Aiven Crawford - Reflection and Restraint

[Arrow]

This will hold current, third person observations and glances that I type out mostly to expand upon my own character’s thoughts as they happen in the moment. This way to all of the background stuff Background and Past Musings

Somewhere, on an alternative Coruscant, unbound by reality and physics.

Background Atmosphere

His eyes opened fully and at once as he found himself with his back on the platform beneath him, the surface consisting of red carpet. He pushed himself into a seating position in the middle of the circular structure that was the centre of the surrounding pathways. It was only the second time he woke awoke in this place, a hovering platform, both surrounded by walls and glass, yet showing the surrounding cityscape of coruscant, the shuttles and hovercraft screeching by with muffled sounds.

He stood in the centre of it all, a beam of light emerging from below him and apart from that the circular stage in the middle felt like a living space, a retreat. Lavish couches, a table, shelves full of wine, books, datapads with any information he could ever wish to access. But the true relief was not this platform, nor the many others connected by hovering stairways.

The true relief was the path that led onward from it. Without a sound he rose and walked towards it, noticing the structure had changed. There were still three pools here, but now, two of them were only accessible from the largest, branches spreading onwards, connected by themselves but not a true alternative.

Aiven stepped up to the first one, a pit, about five metres wide filled to the endless bottom with water, emotion and ambition swirling with in it. The swirls contained in this one was purple, red, and black in colour, soon enough he would return to it, it was the others that acquired his attention for a moment.

Swift steps brought him to the one leftt of it, a deep cauldron of black, sometimes broken by light swirls of hope or anger flashing in their respective hues. A feeling of confidence surged in him, watching over this pool of purpose. It was easily controlled, used, internalized. Yet he knew he could not allow himself to bathe or bask inside… it would topple him, take control of his actions. Control. The word he coveted so much.

Instead, he kept walking, over to the third of the basins, the one most unknown. It was the most beautiful of the three, decorated in muted, yet pleasant colours all around. The water moved in a gentle, swirling fashion now, the muted colours of the entire spectrum slowly shifting, mixing, changing. He knew that beneath the surface it was connected to the second, that a lack of colour here meant spikes in the other. Whether it would ever truly to threaten the balance between them, he didn’t know.

Aiven knelt beside it, letting his fingers tip into the water, and breathing in deeply, enjoying the feeling of the warm and slow-moving stream. His eyes half closed, head dropping down and yet with a single, hasty move he pulled his hand from it. As tempting as it was, he did not believe himself ready to step into it, besides, it was not what he had come to do.

The Raven-haired individual rose, beginning to take the path that connected this one to the first pool, the biggest one. Piece by piece he got rid of his clothes, throwing them into the abyss below himself where the wind of passing ships or speeders carried them far off into the cityscape. He lingered at the edge, before he noticed a streak of gold within the colours and with a smirk, he began to step into it. Slowly he submerged into the water, time seemingly slowing around himself as he felt every bit of exposed skin slowly enveloped within.

He came to rest with his head still above the waterline and placed his hands on the edges, as he looked out over the internals of the hovering structures all around himself. A smile appeared on his features as he allowed his eyes to close, a moment of respite before his thoughts would linger on the usual grand concepts of galactic politics, the force and his role in it for the rest of the night.

[Arrow]

Was this the platform? Was this a dream? Was he safe? He didn’t know the answer to these questions. He didn’t know the answer to anything. Had Darth Gravius broken through his mind with her probing during their talks? Nothing made sense. It didn’t match up. This wasn’t supposed to happ- A deep breath. Briefly, Aiven blinked and noticed his surroundings, his eyes darted through the room he was inside of. The Dark Side energy of the meditative space swelled around himself as he cowered in the corner, the hilt of his saber clutched between his fingers.

Think. Logic. Facts. No, he must be correct about this, all conclusions pointed towards it. It was the most likely outcome. The completely blackened eyes of the Sith slowly stopped scanning his surroundings in a panic. Dread settled inside of him instead. There were no absolute certainties, he himself had said it just yesterday. A loud voice boomed inside of his head, shattering these thoughts like the impact of a hammer upon a pane of glass. He couldn’t allow himself to doubt like this. Not in these times, not when so much rested upon it. This was not the time for doubt he ensured himself.

He had to focus upon his pool again. Just had to reach the platform, it would give him the certainty he needed. Aiven closed his eyes for what felt like minutes or hours, attempting to calm himself, to enter the meditative state required for him to consid—his HoloCom buzzes, he scrambles to his feet. He had to be careful, couldn’t let his guard down, too much rested on it.

