“You are not exactly inconspicuous, Acolyte Dalon,” Azar said calmly as he stared at the horns poking out from behind a nearby bush from a man posing as a very unconvincing potted plant. Azar snipped a few more stems, collecting what he needed in a vial.

“Oh..” The oversized Zabrak said as he stepped out into the open, “My bad, teach,” He said with a grin with several teeth missing. Was that Karys’ handiwork? Azar rolled his eyes and returned to what he was doing.

“I brought you some flowers,” He said as he plodded over to hold them out. Azar quirked a brow, the flowers clearly from a different world. Was Dalon collecting ‘just because’ flowers for him from his missions? Azar sighed and turned to regard him.

“Acolyte,” He stated, “You must under-”

“I know I know! Just take them, okay, teach?” He blurted out, practically shoving the flowers into his hands. His face was turning beet red and he practically bolted away from the scene. He kept looking over his shoulder nervously as if someone was going to jump him any moment. Azar couldn't understand it - the Zabrak had a fierce reputation and was an all around bully and yet, without fail, he constantly brought the pureblood random gifts.

The pureblood was left puzzled, but he would keep the flowers. They looked edible.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Dalon. That punk-ass little teacher's pet. Vossari waved to him as he rounded the corner, taking note of his bruised, banged-up face. The Zabrak almost jumped out of his skin as he did - before realizing it was just Vossari. "What's up, man?" He extended a fist to bump. The giant zabrak's fist met Vossari. "You doing alright?"

Dalon smirked, at first, but this smirk gave way to a sheepish, nervous smile. "Oh, hey, Voss. Yeah, just...saying what's up to the Potionmaster." The zabrak's smile grew as he thought about Azar. "Me and teach have a special relationship, you know?"

Vossari stared at the acolyte, as a burning resentment appeared in his chest. Azar was a favorite of the acolytes, so it seemed. Vossari had seen others - a red-skinned acolyte, most notably - crowd around the professor of potions. Vossari blinked back to Saleucami, to the sharp contrast between Azar's care and his control. He had seen both sides in one day, and they were both invigorating.

Voss rose to his feet and waved Dalon off as they strode in the direction of Azar. Their heart pounded; the two of them had scarcely spoken since Saleucami. Vossari wasn't in potions class anymore - now that he trained full-time with Param - so his visits to the academy were pretty rare.

Vossari plastered on a dumb smile when he spotted Azar. "Hey, 'teach'!" He called out. He was dressed in oversized streetwear, as usual; his shoes squeaked with each step. "Got a minute? I was hoping I'd catch you."

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

The sneakers squeaking was almost unbearable, but Azar kept his cool. He was in the middle of trimming a few leaves when another acolyte popped up. The Pureblood glanced over at them in silence, the yellow eyes studying the Wrean from Saleucami. He was bemused at the question, still not caught up on all Basic lingo.

“Catch me?” He asked with a raised brow, “I am not exactly running away..” He mused, taking the question completely literally. Azar lowered his pruning shears, turning fully to face the acolyte. The Wrean almost looked flustered, which puzzled the Pureblood. Did they think Azar was going to make them drink a potion?

“How is your back?” He asked, recalling the complex state that was left behind from the burning and dark healing. Azar was curious why the acolyte sought him out - as far as the pureblood knew, Vossari was not scheduled at the academy.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

The mere mention of the wrean's back returned Vossari's mind to it. It was still like a gaping wound - while he applied medicine to it regularly, the constant strain of his training continued to aggravate the injury. Criss-crossed, patchwork of closing and opening scars peeked out of formerly colorful tattoos. All this was hidden, but Azar would feel the winces of pain from Vossari. Feel the hatred that it inspired towards Saleucami. They stretched their back at the mention of it. "It's holding up." Their eyes shot to Azar's midsection and leg, where he had been shot. "How are you feeling?" A touch of sympathy tinged his voice, reminiscent of the tenderness Azar had briefly witnessed during the sojourn through the swamp.

