Wounds that Never Heal

[Brand]

The passage of time.

Iniquitous ran his strong hands down the weathered stone walls of the Korriban temple. The ancient, the long dead, cried out to him; time did not seem to diminish these echoes in the Force. Triumphant shouts muddled with long wails of sorrow seemed to radiate off the planet, spewing out of it's dark core. Korriban itself had a history riddled with strife and warfare, but the temple itself had stood for thousands of generations of Sith. That fact in it of itself stood as a pinnacle of the dark side to Iniquitous, a testament to the strength of the Order itself.

Try as hard as the Jedi might, the spirits of Dark Lords long since past still dwelt in their resting places, never to be stamped out and still drawing in the souls of men to be corrupted yet strengthened. The temple may've been bruised and beaten in the past, but it would always stand as a pillar of the dark side never to be fully toppled.

The taste of victory still rang sweet in Iniquitous' mouth as he strode through the vast corridors of the temple. Iniquitous was fresh from outside, where he along with two other fellow acolytes had all bested seperate foes. His opponent, a ferocious Trandoshan named Lussk, had not fallen easily, and he felt proud of his accomplishments to date with the blade. He was becoming a Force to be reckoned with, a fearsome wielder of the lightsaber as he had been known in the halls of the Jedi temple, and this victory over the Trandoshan would only spur him to train harder. Iniquitous would be ready, though. He had experience on his side, something many of the other acolytes could not truly vouch for.

Iniquitous' eyes closed, yet he continued walking, feeling his way on through the Force and reflecting on his journey up to this point. He allowed himself only a moment of reminiscence as he continued to move, shaking his head to clear away the thoughts that had sprung unbidden into his mind. His time in the Jedi Order was still fresh in memory, but by drowning himself in the ways of the Sith Lords long since past and immersing himself in his studies he found that he had slowly begun to erode away the principles of the Jedi that clung to him like a leech.

Now that he looked back on his time as a servant of the light he could see how the Jedi had literally sucked his potential, robbing him of true power, true insight. He had come to realize that the men that he had once put on a pedestal and striven to be like were really unenlightened fools, not worthy of recognition in his eyes let alone respect.

He had felt so privileged in the beginning to be chosen by such a highly respected master. Galak Avara was one of the foremost diplomats of the Order, a power wielder of the Force and deadly swordsman, but he had held Iniquitous back, and he hated him for it. After Iniquitous' fall he had severed all ties to his old life, and left his master cold, leaving the Temple in a fury that left his escorts dead. Iniquitous searched the galaxy for answers for two years, even almost returning to the Jedi on more than one occasion, but he could now see how the Force had worked to take him to this place.

To Korriban, a place of power, where Iniquitous could come to flourish and blossom in power and strength.

"Passion has always been the catalyst to my strength, and I will never let the strength it has given me fall away," he thought. Iniquitous continued on in the halls, the slap of his bare feet on the cold stone the only sound that accompanied him. He enjoyed the quiet, the solitude, and savored it while it lasted.

 

[Sreeya]

"This is not beautiful at all.."

She sighed, inspecting the wound on her shoulder. The blood that had ran down from the wound had stained her pallid skin. She did not know how to apply healing, always having marveled at her wounds. Her wrists still sported cuts, but none of them were as deep or disfiguring as the wound on her shoulder. She touched it with the tip of her finger, not wincing from the pain that jolted through her body. Instead, she found it to be a tingling sensation that excited her. She couldn't explain it, but this wound did not have the same effects as watching the wounds on her wrists. It was beginning to swell and turn into an ugly color, suggesting that it was possibly getting infected.

"No... not beautiful.."

She turned away from the cut. She was sitting on a windowsill, her back against the adjacent wall and one leg folded up on the sill. Her other leg casually hung off to the side. She rested her chin on her knee, quietly peering outside at the endless seas of desert. In her left hand hung a glass dahlia, circling between her fingers.

 

[Brand]

A small voice carried through the hall.

Iniquitous could barely make out the soft voice; he thought he might be able to place it, and quickened his pace, striding forward, his long legs propelling him on quickly. He rounded a gradual curve and came upon Andraste, perched on a window sill.

He could make out a trickle of blood making its way down her arm, and the stain from it's previous flow was evident. She had it on her hands, and he stepped forward, examining the gash on her shoulder. "Andraste, are you OK?" he asked, a glimmer of concern apparent on his face. While as a Sith he didn't care at all for his peers and fellow students, but Andraste and Casimir had found a strange way into his life since his time as an acolyte.

"That could be serious. You don't want to bleed out..." Iniquitous could understand the dilemma; while she wouldn't want to seem weak, it would be worse for her to die. "You should go and grab some bacta from the medical wing."

Iniquitous marveled at her casualness. She stared out the window into the sandy abyss that was Korriban's deserts, yet that cut must've hurt ferociously. Iniquitous himself wasn't sure whether he would be able to go on as nonchalantly as she was.

 

[Sreeya]

She did not turn to face him immediately. For a moment, it was as if she hadn't even seen him coming. After a moment, she finally spoke. Her voice was far away as always. She continued gazing out the window.

"Do you suppose the desert out there has a secret buried underneath? This place has been tainted with the darkness for so long. It clings to everything. How can the desert stretch on for miles so beautifully when we corrupt it so? There has to be something buried out there.."

She finally turned to face him, blinking curiously at the look on his face. She looked from there and followed his gaze to her wound.

"You appear concerned."

She pondered over his words, thinking about the bacta. She hated using that stuff. She looked at Inquitous again.

"You know how to do it, don't you? With the Force?"

She did not outwardly bring up his Jedi origins. However, her gaze spoke volumes. She knew better than to say anything to land him in trouble. However, the concept of applying the Force to heal wounds sounded more appealing than bacta. She patiently awaited his answer to see if he would pick up on her cue.

 

[Brand]

Iniquitous listened to Andraste's musings; the girl had shown a queer kind of wisdom, expressed differently than most but stated eloquently none the less.

"Sith long dead lie buried in the wastes, but the true beauty of this planet lies not only in it's landscape but the raw power of those long past. Ancient Lords and Masters of the dark side have left their mark on this planet, their own strength of will embedding itself in the world's heart."

He paused, momentarily forgetting Andraste's wound. "I intend to do the same."

As she asked him of his skills he immediately made out her implications of healing. His face darkened, clouding over with memories of a painful past. He stepped forward, his eyes boring into hers before breaking the stare. "I know of the basics... but I don't know if I can help you."

Iniquitous reached his hand tentatively forward, searching her gaze for any sign, any tinge of reluctance. The Sith was well aware that his actions could severely backfire, but he trusted Andraste, and whether it was irrational or not he didn't care. He layed his large hand over her forearm, covering her gash. The warm blood oozed slowly, the sticky substance staining his hand. He opened his mind, feeling through up to her shoulder. He took in the millions of molecules, and his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved the power slowly upwards.

The acolyte sought out the veins contributing most to the bloodflow and pinched it shut; he could almost immediately feel the trickle of blood against his hand lessen and then stop.

Iniquitous stepped back, letting out an explosive breath. The physical toll it took on his body was incredible, more than almost any other ability he had attempted since his fall from the Order. He wiped away the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead before turning back to Andraste.

"I... I don't know if I can go on," he said, his voice faltering as he spoke. The shadow of doubt creeping over his complexion. It was a feeling he had not encountered since attending the Academy, and anger flared up inside his chest at his weakness.

"I can't heal you, Andraste."