[Arrow]

// Foreword: I’ve been holding off on posting this for about a week, because it felt a little “all over the place” to me. Fits the character and moment though, so whatever, reader be warned!

Mood Music - Celldweller - Own Little World (Offworld)

The workroom of just another apartment inside Veles Colony

It had been a month since he had sat in the room bordering the one, he was currently in, cowered in the corner, lightsaber grasped in hand and ignited, twice, at those approaching him. The Sith Warrior looked up from his current work, tilting his head aside as he imagined himself sitting there, curious as to what he would have looked like. His eyes were now a piercing sky blue surrounded by black, rather than enveloped by it once more. Different. Changed from when he had arrived on the planet’s surface for the first time, changed from the day he had met Lord Anantasari for the first time in that bar on Tatooine.

Aiven’s attention returned to the now, his surroundings. Well, partially his actual surroundings, but to his eyes layered on top was a different room, one found deep inside himself in that glass sphere hovering over Coruscant. One that didn’t belong there either, but to a spaceship. He was surrounded by fabrics, scissors, designs, plans. Printers and synthesizers for different types of material to experiment with – not his own workshop, but that of his mother. A space where one was safe from the judgement and glares of his father for, he would not dare enter it, but was equally too afraid to strike and remove it from the plans of his personal space liner. That’s all it would have taken him, a single message to one of his assistants and it would be gone, but so would the memory being associated with it. The Sith had only recently learned of it’s existence in the sphere, perhaps it had always been there, perhaps he had assembled it.

What would she have thought of his current state? His rank, organization, relation to his father. He knew a couple of things about the House she belonged to, and they were connected to the Sith of old not even half a century before the Mandalorian Wars. Perhaps the downfall of such Empire was connected to his mother ending up the wife of an oligarch, rather than married to nobility of her home sector. Aiven shook his head slightly, the question was worthless, for she had never known of his existence in the first place.

He refocused on the task at hand, that being what must have been the twentieth time he reassembled his saber in the seemingly futile attempt at including all of the parts that had been handed to him in the simple, yet golden lined box. It was down to small modifications, at this point, trying to achieve the perfect fit of every single component, probably unnoticeable to anyone looking at it from the outside. And yet every single time Lord Valerius words would wander through his mind.

“If you are to play sides properly, take care in not to lose your own face. Make your moves with wisdom and care.”

His thoughts circled back to where they had started. His own face, pools of black and expression turned to pure anger and mistrust. Not a week later those words had been spoken to him. Not the first time he would wonder If Valerius had known… it did seem like it, especially considering one specific component of the black box he had received that day. The blue of his eyes focused on the red ruby resting in the clawed grip underneath the hilt of saber, now taking the spot of the former baseplate. Currently one had to look very closely to see the swirl of energy inside it that seemed to grow and swell, until eventually becoming an orange hot glow when he let the Force work through his body.

Only a few times since it found it’s place in the clawed grip had it become the glowing reminder of his own limitations. An indicator of the border, where controlled application would have to make way for unrestrained destruction if he wished to continue – and he was thankful for it. It reminded to make a conscious decision, whether to hold back, or whether to press on and reminded of the consequences of each. Briefly he wondered why such a thing had been acquired by a Sith. Did it serve a similar purpose to another, or was it simply decoration? More questions he’d perhaps never know the answer to.

With a sigh his thoughts were interrupted as the last piece clicked int—it didn’t. A small groan left the raven-haired individual before he forced it to fit. Yet again the saber wouldn’t perfectly flow into an elegant fit, a small piece sticking out, imperfect. Aiven resigned himself to accepting such once more before the hilt clicked against the magnetic lock of his belt, alongside the Shoto resting there already. As he straightened out the simple, orange hoodie he was wearing while working on such, he turned around to inspect the entire room once more, almost as if transported back in time to when he had last done such in person. Eventually, he left with a slight smile.

[Arrow]

// Foreword: No moody emo/metalcore/post-hardcore this time. Honestly just a thing I wrote for myself to give some structure to what the character may be doing in his sleep, might aswell post. I hope you enjoy quasi-philosophical political manifests written by people for imaginatory settings that didn’t feel like reformatting and rewriting it three times over.

He sat in the nonexistent library, embedded into the more closed, deeper and hidden structures of his mind. The whir of shuttles and speeders was quiet here as Aiven sat the wide, ebony writing desk placed in one of the corners located further towards the outside of the large, circular structure. Bookcases, digital display cases, knowledge as far as the eye could see stacked up towards the presumable ceiling, eventually disappearing into black fog rather than ever reaching it.

