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Author	Topic: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post - Replies 25/04
JediNemesis Registered: Mar '03	Date Posted: 4/22/07 4:52am Subject: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post - Replies 25/04 - Date Edited: 4/25/07 1:38pm (1 edits total) Edited By: JediNemesis
	Title: A Disquisition On Hell Author: JediNemesis, c'est moi. Era: 7000+ years pre-TPM Genre: Horror, of a sort. Characters: OCs including Ionnàs Cover art [done by the author] Summary: Nearly eighty years after his accession to the Sith throne, the Dark Lord Ionnàs nears his end . . . Notes: Set seventy-six years after Ice and seventy after Seventy And Seven Shades of Green. Io's apprentice, Juillanen, is mentioned once in The Testament of Ionnàs but this is his first appearance. Enjoy . . . DISCLAIMER: All Your SW Are Belong To Lucas For seventy-seven years Ionnàs, called the Cruel, had ruled the Sith. Dua Serchagaden reminded herself of that fact as she faced him now, and fought to conceal her unease at the deterioration in him since they had last spoken. She was the fourth generation of her family to act as the Dark Lord’s lieutenant and liaison with the worlds beyond his stronghold of Ythnyn. Possessed of a mediocre Force talent, she did her job and relished it without envy of those more gifted, enjoying the power she wielded as Ionnàs’ right hand. The mystical side of the Sith she left to those with the gift to make it worth understanding. Of late, though, the Dark Lord had chosen to speak more and more to her of what she dismissed as unnecessary philosophy. Why he should do so, when he had an apprentice doubtless more than willing - or at least content - to be lectured, she had no idea. She shied away from the idea that he was losing his mind, and that what she listened to were simply the disconnected ramblings of an old man. He was old, older than she could easily conceive of; perhaps more than a century had passed since his birth. Nobody - now, not even Ionnàs himself - seemed entirely sure. It was dark in the throne room, the braziers unlit, only the dull orange glow of the lava flowing down the walls providing light. It was barely enough to pick out the shape of the iron throne at the far end of the cavern, let alone the frail figure sitting there. Dua walked up the centre of the cave without fear, and knelt by the throne, at the Dark Lord’s left hand. She looked up when he touched her shoulder, and asked gently “My lord?” He beckoned her up, and she stood. Without preamble, he asked “Why do you serve me?” Dua swallowed as best she could with a throat suddenly dry, and said “Because my father served you. And his father. And . . .” she hesitated, unsure of her memory “. . . his father, too.” “Out of loyalty?” The tone of the Dark Lord’s voice bespoke bitter distaste. “No. Dua, Dua, a woman of your talents could rule a world.” She heard the rustle of his robe as he settled back in the throne, and said softly “Tell me again.” Dua felt a perverse thrill of satisfaction at the backhanded compliment, and with the pride still hot within her dared to say more than she otherwise might have. Ionnàs was in a strange mood, and seemed to be more inclined to talk than kill. “I have everything I want.” Dua said with a certain amount of pleasure. “And I can put my gift to the use it was meant for. Service is a price I’ll pay gladly. Besides -” she risked a grin “- I like my job.” “Out of self-interest. Better.” This time Ionnàs sounded almost amused. “And closer to the truth, I suspect. Tell me again.” Dua looked around the throne room, at the ageless streams of lava whose faint glow still left a long, deep shadow down the centre of the cavern, and remembered with a chill that Ionnàs had been Dark Lord before the caverns of Fàiltemadh had been hewn out of the living rock. The volcanic plain beyond the range of which Fàiltemadh was head and shoulders highest was dark and dusty; the black sand had been a graveyard for the luckless since before Dua’s grandfather had been born. Three generations ago, the iron throne had still been Ionnàs’. Before him there had been no iron throne . . . Ythnyn had been a barren, unstable wasteland, and he had made of it a fortress of the Sith. He was watching her, she knew, even