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29-04-2023, 04:13 PM
(This post was last modified: 29-04-2023, 04:14 PM by Lord Iezkon.)
"Philosophy gives structure to the delicately ordered chaos of our Empire. Tradition. Principles. History. The threads that compose our society." – Darth Thanaton
“Knowledge is a vast ocean, awaiting for those willing to quench their thirst. Though it comes with a price, a distinctive need to continuously quench thirst. Though if one is to drink too much of its salted waters, it can lead you into disaster. Even death. Are you willing to taste as I have?” – Jadie Priaa to her master Darth Telyrios.
The soothing chimes of sand batters against metal, winds of old shuddering and flourishing through distant fogs. In the valley below lies the ancient tombs of old, the Lord of the Sith and their fallen slaves, whom built their temples. They echo throughout the very course of history, the very course of the planet. The winds carry the burden of the dead, and the dead carry the burden of external slumber.
The hooded figure approached the temple door-way, allowing their attire to flourish elegantly throughout the winds that followed; “The way of the Dark side has always been neglected by the newer generation.” A cold voice would echo into the ears of the hooded figure; “Perhaps it is time I show you what it means to step foot in my shoes.” The cold voice offered a hue of amusement, it shattered by the vicious winds that continued to batter and corrode the stone before the hooded figure.
Darkness followed, a glimpse of light at an end of the tunnel. But there is nothing, it is eternal. For many days the figure walked, for many hours the figure started to weep and question their existence. A thousand songs had echoed throughout the void of darkness. They thought to themselves; “Is there no end to this neglect? Is there a deeper meaning?” Many questions of which will never, or can ever be answered. The figure flourished throughout the darkened whisper of mist, it swallowing up all of which was mortal, and thus making a-new.
A thousand men stood down an aisle, a thousand dead whispered towards the hooded figure. A searing pain scorching the mind of the mortal soul who continued to question. A yell echoed into the void, it echoed back- and so on. There was a place of no hope, and no understanding- yet there was one whom was determined to find answers to their pain, to their neglect. “There must always be an answer, there must!” The voice soldiered on. With the confidence of the bold allowed a path to be visualized amongst the dead. The answer was in plain sight, but was it worth it in the end?
The answer remained still, and so did that who peered upon it. A blinding light shun upon the way out, and then the way in. There was never anything to see, yet there was everything to see. That was always the burden one must take, it was always destined to be their path.
- Lord Priaa
(*Post by Sierra/A'tul/Kayla V.*)
“Knowledge is a vast ocean, awaiting for those willing to quench their thirst. Though it comes with a price, a distinctive need to continuously quench thirst. Though if one is to drink too much of its salted waters, it can lead you into disaster. Even death. Are you willing to taste as I have?” – Jadie Priaa to her master Darth Telyrios.
The soothing chimes of sand batters against metal, winds of old shuddering and flourishing through distant fogs. In the valley below lies the ancient tombs of old, the Lord of the Sith and their fallen slaves, whom built their temples. They echo throughout the very course of history, the very course of the planet. The winds carry the burden of the dead, and the dead carry the burden of external slumber.
The hooded figure approached the temple door-way, allowing their attire to flourish elegantly throughout the winds that followed; “The way of the Dark side has always been neglected by the newer generation.” A cold voice would echo into the ears of the hooded figure; “Perhaps it is time I show you what it means to step foot in my shoes.” The cold voice offered a hue of amusement, it shattered by the vicious winds that continued to batter and corrode the stone before the hooded figure.
Darkness followed, a glimpse of light at an end of the tunnel. But there is nothing, it is eternal. For many days the figure walked, for many hours the figure started to weep and question their existence. A thousand songs had echoed throughout the void of darkness. They thought to themselves; “Is there no end to this neglect? Is there a deeper meaning?” Many questions of which will never, or can ever be answered. The figure flourished throughout the darkened whisper of mist, it swallowing up all of which was mortal, and thus making a-new.
A thousand men stood down an aisle, a thousand dead whispered towards the hooded figure. A searing pain scorching the mind of the mortal soul who continued to question. A yell echoed into the void, it echoed back- and so on. There was a place of no hope, and no understanding- yet there was one whom was determined to find answers to their pain, to their neglect. “There must always be an answer, there must!” The voice soldiered on. With the confidence of the bold allowed a path to be visualized amongst the dead. The answer was in plain sight, but was it worth it in the end?
The answer remained still, and so did that who peered upon it. A blinding light shun upon the way out, and then the way in. There was never anything to see, yet there was everything to see. That was always the burden one must take, it was always destined to be their path.
- Lord Priaa
(*Post by Sierra/A'tul/Kayla V.*)
