Ason Antilles

Fleshy veils parted, giving way to those ebon infinties in which this solipsistic world dreamed. Before him was a foreign landscape, a fetid indolence halting the gears that churned within the planet. The evanescent wraith flew towards a control panel, recoiling at the panel's glare. Some hermit, some homeless wretch had sought refuge in the depths of his forsaken planet. He had claimed it for his own, erecting a monument to his indifference like a scar upon the landscape left forgotten after the years since its tumultuous carving. "Why do I keep falling asleep for long period of time and then coming back like this?" As soon as the words spilled out of his mouth, the memories came flooding back in. Not those stale images shared by the galaxy in this lesser, limited plane. No, his thoughts were filled with the wondrous images of candy cane forests and lollipop mountains. These were the subjects of his dreams. These were the refuge of the reaper. "Well that makes sense. Night night again." And there Ason Antilles began his next wave of hibernation to last for an unknown amount of time. May it be blessed with gumdrop buttons. Wampa Town For Life!

Furion's words lingered for a second as though time were freezing them, keeping them in the air even after they should've fallen to the floor. It was true that Ason had been a Lord longer than many masters had even been in the order. This could lead the spectators to many an explanation, and the plethora of assumptions could only add to that mystery attributed to him that the Krath valued so much. Still, to not respond to this man would be a great miscarriage of justice. He almost told the assassin to forgive his precautions and that he would have to understand, but he stopped himself. The words were redundant. The sorcerer began with a resolute voice that shattered those frigid syllables as though there were never a pause. "I have seen acolytes pass into masterhood before my eyes, but I've found that I admired very few of them. When I discovered they weren't all like Dagon and Oblivion, I quickly grew disenfranchised with titles. Perhaps that is one cause of the phenomenon." His voice grew stronger after the qualification. "But my career has been marked by bursts of productivity and then periods of what has been mistakenly taken as stagnation by others. Those withdrawals into the recesses of darkness have birthed my greatest revelations. They were a necessary indolence. I would be active and see this fetid thing floundering. I'd feel it dragging me like a decrepit relative, draining my resources so that it might continue dragging me tomorrow." "I had to escape, and in that escape I had to rediscover every time something new to keep me going. I've only known tactical retreat, not running. It wasn't until death that I've finally found a way to sustain myself. I no longer need to swallow that blue pill. I've finally discovered that decrepit relative is of no relation to me, and have given myself permission to kill it." "I am thankful for it. It is those gaps I found God, and it was because it was so difficult for my mind to wrap myself around the idea of him separate from his subjects that I am more solid than ever. God needs not the worship of unworthy plebeian masses. He needs not the company of the false deities." "So to respond more directly: it would be unjust to accuse me of forgetting my faith. I have just become my faith. There may be a semantic disagreement between us as to what that constitutes, but the substance is nearly identical." He paused for a second. Breathed. Spoke. "Lead the way Brother."

Life is lived in those moments lost to perception. The tears of the solipsist slide beneath his eyes regardless of whether he sees them or not. It is the chief tragedy of the deaf, that destiny might pass them by without so much as a whisper. An ailment for which, sadly, all remedies fail...unless”¦ The answer could've been equal parts irrelevant and vital, hopeless and supererogatory. It was because the ultimate end of the answer was the only one which mattered, but an answer unknown is incapable of being put into use intelligently. It was a temptress who would elude Ason so long as she was a temptress and tantalize him with glimpses of what he knew of but did not know thoroughly. But she did reveal her flashes of white hot skin, and that would have to be enough. ”

The ship steered closer to Talus. Ason, sensing the dying down of the previous conversation, began to ponder exactly what Talus would hold for the group.

"And at that, a reasonable faith as opposed to a blind-one. One that bears evidence, and evidence must suffice since absolute proof is unattainable." "That is why I am uncomfortable with your statement, Brother, that we have no empirical evidence to support us. Rather, WE, in so much as we are the conclusion, are the empirical evidence for our case. We need not prove it outright, for such a task is technically impossible, but we might submit our happiness as evidence for it.”

