Private Into the Dark

[Darth Nefaron]

There he was.

For all the bravado, the promises of power, and the visions of greatness, Veradun was left with nothing.​

The force, light and dark, was not cruel. It had no effect on one’s lot in life aside from how those who took its power, for good or ill. Despite the sins he’d already committed, Veradun was still a child. Tortured, sad, and very much alone. Lesser Sith might pity the boy, so very far from the only remaining family he had left and robbed of those he might have considered idols. But even here, even in this dark pit of despair and suffering, the perfidious light that Darth Nefaron worked so very hard to snuff out still lingered, though it was little more than embers from a fire that had long ago been smothered by endless darkness.

Instead of the lash of the beastmaster, a pair of gentle, callused hands reached out to lift the boy from his misery, all but lifting him to his feat. An older human, perhaps midway through his life, stood as a resolute bastion of safety, keenly aware of the lash of the master who had come to punish the boy for failing to carry out his duty.

“Apologies, Lord Rushu. This slave is young, I will aid him in completing his task."

"The lash awaits him, he-"

"I will work through the night, Master. I will ensure his work is done as well as my own."

The slaver pondered the statement, his cruel mind considering punishing both for the older man's interruption, but in the end, he could deliver a far more painful punishment if the older slave failed to make good on his word."

"Very well. Back to work scum!"

The cry went out and the older human, now moving to pick up the container that Veradun had dropped, revealed himself. His hair was unkempt and grey, and a pair of brown eyes stared into the Nagai's, and his gaunt body set to work feeding the beast in the nearby cage.

"Come on lad, you have to get this done. Stay strong, stay focused."

Perhaps not the kindest thing to say given the boy's situation, but the human had seen so many pass through these halls and fail to meet the beastmaster's demands. He could not allow such a young man to endure more suffering than he already had. They would work, and once the work was done, perhaps the boy could fall apart. But not before, not when the whip was so close and the hand that wielded it was ever ready to inflict more suffering. This was the life he had known for countless years, perhaps even decades. Without the light of day, it was hard to tell how much time was passing outside the fortress walls, but that hardly mattered.

Survival, plain and simple. That he could understand.

In hopes of keeping the boy focused on the present, the man spoke up again even as he continued to carry out his disgusting work.

"I'm Garren. Now you must work, you have to live long enough to tell me your name."

Though morbid, that was a common joke among the slaves. Even here, humor continued to exist in some form despite the efforts of the slave drivers. Perhaps Veradun would soon come to understand what it meant to not know if he would live to see the next day, then he might be far more willing to engage in such dark humor.

"I'll take this row. You take the other side, we will finish up faster that way. Take care of cell 27, the beast in there prefers fresh, warm blood and isn't afraid to take your arm if you get too close."

Tags: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

TAG: Darth Nefaron
​

Veradun expected the biting lash of the whip, and the pain that came with it. He was tense as he braced himself for it, and was startled when gentle but rough textured hands grabbed him and coaxed him back up to stand on his own feet. The boy trembled in the gentle grip, his entire body quivering with the exertion and the raw emotions that ripped through him.

The boy heard a male voice speak to someone, whom the man referred to as ‘Lord Rushu’, and Veradun pieced together that it must have been the name of his newest tormentor. Shakily, the young Nagai wiped his lips on the back of his hand as he tried to pull himself together enough to make sense of his surroundings once more.

The harsh voice of Lord Rushu retorted back to the older man who had come to Veradun’s aid, and the stranger appealed to the taskmaster, and as Veradun continued to listen it dawned on him that his guardian was defending him - even taking on the boy’s work and adding it to his own load. The slaver, Rushu, seemed to ponder the other slave’s statements, before accepting it and barking that they get back to work.

Shame crawled through the boy; his weakness had now doubled the work of another slave. But…he was thankful for the aid, for the willingness of another to shield him. Numbness began to seep through the thin boy as the older slave made his appearance and Veradun was able to get a brief look at the man. Brown eyes met pale, icy blue - still shining with tears - as the man told the boy that he needed to get his work done, and encouraged him to stay strong and focused. Mutely, Veradun nodded, as he turned to carry on the work of feeding the various monsters and beasts held within their cages.

The man introduced himself as Garren, then told Veradun that he needed to work and live long enough to share his own name. There was humor in the words that Garren spoke, a dark sense of humor, and though the boy was feeling numb, he nonetheless appreciated it.

Next, the older slave suggested that Veradun take the other side of the hall of cages, that way they could split up their work and get it done faster. Once again, the boy nodded in silence and obeyed the suggestion without hesitation, keeping in mind the warning about Cell 27. The work was dangerous, and the numbness that had draped itself over the teenage boy allowed him to sharpen his focus and stay more alert.

