Rashos stood on the beach, his camp a small spot on the horizon. He inhaled deeply, in a slight meditative trance, feeling the swirling tempest of the Darkside within him. He knew he was no Master, not yet, but his power was ever increasing. He knew he could not stop training, the role of leadership he took for himself would not allow him to remain at this level for long. Verror and his followers could not surpass him. For now, Trem was the only threat. His strength in the Darkside dwarfed Rashos, and Verror. If he allowed the forces of the usurper to surpass him then only chaos would follow. Verror was no leader, and Rashos would die before his Order fell into the Twi'lek's hands. Thats why he stood here, to train on his control of the chaotic darkness within his being. Since he had no Master to teach him, he would have to perfect that which he already knew. The tome Darth Crucious left him would teach him much, but only in a few areas.
One day he would seek out Hadrian. He would have to keep his hatred of Alaric in check, lest he anger the one possible mentor he had access to. But Hadrian could teach him of war, and of leadership. Skills Rashos had basic knowledge of at best. But, that wasn't why he was here now. There was one skill in his arsenal that could, when properly used, be a major asset for deceit and persuasion. Breathing deeply once again he focused on an image in his mind. He thought of Kiara, the one being he felt he could connect with on a personal level. He focused on her form, the features of her face, the clothing she wore, every detail sharp in his mind. THen, as he was taught, he focused on his anger. The burning fury at the destruction of his Order, the cold hatred of the man who would command such a desecration. He fed the emotions, and the Darkside fed on them in an endless cycle until Rashos felt like he would literally burst with the energy inside him. Several seconds of this passed, then he released the pent up Darkside energy within him, willing the image he saw to materialize in the real world. Looking up, he smiled at the result.
It was the best illusion he had created yet. While he still couldn't produce movement or sound, the image no longer flickered like a hologram. He walked around the fake woman, it looked just like her, in every way. She had no tangibility of course, and her hair didn't move in the slight breeze as it should, but he was improving. He focused on keeping the image alive, fed it with his own power. Several minutes passed and he began to feel the strain. After about ten, the image faded like wisps in the wind. He felt mentally fatigued, and he felt a light sheen of sweat on his body. TO be expected, he couldn't keep the image alive very long. Not yet. He dropped to his knees, and spent the next twenty minutes meditating, rejuvenating his mind and body with the Darkside better than any nights rest could accomplish. </div>
<div class='signature'> Peace is a lie. There is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me. </div>