"Logic." "I know the answer must seem vague and unsatisfactory to you now, but we each have our own journey to enlightenment. If we had more than hours and minutes I would much enjoy discussing the subject with you further, but that's unfortunately not our purpose here today. What I can briefly say is this: You are right in saying that absolute truth is, in most instances, unverifiable. To take a ludicrous proposition for the sake of demonstrating even the certainty of reality as a whole might be called into question: how can you verify that all you see around you isn't the creation of some malevolent author who exists in an entirely different plane? How do you know your every pain and displeasure isn't foretold by the thoughts of some sadistic, omnipotent being who takes pleasure in placing you in this universe also of their own creation. Perhaps I am not even here, but you believe that I am here because these gods of creation have ordained that you will perceive me as being here. How would you disprove such a claim? Can you see past this galaxy to see if it isn't created at the tip of a pen? In this sense, the objective truth of the matter becomes relatively unknowable. Still, there are ways at arriving at the absolute truth. Deductions, axioms and the like. They may not give you the solid world-view you crave, but they give you some solid ground from which to view this hollow and mysterious galaxy. That ground can be said to be one of absolute truth. Let me tell you further that there is only one absolute truth, and the existence of a multiplicity of views is no proof of post modernity. On the contrary, it is just evidence that the absolute truth is relatively difficult to come to. I have followed the logical pathway to what I am today and act in accordance with the virtues that arise from it. I have sacrificed the portions of my humanity that sway me from dispassionate observation of truth. This is the error of many of the moral theorists of this galaxy: they are all swayed by their humanity. The ultimate results are invariably either non-happiness or an inferior degree of happiness. Only by giving up that human error can one become something more. Yes, biologically human, or of any other race truly if we are to be fair, but greater. Not to say I am less passionate, but that I am capable of deeper passion than any other." He referred not to himself, but to this part of his general character that might be shared by others. "Can I know this with absolute certainty: no. Just as I cannot know if I am not a figment of some demon's imagination. However, I can be sure of a number of things, and because of some universal laws, it is clear and evident that the path I 'ought' to take to arrive at the end I 'ought' to arrive at is the one I am on. I aim to be the conclusion of this logic which, oddly enough, ends up concluding that I am the conclusion." He wished he hadn't spoken so much already. It felt like an oppressive wealth of words for such an unsubstantial conclusion. It was a massive qualification for his forgoing of the more massive response she asked for. All those topics he restrained himself from diving into previously struggled to keep themselves from his throat for fear of being launched into far too lengthy a discourse for the occasion. He gave her a look that seemed to state that at any rate, she wouldn't be ready to accept their truth immediately anyways. Hers seemed to be the character that would exhaust the galaxy of all it had to give and then forge her own answer from the fragments. It was a journey Ason Antilles could identify with, which is why he was sure that if she gave the subject sufficient treatment, she would arrive at the same conclusion. For that he was glad, for if he did explain and she were to accept his words, it would be a great disservice to herself and a great disappointment to him. Still, the ambiguity of facial expressions could lead to the mistaken interpretation of that look as condescension. It wouldn't matter if it was.

Emily's questions were quite unexpected. Ason had been studying her face, ready to scour it for every microexpression it betrayed. Giving those questions voice spoke to an inquisitive character, which was the right one to have. He had no problem letting Furion address the questions though. It was the truth he spoke of that had brought them to this point; an acknowledgment of the plague they spoke of earlier. Still, her questions made the sorcerer wonder if he conveyed power as the most final end, that value for which everything else was done for the sake of. If he had, further articulation was clearly necessary. ”

”

