A toll few are willing to pay…

[Darth Zilti]

Maja had literally zig-zagged the galaxy for knowledge and having left Ambria, she knew that to develop her knowledge of Sith Magic, there could only be one destination – Coruscant. Those local to Dathomir had promised much but to truly understand how to bend the Force to her will, to learn the most powerful rituals of the Dark-side, she needed a Sith well-versed in sorcery.

And her investigation went in many directions but all paths led back to one name [member="Matsu Xiangu"]. She’d heard in was an innate gift but in her long and tedious journeys across space she’d been gifted the time to research, to understand as much of the theory that she could although it was clear it meant nothing in and of itself. Like reading a book on how to swim. She needed to get wet.

Except she was expecting an altogether different kind of experience. Her work in uncovering some of the secrets of the Dromund Kaas Sith Academy had led her to believe that such magic came at a cost. But it was one she was willing to pay. If she were to prove she was worthy, she had no choice.

So she arrived at the Sith’s estates on Coruscant. But despite the apparent opulence of the world above ground, her directions led her far below, deep beneath the crust of the city planet into the dark and dirty depths. Maja strode purposefully towards the address she’d been given, paying nobody any mind. She wore her hood down in defiance. Her red hair usually drew attention but she didn’t care – it was a mark of her heritage and she was proud of it.

Yet oddly she walked past disinterested and uncaring eyes. Their own petty lives were no doubt of greater importance – or at least remaining alive was an important issue for them, as once she approached her destination the relative quiet outside was overwhelmed by the sounds of people begging and screaming.

“Well that’s got to have an effect on house prices,” she thought as she reached the door of the entrance.

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

For a woman that so preferred her solitude, she felt perfectly comfortable on Coruscant. She liked the sense of a beating heart, sitting on the crown jewel of the Galaxy silent and still when she had the potential to rip it apart at the seams. The surface level was her favorite – a glittering, picturesque scene, the privileged saw to business and pleasure at a frenetic pace she found invigorating. But the Underworld had its many, many charms.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she understood that others might find her recreational activities unnatural, though she couldn’t wrap her head around why. The experiments the Underworld allowed her to perform by way of quiet secrecy and general willingness to look the other way had been invaluable to her talent. Of course, illusion and magic were innate talents, but there was no harm in opening the door to knowledge previously unknown. So she kidnapped anyone convenient, sometimes herself and sometimes contracting others. She wasn’t picky – there was something important to learn about every biology, particularly those naturally immune to mental power. From there it was simple: a quick unzipping of a scalp, the crack of bone, and Matsu had access to the most fascinating of organs. Her primary interest was which areas produced which effects, where was best to push to make her illusions and magic most effective depending on intent. Much had come of her curiosity and one day she would get it saved in a holocron.

She was wrist-deep in a cranial cavity when one of her guards – all female, all imposing and trained by Matsu herself – spoke softly from the shadows. “There’s someone outside Lord Xiangu. She appears to be looking the entrance over.”

A soft smile curled on to the Atrisian’s delicate face. “I suppose that’s not too surprising. We have quite the batch of singers back there,” she said, referring to the chorus of terrified begging a few rooms over in the complex. But regardless, the stranger’s signature sang to her even through the walls that separated them. “Invite her in, if she’s so inclined.” Matsu liked guests. The interesting ones became new friends. The annoying ones ended up like the drugged, motionless sap lying on the stainless steel table in front of her.

The guard made her way through several chambers, stopping at the holointerface that allowed her control of the intercom function for the front entrance. The woman outside would see a ripple in the surface of the door, a slow coalescing of a tar-like substance that become almost mirror-like though it would reflect her image only faintly. The guard’s voice seemed to emanate from the strange system. “Lord Xiangu would like to see you.”

It sounded less like a request than a demand, punctuating the thud of the door unlocking and sliding open slowly.

[member="Maja Vern"]​

 

[Darth Zilti]

With no obvious means of knocking, Maja waited. There was no way she’d be left out here indefinitely, was there? So, as she stood she looked around.