if his freakishly glowing eyes were closed. He had been nearly blind for decades now, but a Dark Lord needed no eyes to see. Dua looked into the depths of the long shadow, to where the iron throne stood hidden, and said quietly “I serve you for the same reason my father and grandfathers served you. Because I would rather live a servant than be dead.” From out of the dark came a slow, ironical handclap. Dua flinched. Light flared, destroying her night vision, as Ionnàs flicked a spark to one of the braziers that had stood dormant and cold. When Dua could see again, the Dark Lord had left his seat and was standing almost over the flame, its flickering radiance bathing his withered face in uneasy yellow light. “Out of fear. Why else would any servant willingly serve me?” Ionnàs studied the leaping flame for a moment, then walked past the brazier towards Dua. Milky irises showed only the faintest green glow, enough to throw a deeper shadow around his eyes and - for a moment in the flickering light - make the sharp lines of his face into a caricature of a skull. “Tell me, Dua. Do you believe in hell?” Dua hesitated, then said reluctantly “After a fashion.” The Dark Lord gave no indication of having heard her, or even of having expected an answer to his question. Instead he cupped his hands around the warm bowl of the brazier and stared into it, speaking to nothing. “I used to think it was strange.” Ionnàs murmured half to himself. “Only a handful of species have religion that allows for some indeterminate state of bliss after death. Humanity is one, of course. But every sentient culture in existence -” he looked up for a moment, turning his head to gaze unseeing around the throne room “- has a word for hell. Even the species that never invented gods and have no concept of an afterlife have a word for hell.” Dua could think of nothing to say in reply, and kept her silence. Abruptly Ionnàs looked at her, and the milk-blind eyes were focused as directly on her own as if he saw every detail rather than the merest inklings of light and shade. Then he beckoned to her, and she followed as the ancient Dark Lord walked slowly back to his throne. He settled himself back into the stone seat with the weariness of all his years. Dua knelt at his left hand and murmured, as much to fill the silence as anything else “You used to think it strange, my lord?” “Heaven is a fiction, and a fragmented one at that.” Ionnàs waved one dismissive hand. “There is no reason why the delusion should be universal. But hell is real.” He sighed. “Fire, ice, dancing demons . . . every religion has its own set of clichés. Hell is oblivion, Dua.” “My lord?” Dua whispered. He turned to look at her, and she flinched back from the sudden awareness of the terrifying powers kept in check behind those ancient, blind eyes. “Obliteration. Dissolution in the wider sea.” Ionnàs said bitterly. “For the rest of eternity nameless, selfless, without any scrap of mind except the tiny core that allows you to know you are - and that you were once more than you are. It waits for all of us. And for me it will not wait much longer.” “Juillanen -” Dua began. “No. Time.” the Dark Lord said quietly. “Juillanen will have his throne soon enough even if he chooses not to fight me for it. I am dying. Consider this my last command to you.” Dua bowed as best she could from her kneeling position, her hair brushing the throne’s cold stone surface as she raised her head. “Anything, my lord.” “Serve my heir as faithfully as you have served me.” Ionnàs stared down at her, his blind eyes as commanding as ever. “Now go. I will not summon you again.” * * * Nine days passed. Dua busied herself with the work that accumulated, immersing herself in the shady, evasively worded communications that held Ionnàs’ domain together. Ythnyn had begun as a fortress for the green-eyed Dark Lord; then he had begun to attract followers, and with them came their need for food, clothing, service, and distraction. There was a small but flourishing town on the lower slopes of Fàiltemadh now, a bustling shanty of igloo-shaped houses built from soft dark rock, old spacecraft grounded and stripped out for use as living quarters, and all manner of precarious temporary shelters from the dust-storms and occasional rains of fire. To all intents