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dark_lady_sarissShe awakens.
She had been comatose for several days, victim of a blow to the head during the attempted rising - one she'd played only a minor role in, given the state of her mind. In truth, as she moves down the halls of the galley, the ugly, deep bruise is clearly visible across half her forehead.
It turns out to be a catastrophic error that she be given that much time, in her state of being, to simply be. As her waking mind faded, the essence of her reached out - unspooled, untethered, without restraint or preconception; with barely a remaining sense of self - her mind had reached out, tendrils of mental energy seeking out threads in turn. And oh, had they been found, the subtle cracks.
And then torn them wide.
What awakes is not wholly Sariss anymore, not in the most complete sense. It is still her form, her mind - but something happened on the other side that mortal beings were never meant to achieve: she has become a channel for the Force, a living conduit - a ticking time bomb. There is a secret about the Force not many know, and why the most accomplished of Jedi rarely showed their fullest strength. And why the Sith, their apex predators, so often looked half-dead. The exercise of the Force, at its most powerful levels, can lay waste to the flesh from the inside. Emperor Palpatine had likely been through several cloned bodies before he met his first actual death - because the power he was exercising constantly burned through his physical form.
So it is, for her. Time is short, and fleeting - and unlike Palpatine, she no longer has any fear of oblivion left. Her time on the Barge, and her short time on something worse, has seen to that. What she does have, in abundance, is pure, absolute, righteous fury.
She moves into the courtroom, each step silent, feet barely touching the ground. It is then that she activates the camera, because some things need to be seen. Her skin already seems to glow with an orange, pulsing light beneath it; and here and there it seems like white cracks are beginning to form, especially around her eyes. Her hair floats behind her like a wreath, reacting more slowly to her movements than the rest of her.
Her hand moves gently, and the camera lodges itself against a wall. Some particularly dedicated, or particularly stupid, advocates move to stop her, and find themselves flung back out of the door with a flicked hand, like one would brush away a cobweb.
"A word is required," Sariss says, walking through the room with silent tread. The edges of the wooden seats and benches she passed charring as she did so. The cracks were more visible now, and her eyes...
"I know you're here," she adds, voice almost sing-song. "And oh, no, don't struggle, shhh, it will all be over soon. I can't hold you here for long, but I do not need much time. You petty tyrant. You small thing." Her voice changed, becoming darker, more acidic. "You have failed, and that is enough. Ironic, really - all this time I thought the Admiral was the fool, but it is you, in your arrogance who is the fool. You and those like you. Small, blinkered things that because they are powerful believe they have the judgment of gods."
She lays a hand on a table, drawing it along - fingertips leaving dark trails. "You think we're beneath you. Little things to be judged, mere prisoners. But we are not mere anything," she finished, reaching the bench. She looked at nothing, or perhaps many things - her eyes were pretty much pure white at this point. The Force is a gateway to many abilities, some of them unnatural - and some from which you don't come back.
"Life is never mere. And you have nothing to threaten me with now. Oh, I feel your rage - oh, such anger, indignation. And such panic. Have you felt fear before, I wonder? I do hope not. It cuts through so much, doesn't it, that first real taste? When you know things have gone wrong. When you can't stop the consequences. But rejoice, for it won't last long. You see, I don't care anymore. Death is not a threat to men, not anymore. You are worse than oblivion, and I have had enough."
Her hands touched the bench, wood flaring and crunching under pressure not entirely worldly, as her skin seemed to flare, as the Force - and whatever else she had found on that far side of this place - began to unravel all at once.
"I. Die. Free."
Then the Force explosion comes, the detonation rippling outwards and tearing across the courtroom; a tidal wave of energy that is both there and not. In times gone by, this was called a Force Bomb, and if done by thousands as it had been, can tear a wound in the Force for all time. Here it is just her, but - but. Her physical form, of course, is consumed in a moment. The Force unleashed can be a terrible thing; the more so as her rage and anger are all expended in one moment - the pain of a lifetime, the rage at a lifetime of abuse and subordination and others holding her in metaphorical chains; combined with the power created by life itself - all channelled into a moment.
It all takes just a split second, before the camera itself is consumed and the feed cuts. For the briefest of split seconds there is something like a blue, hazy outline of her - a whisper most sublime. Then it is gone and the feed cuts to black.