But sympathy was not why he had come here - nor was it merely out of the selfish desire to glimpse the red skin of the Umbara Academy's potion master. Their first escapade with Azar had inspired something inside of them, a fire that burned bright within. While acting the part of snooty, derelict Acolyte was all well-and-good, beneath Vossari's amber eyes was a gnawing hunger for more that they could not achieve from training alone.

The wrean acolyte averted their gaze from Azar's, their natural charisma falling away to sheepishness. They were nervous - nervous to ask Azar what they wanted, but even more nervous to admit to themselves that they could not solve all their problems alone. "They don't teach us much about Korriban in the academy, or about your peoples' history." Or, if they did, Vossari had scantly learned and not paid close attention.

The demonstrations of Azar's power - redirection of flame, snapping of necks with the force, the use of the Force to drain the life from someone - were unlike any Vossari had seen before. And behind it all was a wicked intellect. "Are all of you so...powerful?" Was their connection to the Dark Side biological, or forged out of generations of galactic struggle? More importantly... "I'm sick of feeling so...so weak." Their back flared up in pain, and they suppressed a wince. "Can your power be taught?"

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was surprised to sense actual sympathy when Vossari asked about his leg. However, he didn’t answer, letting Vossari instead arrive at their point. The Pureblood was not the type to linger on niceties if it served no purpose. Vossari made their point soon enough, though the words only drew a grin from Azar, “You already have a Master,” He reminded the acolyte as he grasped several different flowers and crushed them in his palm, waving his other hand over it to alter their property with the Force, “Did you come here to seek out what I can teach or simply just me?” He chuckled to himself.

Without warning, he lifted his palm and blew on it, sending the wave of his flowery concoction directly into Vossari’s face. The wrean would inhale it and feel a surge of strength abruptly pulse through them. It would shoot right to their head, their thoughts, through their blood and down to every extremity. Vossari would feel the pain in their back as a welcome pleasure, their eyes would glint briefly yellow, and they would feel far more connected to the world around them. The gardens came alive, the flowers whispered, the Force was a visible, tangible thing for them to grasp and bend, molding it like clay.

“Power only comes to those that enjoy it,” He leaned in closer to the acolyte that would feel that surge of the Force spiraling through them still, “Not those that do it out of obligation. You have to want it, embrace it and take it for yourself,” He said with another quiet laugh before he drew back and started walking.

“You fear your very own shadow, little fish,” Azar called out with amusement without looking at Vossari.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari felt their eyes open for the very first time. It was as if dawn had finally struck after an eon spent in darkness, the first signs of intelligent life crawling, splayed bellies, into the light of the sun. Vossari had been blind before this to the truth. The connection between all things was the first point of clarity - the Force infused everything they saw. Like strings on puppets, the Force moved through objects. All one had to do, then, was reach out and touch the strings.

Vossari twirled the living Force in their fingers as they took in Azar's words. Want it...embrace it...take it...They pulled on one of the strings of the force, and the gentle blooms of the night flowers of Umbara began to wither into dust. Soon cracked and decayed, a gust of wind caught them, and they flew into the wind. Another thread, pulled tight, created a rumbling beneath their feet. The Force was in the planet itself. It was everywhere. And it alone was the source of deliverance.

The effects of the flower both clouded and enhanced their hearing. They felt like they were no longer hearing with their ears, but with their spirit, their soul. They could almost feel the intention of Azar, the burning glow of his golden eyes, even as he faced away. Vossari did have a master. There was no need for them to seek outside instruction. Then, what was the truth? That Vossari had spent nights dreaming about Saleucami? "You." They said it slowly, longingly, to cherish. "I don't want to be taught like the rest of these...acolytes." Vossari often felt like the rest of their ilk were just cannon fodder for the Sith's interests. "I don't want just another class or another teacher."

All their life, Vossari had been beaten. By a drunken loser of a father, by gamorreans and punks on Nar Shadda, by the Sith in their relentless training. The Force was meant to even those odds, but since arriving to the academy, the only thing they had learned was how far they had yet to climb. How insignificant they were in the ranking of power.

It was infuriating. Param coached pleasantness and patience. That, too, felt like an insult. What Vossari wanted was power. The power to do what they want. To destroy every last one who had ever done them wrong.