and purposes it was just another colony, remote from the civilised centre of the galaxy, and thronged with chancers picking a fragile living from Ythnyn’s mineral-rich surface. Dua went through the reports from the Sith operatives across the galaxy, and liaised with the criminal underworld that often did Ionnàs’ dirty work for him without knowing it. This time there was the matter of the Henang Pesat crystal deposits, a plan that had been creeping slowly towards fruition for years. If Ionnàs was right, then it would be Juillanen, not his master, who reaped the rewards from that particular scheme - The thought had no sooner crossed her mind than she heard running steps, and a moment later her door slid open. It was an acolyte she vaguely knew, a tattooed Twi’lek with a scarred jaw, who delivered the succinct message “His Highness wants you. Now.” Dua left the reports, pushed past the Twi’lek and ran. She passed at least a dozen other black-robed figures, in twos or threes, whispering - One cavernous intersection. Then another, and from an insignificant-looking corridor the narrow, winding spiral stair that led up to the fire-walled heart of the mountain. She stopped to breathe on the top step, and felt a shiver run through her despite the oppressive heat. Ionnàs had raised her from childhood, taught her to use what little power she had, and it came as a matter for resignation rather than surprise to discover that she had loved him a little, in a strange way, as well as fearing him. The throne room had no door, only a crack in the rock wall that reached perhaps a metre wide at floor level and closed to nothing forty feet up. Dua stepped through it, and squinted past the wide golden flame of the one lit brazier to discern the familiar withered figure seated in the rough-hewn iron throne - At the other end of the cavern, silhouetted in the firelight, a slender figure stood beside the throne, head bowed, running one hand along the back of the huge haematite block. Dua stopped short, the bile rising in her throat. Juillanen. She loathed Ionnàs’ apprentice with something approaching physical revulsion. Nobody knew in what particular hellhole of the galaxy the Dark Lord had found his latest protégé, but it had almost certainly been improved immeasurably when Juillanen left it. Dua had met the bizarre denizens of the least habitable worlds in the galaxy, and had seen the shambling, drooling mutant hulks that black-market geneticists cobbled together for the arenas, the quick and dirty hybridisation depriving the creatures of what little mind they could ever have had; she had even faced down one or two of them, quelling a ton of slavering fury with no more weaponry than her wits and meagre Force talent. Juillanen was no arena thug; slender for a male human, and with his black hair loose past his shoulders, he had been mistaken for female on occasion, an error which as far as Dua knew nobody had ever made twice. His sharp-featured face seemed to be all cheekbones and dark eyes. But rather confront a dozen misbred monsters than Juillanen. The fragile body housed a talent of terrifying power, and a mind like quicksilver. Oh, there could be no doubt that Ionnàs had chosen well, if the criterion for choosing well was that the apprentice be worse than the master. And now he was here, stroking the rough-edged back of the iron throne with one long-fingered hand. Dua swallowed nausea, and with icy politeness enquired “My lord?” He half-turned, enough that she saw the firelight reflected in his dark eyes, and left the throne and came towards her, the brazier throwing a brief yellow light across his face as he passed it. A metre from her he stopped, and said softly “Grieve, Dua. Your master and mine is dead.” He was very white, even in this uncertain half-light, and Dua saw with a kind of vicious satisfaction that there were glistening red stains visible at the collar of his robe. They had fought. