Private A Bargain Amongst Devils

[Darth Nefaron]

Time was short.

Long has Nefaron’s operation on Anoat been free of any prying eyes. Even now as he looked out over vast construction yards, he pondered on the events of previous weeks.

The Raid on Vassek

The Zinder Gathering

The Devastation of Woostri

These events were learning opportunities for Nefaron, a further test of his own skills while he continued his Apprentice training. But personal power could only take one so far in the current power structure, for Nefaron had only begun to amass his forces, and should any one of the Dark Councilers take action against him, his plans would surely go up in smoke. This was precisely why Nefaron had attended a meeting with a representative of the Sith-Imperial Banking Clan, one Elane II of Kuat . Such a meeting was always a risk, but it seemed the banker had gotten cold feet at the last minute and chose the established power over the rising one.

It hadn’t taken long for Nefaron’s spies to report the meeting between Sostiars and the Emperor's Voice, though the exact contents of the meeting were, of course, unknown, one could guess what the banker wished to tell the Emperor's servant. While a setback, such a meeting was to provide an opportunity for Nefaron. He had been informed that Darth Malum, the fabled Heir of Darth Marr, sought an audience, though Nefaron was in no position to deny such a request from a Dark Council member. Was this a formal inspection of Anoat to ensure compliance with Imperial law? Did he seek some lost piece of knowledge that had fallen into Nefaron's possession?

A mysterious visit certainly, but one that had been due for some time. Perhaps it was mere coincidence that their meeting came only a few short days following the discovery that Darth Strosius lived, much to the Corpse Lord's displeasure. Such a development was to test his Apprentices loyalty, and Nefaron could not be sure the boy would submit fully to the path he was now on while Strosius lived. Malum was surely behind such a development, and Nefaron would know why the High Preist was allowed to live, or at least continue on in whatever form he now took.

A growl of displeasure slipped from Nefaron's hood as he observed the ongoing construction projects from his fortress. The ever-present storms that raged in Anoats atmosphere grew all the more deadly as the Corpse Lord's wrath bubbled beneath his flesh. But he would have time for that latter, the reborn Darth Strosius would soon have to face a fallen son of his cult, twisted to the service of one who abhorred the Wonosa and all that they taught.

Nefaron slipped back into his throne, a ragged finger enabling its built-in communicator.

"Apprentice, ready yourself for a visitor. Take a detachment of Legionnaires to the main hangar and greet our guests. I will await them in the audience chambers in the central spire."

His command given, Nefaron interlocked his fingers and sunk deeper into the force. He would be prepared for the Heir of Marr, whether he came to exchange words or blows mattered little.

Nefaron would be ready all the same.

TAGS: Veradun Sharr Darth Malum of House Marr Zachariah Conway ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

​

Tags: Darth Nefaron // Darth Malum of House Marr // Zachariah Conway ​

Only a few days had passed since the events of the Sith Order’s invasion of Woostri, but the echoes of that violent clash still clung to the young Nagai boy. He’d seen combat before, had inflicted violence and death upon others…but what he had seen and been a part of on Woostri left a deep impression upon the young Sith apprentice. Images of those screaming in terror from the toxins he had unleashed at his Master’s bidding, of the blood he had spilt in sadistic glee as he cut the life from his foes, still danced before his mind’s eye. He saw them while awake, and when he tried to sleep.

Visions and nightmares that no child should ever have to live with or face.

But Veradun was no mere child. He was a Sith, and his existence was filled with violence and suffering. Perhaps not his own, but the suffering of others. Such was the cost of serving one such as Darth Nefaron.

The Nagai closed his pale eyes as he finished injecting his last bacta infusion into his bloodstream; his internal injuries sustained by the violent throw from his Master upon their retreat from the war torn planet had been more severe than originally thought, with numerous fractured or broken ribs and damaged internal organs.

He had been fortunate, however. Though his Master had been wroth, the boy had managed to escape any further punishment or retaliation on the return flight back to Anoat. In fact, he had spent these last few days thankfully alone within the chamber provided to him by the Corpse Lord. It was better than the slave pen he had slept in for months, though it still lacked much in the way of comfort. The boy slept on a thin mat on the hard stone floor, and had only a thread-bare blanket to stave off the chill whenever he was allowed a moment’s rest.

Still, it was a small reward that he accepted for what it was. Better this than the biting agony of the electro whip from the Beastmaster.

Medicine applied, the Nagai boy found a place within his low light environment where he could kneel and meditate, his upper torso bare to the elements. Ugly bruises, along with fresh and old scars, crisscrossed the pale and somewhat gaunt body of the boy; he looked underfed, malnourished, weak…but he was anything but. Many made the assumption that he was frail, and learned their mistake too late. He let himself drift, letting the horrors and the pain of his recent existence fill him. A burning seed of hatred pulsed with insidious darkness deep within his soul - a hatred for the very monster that he had sworn himself to, that cruel Dark Lord who had pushed and forced the boy to turn his back on everything he had held dear…his morals, his honor. His loved ones.

His thoughts and emotions clashed within him, a swirling miasma of darkness that filled his body with power and energy. It was something he had learned to do in the short time he’d been apprenticed to the Dark Lord; he never knew what cruelty Nefaron would force on him, and he wanted to be prepared for whenever his Master called upon him.

The chime of his on-person communicator alerted the boy to an incoming message, and he felt a surge of irritation for being pulled from his meditation.

"Apprentice, ready yourself for a visitor. Take a detachment of Legionnaires to the main hangar and greet our guests. I will await them in the audience chambers in the central spire."​

A stab of fear flashed through Veradun upon hearing the voice of his Master, and following it came a bitter resentment. I should have known my respite from him wouldn’t last for long…

Sighing, the boy lifted the communicator to respond in a timely fashion; he was in no hurry to displease the Sith Lord by being late in his response.

“Yes, Master.”

Silently, the boy rose from his knelt position and walked over to a small dresser, pulling open the top drawer to retrieve the dagger his Master had given him upon his arrival on Anoat months prior. The blade fit neatly into a leather sheath, made from the tanned hide of an unfortunate slave that had perished within the fortress, that was meant to attach to his forearm, hidden from sight but could be brought to bear with a simple flick of his wrist. With his hidden weapon attached, Veradun then pulled a black tunic over his head before he finished off his Apprentice’s attire with a hooded black cloak.

Silently, the Nagai slipped from his chambers and descended towards the quarters that housed the Corpse Lord’s infamous Legionnaires. It was not too difficult for the boy to gather the detachment his Master had ordered him to take with him; the bloodthirsty and corpse-like soldiers often tested the boy, but those that did met a swift and grim end. Veradun felt no shame or remorse for killing his Master’s servants, for he knew it was either their life or his own, and there was no place for mercy or compassion here. His cold executions had earned him some measure of respect amongst the Corpse Legion’s ranks, enough so that when he ordered a detachment to accompany him, the soldiers fell in and followed him obediently. They knew that disobedience meant death, a lesson Veradun had learned himself very quickly.

Eventually, the Apprentice made his way towards the main hangar, all the while pondering just who the visitor to his and his Master’s fortress would be. Who would dare to come to this horrid place, filled with its caustic and toxic air that choked the life from one’s lungs? The Nagai was curious, but he knew his curiosity would be satisfied shortly as he came to a halt within the main hangar, his Legionaries flanking him on either side.

Now all he could do was watch the turbulent skies and wait for the sight of an approaching vessel.