What they wanted most, in this moment, stood right in front of them. Another string of fate tied them together, in this instant. Vossari reached out and grabbed Azar's arm. Their eyes carried a renewed confidence - a true confidence, brought on by their newfound understanding of the world. "I want this power, Azar. I want it all." The power to do anything, have anything, be anything was within arms' reach. It was intoxicating.

Azar was intoxicating. They brushed their hand up Azar's arm, pulling their gazes together. The garden's chorus of life seemed to quiet around them. Vossari's voice deepened to a whisper. Full, brown lips parted to speak. They leaned in, close to Azar's ear, where he could feel Vossari's sweltering words. "I want you." With their height difference, Vossari had to lean down just to be eye level with the sith. He wanted nothing more than to feel the man who had saved him, showed him power. So, he took what he wanted.

Vossari tugged Azar's chin up, towards his. His amber eyes fluttered closed as he pulled their lips together. Even with his eyes close, he could feel the electric touch of the living force, connecting the two of them in this moment.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar normally would have used lightning on anyone that abruptly grasped him. However, he had effectively thrown down the gauntlet for Vossari as he strode away. And the acolyte responded beautifully, effectively acting on his advice taking what they wished. Azar turned to gaze at Vossari as they grasped the pureblood’s arm. He had never taken the time to consider the fact that the acolyte was actually much larger than him. It sent a rush through him that he didn’t care to explain to himself.

Golden eyes met chestnut hues before Vossari made their stern declaration. He watched that gaze flick down to Azar’s lips. Azar vaguely knew what was going through the acolyte’s mind. Azar had thought of those lips, of course. How could he not when they looked so enticing and Vossari constantly pouted or stared at Azar intently the entire time on Saleucami.

The pureblood didn’t stop Vossari as they closed the distance, a simple gasp the only thing to express the surprise. Their lips met and it was lightning surging between them, the hints of the floral drugs passing to Azar and backfiring in a way. Azar’s eyes closed as his mind exploded into desire, ecstasy and also rage all at once. He didn’t even realized he was clutching at that ridiculous, oversized hoodie Vossari was wearing as they kissed.

By the time Azar drew back, Vossari was physically flung back against a wall with the aid of the Force. It would hurt the healing wounds on their back. Badly. It was by designed. Azar took slow steps towards them, each wound reopening once more along Vossari’s back. Golden eyes gleaned as Azar gazed at the acolyte that was now levitated several inches in the air while pinned against the wall with the Force.

“You are rather bold,” Azar said with a grin, “Tasty, yet bold,” He said as the Force constricted around Vossari. In one fluid motion he could break the acolyte and make their body cave in. For now, Azar closed the distance, standing mere inches away as he traced a finger down the center of Vossari’s chest. The entire time, animalistic yellow eyes gazed up at them, “You will be nothing more than a plaything. You understand?” Azar stated icily.


@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari crumpled against the wall. Instantly, the pain returned, as intense as it had been on Saleucami. Their ears rang as their body was lifted, higher from the ground; they remained pinned, though. Their frenzied eyes shot in all directions, like a wounded animal caught in a trap. It wasn't enough that Azar had reciprocated their feelings. Here, now, they were humiliated and writhing in pain. Their rage boiled.

They could barely register Azar's words as he spoke, instead ineptly attempting to break free of the serpent's vice that had coiled around them. Tasty. Plaything. These were not words that described a person worthy of respect, of honor...of love. Not at all. But in Azar's yellow eyes, Vossari found a motivation they had long burned for. Loathing. Beneath that lived a void devoid of familial love, romantic care, tenderness...so Vossari clung to the resentment.

The Sith's callous, uncaring glare was the island refuge from the sea of loneliness that Vossari found their own life to be. He resented the world around him - he resented those Sith with more power and accomplishment than himself, those acolytes with close friendships and relationships, those children on Wrea who had grown up in homes filled with love rather than emptied by silence. He had something to prove to Azar, to Param, to the Dark Lord herself...that he was more than whatever box those around him would try to confine him to. He was used to pouring this tangled web of resentment and emptiness into his art - spray tags, pottery, vandalism - but now he had a measuring stick. Azar's allure had been shallow before - his power, his beauty had been charming. But Vossari recognized his contempt now, and if he couldn't have the Sith's love, he would suckle from that.