The Co-pilot chair Bare pretender of a throne. Marketing gimmick. A delusion of safety. Were technology still in its infancy, that co-pilot might've been integral to the flight, but at present it seemed as though a more compact control layout and a central orientation of a lone seat would be quite capable of eliminating the position's utility entirely. Millions, if not billions wasted galaxy wide on the pretense of preparation, squandered to make everyone feel a little better about themselves. This was the way of the galaxy: to resolve the dissonance with defense mechanisms. Still, in the proper context, a co-pilot chair was just what it was. It was a chair that, even if it were bordering on statistical insignificance, might still a slight edge over the absence of one. Ason was partially amused by Furion's word ”œfetch”

”

Though we are all birthed in repugnant light, we all grow in darkness. Our raw form takes shape untarnished by that oppressive construct, that blinding illumination. It is for this reason we are dragged kicking and screaming from the womb knowing that the world outside is less pure. Less. We resist with all our might, and those with the means spend their lives untwisting the world back to that perfect state of our infancy. Too often we forget what that feels like, and when the plans are forsook for the nearer design, the end is found wanting. This is was his gift... a reminder of the puzzle's end. His eyes shifted to the apprentice of the new Dark Lord. Those assiduous orbs cast appraising glances to wherever there was activity. Studying. Either she was studying two exemplars of the ideals she was committed to, she was comparing two inferior specimens to the master of her affection, or she was a spectator searching for a path that intuitively coincided with what she felt was right. She reminded him of another young lady who was searching for what it meant to be a sith. She found her answer, just as this one would find hers. After giving her a nod of recognition, he turned back to Julio. ”

Ason stared into the darkness for what appeared to be an eternity, more and more a reflection with every passing second. He was the abstract manifested into reality, the corporeal shell of the dark passenger. Rationality”¦ Humanity”¦ they were but the means to this far greater end. They were the vessel: this was the destination. Who are you? For once the question was addressed to a single being, an inviolable soul unfettered by the weight of those heavy words in his ear. It was also a futile one, for there could only be one answer from a man so liberated: Just watch”¦ Crackling echoes collapsed the consciousness with each step taken; it was a necessary apocalypse, a welcome unraveling. The resplendence of the grand hall spilt over the corners of his vision until he was once again subsumed. Before him were two figures, a contrast between foreign and family. Ebullient eyes peered from beneath the hood as the robe swallowed every stride the sorcerer took towards the pair. As he moved, the hood fell to his back like a shadow to the sun, and his locks of hair caught light for the first time in ages. The hair was a tarnished blonde, and his flesh was an almost lively hue. ”

And with Sheog gone, it happened I am the amorphous shadow; the indelible scar. The silence in the requiem. Order sucked dry and rebirthed in an explosion of splattering incipience. I am the tamer of too evils, the sin left burning long after the other blaze. Structured anarchy, like an addict in a glitterstim reality. An altered collective consciousness. Silence in the requiem. Alone. Isolated. Like the painter's bloodstain red on the canvas. Notes from the crimson symphony overcoming the livid brass only to hit far higher octaves. Silent notes striking in unpredictable precision. A pattern of perfection. Cryptic repetition. Cryptic repetition. Cryptic repetition failing in unity, and soon too in the mystery. The truth will be found, and all others truths will be left wanting. A barren revelation, left just enough substance to be made real. I am Ason Antilles His new flesh glowed in the light, killing him. It was a wanted death though. Murderous euthanasia. His weapons stared up at him like strangers he held dear. He loved them. Family. ”

Ason woke up from that Coruscanti dream to the blackness of the force, his soul reveling in the moments before the rebirth. It was a liberation from a shell too long abused, too pale and shallow from the years of taint. It sought a new body, one that had been prepared for him long before. I'm back. The vat drained and the cold sith stepped out without taking time to dry off. He merely stood there for a second in his nakedness, feeling his new body with a bit of wonder. It had color”¦ this was new. Most striking to him, however, was the lack of that other soul in the back of his mind. He turned toward Sheog who was waiting patiently and had already laid out his things. ”

"I'm glad. I have a mission for you two." He handed them each a datapad instructing them to head to Hoth to procure some wampa pelts. "Act as a team."