It was certainly an odd place. Ancient and forgotten ruins rubbed shoulders with modern-looking but no doubt crime-ridden venues and clubs. As she’d descended levels, she’d realised they’d progressed from the merely seedy entertainment districts that reminded her of Nar Shaddaa to where she was now – and further along she could see an area of unending darkness that seemed to be primarily populated by hypertrophied vermin and what could only be described as zombie-like humanoids. Every street corner here had its own gang and every wall seemed to be propped up by a different strange creature – most of which she didn’t recognise.

Could she call it home? It had a vibrancy, a certain charm, but deep down she suffered from land-sickness. She couldn't stay in one place too long. Home, she reflected, would one day be a decent sized ship – not the cramped shuttle she currently used. But its size offered anonymity and that was too valuable a commodity to ignore right now.

But as she was mesmerised by the constant motion and unrest, the artificial lighting that barely brightened the dark and sorrowful streets, she was aware of movement beside her.

She noticed a ripple in the surface of the door, a slow coalescing of a tar-like substance that become almost mirror-like though it reflected her own image only faintly. A voice seemed to emanate from within. “Lord Xiangu would like to see you.”

As invitations go, it was not the most convivial but ever the pragmatist, she wasn’t here to make friends. Of course she didn’t want to be added to the chorus of wailing ne’er-do-wells so hopefully she’d find a middle ground – assuming there was one. If not, Lord Xiangu had a new best friend!

As the door unlocked with a thud and slid open slowly, she grinned at the owner of the voice. “Please take me to your leader.” It was a line she’d used before and as a creature of habit, she’d grown attached to it. “Interesting neighbourhood, do properties come up for sale often around here?” Was it nervous chatter? Perhaps – but sometimes she just couldn’t shut up – the small-time con-artist in her surfacing at times of stress, for talking gave you thinking time. Time to weigh up options and to calculate escape routes – useful stuff like that. “So she prefers to be called Lord, eh? Glad to know it. I never know if it should be Lord or Lady. Except for the ones with beards, they’re usually safe to make an assumption with. Apart from that one time…”

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

The guard escorting the nameless guest was not without a sense of humor, the product of serving a woman not immune to a joke herself. Going so far as to raise an eyebrow, she swallowed a laugh, remaining silent on the first two quips but answering the question. “To my knowledge she prefers neither over the other. Often she doesn’t use it.” The guard addressed the Sith as such because despite Xiangu’s penchant for foregoing her titles, she wasn’t foolish enough to forget who she worked for.

Matsu didn’t like to think of her labs as a ‘dungeon’ despite the cage systems and overall aire of despair. It all spoke of her exceedingly modern tastes, everything clean and white and new except for red twin lines of draining blood on either side of her dissecting table. She usually preferred silence when she worked (having long ago come to naturally filter out the pleading deals screeched by those she’d caught), but sometimes music played softly through her rooms as she cut and catalogued. There was no denying there was a sadistic element, but she truly found fascination in the practice as well.

When her ‘guest’ was led in to the room, she was still sitting at the head of said table, wiping her metallic hands with a towel. The guard left the woman standing in the doorway, on her own past this point. Matsu reserved her heightened ability to gauge an opponent through mentalism for when a threat was clearer, finding anything else drained the fun of suspense from most situations. Instead she just registered the redhead’s light nerves…and what seemed like determination, taking in the broad strokes of what seemed to blur the lines between tattoo and scar.

“I don’t get many visitors this far down very often, Miss…?” she trailed off as she rose slowly from her seat, clearly searching for a name before she moved to pluck it from the woman’s head.

[member="Maja Vern"]​

 

[Darth Zilti]

Maja nodded as the guard proved quite talkative. Usually they were the strong, silent types. Maybe this boded well as perhaps that would reflect on her master? And once more she stored away the information, this Sith does not appear to care for titles. But she’s still a Sith Lord – and that should not be forgotten.

Maja was led to a room, and a woman was sitting at the head of a table – clearly medical in nature. It was a sterile environment – except for the blood of course – but even that was channelled away in an orderly and methodical way.