"Azar," They groaned, wracked with pain and struggling to even breathe. "I'm going to be..." A wheeze, stifled by Azar's unflinching grasp, caught their words. "So much more than that."

They forced a smile to their face, plastic and thin. Azar would see right through it.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

“You better get all of it,” Azar said as he glanced up with his arms crossed over his chest. He was leaning against a wall, chewing on a root and twirling it between his lips. Vossari tasked with cleaning up the ‘art’ he spread all over the academy ceiling. If the acolyte thought sharing a kiss and getting fired up would mean Azar would teach them cool Force moves, they were sorely mistaken. Instead, Azar was watching them scrub the ceiling clean old fashioned style. They weren’t allowed to use the Force or any tricks to speed up the process.

“I’m sure there’s a lesson here somewhere,” He called out as he smirked, a glint in his eye, “But I don’t particularly care,” Azar said. There were no lessons at the academy for the next few days so it was plenty of time to make Vossari clean up all their mess around various different sections of the building.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Aww, nuts. Vossari totally thought getting him fired up & kissing him would be the perfect exchange for some good Force tricks. Instead, he had to wipe down the very graffiti he had plastered across the academy. His finest works of art. They groaned as they scrubbed their crude doodles off of roofs, ceilings, corners. Every nook and cranny that Vossari had spray-painted, Azar had found. It was shocking. Voss didn't even think Azar was tall enough to see some of them.

"There is a lesson here, potion master." Spray paint far away from the academy. "'Don't Shit Where You Eat.' Old Wrean expression." Vossari scrubbed the halls clean for the rest of the Umbara Academy's vacation days. Felt like being in detention, back on Wrea. Almost nostalgic.

___________________________________________________​

A few weeks later, after an emotionally charged Sith Social event on Nar Shadda, Vossari returned to Umbara again to meet with Azar. It turned out, there was a lesson to all this. It was time to grow up. Stop with the scribbling, the endless coaxing and toiling with more powerful Sith. One needed the patience, cunning, and discipline of a serpent coiling its prey to succeed in the Sith. The path to power would be a long one, and obivously, he would need more than a spray paint can and cutting words to succeed. He needed to learn. And he was tired of these champions treating him like a bitch.

So, he came back to school, clutching a star map and a giddy grin as he beelined towards Azar's office. "Oh, potiooooon masssssster....." Their sing-songy voice trailed in from down the hall. Rasping their knuckles on the door to his office, they poked their head in with a smile. "I had a thought." They were dressed rather casually today - rather than stupendously baggy streetwear, they wore a well-fitted t-shirt and black slacks. A blunt roach sat tucked behind their ear, as the aroma of marcan smoke drifted through the halls of the academy.

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar was in the middle of writing out some complicated formulas on a chalkboard. He was combining what he knew with what he derived from the alchemy books that were a gift from Tempest. He mixed all that in with the topic of chemistry that he learned over the past few years. The board had an intricate array of ur-kittat and chemical formulas mixed into one. It looked like a whole new language of its own.

“Nightshade…nerfscourge.. Creepervine…” He muttered before saying a few words in ur-kittat. There was a cauldron in the corner that was bubbling, giving off the stench of rotting eggs. Azar was unbothered by it, clearly focused on where the formula went wrong.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice, and he glanced over to spot Vossari. The sight gave Azar paused. He didn’t miss the very form-fitting attire Vossari chose to wear, similar to Nar Shaddaa. The shirt hugged them perfectly and those tattooed arms never failed to catch Azar’s attention. This was on purpose. Azar grinned to himself.

When Vossari said they had a thought, Azar smiled and turned back to finish what he was writing, “I shall alert the media,” He responded sarcastically. Azar, as always, was dressed in formal robes fitting of his position. It was a far cry from the downright trampy attire he wore at the club.