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that whatever else Juillanen might be, he was no coward. Faced with a master crippled by age, the temptation to wait patiently for the end had surely been a huge one, but they had fought. And from the blood, the duel had not gone wholly the apprentice’s way. “You’re wounded.” Dua said as professionally as she could, and turned half away, grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere than Juillanen’s face. “I’ll fetch a medical droid -” “Don’t go.” The words were pathetic but the voice had steel in it. Dua stopped, and turned back. “My lord?” “He spoke to you before he died.” Juillanen said flatly. “What did he say?” Dua thought of that last encounter, of Ionnàs, the ancient Dark Lord who she had lived to serve, speaking quietly across the shadows of hell and oblivion, and a host of other things she could scarcely understand . . . “He knew he was dying.” Dua said through gritted teeth. “He talked about death, and about . . . what comes after. And he ordered me to serve you as I served him.” Juillanen actually smiled. “And do you intend to?” Dua said steadily “I owe him that much.” “He brought you up, didn’t he? His little pet.” Juillanen snapped his fingers, and took a step forward to study her face close to. Dua tried to pull away, knowing as she did that it was little use; Force paralysis was child’s play for one of Juillanen’s talent, and holding it took no more effort than breathing. He examined her face intently, then moved back again. “I think I’ll keep you around. Experience is expensive, and who knows, maybe you can tell me stories about my dear master on long winter nights.” Abruptly he lost the mocking smile, and said softly “Why aren’t you afraid of me, Dua?” Dua could only stare. Juillanen sounded almost petulant as he went on “You hate me. But you aren’t afraid of me. And if you’re not afraid of me, how can I trust you?” He sighed. “It’s a vexing question.” She stumbled as he cancelled the Force-grip, and whispered “What?” “He was losing his mind these last weeks.” Juillanen said viciously. “All he talked about was his idiotic idea of what happens after death. There was one thing that . . . interested me, though.” He smiled, raising his right hand, and opened his fingers to show a vibroshiv. It was the crudest of street weapons, no more than a blade tucked end-on into a metal handle. The activation switch clicked on, the blade becoming a blur. “Tell me, Dua. Do you believe in hell?” Feedback, as always, much appreciated. Nem -----signature----- BeTS Best Author '08 NEW Bad Dreams - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29893091 Eleven Summers - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29657584 Into The Shining Day - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29224914
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NYCitygurl Title: Manager of SFFBC, C&G, NSWFF, and Icons Registered: Jul '02	Date Posted: 4/22/07 8:48am Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	That was chilling!!! Shivers actually went down my spine. I love it, though. Ionnas's theory about death is really interesting. And the end is a bit ironic at the same time it's scary. Excellent job!!! (As always ). -----signature----- I agree with RJ Officially Idri's Muse "Hat. We thought of authentic Native American headdress before we thought of hat."
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JadeSolo Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Sep '02	Date Posted: 4/22/07 12:34pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	Hey! Where's the end? Ionnàs, frail? That's something I never expected. “Only a handful of species have religion that allows for some indeterminate state of bliss after death. Humanity is one, of course. But every sentient culture in existence -” he looked up for a moment, turning his head to gaze unseeing around the throne room “- has a word for hell. Even the species that never invented gods and have no concept of an afterlife have a word for hell.” Something to think about. It's interesting that Ionnàs would consider and maybe even acknowledge that he's going to some form of hell, because you'd think a Sith Lord would expect to be well rewarded after death. I also really liked that Dua's family has always served Ionnàs - like a social status or caste. And in a weird way she did serve his heir, if submitting to death at Juillanen's hands counts. -----signature----- "If you expect a kick in the balls and you get a slap in the face, it's a victory." "May God bless you and keep you always...I mean that in a civic deist way." -Prof. Siegel "No guaranteed money, but all guaranteed fun!"