But it wasn’t the table, or the whiteness of the room, or even the twin trails of blood that caught her attention. It was the woman’s hands. They were…metallic. But she was shaken from her thoughts by the Sith Lord’s question.

It was a question she’d been asked often enough. Yet despite it being such an innocuous request, it invariably foxed her. For most of her life she’d simply given the name she grew up with. Except for the past six years or so, she’d known it was false. And recently she’d found out her true first name – although was still unsure as to her real surname – even Silara couldn’t help as she’d been adopted, so they were both in the dark.

So she defaulted to her standard response. “Maja.” It was the given name. It also reflected her current situation. Once she’d grown in her use of the Force. Once she was in a position to show Silara she was worthy, she’d look to join the One Sith. Then she could reveal her real name. Like Rain before her, her true identity would be revealed paradoxically at the time most Sith chose to assume a false name. But the rationale would be identical. She would be known as Pluvia only when she was ready to be counted as a Sith, when there was no turning back. When she was worthy.

“Nice place, very…minimal. The red works by the way,” she indicated the sluices. “It’s the little touches that make the difference, eh?” The smile on her face seemed fixed. “But my reason for coming is serious. I am genuine in my thirst for knowledge and I’m hoping you will help me.” She looked the woman in the eyes now. “Regardless of the cost.”

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

Finished cleaning the plexisteel of her hands, she folded the towel neatly and left it by the dissected cranium of her latest victim, letting out a breath of laughter at the comment on her interior design. “Thank you – I find the décor of most in Sith space to be depressingly draconian. Nice to know my taste is appreciated.” To many she knew this place wouldn’t have enough castle walls or enormous statues. But her vanity was obvious in everything from her homes to her clothes. Even her Sith magic had done good things for her appearance, sharpening already delicate features to something exotically beautiful, if bordering on demonic. Some day it would ruin her but by all estimates she would be dead before her power ever dried her to a husk.

She lived with abandon.

But if there was anything she could identify with it was a thirst for knowing more, and more, and more. She’d left home at 18 because she’d wanted to see the Galaxy and her need to know had never stopped. The subject didn’t much matter. Information was power and everything she assimilated in to the endless hallways of her mind was something she could use against someone else. Though she would be lying if she said it wasn’t because she had a wide-eyed wonder for the galaxy and the stars beyond it at the end of the day. Her ultimate goal in this life was to please herself.

The smile grew smaller as this Maja asserted she wanted something regardless of the cost. The new expression wasn’t displeasure – on the contrary, her curiosity was piqued. The cost was pain, but that would come later. “Then let us see what you’re made of,” she said softly, waving a delicate, metallic black arm to a few empty seats along a shelving unit bearing softly backlit jars of various organs and small creatures. “Come, have a seat.”

Matsu perched herself delicately on a chair, pulling a jar from the wall and studying the brain inside absently, her fingers clinking against the glass as she turned it. “If you sought me, you must know what I do.”

[member="Maja Vern"]​

 

[Darth Zilti]

Maja stood and watched. She could let her mouth go when needed – but she understood the value of silence where necessary. And most of the time she was able to keep her lips sealed. Most of the time. And fortunately this was an occasion she was able to hold her tongue.

Maja watched the precise movements, the order of her hosts surroundings – from the clinical nature of the décor to the neatly stacked jars. In truth Maja had no home and no roots. She had an apartment her sister had given her and she occasional visited it – but there was nothing personal there. The ship she’d been flying for the past few years was the same. It served a purpose but there was nothing to say it was Maja’s – both were bereft of personality. But this place, Maja assumed, was ingrained with her host’s persona. But it was also functional and she was wary not to assume too much of her host’s personality from what she saw.

“Then let us see what you’re made of. Come, have a seat.”

Maja walked over and sat beside her host. She was about to be appraised – if she hadn’t been already. She was ready for it, used to it and expected it. That, to her, was what it would mean to finally join the One Sith – once she’d proven to her sister she was worthy. For it didn’t matter who the Sith was, their valuation was useful in accessing knowledge, but it was meaningless in the long run. It was her sister’s appraisal that mattered. Everything else was transitory. In her eyes, it was no better to be safe than sorry. Caution was pointless – she needed to take risks if she was to earn her sister’s praise one day and so exposed herself to the potential ire of powerful Sith to achieve it.