After he finished writing, he fully turned to regard Vossari, “What is your thought, little fish?” He asked. The term was an insult at first, but it almost became endearment over time.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Little fish. It was starting to grow on them - given the irony of their situation. Vossari stood tall over Azar - yet, Vossari felt like he was always looking up to the Sith. Vossari felt like a little fish - a minnow - in a pond filled with sharks. It was an uneasy place to be, but something he was starting to embrace.

Eyes went first to the robes before the man. "I always look underdressed next to you, teach..." Their eyes glanced to the kettle, and then the lengthy, even text scrawled across the board. Vossari had no clue what Azar was making, but they'd hazard a guess anyways. "Stinks in here." They playfully grabbed their own nostrils closed and fanned their face. Their head titled as they thought through the chemical, Sith incantations. "Did Dalon fart or something? Need a goddamn gas mask when that guy is around." A smirk grew on his face. "Whatcha workin' on?"

"It's less a thought and more a place." Vossari dropped the projector they were holding to a desk, igniting the holographic lights as a map of the galaxy beamed to life. Well, it seemed like a star map, until giant, holographic bubble text appeared with the word TUND spelled in bright pink. Accompanying music began, and Vossari cleared their throat.

Oh gods, this was a sales pitch. "Okay, Azar, the Umbara Academy is great. We practice magic, potions, we train. But the Sith ranks are growing, and we need another space to raise up the kiddos." They pushed a button, and the holographic star map returned, zooming into the U-8 quadrant. "So, we need to grow. But instead of founding a new academy, why not just...acquire another franchise?"

The map again zoomed in. How many hours had he spend animating this, one had to wonder? It zoomed in and in to the landscape of Tund, before arriving on an elderly, bearded face. "This ugly mog is one of Tund's sorcerers. Apparently, the planet is full of them - students of magicks and alchemy who manipulate the threads of fate using ancient, powerful techniques and rituals." They hoped the words piqued Azar's interests as much as it did his own.

"I'm thinking we find ourselves a seat on their council. Get familiar. Learn their secrets." Their hand curled to a fist as the image zoomed out, a graphic with the phrase VICTORY FOR THE SITH lay embossed over the faces of two helmeted soldiers. "And we take their little wizard tower from them."

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar chuckled when Vossari complained about the smell and then blamed Dalon, “I am attempting a strengthening potion, but so far it is not going well,” He admitted with a sigh. He walked over and extinguished the fire under the cauldron, deciding that he needed to give up for the night. The formulas were far too complicated and the conditions had to be perfect.

He gave an amused grin as Vossari excitedly prepared for their pitch. Azar leaned against the edge of a counter, arms crossed over his chest as the acolyte outlined the projection and began to talk. After a moment, the smile began to fade from his face. Vossari may look over alarmed, but Azar took slow steps towards the projection, his hand raising slightly to trace over the planet.

“Tund..”

Of course Azar knew about Tund. He was Kissai. His entire lineage as far as he knew was Kissai. Many of his ancestors were exiled to Tund for prophesying the death of King Adas. He had read about Tund in some of the texts he obtained from Tempest and how they combined science, magic and ontology. He briefly looked over his shoulder at the board where he had written out that mixture of science and magic to slowly work towards what the Tund allegedly crafted. His heart was thundering against his chest. He had always read about it, but he always considered the planet lost in time.

Azar slowly turned to look at Vossari, his face difficult to read for a moment. He had to bite back the emotions that threatened to boil over, “Did..did you randomly decide on this? Or are you suggesting it because......it’s me,” He asked Vossari flatly, gazing right into their eyes. This was far too well planned, far too relevant, far too thoughtful. Azar hoped it was just a random coincidence.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari paused at the question. Why had he brought it to Azar? Because Azar was the only Sith who he had a halfway-decent relationship with. They had managed to piss off and alienate the vast majority of the other people they met throughout their journeys - oftentimes on purpose, but sometimes, it seemed, just by existing. They were having trouble keeping track of the social norms that they seemed to constantly violate.

