07-10-2014, 12:02 PM
<small>((continued from The Greats))</small>
Marcus woke at his usual 5:30. He had slept relatively well despite yesterday's activities and their still potentially deadly consequences. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he considered the new day and what was ahead.
He looked over at his wallet that started beeping in alarm, resisting the urge to use the Force to turn it off. It was not without some difficulty. That sense of power and control- the wrestling and constant domination- was addictive. But it went much deeper than that. When he held the power of the Force in him, every sense was heightened, the colors and sounds and sensations all suddenly possessing an infinitely wide range of variation; infinitesimal gradations were now perceivable. It was as if he were plugged into the multi-verse and was able to discern the particles themselves existing as waves of probable locations, the whole aggregate superposition, emanating out into space-time; his consciousness not collapsing them into reality, but instead sensing the infinite differentiation of them all at once. There were limitless gradations between one color and the next, between a touch on his hand and one only a micrometer away. He was aware of every subtle shift, every possible state that existed in every universe, in between those two places on his hand.
It was intoxicating and his mind luxuriated in it all- and it had been denied to him! A part of him seethed, that Ascendancy should deny him his birth right, what had been bestowed on him. Almost, almost, he seized the Force in defiance. A Sith did not ask permission for what was his.
Rage threatened to overwhelm him and so Marcus sat on the bed and did his meditations, calming himself, reasoning with himself. He was his own master. If he followed Ascendancy’s wishes, it was by his choice. It was for a reason. But what was that reason? He wasn’t sure that Ascendancy would know if he channeled, or had a method for telling if he was lying. The heightened senses might allow one to create a rudimentary lie-detector. Perhaps a few weaves would allow him to make a more advanced lie-detector. That would be interesting. Bah! There were so many things to study, so many avenues to pursue. Hiding his weaves, creating weaves attuned to specific people or use of the power, testing on Pyotr, even something spontaneous like this lie detection- even using more than one weave at once, now that he’d seen Vellas do it- all of that was denied him, until Ascendancy gave the word. It ate at him.
Why did he submit? Was he afraid? No. Fear had been burned out of him long ago, scorched in the fires of his childhood, of beatings and abuse and torment. That crucible had scoured it all away. He didn’t want to get hurt or die, of course. But that was not fear. If it was in his best interests, he’d risk torture and even death in pursuing what he wanted.
Last night had been a risk, but he had been willing to take it, and later willing to look Ascendancy in the eye and confess his actions and reasons why he did them. Ayn Rand came to him. “The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me.”
Bruce Lee: “There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you. A man must constantly exceed his level.”
He decided his destiny, what he did. No one else did, not even Ascendancy.
So why then? Because he believed as did Ascendancy. He believed in his methods, in his ideology, his imposition of order. He wanted to be a part of that. The vision of Darth Imperius filled his head. “To dare to dream of something that has never existed and to make it a reality; to conjure up your deepest fears and darkest hopes; to pursue a vision ruthlessly and without relent; to create the artifacts, ideology and organization of the empires of your mind: this is real black magic, the source of all true power.
Of course the Force and the Sith were all just made up fiction. And yet…there was truth in them. Words floated to him. “Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.”
The story’s basis, its sources came from a distillation of history, of ideas and beliefs, myths and legends of ancient powers. And he now had access to the truth that those stories only hinted at, only distantly reflected. And Ascendancy was achieving the reality. Now, 40 years later, Malik would join him, to help bring order to the chaos, discipline to the weak, stability to the sea of mankind.
This was why he submitted, this why he chose to follow Ascendancy’s commands. He believed in the man and in the work he did. And that he had a place in it, something to offer. It was the greatest power a person could have, to have people choose to willingly follow because they shared the vision, and not simply because of fear.
Malik breathed, at peace with himself and his decision. The time would come. Ascendancy would see. He had much in the way of power and genius to offer the man. And Ascendancy was no fool not to know it. Malik smiled. He’d see what a powerful ally he could be.
With that, Marcus stood up and got ready for the day, ready to seize the opportunities as they came. He went down and had breakfast and then made his way to the Consulate of Communications. In many ways, this- together with the Consulate of Propaganda- was the center of Ascendancy's power in the CCD, even more than the military. Projection of physical power, as devastating as that could be, had its limits, both in terms of cost of men and matériel. But the control of the emotions and thoughts of nations, Dominances and ethnic groups was much more subtle, powerful, and ultimately far reaching in the long run.
He was looking forward to see the challenges this day brought.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 10 2014, 04:18 PM.