So she swivelled in her chair to face the Sith Lord. “I know what you do. I know what you are known for. I did not seek you out blindly. I wish to bend the Force to my will, to use its raw power yet, at the same time, use it like some…” she waved her hand at the surroundings, “Surgical instrument. To be precise and delicate when I need to. To use the innate gift I have to achieve my goals. To be…worthy.” Her eyes had briefly flashed from their usual amber state to a paler shade of yellow as she spoke before returning to their usual hue. “And I am willing to pay the price.”

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

That the girl was willing to pay the price was not in question; she’d sought out Matsu knowing full-well her reputation, a propensity for cruelty unpredictable in its targeting, held off by the strangest of attributes. But Matsu was not indiscriminate. In the same way she scoffed at the old-school vision of her fellow Sith she also found the black and white view of old to be stuffy and hindering. She saw more value in making connections than shunning everyone else. To be sure most were still beneath her, connections of convenience and little else, but look at how far she’d come – how far the Sith as a whole had come – because they focused on domination and not infighting. Those more powerful still cut out far larger slices of the prize…but power was the endgame.

So she could respect this meeting.

Nodding, she didn’t say anything more. Instead she very quietly conjured an illusion. Maja spoke of an ‘innate gift’, and since he sought Matsu she could only assume she meant one thing. So instead of building something simple, a mentalist’s illusion, she went straight for her magic. The primary difference between an illusion crafted by a mentalist and that of a sorceress was simple, but made all the difference: the latter was real. Where a mentalist’s illusion was shattered the moment physical contact was made and the victim realized it wasn’t real, a magician’s illusion was very much corporeal. It could fool computers and even the strongest Masters. And it could kill.

The same guard that had led Maja back walked in to the room, a sickly pallor making her cheekbones shine with sweat, dark hollows under her eyes. She walked well enough, picking her way past the table with the dissected corpse and the space between to kneel by Matsu, turning her ill gaze up to the Sith lady. “I…” Her voice came out a croak, a sudden, single black tributary of sludge trickling from the corner of her mouth before she turned her gaze to the stranger sitting across from Matsu. With a groan, the phlegm in her chest rattling, the guard lunged for Maja, hands hooked to claws as she snatched and grabbed at clothes. She wanted purchase, a fistful to hold the redhead in place as she gnashed teeth. (sink teeth in blood pooling stagnant swamp to a mouth that suddenly craved nothing else so good so dark should taste like sin and ambition, sweet, more) She didn’t seem to care where she got a bite from, trying anywhere that wasn’t blocked off in a struggle, the horrible cracking sound of her teeth shattering from the force of her snapping jaw going off right next to Maja’s ear.

If the girl had her jugular torn open and bled out on Matsu’s floor it would be no great loss but to the maid-droids that would spend an hour cleaning her up. What Matsu wanted to see was if Maja would spot the flaw she’d purposely incorporated in to the vision, would find a way to escape the Spider-Lady’s weaving. When the attack had begun the guard’s eyes had shifted to an exact copy of Maja’s. Perhaps difficult to spot when one was the victim of attempted cannibalism, but working through pressure was important.

Barring that, however her potential apprentice chose to react would be telling, proof of her potential if she survived. Matsu watched quietly, resting her chin delicately on a cool hand.

[member="Maja Vern"]​

 

[Darth Zilti]

‘Holy…’

A few seconds ago, Maja was saying quite honestly that she was prepared to pay the price – whatever it was. How naïve.

So she watched as the Sith Lord clearly weaved some magic. Maja sat waiting, wondering what illusion she would be witness to. What she saw induced a fear she hadn’t experienced since those sinister giant spiders back on Kashyyyk. On that occasion they’d tried to feed her to their young. This experience was close enough to be a very, very creepy parallel.