“You shouldn’t have done that for me.” Veradun finally said, after a long silence, casting a wary glance around to see how close the ‘lord’ Rushu was, before he looked briefly at Garren. “My weakness only brought you more work. You should have just worried about yourself, and let him punish me.” It wasn’t hard to hear the bitterness in the boy’s voice, the regret he had that Garren had gotten involved. He tossed a large chunk of meat into the cage in front of him, and watched with both horror and fascination as the creature within set upon the meal and tore into it ravenously.

Further on down the row he went, staying alert and keeping on his toes. More than once, he had to move away quickly as whatever creature beyond tried to snag him through the bars of their cells. But once he settled into a rhythm, his pace improved greatly. Upon reaching Cell 27, he took care to keep a healthy distance as he dug around for a piece of flesh that appeared more fresh than the other bits and once finding something that seemed suitable enough, made an effort of chucking the piece of meat into the cage while still staying as far away as he could.

After chucking the piece of meat, he moved on to the next Cell, and as he grabbed another meal for the monster within, he caught the gaze of the older slave man. The boy was momentarily taken aback by how similar the man looked to his adopted father.

“I don’t deserve your help…but…thank you.” the boy said softly, his voice nearly devoid of emotion. He stared at Garren for a moment longer, before turning away to carry on with his work, all the while trying not to let his mind sink back into the misery of just how and why he had found himself here, in this place…as nothing more than a slave.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

“Nonsense.”

Whoever the boy was, clearly someone else had already started the process of breaking him down. Garren had seen uncountable numbers of beings pass through the dark halls of this living hell, he had learned very quickly that some who entered the dark pits were already too far gone to be helped. But every once and a while you'd see that one soul who just needed reassurance, a friendly hand to guide him back to the light.

Someone to tell them to keep going.

But down here, in the endless darkness, that was more and more difficult with each passing year. The Master, the term slaves used in place of any other reference to the walking corpse that ruled far above, had been taking in more new slaves with each passing month. Some were assigned to work, others entered the laboratory nestled within the heart of the fortress never to return, at least not sane at any rate. Garren never considered himself a smart man, but even he knew something big was coming and the galaxy would be a worse place for it.

But for now, his charge was the boy. The boy who viewed kindness as a crutch, just like the Master wanted everyone to believe.

As they carried on with their duties, monstrous beasts feasted and the pair had a silence between them. Garren was focused on the work, but he did pause to check on the boy from time to time. It was during one of these pauses that they locked eyes and for a moment Garren swore he felt something stir within his heart, a feeling that was both uncomfortable and reassuring at the same time. It was now that he noticed that boy was not human, or at least only part of him was. It was no matter, countless species roamed the halls, old prejudices were squashed the moment one was banished to work until their last day. All were equal here, unfortunately that meant little aside from the fact they suffered the same torture.

"Well lucky for you, I think you are more than a little deserving of some help. It looks like you've already been through hell lad."

There was a kindness to his voice, not quite jovial but clearly Garren had grown accustomed to the horrors of slavery and had still chosen to be a better person because of it. With a quick glance back down the long hallway, it was clear the beastmaster had wandered off, perhaps in search of a meal to feed his endless appetite or he sought an easier target for his electro-whip. Regardless, Garren finished up his side of the hallway and crossed over to the boy's side to help him finish up.

"Looks like we have a bit of privacy, Rushu is cruel but he is easily distracted. The only thing he loves more than inflicting pain is stuffing his face"

As if to cap off his point, Garren tossed the last bit of putrid meat into one of the cages, a mutant creature that was unknown to the slave ripped and tore into it greedily.

"But I'll tell you how to best avoid his wrath later. What was all that nonsense about being punished for your weakness? I can tell you from experience, no one belongs down here. Hell, I wouldn't even have my worst enemy suffer down here like the rest of us do."

Though that was a bit of a lie, Garren wouldn't mind seeing the Corpse Lord fed to his own creatures.

That seemed fitting.

"Despite everything, you are still alive. While you are alive, there is always a chance for things to get better. But giving up? Accepting punishment? You can't ever give in to that. Apathy is death."

Garren paused, taking a moment to think before letting out a quiet chuckle

"Or something like that. Sorry, I'm no philosopher."

As the boy finished up his last cage, all of the disgusting meat now tossed away, Garren set his crate down and hoped the boy would follow suit.