Marcus woke at his usual 5:30. He had slept relatively well despite yesterday's activities and their still potentially deadly consequences. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he considered the new day and what was ahead.
He looked over at his wallet that started beeping in alarm, resisting the urge to use the Force to turn it off. It was not without some difficulty. That sense of power and control- the wrestling and constant domination- was addictive. But it went much deeper than that. When he held the power of the Force in him, every sense was heightened, the colors and sounds and sensations all suddenly possessing an infinitely wide range of variation; infinitesimal gradations were now perceivable. It was as if he were plugged into the multi-verse and was able to discern the particles themselves existing as waves of probable locations, the whole aggregate superposition, emanating out into space-time; his consciousness not collapsing them into reality, but instead sensing the infinite differentiation of them all at once. There were limitless gradations between one color and the next, between a touch on his hand and one only a micrometer away. He was aware of every subtle shift, every possible state that existed in every universe, in between those two places on his hand.
It was intoxicating and his mind luxuriated in it all- and it had been denied to him! A part of him seethed, that Ascendancy should deny him his birth right, what had been bestowed on him. Almost, almost, he seized the Force in defiance. A Sith did not ask permission for what was his.
Rage threatened to overwhelm him and so Marcus sat on the bed and did his meditations, calming himself, reasoning with himself. He was his own master. If he followed Ascendancy’s wishes, it was by his choice. It was for a reason. But what was that reason? He wasn’t sure that Ascendancy would know if he channeled, or had a method for telling if he was lying. The heightened senses might allow one to create a rudimentary lie-detector. Perhaps a few weaves would allow him to make a more advanced lie-detector. That would be interesting. Bah! There were so many things to study, so many avenues to pursue. Hiding his weaves, creating weaves attuned to specific people or use of the power, testing on Pyotr, even something spontaneous like this lie detection- even using more than one weave at once, now that he’d seen Vellas do it- all of that was denied him, until Ascendancy gave the word. It ate at him.
Why did he submit? Was he afraid? No. Fear had been burned out of him long ago, scorched in the fires of his childhood, of beatings and abuse and torment. That crucible had scoured it all away. He didn’t want to get hurt or die, of course. But that was not fear. If it was in his best interests, he’d risk torture and even death in pursuing what he wanted.
Last night had been a risk, but he had been willing to take it, and later willing to look Ascendancy in the eye and confess his actions and reasons why he did them. Ayn Rand came to him. “The question isn’t who is going to let me; it’s who is going to stop me.”
Bruce Lee: “There are no limits. There are plateaus, but you must not stay there, you must go beyond them. If it kills you, it kills you. A man must constantly exceed his level.”
He decided his destiny, what he did. No one else did, not even Ascendancy.
So why then? Because he believed as did Ascendancy. He believed in his methods, in his ideology, his imposition of order. He wanted to be a part of that. The vision of Darth Imperius filled his head. “To dare to dream of something that has never existed and to make it a reality; to conjure up your deepest fears and darkest hopes; to pursue a vision ruthlessly and without relent; to create the artifacts, ideology and organization of the empires of your mind: this is real black magic, the source of all true power.
Of course the Force and the Sith were all just made up fiction. And yet…there was truth in them. Words floated to him. “Metaphors have a way of holding the most truth in the least space.”
The story’s basis, its sources came from a distillation of history, of ideas and beliefs, myths and legends of ancient powers. And he now had access to the truth that those stories only hinted at, only distantly reflected. And Ascendancy was achieving the reality. Now, 40 years later, Malik would join him, to help bring order to the chaos, discipline to the weak, stability to the sea of mankind.
This was why he submitted, this why he chose to follow Ascendancy’s commands. He believed in the man and in the work he did. And that he had a place in it, something to offer. It was the greatest power a person could have, to have people choose to willingly follow because they shared the vision, and not simply because of fear.
Malik breathed, at peace with himself and his decision. The time would come. Ascendancy would see. He had much in the way of power and genius to offer the man. And Ascendancy was no fool not to know it. Malik smiled. He’d see what a powerful ally he could be.
With that, Marcus stood up and got ready for the day, ready to seize the opportunities as they came. He went down and had breakfast and then made his way to the Consulate of Communications. In many ways, this- together with the Consulate of Propaganda- was the center of Ascendancy's power in the CCD, even more than the military. Projection of physical power, as devastating as that could be, had its limits, both in terms of cost of men and matériel. But the control of the emotions and thoughts of nations, Dominances and ethnic groups was much more subtle, powerful, and ultimately far reaching in the long run.
He was looking forward to see the challenges this day brought.
Edited by Marcus DuBois, Jul 10 2014, 04:18 PM.