[My Sith Apprentice had just confessed to their own OC, a Darth Master, that she is unable to read.]
. . .
Occlus was silent for a moment. It was uncharacteristic for him to have so little to say, especially in the face of such a vulnerable sentiment, but the specific subject matter at hand demanded a degree of pause and caution. Scrutinizing his true feelings on the matter had once again become an insurmountable task, the stony facade succeeding in its efforts to obfuscate and obscure every wayward thought and minute facial expression that emanated from within. It was as if he were an object rather than a person - a statue frozen, perhaps, by the sheer ineptitude being displayed by his Apprentice in that very moment.
She shouldn't have said anything. But what could she have said . . . ?
The Darth retrieved the worn, leather-bound tome from his Apprentice's hands with a wordless and gentle grasp, demonstrating a degree of gingerly care that was unexpected of the station of a Sith. Or maybe he just didn't want to crease the edges of the papyrus.
"Listen to me very carefully," he finally spoke, kneeling down to shoulder-height with the flummoxed Mando'a with a free hand hand resting on his knee. "You are to never repeat those words in the company of anyone but myself. Your enemies will take any and all opportunities to tear you down or exploit your weaknesses - and as we speak, there are already plenty of those as it is. Do not give them any more. Is that clear?"
He stood to his feet with little fanfare, fingers already rifling through the pages regardless of her response in order to return to the spot he'd previously marked out for Sylvan's sake.
"Here," Occlus instructed. "These dark symbols beneath the red, Sithari text are called 'Aurebesh'. Their 27 letters comprise the alphabet of the language we refer to as 'Basic'. You have already been speaking it for as long as you have lived; the symbols exist merely as a way to transcribe the spoken word into a legible, tactile form - one anyone can understand at a glance without needing to glean the knowledge aurally."
This . . . patience Occlus had been demonstrating was unbecoming of his ilk. The Sith made poor teachers, and Sylvan's former Master had already enshrined that truth in her mind long ago. What exactly was he before he became the creature she saw today?
"I will speak slowly. Follow along, and repeat after me. My pointer-finger will associate the sound with the written word. Understood?" Occlus' gloved digit rapped against the spindly, frayed paper as if to illustrate his point, underlining the text and proceeding along accordingly as he spoke.
"Peace is a lie. There is only Passion."
The enunciation of each and every syllable was as purposeful and deliberate as a schoolteacher's, slow and methodical so as to drill the lesson into memory.
"Through Passion, I gain Strength."
His voice was hypnotic. It felt like staring into the heart of the Galaxy - to finally peer at an invisible truth that had been lurking at the edge of her vision her entire life.
"Through Strength, I gain Power."
The anticipation rose with every passing word, intensifying into a storm of desire that dwelled deep within Sylvan's scarred and over-engorged heart.
"Through Power, I gain Victory."
But what was its meaning? The words made sense, but their intent was still a mystery, egging her on further into the depths of curiosity and madness. It was a wonder she had never heard Lord Haddar speak them before.
"Through Victory, my chains are broken."
Chains. Chains. Chains.
"The Force shall set me free."
Occlus suddenly and violently shut the tome within his hands with a single resounding CLAP, its impact producing a thin cloud of dust that scattered about the air, scintillating in the dusky light like a palpable kind of magic.
"This is the Code of the Sith. Its core drives every underlying choice, thought, and action that exists behind the masks they present to the world. Remember it well. It will save you, one day."
. . .
Occlus was silent for a moment. It was uncharacteristic for him to have so little to say, especially in the face of such a vulnerable sentiment, but the specific subject matter at hand demanded a degree of pause and caution. Scrutinizing his true feelings on the matter had once again become an insurmountable task, the stony facade succeeding in its efforts to obfuscate and obscure every wayward thought and minute facial expression that emanated from within. It was as if he were an object rather than a person - a statue frozen, perhaps, by the sheer ineptitude being displayed by his Apprentice in that very moment.
She shouldn't have said anything. But what could she have said . . . ?
The Darth retrieved the worn, leather-bound tome from his Apprentice's hands with a wordless and gentle grasp, demonstrating a degree of gingerly care that was unexpected of the station of a Sith. Or maybe he just didn't want to crease the edges of the papyrus.
"Listen to me very carefully," he finally spoke, kneeling down to shoulder-height with the flummoxed Mando'a with a free hand hand resting on his knee. "You are to never repeat those words in the company of anyone but myself. Your enemies will take any and all opportunities to tear you down or exploit your weaknesses - and as we speak, there are already plenty of those as it is. Do not give them any more. Is that clear?"
He stood to his feet with little fanfare, fingers already rifling through the pages regardless of her response in order to return to the spot he'd previously marked out for Sylvan's sake.
"Here," Occlus instructed. "These dark symbols beneath the red, Sithari text are called 'Aurebesh'. Their 27 letters comprise the alphabet of the language we refer to as 'Basic'. You have already been speaking it for as long as you have lived; the symbols exist merely as a way to transcribe the spoken word into a legible, tactile form - one anyone can understand at a glance without needing to glean the knowledge aurally."
This . . . patience Occlus had been demonstrating was unbecoming of his ilk. The Sith made poor teachers, and Sylvan's former Master had already enshrined that truth in her mind long ago. What exactly was he before he became the creature she saw today?
"I will speak slowly. Follow along, and repeat after me. My pointer-finger will associate the sound with the written word. Understood?" Occlus' gloved digit rapped against the spindly, frayed paper as if to illustrate his point, underlining the text and proceeding along accordingly as he spoke.
"Peace is a lie. There is only Passion."
The enunciation of each and every syllable was as purposeful and deliberate as a schoolteacher's, slow and methodical so as to drill the lesson into memory.
"Through Passion, I gain Strength."
His voice was hypnotic. It felt like staring into the heart of the Galaxy - to finally peer at an invisible truth that had been lurking at the edge of her vision her entire life.
"Through Strength, I gain Power."
The anticipation rose with every passing word, intensifying into a storm of desire that dwelled deep within Sylvan's scarred and over-engorged heart.
"Through Power, I gain Victory."
But what was its meaning? The words made sense, but their intent was still a mystery, egging her on further into the depths of curiosity and madness. It was a wonder she had never heard Lord Haddar speak them before.
"Through Victory, my chains are broken."
Chains. Chains. Chains.
"The Force shall set me free."
Occlus suddenly and violently shut the tome within his hands with a single resounding CLAP, its impact producing a thin cloud of dust that scattered about the air, scintillating in the dusky light like a palpable kind of magic.
"This is the Code of the Sith. Its core drives every underlying choice, thought, and action that exists behind the masks they present to the world. Remember it well. It will save you, one day."