Also on the desk sat a bottle of wine, a glass besides it, actual pens, writing quills, many types of writing utensil he had been experiencing with to find his flow. He had never written an actual document, a book, a comprehensive gathering of his thoughts like he was doing at the moment. Here, in his own library. His only library, he did not have to care about how pretentious he looked, sipping on wine while writing like some form of wannabe ancient philosopher of the ages past. A chuckle escaped the Raven-haired individual at the thought.

Before him was what would probably become the first of many works. Thoughts on progress, change, how to move the Revanite Sith forward, rather than regress into the failed attempts of those that came before. Ideas, proposed solutions, thought experiments on the primary reasons for why the Sith Empires of ancient, and not-so ancient times had failed. Solutions and ideas on how to overcome those patterns while not loosing that which had equally made them strong and victorious until their eventual demise.
His azure eyes trailed upon the title of the current chapter, thoughtful as he read over the beginning contents of it once more.

On the Balance of Power

It is of utmost importance to avoid the sudden shifts in power caused by intrigue and ambush generally present, especially in the final days, of those Dark Side organizations that came before us. While the strong should rule the weak, that statement needs to be viewed in its entirety. Those that are weaker to the strongest in any organization, are still magnitudes more useful and powerful than those many steps of the ladder below themselves. Such capacity needs to be maintained, and used in other forms, rather than discarded. Equally, momentary lapses in strength when caused by unavoidable causes require not the replacement of an individual in their function, at least not temporarily.

In my opinion, the biggest trouble that arises with this way of thinking is that the once powerful, now deposed, hold deep grudges and ill will against those that have replaced them. Their motivations to likewise cause their downfall, or support others in it, have an even greater possibility to weaken and destroy an organization. With no other ways to deal with these upcoming troubles, it may indeed be preferable to dispose of those that have stagnated, at least momentarily, in their current positions.
As such, the two major functions an organization needs to provide in order to avoid such seem to be the following:

I. A clear and organized set of expectations for those rising to power over their former superiors.
II. A governmental organ dedicated to supervising and watching over such transfers of power, ready to intervene and ensure the continued usefulness of all participating parties after the conclusion.

To elaborate on this further: It seems almost unavoidable that conflicts of power and authority will eventually lead to the desire of some to replace others. Much of the strength of Sith Empires of old generally stems from this behaviour, as those that hold the power and might to rise above others have a tendency to do so. Completely removing the ability for such conflicts would undermine its purpose, however, the organization needs to be protected from loss of skill, knowledge or capability as a result.
A basic example for this, especially in the days of the Great Hyperspace War, was the not unheard-of practice of an apprentice to eventually replace their master through actual assassination, or straight up duels of martial skill. Now, clearly this proves troublesome in the ways that not all useful skills to an organization can be measured in a martial contest. Nothing ensured that the master had actually passed on all of their learnt experiences In fact, if they were afraid of such behaviour, it might be in their best interest not to truthfully teach their apprentice everything they knew if it gave them an edge.

This is especially true if such contest was held in the aftermath of the master perhaps sustaining injuries during a military campaign or battle against the foes of the empire, or because they exposed themselves to potential threat that was required to achieve a great victory.

The ‘solution’ outlined in following is nothing but one potential idea of how to deal with these issues, clearly with its own problems and disadvantages. It would stand to reason to discourage such behaviour, and put measures in place that try to ensure both parties can continue their usefulness to the organization even after such conflict. Whether through separation in space, politically, or the construct of the organization. This can only be successful if the political organ implementing it held the might to inflict consequences upon the individuals in question if they breached the intended nature of the measure.

In essence the intent of such organization would be a secret police dedicated to watching over the powerful figures of the overall construct. Punishing those that overstep their own authority or cause weakness by abusing momentary lapses in strength without possessing the actual strength to result in a net positive. Similarly they would be tasked with finding new purpose for one, or potentially both involved parties in the conflict, ensuring the continued usefulness of both.

[…]

Aiven leaned back in his chair and emptied half the glass of wine after reading the passage again. He was displeased with it. Too quick to jump to the multitude of suggested solutions, all very surface level, the ‘secret police’ only one of them. Yet if he went to deep, going into exhaustive justifications and descriptions for each, every separate idea and problem would end up being several hundred pages in length.