"Tell you what, why don't you come with me while I finish my duties? If you still feel like you owe me, just help me, and we will call it even. That way I can learn your name."

Though weak and weary, the older man found the energy to offer a smile. Unlike Nefaron, it was a thing of genuine warmth, something so natural that only one who still loved life might mange to conjure up.

TAG: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

TAG: Darth Nefaron

​

Veradun blinked at the older man’s nonsense retort towards his own remarks that the man should have just left him alone. A frown creased the boy’s pale forehead as he returned to his work, unsure of how to truly take the man’s willingness to step in and aid him - or even share in his punishment, had it occurred.

The two worked together in silence for a good bit of time; the boy didn’t offer or attempt any conversation, but he would occasionally feel the gaze of the older man settle upon him from time to time. In one of these moments, the Nagai boy took a moment to catch and lock eyes with Garren, and the man commented that he felt Veradun was more than a little deserving of some help - something that the boy softly scoffed at.

“-It looks like you've already been through hell lad."

Veradun paused momentarily, before he tossed another piece of meat into a cage near to him and thought about everything that had taken place in his life. “A lot has happened recently.” He said quietly. “Someone I …I cared about a lot was killed in front of me. And then I ended up in here…”

The boy noticed the man look down the hallway, and he followed Garren’s gaze to notice that they were alone. The beastmaster was gone, and Garren worked quickly to finish up his side of the hall before he shifted over to Veradun’s side to help him too. This time, however, Veradun did not reject the help or try to push Garren away, and the older slave took the opportunity to speak to the boy.

Veradun smiled slightly at the man’s comments about Rushu; to him, it was good news because it told him that he would have space from the beastmaster from time to time while he remained down in this dark dungeon. It would be good opportunities to talk to others - like what Garren was doing with him now. When the last piece of meat had been given to the beast within the cage beyond, the man told Veradun that he would share with him how best to avoid the taskmaster’s wrath later on, before questioning the boy about his earlier statement about weakness.

"Despite everything, you are still alive. While you are alive, there is always a chance for things to get better. But giving up? Accepting punishment? You can't ever give in to that. Apathy is death. Or something like that. Sorry, I'm no philosopher."

The Nagai boy remained quiet as he simply regarded the older man, allowing his words to turn over in his mind. Of course, this man didn’t know what Veradun was…nor his place or role in Nefaron’s realm. He mused darkly to himself what Garren would say or do if Veradun told him he was the apprentice of the Sith Lord above. That, not that long ago, the boy had murdered a slave himself - slit his throat and watched him bleed to death, then did next to nothing when the dead man’s wife and children were sentenced to the same fate he was now living.

Another stab of guilt and shame pierced through the boy. How was going to help save them now? He was a slave too now, and for who knew how long. Veradun tore his gaze away from Garren and watched as the man set his crate down, and then followed suit.

“I…don’t know if things will get better.” The boy mumbled. “But…I don’t want to give up. If there is a chance that I might get out of here then that is something worth fighting for I suppose. Worth…suffering for.”

Veradun nodded in agreement to tag along with Garren. The man was giving him a chance to repay his kindness, and the boy felt it was an honorable thing to do at least. The older slave’s smile was warm, genuine, and it left the Nagai with mixed feelings - especially as he saw more and more resemblances between this man and his own adopted father. Despite his turmoil within, Veradun returned the slave’s warm smile with a kind one of his own.

“You helped me so I will help you. That seems fair and honorable to me.” the boy replied, taking a step towards Garren as if to follow him to wherever he needed to go next. A bit of life and renewal was beginning to return to the Nagai; he felt a bit of camaraderie with this slave - and he was thankful that the man was kind enough to help share the load.

“...My name is Veradun, by the way. But you can just call me Ver. Everyone else did.”

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"Veradun" the man began, testing the name before adding "Ver. Well alright then."

Being a slave, the suffering of others is something you have to learn to ignore. All suffer in the darkness, but sometimes there is that feeling, the compulsion to step in and do what is right. Garren had seen plenty of death and endless misery, but for whatever reason Veradun had stuck out to him like a bonfire. Garren didn't have children and no one would dare to father a child in the pits that served as the slaves living quarters, but he did feel what could only amount to a fatherly duty to the boy. Seeing someone you cared about killed in front of you was how many slaves ended up where they were, and it appeared Veradun was no different.

"I'm glad you are coming along. Slaves don't survive alone down here for very long. Rushu is the least of your worries, at least he can be distracted long enough for you to get your work done and move on."

