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.
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.