Visions couldn’t hurt you. They could frighten you and make you do things, but they couldn’t actually inflict any physical harm. This was no illusion. Maja oddly fought the natural instinct to immediately hit back – speed of thought rather than deed was paramount here – and the former con-artist’s mind was working overtime.

Her inspiration was Zannah. It invariably was. She was – in her own mind at least – one of the most knowledgeable Sith alive when it came to the subject. And she had something none of them had – Bane’s Heart. Even before she found it, she had a connection to it. In those caverns on Kashyyyk, she’d sensed Zannah’s displeasure at the use of her former saber crystal. On Nar Shaddaa, when she’d finally handled the crystal – written off by the experts as tainted and dead due to the work done on it to add it to that ridiculous droid – it had connected with her. It had allowed her to use it to build her saber with it. It…no she had somehow guided her. It was as if the merest slither of Zannah was contained in the crystal. Like a Holocron’s gatekeeper. It spoke to her in dreams occasionally – but she was honestly not sure if this was real, just a dream or her brain using facts and creating an illusion.

In truth it mattered little, her knowledge of Zannah meant she recognised this as true magic, not an illusion.

So when the guard walked back into the room, and that nauseating black sludge trickled from the corner of her mouth and she lunged for Maja, she momentarily froze with debilitating fear but then realised what was required. Except she wasn’t entirely sure.

In every record she’d read, Zannah was successful in her use of true Sith magic. Nobody ever overcame her attacks. There was no page that described how to survive if you were on the receiving end. Perhaps that was on purpose? Keep no records of how to counter such an attack?

Aware her clothes were being grabbed at and torn and those teeth were getting perilously close to her neck, she was doing her best to hold it at bay and knew…deep down, she was missing something.

‘Think.’ It was easy for her to say – one of those throwaway comments that helped not a jot. ‘Its eyes.’ Maja kept wrestling with the creature. It was like prom night all over again. Of course she’d never had a prom night, but the analogy was too good to waste. Her mind replayed the moments the servant came into the room. It was…normal then it’s eyes turned amber and then… ‘OK, it’s eyes turned amber, so what?’ It was like having all the parts to the puzzle but no picture to work from.

Her instinct was to blast it with Lightning, but then the eyes would have been irrelevant. And time was most definitely ticking. Finally desperation took hold. She’d discounted it as an illusion, it would have disappeared by now if it were. And she’d decided against a physical fight. So she played the only card she had in her hand.

She pulled the Force to her and her eyes morphed from their usual amber to a paler shade – yellow and her irises were ringed with crimson. Her only hope – in her mind – was to control it. To either dispel it or end its attack. So she entered its mind. ‘Release your hold on me, I demand it.’

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

Strange.

Typically spotting the flaw in an illusion – mental, magic, or white current – would make the entire thing dissolve. A puff of smoke that never existed, the illusionist would then be forced to work twice as hard to take over an opponent’s mind again now that they knew was happening. But not Maja. Instead the illusion of a dying guard seemed even more intent on ripping her throat out, as if sensing impending doom now that its hopeful victim had found a way to gain the upper hand. (no no no you’ll go down screaming, i’ll take your breath before you can figure out how to stop me, i will ignore your gurgles as you choke on what I leave behind)

The voice that filtered in to Matsu’s head – for the illusion was hers and therefore anything mental bounced right back on her – made the Sith Lady smile. It was one thing to find a way to dispel an illusion’s grip. It was entirely another to attempt to turn it. Only the ability to wield magic could explain such an ability.

Requirement: met.

The guard narrowed her glowing eyes when she heard a voice that didn’t come from the woman’s mouth, a talent that her own master displayed far more often than she liked. It made her sick, that intrusion in the one place that was sacred, nauseous with the thought that she was nothing in front of people to whom not even the metaphysical was a barrier. The working of the muscles in her throat was easily visible, her head jerking forward but instead of ejecting all that nausea she began to melt, her head rupturing out in a rosebloom of tar. Thick, boiling sludge spilled forth on to Maja, sticking to the skin and glittering like wet sugar where it started eating her. Pain – unimaginable, mindblowing pain – accompanied the smell of burning flesh, but the guard wasn’t there to see what her remains had wrought. Only her eyes remained, staring unblinking up from the floor in a little black puddle.