Garren began to walk deeper into the darkness that lay beyond the beast pens, the only light being red guiding fixtures that lined the floors. Eventually, these gave way to ancient stone, far older than Nefaron's keep above, and the guiding fixtures turned to torches. Various adjacent chambers splintered off the long hallway, leading to what appeared to be the slave quarters.

"New arrivals have to fit into one of these chambers. More experienced slaves are further down, while darker it is less patrolled, and we are granted a bit more freedom. You'll be staying with me as an... assistant. If anyone questions what you are doing down there, just use my name."

The pair of course did get looks from the fresh slaves, those who were still frightened and hadn't quite adjusted to their bleak futures. As they walked, a patrol was coming down the hallway in front of them and Garren was quick to react. He stood still off to one side and bowed his head, though he made sure to pull Veradun along with him and force his head into a bow.

"Be quiet and don't look at them, they will ignore us."

As promised, the passing Corpse Legionnaires seemed far too wrapped up in conversation to pay any mind to the pair of slaves.

"-the Master has brought in more fresh meat for the mines. Why?"

"It was his command. More raids are coming-"

Their conversation faded as they continued on down the hall, Garren being the first to move and make sure they were actually gone before starting along the path once again.

"Do what you can to avoid them. More and more have been on patrol lately which means something is happening above. I'm sure it's nothing good."

They continued on for some time before they reached a sealed room. Garren approached and was scanned by the door's operating mechanism. The scan was accepted and the security door slid open to reveal a storage room of sorts. Within was a deactivated hovercart and various different hand tools.

"I would appreciate it if you could push the cart for me. We will need it to complete my duties."

Garren moved to remove some kind of weapon from its storage rack before placing the heavy device on the cart. Upon further inspection, it appeared to be some kind of flame projector which was only reinforced further when its accompanying fuel tank was also placed on the cart.

"Body disposal. We have to clear out those who have fallen and..."

Garren trailed off, but it was clear what he was getting at. Cremation of the remains to make room for those who would follow and occupy the fallen slave's place. They were disposable tools after all and there were plenty more to come. Though he had been in the pits for a very long time, Garren did appear mournful about the whole process even after all this time.

"It prevents disease from spreading."

That was how he justified it to himself and it was true to an extent. But the overseers could care less if a few slaves got sick, more would replace them anyway.

"I... I will burn them. I just need your help to get them onto the cart."

TAGS: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

TAG: Darth Nefaron ​

"I'm glad you are coming along. Slaves don't survive alone down here for very long. Rushu is the least of your worries, at least he can be distracted long enough for you to get your work done and move on."

Veradun was quiet as he followed closely behind Garren, not wishing to become lost within the dim shadows that permeated the lower quarters down here. The boy thought over what the man had to say - that slaves didn’t survive long when they were alone, and that the Beastmaster was the least of his worries down here. He took that to heart, and told himself that he would do his best to stick close to Garren from now on.

The further they traversed, the more the terrain changed around them. Veradun noticed that the beast pens gave way to ancient stone that appeared older than the fortress that belonged to the boy’s Master. Torches lit the way for the two of them, and a damp and dank chill began to seep into the boy’s tattered clothing. What had been finer materials, fit for a Sith Apprentice, was not covered in muck and slime, tears and holes. And the boy didn’t imagine he would find any better clothing down here in these parts.

The boy kept up with Garren’s pace, and eventually they came into what appeared to be the slaves quarters, deep within the tunnels.

"New arrivals have to fit into one of these chambers. More experienced slaves are further down, while darker it is less patrolled, and we are granted a bit more freedom. You'll be staying with me as an... assistant. If anyone questions what you are doing down there, just use my name."

The boy slightly jumped at the sudden sound of Garren’s voice; he had been quiet for some time and Veradun hadn’t exactly engaged in conversation, lost as he was in his thoughts. But he was quick to pay attention to what the older slave man said; luckily for the boy, the man was willing to share his space with him, and he told Veradun that if anyone questioned why he was in the further chambers reserved for the more experienced slaves, all the boy had to do was mention Garren’s name and he would be safe.

A subtle sense of humbleness drifted over Veradun; he wasn’t sure why this man felt so inclined to help him, but the boy was thankful nonetheless. Even in this dark chambers, even with his status being reduced to a slave, the boy felt a flicker of hope and life stir within him. Garren gave that to him, and he wanted to repay the man for his incredible kindness to a stranger.

As the pair passed the chambers that housed the newer slaves, the gaunt boy could feel the stares he received. Occasionally, he dared to glance at the new arrivals, and his heart broke to see women and children amongst them. He was sharply reminded of the Rodian woman and her children that he had sentenced to this very fate when he murdered their father.