"Oh Azar." They rose to their feet, sensing the scrutiny in Azar's voice. It was beginning to frustrate him, being constantly questioned, undermined, or belittled by those around them. He thought back to the party on Nar Shadda - where Azar had told him not to feel. Where that bitch Karys had humiliated him for looking in Azar's direction. Did they both think he was such a little fucking fish that he couldn't just have an idea he wanted to execute? Did every interaction have to carry the subtext of violence and sexual tension that Vossari had, admittedly, come to anticipate and appreciate? Was he lying to himself, trying to even claim that this escapade would be separate from the unique feeling he had for Azar. "This isn't only about you. And it's not random."

Magic and ritual were, far and away, the most interesting paths of the Sith. The arcane knowledge that they could uncover, the connection to their own Order's history through ritual . It was the beauty of the holocrons, of the Academy itself - and the powerful magicks of the Sith set them apart from everyone else. It was what he loved about Azar, the potion master, back when he was just a student in his alchemy class. It showed the unique elements of the Sith, the special culture that had come to define the Order. Studying Tund and its history, however brief for Vossari, was a tremendously interesting side project that they had randomly thought to bring to the Sith. It only tracked that the magic man Azar would be the one to do this with, but in truth, his peers and other champions who he mentioned it to showed little interest in the prospect. "Thought it would be a cool idea, that's all."

"I..." They exhaled, deflating as they shut the map off. Azar's question implied scrutiny. Maybe, like on Nar Shadda, Azar was just looking for a way to let him down gently. Better to not show vulnerability, Voss reasoned.. Vossari would provide him the opportunity to opt out. "It's cool if you don't wanna go with me." That was a lie, but they shrugged as they retreated towards the doorway. "I can still figure it out." Of course, he did want to see Azar. To know Azar, at a deeper level. But every time he did something, it seemed to backfire horribly for him. Maybe it was time to write off the idea of a deeper relationship entirely, put their nose to the grindstone, and work. As had been suggested before. "Would be cooler if you did, though."

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar stared unflinchingly as Vossari’s defensive tirade washed over him. The acolyte was a cornered animal, and Azar couldn’t entirely blame him for the behavior. Every word was laced with anger and frustration. As Vossari collected their thoughts, Azar reached over for a container, opening it to reveal a paste.

He briefly looked over where the map was shut off, but he spoke before Vossari could walk away, “I am Kissai,” Azar quietly explained, his gaze still where the map had been, “My ancestors were exiled to Tund a long time ago. They took with them the foundations for magic they practice today. It is what I have been trying to figure out,” He pointed to the blackboard with all his formulas before looking back at Vossari with a faint smile, “If this had been for me, it would have been one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for me.”

Azar closed the distance, dabbing his finger into the paste in the container before reaching over to smear it over Vossari’s nose where it had been broken. It would soothe him at once, the wound rapidly beginning to stitch together faster than bacta could. Azar gazed up at Vossari briefly, his demeanor calm. There was no anger or retaliation for any reason, “You are correct, the Sith could greatly benefit from this,” He said then, his tone shifting towards something more formal.

Azar stepped away, walking over to gather his things, “I will join you,” He said simply, fighting to quell how excited he actually was.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari scrunched their face as Azar's goop booped his snoot. He raised his hand, first, to block whatever Azar was about to do. Their hand, instead, gently grazed Azar's own as the Sith tended to him. Again.

His aching nose cooled, as the cartilage beneath the skin wove itself back together. This was an unexpected turn. Vossari blushed, his brown skin glowing with the heat now raising to his cheeks. His lips parted, slowly, before he regained his composure. "Uh...radical! Happy to help the cause." They have a two-fingered salute and tousled their hair between their fingers, sweeping a long braid down their shoulders as they sat. They stopped fiddling with their hair to continue their report on the facts-at-hand.

"The sorcerers are...very reclusive, from what I've heard. I think they'd notice some new Force-users muscling into their territory." He couldn't help but imagine, the secretive jungle coven of wizards. Fanciful images played across his mind - old hags and men with beards standing over cauldrons taller than buildings, whispering evil incantations into their mystical land. Vossari rubbed his palms together, thinking of all the study he could do there. The planet was likely a treasure trove of forgotten Sith history, kept alive through its powerful magicians.