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 4/22/07 12:40pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	haha, sucks to be her! I love stories about the interactions between Sith. They're always so nuanced and complex, everyone constantly engaging in double-think, constantly suspicious. Desperate to belong and desperate to avoid, all at once. And it always ends in tears. Of pain. And horrible death. You just don't get this sort of fun stuff with Jedi. It's especially interesting how little faith Ionnás had in his apprentice, assuming as he did that Juillanen would actually wait for him to die naturally, rather than confront him like a good Sith Lord. The ending seems to support the old guy's theory, too. I suspect this Juillanen - if his judgement call concerning Dua is any indication - will be running his Former Master's operation stright into the ground. Loved the lava walls, by the way. Very nice touch. -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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Tizzel Registered: Apr '07	Date Posted: 4/22/07 3:03pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	That was great, Ionnas is very interesting. -----signature----- CHICAGO CUBS Betrayel, Hunger, Pain I: Fall of the Five Lords http://boards.theforce.net/before_the_saga/b10475/27032148/p1/?6
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VaderLVR64 Title: Manager Emeritus Registered: Feb '04	Date Posted: 4/22/07 3:04pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	Whoa! He examined her face intently, then moved back again. “I think I’ll keep you around. Experience is expensive, and who knows, maybe you can tell me stories about my dear master on long winter nights.” Abruptly he lost the mocking smile, and said softly “Why aren’t you afraid of me, Dua?” Dua could only stare. Juillanen sounded almost petulant as he went on “You hate me. But you aren’t afraid of me. And if you’re not afraid of me, how can I trust you?” He sighed. “It’s a vexing question.” She stumbled as he cancelled the Force-grip, and whispered “What?” “He was losing his mind these last weeks.” Juillanen said viciously. “All he talked about was his idiotic idea of what happens after death. There was one thing that . . . interested me, though.” He smiled, raising his right hand, and opened his fingers to show a vibroshiv. It was the crudest of street weapons, no more than a blade tucked end-on into a metal handle. The activation switch clicked on, the blade becoming a blur. “Tell me, Dua. Do you believe in hell?” I was expecting great things, seeing as you're the author, but this really stunned me! Perfection. -----signature----- R.I.P John, Alex, Jason, and Christian Never forgotten Soldiers' Angels http://soldiersangels.org/ 2114 soldiers waiting for someone to care
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Layren Registered: Oct '03	Date Posted: 4/22/07 3:37pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	He smiled, raising his right hand, and opened his fingers to show a vibroshiv. It was the crudest of street weapons, no more than a blade tucked end-on into a metal handle. The activation switch clicked on, the blade becoming a blur. “Tell me, Dua. Do you believe in hell?” Wow, I echo what Nat said. That was chilling! Gave me the creeps, but it was very well done. -----signature----- Proud Master to Ara-gon The Triad Chronicles http://boards.theforce.net/before_the_saga/b10475/25934993/p1/?177 (OC's) Into Another Day http://boards.theforce.net/before_the_saga/b10475/27926050/p1/?0 2008 Dear Diary Challenge I am Jinngerbread.
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JediNemesis Registered: Mar '03	Date Posted: 4/25/07 1:38pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post
	Hello everyone First off ... the ending is a bit inconclusive, and I apologise. I'm looking at it again and may or may not make some changes. NYCG That was chilling!!! Shivers actually went down my spine. In April? I like scaring people. I've discovered it's curiously rewarding . . . I love it, though. Ionnas's theory about death is really interesting. And the end is a bit ironic at the same time it's scary. A slightly odd attitude to death has been part of Io's character since the very beginning - check The Testament of Ionnàs if you're interested Excellent job!!! (As always). Thanks! Especially for the "as always" JadeSolo Hey! Where's the end? Ack, yes. Sorry. Ionnàs, frail? That's something I never expected. Everyone's got to die - and Io's 107, so give him a break Besides, I assure you his fictional career is far from over. It's interesting that Ionnàs would consider and maybe even acknowledge that he's going to some form of hell, because you'd think a Sith Lord would expect to be well rewarded after death. But ... by what? My personal take on this is that the Sith believe precisely the same thing as the Jedi do - that you become one with the Force - but they regard it as a form of hell. Sith tend to be individualists (okay, egomaniacs ) and dissolution within the Force is the ultimate loss of identity, thus hell. I also really liked that Dua's family has always served Ionnàs - like a social status or caste. And in a weird way she did serve his heir, if submitting to death at Juillanen's hands counts. I don't think she had much choice Her great-grandpa Cuaran appears briefly in Seventy and Seven Shades of Green. 