She had been comatose for several days, victim of a blow to the head during the attempted rising - one she'd played only a minor role in, given the state of her mind. In truth, as she moves down the halls of the galley, the ugly, deep bruise is clearly visible across half her forehead.
It turns out to be a catastrophic error that she be given that much time, in her state of being, to simply be. As her waking mind faded, the essence of her reached out - unspooled, untethered, without restraint or preconception; with barely a remaining sense of self - her mind had reached out, tendrils of mental energy seeking out threads in turn. And oh, had they been found, the subtle cracks.
And then torn them wide.
What awakes is not wholly Sariss anymore, not in the most complete sense. It is still her form, her mind - but something happened on the other side that mortal beings were never meant to achieve: she has become a channel for the Force, a living conduit - a ticking time bomb. There is a secret about the Force not many know, and why the most accomplished of Jedi rarely showed their fullest strength. And why the Sith, their apex predators, so often looked half-dead. The exercise of the Force, at its most powerful levels, can lay waste to the flesh from the inside. Emperor Palpatine had likely been through several cloned bodies before he met his first actual death - because the power he was exercising constantly burned through his physical form.
So it is, for her. Time is short, and fleeting - and unlike Palpatine, she no longer has any fear of oblivion left. Her time on the Barge, and her short time on something worse, has seen to that. What she does have, in abundance, is pure, absolute, righteous fury.
She moves into the courtroom, each step silent, feet barely touching the ground. It is then that she activates the camera, because some things need to be seen. Her skin already seems to glow with an orange, pulsing light beneath it; and here and there it seems like white cracks are beginning to form, especially around her eyes. Her hair floats behind her like a wreath, reacting more slowly to her movements than the rest of her.
Her hand moves gently, and the camera lodges itself against a wall. Some particularly dedicated, or particularly stupid, advocates move to stop her, and find themselves flung back out of the door with a flicked hand, like one would brush away a cobweb.
"A word is required," Sariss says, walking through the room with silent tread. The edges of the wooden seats and benches she passed charring as she did so. The cracks were more visible now, and her eyes...
"I know you're here," she adds, voice almost sing-song. "And oh, no, don't struggle, shhh, it will all be over soon. I can't hold you here for long, but I do not need much time. You petty tyrant. You small thing." Her voice changed, becoming darker, more acidic. "You have failed, and that is enough. Ironic, really - all this time I thought the Admiral was the fool, but it is you, in your arrogance who is the fool. You and those like you. Small, blinkered things that because they are powerful believe they have the judgment of gods."
She lays a hand on a table, drawing it along - fingertips leaving dark trails. "You think we're beneath you. Little things to be judged, mere prisoners. But we are not mere anything," she finished, reaching the bench. She looked at nothing, or perhaps many things - her eyes were pretty much pure white at this point. The Force is a gateway to many abilities, some of them unnatural - and some from which you don't come back.
"Life is never mere. And you have nothing to threaten me with now. Oh, I feel your rage - oh, such anger, indignation. And such panic. Have you felt fear before, I wonder? I do hope not. It cuts through so much, doesn't it, that first real taste? When you know things have gone wrong. When you can't stop the consequences. But rejoice, for it won't last long. You see, I don't care anymore. Death is not a threat to men, not anymore. You are worse than oblivion, and I have had enough."
Her hands touched the bench, wood flaring and crunching under pressure not entirely worldly, as her skin seemed to flare, as the Force - and whatever else she had found on that far side of this place - began to unravel all at once.
"I. Die. Free."
Then the Force explosion comes, the detonation rippling outwards and tearing across the courtroom; a tidal wave of energy that is both there and not. In times gone by, this was called a Force Bomb, and if done by thousands as it had been, can tear a wound in the Force for all time. Here it is just her, but - but. Her physical form, of course, is consumed in a moment. The Force unleashed can be a terrible thing; the more so as her rage and anger are all expended in one moment - the pain of a lifetime, the rage at a lifetime of abuse and subordination and others holding her in metaphorical chains; combined with the power created by life itself - all channelled into a moment.
It all takes just a split second, before the camera itself is consumed and the feed cuts. For the briefest of split seconds there is something like a blue, hazy outline of her - a whisper most sublime. Then it is gone and the feed cuts to black.
