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The cold was something more than familiar to him, like pain itself. It was a fact of life, a sensation that would come upon him again and again. No matter how many days he spent under a desert sun, no matter how many nights he slept in a humid jungle, despite all of the more merciful nights that he slept in a real bed, he knew it would come back.
Nox knew that coldness came with Death. Even if the universe was to be destroyed between ice and fire, it was the cold that would seep into every empty body. Every carcass. As Death took hold, cadavers always lost heat until they were basically inert. There was no escaping it. He knew he would die cold, one day.
It was easy for him to remember the first days of coldness. The men that he later learned were to be his mentors tore him from his cot while his family was planetside with a few others. He had not cried, as that behavior had been beaten out of him long before, but he did fight. Of course, the struggles of a child barely out of the toddler stage were nothing to a grown Noghri. The mentors left him and a group of other prospects in the forest for the night. He didn't yet know how to make shelter, or a fire, or anything to cover himself with. He shivered through the night, thinking that nothing would ever be worse.
The next great time of deep cold had been during his environment training. His mentors had dropped him on an ice planet, one with very little surviving fauna and almost no possible shelter. It had taken all of the day simply to hike to the base of the nearest mountain chain. Spending the night in a small crevasse, he did not sleep. The wind bit through his clothes as if they were not there, proving that there was no protection against the ice and snow.
Most painful, though, had been his first fight against his older brother. Xic. Before the man had become a mysterious and powerful sorceror of the Sith he was just another prospect like Nox. But, of course, in his naive youth Nox was unaware of that. When his brother had come home from the Sith Order for a short visit, Nox had though his brother was already akin to the Dark Lord. That worship was nearly his undoing. Seeing an opportunity for a test, his mentors set him up. Xic jumped him, at the time a powerful warrior that was twice as tall as Nox and weighing twice as much. There was nothing fair in the fight, excepting Xic's choice not to use the Force to crush him, but he fought anyways. It turned savage, as Noghri combat always did. Blood flew everywhere, spattering the walls and the clothes of his nearby mentors. The blood continued to pool all over the ground beneath them as they wrestled. Nearly dislocating his brother's knee, Nox almost gained the upper hand. However, Xic was far more experienced and was unafraid to use brute strength to best him. Nox wound up on his back, his brother's large hands gripping his throat and throttling the life out of him.
He remembered how the blood on the floor had already turned cold, so long had the fight gone on. It was still wet and sticky on the back of his head, smelling powerfully of iron. He could smell it dying, rotting as it slowly congealed and lost what little heat it had left. The smell and the feeling of the blood was only of brief importance as the cold crept in on his body. Without oxygen, his brain had begun shutting down. Things turned cold. His toes, his fingers, everything. As the feeling left even his throat, where his brothers fingers were so tightly wrapped, Nox could feel as the last of it seeped into his brain.
The end was almost there.
Through fortune and desperation, Nox managed to summon enough strength to buck his brother off of him. The entire world came flooding back in forcefully as he took his first gasp of warm, fresh air. It filled his lungs near to bursting, filling his chest with pain and fire. That it hurt meant that he was still alive to feel it. Dizzied, disoriented, all but unconscious, he proved useless on the floor as he sucked more air in. Only through the grace of his mentors was the fight stopped before Xic came back to finish the job.
The newly appointed Sith Master known as Nox, Death's Figment, sat in an ancient chamber far beneath the complex of the Korriban Academy. Halls too old to use anymore were left dark and empty, giving him an opportunity to find solitude deep below the surface. It was colder down there, where the sun could not permeate all of the dust and sand. There was nothing to give the earth around him any warmth, too far from the surface and much too far from the core. He remained only lightly garbed, with his head, arms, and legs completely bare. Clouds of frozen breath misted in front of him every time he exhaled.
Sometimes, in order to learn something, one had to go to the heart of its element.
Cryokinesis was what Nox was after.
Nox knew that coldness came with Death. Even if the universe was to be destroyed between ice and fire, it was the cold that would seep into every empty body. Every carcass. As Death took hold, cadavers always lost heat until they were basically inert. There was no escaping it. He knew he would die cold, one day.
It was easy for him to remember the first days of coldness. The men that he later learned were to be his mentors tore him from his cot while his family was planetside with a few others. He had not cried, as that behavior had been beaten out of him long before, but he did fight. Of course, the struggles of a child barely out of the toddler stage were nothing to a grown Noghri. The mentors left him and a group of other prospects in the forest for the night. He didn't yet know how to make shelter, or a fire, or anything to cover himself with. He shivered through the night, thinking that nothing would ever be worse.
The next great time of deep cold had been during his environment training. His mentors had dropped him on an ice planet, one with very little surviving fauna and almost no possible shelter. It had taken all of the day simply to hike to the base of the nearest mountain chain. Spending the night in a small crevasse, he did not sleep. The wind bit through his clothes as if they were not there, proving that there was no protection against the ice and snow.
Most painful, though, had been his first fight against his older brother. Xic. Before the man had become a mysterious and powerful sorceror of the Sith he was just another prospect like Nox. But, of course, in his naive youth Nox was unaware of that. When his brother had come home from the Sith Order for a short visit, Nox had though his brother was already akin to the Dark Lord. That worship was nearly his undoing. Seeing an opportunity for a test, his mentors set him up. Xic jumped him, at the time a powerful warrior that was twice as tall as Nox and weighing twice as much. There was nothing fair in the fight, excepting Xic's choice not to use the Force to crush him, but he fought anyways. It turned savage, as Noghri combat always did. Blood flew everywhere, spattering the walls and the clothes of his nearby mentors. The blood continued to pool all over the ground beneath them as they wrestled. Nearly dislocating his brother's knee, Nox almost gained the upper hand. However, Xic was far more experienced and was unafraid to use brute strength to best him. Nox wound up on his back, his brother's large hands gripping his throat and throttling the life out of him.
He remembered how the blood on the floor had already turned cold, so long had the fight gone on. It was still wet and sticky on the back of his head, smelling powerfully of iron. He could smell it dying, rotting as it slowly congealed and lost what little heat it had left. The smell and the feeling of the blood was only of brief importance as the cold crept in on his body. Without oxygen, his brain had begun shutting down. Things turned cold. His toes, his fingers, everything. As the feeling left even his throat, where his brothers fingers were so tightly wrapped, Nox could feel as the last of it seeped into his brain.
The end was almost there.
Through fortune and desperation, Nox managed to summon enough strength to buck his brother off of him. The entire world came flooding back in forcefully as he took his first gasp of warm, fresh air. It filled his lungs near to bursting, filling his chest with pain and fire. That it hurt meant that he was still alive to feel it. Dizzied, disoriented, all but unconscious, he proved useless on the floor as he sucked more air in. Only through the grace of his mentors was the fight stopped before Xic came back to finish the job.
The newly appointed Sith Master known as Nox, Death's Figment, sat in an ancient chamber far beneath the complex of the Korriban Academy. Halls too old to use anymore were left dark and empty, giving him an opportunity to find solitude deep below the surface. It was colder down there, where the sun could not permeate all of the dust and sand. There was nothing to give the earth around him any warmth, too far from the surface and much too far from the core. He remained only lightly garbed, with his head, arms, and legs completely bare. Clouds of frozen breath misted in front of him every time he exhaled.
Sometimes, in order to learn something, one had to go to the heart of its element.
Cryokinesis was what Nox was after.