How could he save them from their existence, now that he was a slave too? He had failed them, let them down.

Sorrow replaced the spark of thankfulness that had begun to bloom within Veradun’s heart, and another surge of bitter resentment rushed through him as he considered how and why he had ended up here. He wanted to hate his new Sith Master…but the truth was, it was Veradun’s fault that he was a slave now. Had he shown more respect that was due instead of giving in to his temper and attitude…then this never would have happened.

At least, that's what the boy told himself anyway.

Garren’s sudden movement pulled the boy from his darker thoughts and he spied a group of Legionnaires approaching from ahead of them. Veradun was smart enough to follow Garren’s example, standing off to the side beside the man the boy obeyed Garren’s advice, keeping his head lowered and his eyes averted as the horrid soldiers ambled past them, too wrapped up in their conversation to notice the two slaves.

However, the topic of their discussion caught the boy’s attention, and he eavesdropped on them as they passed. He was quick to realize that it would be the best way to learn of his Master’s activities while he remained down here. Apparently Nefaron was filling the mines and the slave pits with fresh slaves - and more raids were on the horizon. That didn’t surprise Veradun; from what he had seen, his Master burned through slaves with little regard for that fact. There were always more populations to capture and enslave; who would miss a village’s population disappearing against the backdrop of the galaxy at large?

After the patrol had passed them by, Garren warned the boy to do his best to avoid them, and mentioned that something must have been happening above and whatever it was…it was nothing good.

You have no idea… the boy thought to himself, though he said nothing aloud. He wasn’t about to confess to this kind man that he served the monster who had enslaved him. Veradun didn’t want to lose access to the safety net he had been given.

“Avoid them…got it.” the boy muttered softly. “Shouldn’t be too difficult. They don’t look all that intelligent…”

The two slaves, man and boy, continued onward and deeper into the tunnels until they came before a sealed door. Veradun watched on in silence as Garren was scanned by the door, before it unlocked and opened to admit them beyond. Inside appeared to be some sort of storage room, filled with items and tools the slaves needed in order to complete their work.

"I would appreciate it if you could push the cart for me. We will need it to complete my duties."

Veradun nodded in compliance, watching as Garren removed what appeared to be a weapon of sorts and set it upon the hovercart; it was only then that the boy realized that the weapon was, in fact, a flamethrower.

Why in Bogan’s name did Garren need a flamethrower??

Only a moment later, the boy’s internal ponderings were answered, and in a grim fashion: "Body disposal. We have to clear out those who have fallen and..."

The boy blanched slightly, becoming more pale than he already was as he connected the dots. Of course, it made sense to burn the dead. There was no real way to bury them down here, and having rotting corpses around surely would promote disease to spread amongst the living populations. Garren confirmed that fact a moment later, and the Nagai teen took a deep breath to steady himself.

Of course, he’d seen dead bodies before…he’d killed before. Seeing the dead didn’t bother him; in his opinion they were the fortunate ones, freed from their chains, their suffering. Death was the greatest mercy one could ever be afforded…especially when one was a slave, and freedom from one’s chains was but a dream.

"I... I will burn them. I just need your help to get them onto the cart."

“I can help with that. I…I’ve seen dead bodies before.” Veradun admitted as he looked over at Garren. “I can handle it. Just lead the way. You helped me, therefore it is honorable that I help you.” The boy was quiet for a moment in thought, before speaking up once more.

“Can you tell me what life is like for the slav…us…down here? What can I expect to happen now, day to day?”

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"What can you expect?"

The slave offered a bitter laugh, lacking the proper words to describe just what the life of a slave was like in the pits.

"It's best that I show you."

Hell is Real​

Garren was silent for most of their trip, preferring to let Veradun see the conditions he would now have to endure firsthand. They had to enter an ancient-looking turbo-lift that creaked upon starting its descent. The rust-colored stone that made up the walls slowly gave way until they at last entered the pits properly. The view was akin to one of the great chasms that dotted the surface of worlds such as Coruscant. There seemed to be countless different levels, lit by torchlight and great bonfires, and gangs of slaves worked to expand the ever-growing settlements and extract minerals that were loaded onto great transports destined for the surface. Banners, seemingly made of the flesh of those unlucky enough to fall to one of the Legionaries hang from various platforms, the blasphemous symbol of the Sith and the Dark Side the heraldry of Nefaron's new age.

"Each day, we dig deeper and deeper. I've lost count at about 60 levels, the more slaves that come, the more space is made to accommodate them."

