The Alchemical Arts

[Ehrlich Mar]

Long ago, the Sith had conquered the grounds where rebels and mutineers once trod, and their ancient sanctuaries stood as monuments to their victory. These were not ruins, not any longer; they were defiant markers of the Imperium's age and everlasting legacy. And in such old and dark places, equally ancient and arcane arts were practiced. Sith Magick, mastered and manipulated from time immemorial, was the lifeblood of Yavin IV; through it, all things were given their urge to survive, for no reason other than to bask in its presence.

It was here that great sorcerer's and alchemists gathered, to live amidst the one thing greater than themselves: their art, which stands from age to age 'till memory does no justice to its existence any longer. Practitioners of the most secret powers waged their ethereal war against their fleshly bonds there, on those very stones, preparing for a much more worldly war which scratched at the glass behind the curtain of their temples. And as their ranks swelled, a new bishop was promoted to the board, ready to stand by the king's side until checkmate do they part or victory do they take; Darth Oro, the VOICE of the Force.

Oro was a quiet one; despite his self-proclaimed title, he had no particular affinity for speaking, since the capability to do so was attacked by the same arts he loved so dearly. Fortunately, the main component of learning is listening, and at this, Oro excelled. And today, he would be listening to the silver-tongued prince of Alchemists: Geist Weiss. If Oro was nervous about the encounter, he didn't show it. How could he, after all, through all of those bandages? And that noise, that vociferous noise which continually reverberated from his frame! How could one ever hope to see into the mind of a being so shrouded in chaos?

Then again, how could he hope to read the face of a man who's face had never been seen? How do you fathom an illusionist who is so proficient that reality itself becomes a mirage when compared to him? Geist Weiss was wrapped in just as much mystery as his newest student, and the Crusader was aware of this. Would he poke at Weiss' defenses, learning something of the man? Would he keep his distance out of respect and leave their identities out of the picture? Could Weiss even maintain his facade in the face of Oro's godawful pulsations? No one could say for certain.

The meeting place was as secretive as the persons involved; a quiet, conservative chamber in the recesses of the Fifth Temple acted as their rendezvous. Natural sunlight wandered through the high, square windows of the chamber, casting its beams across the floor. A powerful humming noise heralded Oro's arrival, rippling the floating dust in those very sunbeams as he approach. He punctually sauntered into the chamber, and the light glittered brilliantly on his alchemical apparatuses as he swaggered. He stopped a few yards into the sanctum that he might better espy his mentor. The lesson would begin any minute.