A sigh escaped him, perhaps it would be better to write down vast and exhaustive explanations for each, and then work on the summary. Something to think about, perhaps, but then again, it was not like he expected anyone to actually read these, or to even make them available for that to happen. The purpose was more so to put his own thoughts to paper in a form that could be used in debate and arguments.
In the end he decided if that was the purpose, then truly it did not matter much how long, or unreadable it would become in the end. If this was just to be his own ‘database’ of arguments in favor and against, he could just keep going like this. Maybe eventually an edit of it would have to happen, and he had to be content with this ‘draft’ of the way he represented it and move on, at least for now.

He flipped a few pages forward before the pen began hovering over the paper once more, fingers of the left hand slowly pushing the red wine away from himself as the sounds of writing once more fill the library.

[Arrow]

Mood Music: Sleep Token - Hypnosis (Instrumental)

He awoke in the center of the platform.

Blinking, his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness arround himself.

It had been disorienting to come to this place in the last few days. When sleep would find him it was sudden, unexpected, and after hours of being incapable of falling asleep – and oh was it too short, cut abruptly each and every time.

Briefly he considered his surroundings, the normally brightly lit room laid out with red carpets lay in near darkness. Near, mostly because of the red fog that concealed the three pools of water connected by the thin bridges inside the glass sphere. Most nights he avoided walking up to them, but today something drew him there. Aiven approached with steady step, stopping before the first pool of the triangle that was facing the rest of the room, rather than nestled slightly towards the back. The closer his feet carried him, the thicker the fog seemed to get, yet the brighter the swirls of red and purple grew – it wasn’t constant though. One would compare it more with flashing strips of light that sometimes illuminated the scene, then didn’t, then re-appeared someplace else. There had been rage, frustration, angst and the agony of loss building inside of him for over a week now – and there was no release, no outlet. He had tried, fought fellow Sith, found Beasts both animal and human alike to slaughter but access to this building pressure, the flames ocassionaly growing out of the ever glowing embers that was his presence in the force wasn’t his. Because it wasn’t the right target.

The tip of his right boot touched the edge of the pool, causing a slight ripple in the barely visible water. The more… subdued, calm purple was almost entirely clouded over. He began questioning whether it was even still present considering some recent actions he had taken, but he had no time for another set of deep introspection into his motivation and morals. He turned on the spot and made a point of it to stomp down with the plated boot before he marched off, taking a right and going inside one of the wide gateways that connected the several… rooms? Spaces? Experiences. Experiences was the best way to put it.

The Sith Lord stepped out into a large open space, almost comparable to something between a colliseum and ancient library with a pedestal waiting at the center. Notably, only one of his saber hilts was resting on top of it. He now knew the enemy he had to prepare for. One he had fought before – and lost against. And he also knew that his biggest strengths would be entirely worthless against him. No matter how much strength he would gather to throw at the man with Lightning or Telekinesis, he would resist. Not because of skill, not because of knowledge but because the pure embodiment of the Dark Side of the Force simply shrugged it off. Was this the price they paid to remain a coherent unit? The might closed off to them, hoarded by the Force only to be hung out like bait right in front of their eyes, enticing them to give in?

Aiven picked up the hilt, engaged the blade and swung it arround in simple patterns as he reflected on those that had shaped their way – his way to this point. His eyes closed as numerous faces crossed the path of his mind.

…

The former Matriarch, curious emotion. Not thankful, but moreso out of envy than anything else. One that had shaped the very pools he just stepped back from with all but a single lesson.

The Wanderer, for shaping his understanding of restraint, understanding that eventually a time would come where control had to be disregarded.

The Diplomat, a moral compass in times of change, now potentially gone, dispersed. The impact of it felt.

The Old Man, ever challenging his approach in combat. Perhaps at the same time the least understood, yet most reliable.

The Sharpshooter, equally as precise on the battlefield as in digging for emotions, ever observant – yet also an open question mark for months.

The Once Uncertain, now more sure of themselves and the cause than most. Capable, different, yet always present when needed. Whether in official, or personal matters.

The Whirlwind, aggresive and insistent in more ways than one, not afraid to voice their opinion or thoughts, even if potentially divisive, but always true to themselves. A pillar to lean on, yet something to support himself, to bring purpose.

The Noble, a kindred spirit when it came to questions and approaches in regards to authority and leadership. First a relationship that seemed fickle and ready to break at any given point, now endless trust born out of neccesity, then commitment. A foundation in many ways, especially recently. A foundation that had been ripped away.