Vossari couldn't hide their excitement. It wasn't just the adventure, of course, but the company. They felt an undeniable connection to Azar. They had no interest in hiding it, but...after the party, they just wanted to start fresh. "One condition: I'm taking one of their robes."

Kissai...Vossari thought back to his history lessons in the academy. The priestly class, arbiters of magic? "Did your parents teach you alchemy?" He didn't quite understand the contours of the Sith world - the purebloods the least of them. He knew they had clans, lands, titles, heritage...but what were their homes like? Did Azar have parents, somewhere, who loved him no matter what?

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar listened to Voss very seriously explaining how the sorcerers would notice someone trying to barge into their territory. The concern actually made the Pureblood laugh out loud, “This coming from the person that played loud music through the quiet forest during an ambush?” He asked with a quirked brow. If Vossari thought he would ever be able to live down that entire shitshow on Saleucami, he was sorely mistaken. Azar finished packing his things.

“We can take my ship,” It sounded odd to say that. It was one of several little gifts for doing things for the Sith Order. Fortunately, it came with two droid pilots. One to pilot it, the other to pilot it in case the first one got destroyed. That’s how worthless Azar was about any aspect of flying.

If Azar noticed Vossari getting flustered and doing emotional somersaults, he didn’t display any of it. He remained his calm and slightly aloof self, leading up the ramp of the ship. Vossari’s ‘condition’ drew out an eye roll, “You can take whatever you please, but keep the noise levels down while we’re there,” He cautioned the Wrean.

The question about his parents gave him pause. He almost considered not answering, but really what secret was he jealously guarding? His people were a dying breed, if talking about them meant they lived on in whispers, then why not?

“Yes,” He said simply as the ramp closed, “I come from a noble line of the race of Sith,” Azar explained, “It was expected for me to learn alchemy and other complex methods of applying what you call the Force. We only call it magic, which is the term carried down through Tund.”

Azar pondered for a moment before he glanced over at Vossari, “Why do you instigate in situations?” He asked curiously, “It’s almost as if you want to incite rage. It never pans out for you. So why do you do it?”

Vossari later would notice Azar grew visibly distressed as the ship revved up. He pointedly avoided going anywhere near the cockpit or the windows, planting himself steadfast on the floor. Azar expected Vossari to wander over to the cockpit or buckle into a seat instead like a normal person. Azar’s almost crippling fear of flying was already kicking in.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari followed Azar out to his ship, chuckling at his reference to Saleucami. "In my defense, if you had heard my rhymes, you would've wanted me to keep playing that music." The first mistake of many. It was exhilarating, then, the uncertainty of it all. The risk involved. Now that his missions seemed to guarantee failure, it was becoming less-and-less fun to keep fucking them up. They supposed they needed to celebrate their youth while they were still young, but, they hated the scoffing, the looking down, that had become so common from the other Sith.

He listened carefully as Azar explained the history of the magics of the Sith. "Ah. We have different types of 'magic' on Wrea, too. Shamanism, Vodun, good and bad powers of all kinds." Divination and prophecy were of particular importance to his tribe, but all of the peoples of the waves had their own tradition. Many, too, practiced hydromancy to help navigate and live with the oceanic world.

"Wait. A noble line?" Azar was an aristocrat? Vossari had so much to learn about the ways of the Sith people. Perhaps this trip would be instructive in that - the Sith were those who had survived much, who had kept their culture in tact despite a Galaxy-wide effort to exterminate them and any symbol of their existence. To simply live, and live as themselves, was a remarkable feat.

Wrea didn't have 'aristocracy,' per se, but there were certainly those tribes or families with and without historical prestige, amassed resources, and political power. Vossari had always been on the 'without.' In this way, he found a kinship with the dispossessed purebloods - not represented on the galactic stage, kept on the outskirts of economics and politics. Held down by a galaxy that hated them. Such pride in themselves, such confidence, was intoxicating when one considered all of these historical factors. Any other people would be broken, groveling before the Human powers of the Core. The Sith race remained defiant.