The moment wasn’t a test so much as to see whether her potential apprentice could so much as she would. The Atrisian despised weakness, a repugnant quality to be exploited but never given anything of worth. There were so many that passed through the Sith’s ranks with no particular greatness. They were cogs, a million pieces that drove a great machine, easily forgotten when they fell. Matsu would only take those that showed potential for driving the beast, for taking the reins – for changing the galaxy. She considered the redhead for a moment or two, tapping metallic fingers against her chin before nodding.

“Very well. I’ll take you on.”

[member="Maja Vern"]​

 

[Darth Zilti]

Maja wasn’t sure of the true difference between a simple illusion and Sith magic. But then if she did, she wouldn’t be here, would she? But she knew it wasn’t real and that was a start.

And her response had been instinctive. Admittedly she’d toyed with a few options but she’d declined the more natural replies to the threat and gone with the one that felt most suitable to her. Not to dispel the image, but to control it.

Yet, even as she had made the mental connection with the illusion, she’d felt a presence – not the guards. She could only assume it was the Sith Lord’s. But she also sensed the woman’s thoughts. A genuine nausea, not the fake sludge that had been projected. Maja was unwelcome in her mind – but there was zero pity for her. Those who are victims have no one to blame but themselves. They do not deserve pity. Those who ask for mercy are too weak to deserve it. These were not her words, Zannah had shared them back on Ambria – when Maja had meditated. They stuck in her head and helped dictate her actions. Maja did not see herself as evil – merely strong. And only the strong survive, because only the strong deserve to.

And then Maja sensed the woman’s thoughts ebbing. As if she were disappearing. Too late she brought her attention back to the physical world as the guard began to literally melt in front of her. This was no illusion and the magic was nothing Maja understood. When the woman’s head rupturing out in a rose-bloom of tar, Maja instinctively turned her back on the thick, boiling sludge.

The cloak she wore was gone in an instant. The leather body-suit lasted longer – perhaps a full half-second before it too was eaten away. Maja stood but the viscous liquid was on her back now. Yet it was swirling and moving as it delighted in burning into her flesh. But thoughts of patterns were lost on Maja as the pain was worse than anything she’d ever endured. The tattoo that adorned her face was painful when it was magicked onto her skin, but the pain was momentary, the oblivion of unconsciousness had instantly claimed her. This time it was as if time stood still, the agony indescribable, the smell of burning flesh truly vomit inducing, her head just wished the anguish to stop.

Yet…she was reminded of the words of Bane, handed down to her by her spiritual Master. ‘Those who are strong can ride the storm winds to unfathomable heights.’ Maja would be strong, she would ride the pain, and she would unlock her true potential. She was suffering undeniable torture yet she had never felt more invincible, invulnerable…immortal.

Her clothes on her back lay in tatters. Exposed flesh revealed a burn scar that covered up to a quarter of her back. It was oddly the same shape as the tattoo on her face - an irony or by design? The pain had not subsided but Maja tolerated it. It was a reminder of her first test and a symbol of what she would become.

The Sith Lord spoke. In truth, she may have said something before but Maja’s senses had been consumed by the ordeal. This time, Maja heard the words.

“Very well. I’ll take you on.”

Maja grinned, or at least it was a half-smile, half-grimace. Through gritted teeth, she spoke.. “You embody the power, I crave it. I shall be worthy.”

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

 

[Darth Zilti]

Maja made her way back to her ship. The Sith Lord would call on her when the time was right for training. Until then, she would keep herself busy - and she was very good at that.

Back on board, Maja was in two minds about applying a bacta pack. Part of her wanted to endure the pain until it subsided. The less idiotic half knew it should be treated. So she stripped off and stared at it in the mirror. Only then did she realise exactly what had happened.

The end of the beginning...

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

Spoiler

I forgot to add the image before and thought it was a tidy way to end the thread