Garren finally spoke up, and this slow turbo-lift was one of the few times he could rest. He leaned against the seemingly flimsy rail that prevented them from tumbling over the edge of the lift to face oblivion. Though they remained distant from most of the slave camps, the sound of cracking whips and the clatter of machinery filled the air. Thousands worked away in the pits, never again to see the light of day unless they were unfortunate enough to join the Corpse Legion.

"We are just one of countless teams who perform body disposal. Some take more pleasure in their work than others. Yet more have taken to using the flesh of others as currency, skin and bone are worth more than you can imagine down here."

The banners notwithstanding, the cloth was hard to come by. To survive the cold, many slaves took to making leather out of the only readily available resource, that being the flesh of those who had fallen. Garren thankfully seemed to abhor this practice, his robes were tattered and filthy, but they established him as a slave of some standing.

Slowly, the lift came to a stop with a loud thud as it locked into place on level 23, though the lift clearly could have kept traveling for far longer in order to reach the deepest level. Garren pushed the cart off the lift and back onto the reddish stone, his gaze drifting to the various huts and rock dwellings that the slaves took as their home. While Garren seemed to be a familiar face, many of the slaves who peaked out of their dwellings watched Veradun with suspicion and hatred, his pale, seemingly flawless skin made him more than an outsider. To the slaves, he was the pale death, the creature that came to snatch them away from their misery. Some might welcome him, but others still clung to what little life they had. The pair came upon a large square, the slave huts surrounding a large structure in the center that seemed to be made of various chunks of whatever they could find. Stone, durasteel, flesh, and bone all had been combined into an effigy of sorts.

It was him.

The Master.

The Corpse Lord.
​

The crude hands of slaves had seemingly managed to capture their master in great detail. His cloaked head, skull-like face, and eyes were hollow and dead. While most cowered from the statute, many more slaves bowed before the structure. Nefaron was a demon to many, yet there are those who would gladly trade away their soul for a bit of power, to ascend from their pits and serve the forces of Darkness.

"The Corpse Lord has his sycophants. Those who survive long enough are taken away to join the Legion. Others remain, servants who report any whispers of uprising or descent. The flesh of those who rebel is added to the effigy. Through our death and suffering, he lives eternal."

Garren didn't add anything else, he simply directed the cart to move around the worshipers and made his way down one of the "streets" that made up the vast slave city. That's when they reached a section of huts that lacked any light, though in the darkness a Corpse Legionaire held his torch and inspected the dwellings before he laid eyes on the pair of approaching slaves. When the Legionary approached, Garren bowed his head and hoped the boy would do the same.

"Late. Make room for the newcomers."

The command was harsh, and for a moment Garren thought the lash in the soldier's hand might unfurl, but it remained tucked away as the Legionary brushed past the slaves and went about his business.

"Alright, we need to check each hut and drag the dead out here. A word of advice, you can't hold your breath forever, so you'll have to get used to the stench."

While he had no doubt Veradun had seen death before, the stench of it was something entirely different. The older man made his way to the first hut, two stones in his hand. In an act he had performed countless times before, he used the two stones to create sparks, sparks that then lit the torches that hung outside many of the huts.

"Just drag them out the front door. That will be far enough."

TAGS: Veradun Sharr​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron​

Quietly, Veradun followed Garren wherever the older man guided the boy, icy eyes taking in every sight and sharp ears taking in every sound.

The turbolift looked precarious and dangerous and on the verge of failure, and yet Garren seemed almost at ease within the moving structure. As they moved ever onward, the boy was able to see just what all his Master’s slaves had accomplished. Awe filled the boy’s face as he beheld great settlements, built by slave hands in order to house the ever growing numbers that served the Dark Lord of Anoat. A chill also flashed over the boy’s skin; he was going to be adding his sweat and blood and tears to this as well.

There was a brief tug of war within the boy - a tug between indignation (he was a Sith apprentice for Force’s sake, he deserved better than this!) and self-pity (he was lucky his Master hadn’t outright killed him).

Veradun spied what appeared to be banners adorning various platforms, and when he was able to get a closer look at one that was near to the lift, he realized that it was made from sewn pieces of leather, of skin.

"Each day, we dig deeper and deeper. I've lost count at about 60 levels, the more slaves that come, the more space is made to accommodate them." Garren said, pulling Veradun’s attention away from the grisly sight of the skin banners marked with the symbol that Veradun knew all too well himself.