Such defiance was an inspiration to Vossari. "I've just always hated bullies, Azar." They shrugged. A past of being mocked - by his father, by his peers, by the tribe, played out in his mind. He would never "Or anyone who tries to put me in a box, you know." That wasn't quite it - it was more than loathing of others...there was a joy, there, to causing problems. It was fun to be the instigator, to put fuel on the fire. It excited him every time he got under someone's skin. It was a simple, stupid joy. "I've never had a lot of...friends. Or family. I'm not great at being sensitive." Or, generally, following social convention.

Vossari saw Azar's fear at the engine revving, casting a curious glance across the ship to the droid pilots. With a cast of his hands, the droids were gently lifted from the seats, as Vossari took a seat at the cockpit. It was an endeavor, physically, to move things gently with the Force, but they tried to make it look easy. He patted the copilot seat, eyes inviting Azar to the front. "Come on up here, princess." His voice was melodic, tender, even as he took a jab at Azar's noble birth. He was reminded of Saleucami. How tight Azar hung onto that speeder.

"Nothing to be afraid of."

@Sreeya

 

[Darth Arcanos]

Azar knew about the ways Wreans used magic thanks to Nakoa. However, he wasn’t about to volunteer that kind of information aloud. He liked to keep his network to himself. Nevertheless, he was impressed by how much Vossari knew of their culture - it spoke to some attachments to his heritage, something Azar could always respect.

He gave a faint smile at Vossari’s response about hating bullies, “Aren’t you becoming one yourself?” He asked simply, gazing into those warm, amber eyes that he knew would turn a predatory yellow one day. Azar was born with it, but Vossari would be shaped and bent into it.

He practically screeched when Vossari moved the droids out of the way. Azar felt panic, convinced his life was in danger. He was one step away from hyperventilating, calmed only by the fact that Vossari appeared unconcerned. The acolyte may have been a stubborn idiot, but even they had to have some fear for their life.

Azar simply shook his head, refusing to budge from where he was. He looked paler than usual, terrified. However after a bit more nudging, he finally exhaled. He was Azar Kressh. He was the Potion Master. He was the future King of Korriban. How could he let such a simple thing such as a means of travel defeat him?

He slowly rose to his feet, still nervously clutching at the seat tops. He supported himself against the wall and slowly made his way into the cockpit, trying hard not to look at the transparisteel windows. Azar haphazardly plopped himself into the seat next to Vossari, his knuckles pale from clutching the armrests. He stared down at his feet, refusing to look up.

“Let me hear your rhymes then,” Azar said quietly. He needed every distraction possible.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[Vossari Khaldun]

Vossari placed an arm, firmly, on Azar's thigh as the engine came to life. "I will. Follow my beat." Vossari began to tap out a simple beat on Azar's thigh, a boom-boom-bap, boom-boom-boom bap-bap. He tapped out the rhythm on Azar's thighs, momentarily, so Azar could repeat it back. Once the sith was comfortable tapping the beat, Vossari returned both hands to the steering wheel of their craft.

"With the Sith,
Flying with Azar.
Looks scared as hell,
So we won't get far.

That's cool,
Cuz I am the one
To fly real slow
While we cruise by the sun."

They ignited the engines as they rhymed, eyes scanning over monitors to make sure the craft was ready for liftoff. They were fueled and ready for liftoff. The ship jettisoned into the air, zipping through the atmosphere as Vossari continued to pilot. Once they were out of planet's atmosphere, it would be a good time to hand it over to autopilot. He gave a reassuring glance to Azar, resisting the urge to run fingers through his luxurious hair.

"On our way to Tund,
Got to deal with some wizardry.
Act stupid,
Get dealt with expeditiously."

Their ship began to exit out of Umbara's gravity well, becoming nothing more than a dark dot on a . Vossari's hand returned to Azar's thigh, pausing him from tapping out a beat for him any more. He continued to rhyme, though, just moving into some freeform poetry as the hyperdrive slowly rumbled to life.

"Mystic veils conceal
When our heartbeats grow.
Soaring through the cosmos,
in an endless flow.
And really,
You're the only shorty I wanna know.

So just groove with me,
and you can hold on tight,
Let's just wrap up
This very short flight."

And then, the ship was in hyperspace.

@Sreeya