SithLore

The Frozen Mountains of Roon
Roon system, Abrion sector
Off the Triellus Trade Route, Outer Rim Territories

The snowstorm swirled around the Nagai's head, his already pale skin and matching white robes camouflaging perfectly into the mountainside. The spiked black dome with bloodshot red windows, built into the side of the mountain, stood tall and imposing before him. It was from there that the Darkness had beckoned him; intense yet unperturbed, like the blackness of the night.

Descending the mountainside, the Nagai plowed through the snow to arrive at door of the ominous dwelling. The door answered to the Force, and so it answered to him as well, and soon enough, Satotai was inside. The facility was deplorable; the walls reeked of the vile acts committed by those who had taken it as their base. Enough to make Satotai's eyes momentarily flash with pain.

... Pain...

He could sense it near. Fear as well, abandonment and, lo and behold, the grand void itself: loneliness. Satotai knew these feelings well, for they were what fueled him, what forced him to excel. The black-clad Nagai stalked down the narrow walkways towards the source of the voids, happening upon a small room, what appeared to be surgical theatre that, going by what layered the walls, had been transmuted into an interrogation chamber.

Strapped to the surgical table in the very center of the theatre was a female Twi'lek. The dim ceiling-mounted light aimed at her illuminated her viridescent skin, the inky black stripes running across it catching Satotai's intrigue. Striped Twi'leks were certainly a rare find, and he figured he had lucked out: she would sell for a high price.

Her eyes snapped open, revealing themselves to be exotically blue-green tinted and fierce, and for a moment Satotai found himself lost in the sheer trepidation he felt in them. They were eyes unique to a being that had been broken many times against their will, a being that had been fractured and put back together, only to be fractured again. She had long since lost the will to live; the Darksider of Roon had killed everyone she had ever cared about, and had extracted her mind out of her head like it was his plaything. She had been

'Who are you?' she wanted to say, but she couldn't speak. She was dehydrated; emaciated. Had he not come here, she wouldn't have survived the next cycle.

"..." he didn't answer, just observed her. She trembled under his steel green gaze, and he knew she could sense exactly what he was, if not his intent. His chest rose and fell as he inhaled her fear.

Her aquamarine eyes conveyed her intent, her lips trembling as she struggled to say something, but couldn't. She wanted him to end her, to relieve her of her months of turmoil and hunger and suffering.

In a second, his blade snap-hissed to life. The next moment it was centimeters from her throat, and suddenly he was surprised it hadn't gone through her throat already. He thought he had killed her, but instinct had stilled his hand. The last layer of darkness he had consumed, her very last feeling, had been neither resignation nor despair, but again the Grand Void:

Loneliness.

Much like his own.

Instead, his blade burned through her binders, and she fell to the ground on her knees. Aquamarine eyes shot up at him, frightful and anticipant, yet she did not take her chance and run. She couldn't, in any case; her legs were bare bones by now. Months of abandonment and starvation had done that to her.

"Your tormentor is gone, and the one you hoped for has forgotten you," his words tore through what was left of her, and her only response was a dumb nod. He turned around and began to head back in the direction of the door. "I found you, so you are--."

"Callé," she interjected suddenly, her voice a dry rasp. Her name was all she knew how to say; all she had said, for months. It was what that monster had wanted, what she had fought to protect and failed miserably, the very deepest recesses of her mind violated in the process.

His eternal frown was the answer to her giving out her name, but after a short pause, his lips parted to deliver her sentence.

"... mine, Callé. You belong to Venghis."

The Nagai turned his back to her before stepping out of the door. This time, for the first time in what felt like millennia, it did not hiss shut in her face, leaving her to wallow in regret, shame and a hollow emptiness like she had every time the Darksider of Roon had left her. This time, it remained open, as if symbolic of the new path that had unfurled before her. She forced herself, finding her long forgotten strength in bits, before shifting her weight onto her feet and limping towards it, finally, unbelievably, making her way out of her prison.

For despite losing everything and everyone, at least now, she belonged.

Sa’ato was far from pleased. He had planned a cursory survey of Roon’s geology some months from now. Unfortunately, a botched auction on Tatooine had led the Neti to the isolated system almost out of spite. There was no sign of the artifacts that were supposed to be on sale- only a sloppy trail of bodies and limbs with but a handful of clues to go off of. And yet, if the thief, rival underlord, or incredulous drunkard thought they were safe, they were sorely, sorely mistaken. With the Force at the professor’s side, no being was outside his reach. Although, much to his surprise, a warping gash in the cosmos had sprouted at the scene of the crime.

