Ask Direct Instruction

[Cyrus Veruna]

It had barely been a week, and Cyrus had already grown uncomfortable within the confines of the Korriban Academy.

It was not the institution itself, of course. It took mere moments for the Acolyte to become completely enthralled by the ancient histories and architecture that stretched out before him - with every statue, engraving and supporting column seeming to date back into the millennia. The very stones beneath his feet were worn and polished by the first generations of Sith, and the repairs completed by Azar were only testament to the resilience and longevity of their Order. It didn’t matter what conflict was brewing between Tempest and Arcanos. It didn’t matter which of them ultimately claimed the throne in the end.

Theirs was an Order that would survive through the ages and be forged stronger with every setback. It was that reality that inspired the Acolyte, and only fed into his growing appetite for knowledge.

No. It was instead the unforgiving heat that had begun to wear upon the patience of the Acolyte. The Korribani sun was unrelenting in its glare, bearing down upon the stone-carved Academy and its students with a vengeance. It didn’t matter what robes Cyrus opted to wear, it only took a few minutes for sweat to begin beading against his brow. It was thoroughly uncomfortable - and though it never manifested audibly, there was no mistaking the scowl that worked its way across Cyrus’ expression.

None of it, however, prevented Cyrus was marching through the halls of the Academy - marching towards the Office of their newest Professor. The appointment of Iymril as an instructor was all the news that dominated the Academy, and Cyrus had heard his own tales of the Sephi teaching sign-casting previously at the Umbara classrooms. It was a skill that the Acolyte had a great deal of interest in, and it was what drove him to seek the Champion out directly for instruction. Perhaps requesting one-on-one training wasn’t proper protocol amongst the Sith, but Cyrus had little desire to beat around the bush.

As his footsteps came to a halt, Cyrus paused before the door of Iymril’s office - taking a few breaths before raising the hand from his side, tapping the buzzer attached to the panel at the side of the doorframe.

 

[Iymril]

​

Sorcery was a delicate thing, it required the practitioner to remain focused. Iymril held a vial over a low burning flame in a brazier, they allowed a single drop of blood to roll free and into the fire. There was a hiss as the droplet turned to steam but the essence of what Iym sought caused a shift in the flame. For a brief moments the fire billowed up, the color distorting and a faint image appeared in the flame.

But before the scrying happened the sound of the door chime to their office broke Iymril’s focus. The Sephi’s ears dipped slightly as they restoppered the vial of blood and waved a hand over the blue fire. In response the flames were snuffed out and Iym tucked the vial back into a drawer within their desk.

As Iymril took a seat behind their desk, the door to their office would slide open. The Acolyte outside would see the high vaulted ceiling with an alchemy cauldron, sorcerer’s brazier, several books shelves covered in tomes, journals, and data slates. There was an open balcony that overlooked the library with several Acolytes studying or practicing incantations below. All under the watchful gaze of the Sephi Professor.

“You may enter Acolyte Veruna.” Iymril stated calmly. “What is the purpose of this appointment?” They asked directly, their face neutral, their eyes placid, and their ears twitching slightly.

@Altaris

 

[Cyrus Veruna]

Cyrus couldn’t help but exhale sharply through his nostrils - taking a moment to dispel his own anxieties as the durasteel doors to the office slid open. The Acolyte had heard his fair share of rumors regarding the no-nonsense Professor, and the ‘creative’ punishments he reserved for student failures. Perhaps his boldness in seeking an audience was.. Not within his best interest, all things considered.

But Cyrus couldn’t exactly look back, by now.

Stepping into the office, the Acolyte allowed his gaze to wander the open space - taking in the vaulted ceilings, alchemical elements and students training below. His gaze lingered on the students that muttered incantations beyond the soles of his feet, the faintest scowl tugging at his expression. They were peers, all of them. They were ultimately competition for the Professor’s favor, and the knowledge that the Acolyte sought in his own research. Whatever bond they all seemed to form for each other, Cyrus had little interest in.

“Professor Auvryt'tar,” Cyrus said, momentarily dropping to a knee infront of the Sephi professor. Despite his own sense of self-worth, the Acolyre was capable of swallowing his own pride enough to be respectful. Certainly enough to keep his head attached to his shoulders. He wouldn’t rise until Iymril gave him the indication to do so.

“I understand you have taught classes on the technique known as Sign Casting, during your time on Umbara” He began. It was a rare enough ability, and certainly not something that was widely practiced amongst the saber-flailing majority. “I had hoped to seek your instruction on his topic directly, My Lord, as an expert in the field.”

@Apollyon