…

As his eyes shot open, dark rings arround them clearly indicating his lack of restful sleep he took one deep breath, and began. Some of the images of those that had just gone through his mind appeared ocassionaly in the dream-like projections of martial display. He duelled, fought, struggled against every single phantom that had taken hold in his mind enough to envision their fighting style and compete against it.

…

The Jedi Master upon the now Revanite Ship.

The Malakite Lord Overseer on Mon Cal.

The Masked Man one should not ever dare to look in the eyes.

…

Yet with all of them, he held back. Not because he wanted to. Not because there was nothing else to draw upon, it was because of the lock in place on the flames ready to burst and engulf his surroundings. Each and every time he repeated this process, there was only one opponent that allowed him to unleash it. When the walls arround him shifted to ancient barriers of stone, the pedestal in the room disappeared to make room for a small circle drawn in red, dusty sand, and he stared in his eyes. For a brief moment, his dreams allowed him to let go. To release all that built up emotion, to light himself ablaze to bring his saber to bear with animalistic agression that displayed only the methodical elegance needed to make the next step.

And then it stopped. In the blink of an eye, the walls crumbled, dust was blown away and he found himself panting back in the room. Sometimes he’d scream, sometimes fall to the ground clutching an imaginary injury. But every time he heard the rushing water in his ears, growing ever louder, ready to burst his eardrums – and the built up rage, frustration, angst and agony would return, crushing him until he awoke if not for a flash of images. Rooms in a starship. A tree atop a hill on Viscara. A lone chair infront of a long table. The images of a surgery table.

[Arrow]

// Foreword: Dusts off the topic before starting to write

Aiven stood far over the levels below him, staring out of the window that seemed so familiar, yet different. It had been a few years since he had swung his legs out of a bed and changed his life entirely, but now he was back here… granted, not the same floor, but same building, apartment and look outside the window all the same.

He didn’t struggle to simply stand, which would have indicated the state of himself back then, neither was he staring into the golden, red and black variant which resided within himself wherever he moved. And then there was also the figure moving behind him on the bed which he regarded with a smile, silent for the moment as he moved outside to buy breakfast and coffee from a bakery two levels above.

Thankfully it was quite unlikely anyone would reognize him here given how different he looked, but he’d still made sure to wear different clothing, temporarily change his hair colour and use make-up as possible to conceal his features. Better safe than sorry, the last thing he’d want was for his father to adress his existence - no doubt he was being watched by his security, but their silent agreement to pretend neither side existed seemed to uphold even now that he was here, in the core, again.

… Hours later …

They approached the elevator they had been wandering towards on one of the top levels of Coruscant, a little natural light still broke through the canopy of the skyscrapers here, but that was about to change. As they entered, others flowed in aswell, all intending to head down a few levels into the busy nightlife of the city. Much to his companys dismay, he had dressed mostly in black but given where they were headed it might have been more appropriate than ever.

Eventually the doors opened to the level they were intending to step off on - deeper within Coruscant, much deeper. One may have assumed a very different sight, mostly the lower classes struggling so deep within the core of the multiplex, but no, so close to an elevator connected directly to the surface it served as a melting pot of cultures, species and people. Security was still somewhat tight, but access was easy even for those less priviledged living without natural sunlight deep below the iconic skyline.

Mood: Northlane - Carbonized

With a grin he grabbed his love’s hand and headed a few streets deep - soon enough the thumping of electric rhythms equally caused by the currents of guitars and synthesizers bled out into the street from the entrance of a club that he turned into. A squeeze of the hand he held before it was released and they flowed into the crowd. Neither his attire nor the unnatural, piercing blue of his eyes surrounded by pure black seemed out of the ordinary here, perhaps mostly being taken for an unnecesarily expensive set of contact lenses.

This, of all places, had been one of the destinations of freedom and joy he still knew from his days here, on Coruscant - and soon enough, he found himself enveloped in the energy and music around himself once more.

I’ve been talking to my conscience
It’s soft-spoken and self-conscious
Training my instincts to be cautious
To remember that you’re toxic
We’re wearing idol eyes
Pretending we’re onside
It’s not a reflection I wanna glorify

… Sometime later that night …

He stood outside with a cigarette held between his fingers. He was reminded of the first instance he remembered of this occuring, how the simple act of doing something that was a straight detriment to his sorry state had been an expression of freedom. No, not just freedom, of breaking free from chains - he hated the comparison given it’s prevalence in the Code he’d grown to despise.

But yet, here he was again in similiar state. Freed from restriction, at least mostly. After he took a few more moments he emptied his drink, snuffed out the half-used cigarette and headed back inside with a smirk.