Much to the academic’s sustained disbelief, the disturbance had left a rather potent trail. It was this almost microscopic, yet enduring signature that had brought Sa’ato to the desolate crags that stretched out before him. And now, after hours of hiking and fording ravines, he was close: very close. Probing the bulging, lower neck of the nearest peak, the surgical prodding of the Neti’s thoughts quickly revealed layers of sheet metal sandwiched between natural rock and sizable heap of snow. It took the professor only a few moments to thin the sleet and ice with his wrist-mounted flamethrower before he moved to make an entrance.

Thumbing the power on his lightsaber, Sa’ato’s orange blade crackled and hissed to life with malicious haste, the occasional destabilized bubble of plasma dripping free of the smoldering column and sizzling down on the frost below. With a firm exhale, the professor sent the blazing end of his weapon straight into the aged durasteel, and slowly began to carve a crude circular opening into the wall. The spark and pop of melting alloy was sure to alert any brigands within to the Neti’s presence, but he cared little. Whoever was scuttling around inside had yet to prove themselves worthy of prudence. At the most, the academic would have his prize- and at the least, saber drills, with fresh, live targets…

Intervening Post

OST: You Will Be This Legend by Really Slow Motion

Satotai's ears twitched, sensing the powerful presence nearby even before he heard the all-too-familiar hissing of plasma grinding through durasteel. Visage perpetually inexpressive, the pale specter pushed himself up, suddenly looming over his Twi'lek companion as he stood to his full, 1.9 meters of height, resembling a tall, thin tree or shadow.

"W-What was that?" Callé took a few steps backward, apprehensive that her violator, the true owner of this base, had returned, but the Nagai suddenly thrust something at her which she caught.

"I sense a powerful presence, bearing malicious intent," Satotai muttered, beginning to draw on whatever powers in the dark side he possessed which honestly paled in comparison to this creature, for despite his immense potential in the Dark Side, Satotai had never been formally trained in the ways of the Sith.

"Oh this just keeps getting better!" the green-skinned Twi'lek snapped.

"There is a starship outside," he answered. "I will distract him, you make your way to it and prepare it for launch. Do not dare leave without me, or I'll find you, and kill you," the last words were said with such coldness that Callé felt a chill run down her spine. Gulping, knowing somehow that she couldn't double-cross this creature for fear of her safety, she nodded and quickly moved to hide in a side-chamber, from where she could make her way outside once their opponent had made his way in.

Watching her retreat, Satotai made his way directly towards the entrance blast doors, the familiar glow of a lightsaber, a red one, alighting his face as he drew close. His hands found the hilt of his plasma blade; a green one, not his own, but one he had procured while raiding the remains of an ancient Jedi temple.

Still, Satotai knew he would have to settle this with words. His senses were acute enough to gauge the power that this being possessed.

"Only a fool insists on a battle he knows he cannot win," Satotai muttered to himself, under his breath, as he calmly awaited the Dark Being making his way inside.

It took Sa’ato the better part of a minute to cleave a neat, circular gash across the decaying durasteel. Once that time had passed however, it was but a synth-wafer fated to sunder at his touch. With a firm kick, the Neti sent the flimsy barrier flying forward into the dark recesses of the defunct fortress, the crude disc landing a few inches from the half-concealed Nagai’s feet. Rolling over the makeshift threshold like some great mass of vines gusted by the wind, the professor shambled quickly into the dusty chamber and rose up to his full height, the gilt rims of his eyes glowering out from beneath his hood in stark contrast to the blanched tundra outside.

For a moment, the academic froze, his gaze scanning up and down the verdant blade that had suddenly appeared in protest of his own. Instinctively, Sa’ato sent his thoughts scintillating down on the wielder like a steady torrent of rain. He cared not for proof of battle or the exact schools of combat the partially-obscured interloper was skilled in. No, the professor simply sought to measure how comfortable the unlucky brigand felt at this moment. There was no fear in them, whoever they were- but at the same time, there was an absence of an identifiable, murderous instinct. Curious, and perhaps worthy of a stay of execution.

Sa’ato did not extinguish his blade, but instead let his sinuous hand drop to his side, bringing the weapon into a nigh-non-existent low guard. “I’ll give you exactly twenty words to explain why you killed my contacts”, the Neti growled with a hint of agitation, “If I like your answer, I may let you keep your new toy: if not, I’m sure you’ll make half-decent fertilizer…”

Face-to-face with the willowy creature that had been so incensed at a deed Satotai himself had presumed to be so trivial, the only impression on Satotai's face that indicated his fascination with this newcomer was a slight upturning of his left eyebrow. Often across his travels had he come across adherents of the Force; sects dedicating themselves to both the Dark Side and the Light, those that advocated both, and even those that interpreted the cosmic power in an entirely different way. Yet, there was something different about this one. Something primordial and ancient. Typical savagery was concealed beneath a rare cloak of sagacity in this one; his aurous orbs seemed to intellect more than ignite.

Much like the Nagai himself.