"We are just one of countless teams who perform body disposal. Some take more pleasure in their work than others. Yet more have taken to using the flesh of others as currency, skin and bone are worth more than you can imagine down here." the man continued as he leaned against the rickety rail, seeming to take a moment to relax before their work would continue. The Nagai boy reflected on what the man said and the disturbing implications of it. It amazed the boy just how quickly living beings could descend to the depths of depravity and cruelty when hope was lost, or given no other choice than to embrace their inner savagery.

“Will I have to use or acquire such things too? The skin and bone for currency, that is?” Veradun asked Garren, a frown on his pale and gaunt face. “What all can you…buy or exchange with such items?” Though the questions were disturbing, it was clear that the boy was curious about such things.

Eventually the lift came to a stop and Garren pushed the cart off the lift and his young tag-along followed suit; the boy cast his gaze around him, taking in the sights of the ramshackled huts and dwelling places that the slaves had erected to exist in. Pale eyes spied faces peeking out to stare at him, and he noticed the expressions of suspicion, mistrust, even hatred.

He didn’t blame them in the slightest for such things directed towards him. He was a stranger here, untouched by filth like the rest of them were. He stood out amongst them all - clad in his dark and somewhat fine clothes with skin as pale as a living corpse. Veradun knew, grimly, that he would be subjected to attacks, to being shunned, cast away completely.

Garren may just be the only friend he ever made in these hellish depths.

Veradun tore his gaze away from the glaring and suspicious faces of the other slaves to refocus on the older man, following him as Garren led them through the Level until they came upon a large square - and in the center was a sight that drew the boy’s sole attention and caused his jaw to drop open in horrified disgust and awe.

It was a statue, no…an idol…of his Sith Master - the Corpse Lord.

And there were some slaves on their knees worshipping the image. Praying to it, to him.

Veradun sneered; he knew the truth. Nefaron didn’t give a bantha chit about this fools. He would never hear their prayers; it was all a wasted effort.

"The Corpse Lord has his sycophants. Those who survive long enough are taken away to join the Legion. Others remain, servants who report any whispers of uprising or descent. The flesh of those who rebel is added to the effigy. Through our death and suffering, he lives eternal." Garren said to the boy, and the older man’s words made pale eyes narrow in thought.

…did his Master have a way of siphoning the life from these wretched souls into himself to perpetuate his existence? Was it something that Veradun could learn to do himself one day??

They passed by the effigy and its worshippers and entered a sort of street that guided them to a section of huts that were dark and seemingly lifeless - the only source of light coming from a torch that was left aloft by what appeared to be a Corpse Legionnaire ahead of Garren and Veradun. Upon seeing the soldier approach, the grizzled old slave bowed his head. Veradun noticed this and was quick to follow suit, dipping his chin slightly - though he felt a spark of deep resentment for doing so.

The Nagai was quickly learning that he absolutely despised showing subservience to anyone. Especially to these corpse soldiers.

The Legionnaire barked orders at the two of them, then moved on to attend to other duties. The boy’s icy eyes followed the passing soldier scathingly, before he turned his attention back to Garren as the man told the boy what needed to be done next - and a word of advice for the boy on how to handle the stench of the dead.

“I was an orphan on the streets of Tund as a child; the stench of rotting bodies is nothing new to me.” the boy said bluntly to the older man.

"Just drag them out the front door. That will be far enough."

Veradun stepped inside the first hut once Garren had lit the first torch, and followed his nose to find the first of what would end up being many corpses he would drag to the street for Garren to collect. The pale boy was quiet as he did his work, his mind reflective on the truth of life and death, and the cold harsh reality of what he was now living through.

He was just barely over the age of fourteen standard years…and here he was pulling the bodies of men, women, and children out to a street to be burned like refuse and trash. It was soul crushing, and as he went into each hut, a small bit of Veradun’s heart hardened and withered within.

Seeing the extent of his Master’s domain, the vastness of the slave city around him, made the boy realize just how futile his late High Priest’s work truly was. It pained the boy to see such suffering on such a massive scale…and as he worked in his silence, he wondered if there was a way, a small way, that he could help these poor souls here.

But was there a point to it? As much as he felt the desire, the need, to help - the boy knew that any effort he put forth to help those around him would be in vain. Another would just replace those who had died, and the suffering would continue.

That was when the truth revealed itself plainly to Veradun: The only way he could truly help these souls, was if he usurped power and control from the one who caused their pain and suffering. And Veradun knew he was no match for the might of Darth Nefaron. Not right now, anyway. But one day…perhaps he would be powerful enough to wrestle this kingdom away from the cold and cruel hands of his Master.

As Veradun dragged yet another body out to the street, he made a solemn and silent vow to himself that he would live through this trial, and he would prove his worth to his cruel and twisted Master.