1Yodimus_Prime Great to see you, mate haha, sucks to be her! True. I love stories about the interactions between Sith. They're always so nuanced and complex, everyone constantly engaging in double-think, constantly suspicious. Desperate to belong and desperate to avoid, all at once. And it always ends in tears. Of pain. And horrible death. You just don't get this sort of fun stuff with Jedi. Absolutely. I love the way that the Sith way of doing things is so completely schizophrenic: every Master is effectively training his murderer. It's enough to drive them all mad. Consequently, things get interesting. It's especially interesting how little faith Ionnás had in his apprentice, assuming as he did that Juillanen would actually wait for him to die naturally, rather than confront him like a good Sith Lord. On the other hand, it'd be the logical thing to do; less risk of dying. Of course, logic rarely has any bearing on these guys The ending seems to support the old guy's theory, too. I suspect this Juillanen - if his judgement call concerning Dua is any indication - will be running his Former Master's operation stright into the ground. Ju has a few lessons to learn, shall we say? You'll be seeing him again . . . Loved the lava walls, by the way. Very nice touch. I love that setting. It'd make a great picture if anyone here can draw . . . Tizzel That was great, Ionnas is very interesting. Thanks for reading Good to see you again! VaderLVR Whoa! Good. I like I was expecting great things, seeing as you're the author, but this really stunned me! Perfection. Stunned in a good way, I hope? Thank you very much Layren Wow, I echo what Nat said. That was chilling! Gave me the creeps, but it was very well done. Thanks. I think Ju possibly has the potential to be scarier than his master . . . Thank you for reading Until next time, everybody! Nem -----signature----- BeTS Best Author '08 NEW Bad Dreams - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29893091 Eleven Summers - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29657584 Into The Shining Day - http://boards.theforce.net/a/b1/29224914
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1Yodimus_Prime Registered: Mar '04	Date Posted: 4/25/07 1:53pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post - Replies 25/04
	I don't usually respond to responses, but vigs are special cases, and this piqued my interest. "[the] Sith tend to be individualists (okay, egomaniacs ) and dissolution within the Force is the ultimate loss of identity, thus hell." - I like this theory. It explains rather neatly the Siths' obsession with finding immortality. To them, life's only reward is letting you live. Those who do not, have failed life. Therefore, the greatest reward is to live forever. It also explains that desperate sort of viciousness they perform tasks with. Because self-preservation is the most important thing in the world to them. Makes you wonder how many Sith really existed who had type-A personalities. Putting yourself on top would be risky behavior, after all, and risky behavior does not lend itself well to a philosophy of self-preservation (though, as you noted about their schizophrenic traditions, logic does not often factor into how they do things). I'd be willing to be that people like Ionnas and - later on - Sideous, were rare breeds indeed.. (Hmm...that would make a great picture. And I can draw... ) -----signature----- Rule 12: A soft answer turneth away wrath. Once wrath is looking the other way, shoot it in the head. --- http://boards.theforce.net/b/b1/26481069 - The Wise http://boards.theforce.net/B/b1/21283317 - Planet Hopping
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dianethx Registered: Mar '02	Date Posted: 4/25/07 7:03pm Subject: RE: A Disquisition On Hell - OCs including Ionnàs - one post - Replies 25/04
	Well, Nem, as you already know, I loved almost all of it. The imagery was first rate as I would expect from you. The lava walls is such a great idea and it echoes what Lucas had said a long time ago about the Emperor's palace. I also loved that Dua's family had been serving the Sith for generations and that her loyalty to Ionnas was absolute. But I think my favorite character was Juillanen. He was just so insane that I had to admire his focus on consoliating his power. He was just so creepy that I almost felt that I had to rinse my eyes after reading this. If this had been on paper, I would have been washing my hands for hours! Great job. -----signature----- Betrayal - http://boards.theforce.net/s/b1/10935143 updated 11/2/09 jedidas3's Master Merlin - Diplomatic Immunity - http://boards.theforce.net/nswff/b10808/30459852
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