Reaching inside his white cloak, the Nagai pulled out the artifacts he had annexed earlier from a trio of hapless fools. They were not much, but they had caught his attention: an ancient-looking, damaged pyramid-shaped holocron, and a spherical orb formed of an alchemical alloy of the sort that, to Satotai's knowledge, could be used to construct a warblade of olde by one sufficiently versed in the trade.

His verdant eyes glanced between them in his left and the Jedi lightsaber in his right hand, which he lowered to mimic the Neti's own low-guarded stance, before finding the Neti's own aurulent ones.

“In precisely twenty words: I chanced upon these, of interest to me,” he calmly answered in the face of the Neti's growling. “Their bearers - your contacts - resisted, and were slain.”

The staring contest continued as Satotai fell silent, only the soft humming of lightsabers and their contrasting glow filling the chamber for the next few moments. He had been allowed twenty words, and he had used them up. It was not in his nature to lie, and he had never made an excuse in his life, for anything he had ever done. It was a simple truth: the sentient flora's contacts had seemed far too unworthy to claim ownership of such possessions, and so Satotai had appropriated the artifacts. He had given them multiple opportunities to simply leave, but they refused, and so he had no choice but to end them.

The Neti, on the other hand, could choose to do the same to him now. Should he, then Satotai would have to fight, even though he was the weaker here. Should he lose, he would accept his death, for it was the right of the strong to seize what they wanted. At least dying at the hands of someone of this Darksider's caliber would give some meaning to his life.

So, Satotai calmly awaited the Darksider's judgment.

Sa’ato let the silence settle for a comfortable interval before his grimace hardened into a smirk. “An honest thief”, the professor spoke at last, taking another step forward, “Not a common thing to find on this end of the galaxy. Your boldness is worthy of praise”. Without any prompting, the Neti at last deactivated his lightsaber, and returned it to the clip on his belt. “Still, you have inconvenienced me”, the academic continued, “And I will have recompense. You will pay for what you denied with your talents, to whatever extent they exist”. The professor then turned about, and casually exposed his back to the Nagai, as if he were about to leave.

“In return, if you continue to prove useful”, Sa’ato added in a low voice, “I will give you whatever knowledge you seek, and grant you access to all the archives my order has at its disposal”. The Neti then retraced his steps up until the threshold of his makeshift doorway, and paused one final time to declare, “My ship is nestled in a valley two kilometers to the west. Come on foot, and bring your companion. I will wait until sundown”. It was not a very large window, and the professor knew this. Examinations would commence at once, regarding both the physical and the mental. It was up to the youth to demonstrate his commitment to joining the dread cabal: anything less than pure devotion simply would not do.

Satotai watched the professor's retreating form, a storm of dark thoughts swirling in his mind. Sa'ato's words, "an honest thief," cut deep with bitter irony. The grim frown on Satotai's lips mirrored his grim resolve. He was no mere thief; he was a predator, a seeker of forbidden knowledge, and a master of shadows. His talents were his weapons: an intellect sharp enough to slice through the densest of secrets, a thirst for knowledge so insatiable it bordered on madness, and a deadly prowess in combat. These were the very attributes that had carried him to this moment, and now Sa'ato demanded them as payment.

The Neti's power was an oppressive force, a dark tide that threatened to engulf everything in its path. It was a power Satotai was vary off, yet something he found the void within himself craving. Could Sa'ato's knowledge and power fill the chasm in the Nagai's soul? The promise of access to vast, hidden archives of gnosis was a dark lure, one he found impossible to resist.

Yet, a sinister thought gnawed at his mind: was this to be an apprenticeship or a new form of slavery? The line between the two was thin, and the shadows it cast were long and menacing. Satotai's soul recoiled at the thought of becoming a puppet, but the lure of knowledge and power was too potent to dismiss. The decision, though perilous, was ultimately inevitable. Spiritual secrets hummed around the ancient master who had enticed him, like fireflies. Satotai's desire to fill his internal abyss with that esoteric wisdom was too powerful to ignore. He would not be a slave, but he would tread the path of shadows to learn from Sa'ato's arcane wisdom.

With a resolve forged in the crucible of his ambition, Satotai made his way toward the valley. The setting sun cast blood-red hues across the snowy landscape, bathing the ice in blood. His steps were silent and deliberate, his mind calm and focused. He would prove his worth to Sa'ato, out of begrudging respect; even more so out of a desire to seize the power that lay within the Neti's grasp.

As he approached the valley, Sa'ato's ship loomed like a specter among the rocks. The professor stood at the entrance, a dark silhouette against the dying light. Satotai halted a few paces away, the green-skinned twi'lek he had liberated from imprisonment a silent, emaciated shadow by his side. After a few tense moments of silence, Satotai inclined his head with a cold, calculated respect.

"I am here," Satotai declared, his voice a low, menacing whisper. "Let the reckoning commence."