He would become whatever the Dark Lord desired him to be, and he would do everything the Dark Lord told him to do.

It would be the only way for Veradun to become powerful enough to one day kill the Corpse Lord. And that was all that mattered now to the boy. For all those who suffered, and were yet to suffer, he had to do this.

Even if it meant sacrificing and damning himself in the process.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Garren had been watching.

The work was grueling. A lesser psyche would have collapsed seeing such needless death.

Veradun was calm.

How was he so calm?
​

It had taken Garren nearly half a decade to adjust to life in the pits, and yet the boy seemed all too willing to carry out the work they had been tasked with. Sure, the boy did admit he had seen death before, but like this? Bodies gaunt from starvation and disease? Corpses showing signs of cannibalism and the removal of flesh to serve as currency?

The boy needed help. Garren could provide stability in the pits, but whatever was going on in Veradun's head would need years to fix, if that was even possible. Garren had never been to Tund, so he could not speak for conditions there, but he could only assume the rest of the Sith's rotting Empire looked much the same as Anoat, a thought that shook him to his very core. Was this the fate of the entire galaxy? Were there any free worlds still holding out, resisting the terrible beast that came to consume them?

He held onto hope. It's all he had.

The device in his hand spewed flame, igniting the piles of corpses Veradun created as they moved from hut to hut. Soon, the entire district began to glow as flesh sizzled. The smell was sickening, but even now the vultures came to pick at the scrap. Half-crazed slaves gathered, watching the pair in hopes they would soon move on and they may taste cooked flesh. Others readied crude surgical instruments, they would take payment from the dead to fuel the endless economy of this bleak underworld. But they made no moves, they simply watched on and waited for the pair to finish their work. This place was no simple slave-camp, it was actively twisting those who continued to live into monsters. Maybe that's what the Corpse Lord wanted all along, to make everyone as horrid and corrupted as himself. Maybe he just enjoyed the suffering.

Garren exhaled forcefully as he took a moment to rest on the hovercart they had brought along. Normally, Garren moved the corpses elsewhere to dispose of the corpses away from populated spaces, but this entire block seemed to be dead so there was no point in hiding the removal from those who remained, for all that was left was the whispers of the dead.

"We can take a break. We've cleared most of this section, I'm not used to moving this quickly."

Garren couldn't even bring himself to try and inject humor into the statement. For all his efforts, he was just as monstrous as the rest of those who lived in the pits. These people had families, and they would never know that their loved ones now existed as little more than ash on a damned world.

"Promise me one thing, Veradun. No matter how hard things get, become like them."

The slave directed the boy's attention to the gathering of scavengers watching from the shadows.

"Death is the only escape from this place. Let the dead rest. The trade of flesh and bone makes you no better than the Corpse Soldiers, any benefits they bring aren't worth damning yourself."

Crude weapons. New clothing. Less working hours. All could be bought with pristine flesh, but Garren could not find it in his heart to give in and desecrate others like that. He knew full well that he would not get the same treatment when he inevitably died in the dark, but at the very least his soul could rest easy. He was not certain there was an afterlife, but the peace of death would be reward enough for surviving this place. He hoped he could live long enough to give Veradun a better chance at survival, perhaps it was destiny that they had met. He could not save the boy from this place, but he could give him the tools he needed to survive.

With a breath, Garren stood and readied himself.

"We're almost done. Just a little more then we can rest for the day."

​

The pair finished their work and returned their equipment once more before taking it to the unstable elevator. As Garren said, his quarters were a bit lower than the others, but that darkness provided some sanctuary. Once the elevator settled, the older slave stepped off first and took one of the lit torches from its post, and moved forward. While the conditions were still horrid, it did seem as if the huts were of a higher quality than the ones previously seen. Thankfully for the old slaves' sake, the idol of the Corpse Lord was not present on this level, as most of the slaves here had mostly clung to their sanity.

"Come, my quarters are tucked away. The guards mostly ignore me back here, aside from the food shipments."

Calling it food was a stretch, usually, it was low-quality rations that the most down-on-there-luck smuggler wouldn't eat. But it was better than what the new arrivals got, so that was something.

Garren found his way to a hut that was indeed tucked away within a cavern of the rock wall. He was careful to hang up his torch before entering, revealing little more than a few personal possessions and a tattered cloth for a bed.

"You won't freeze at least, the machinery deeper in the pits runs at all times, and all that heat has to rise toward the surface."

Garren sat on the ground, his head leaning back against the hut wall as he managed to relax.

"Have a seat, my boy, it's not comfortable but it's better than being on your feet."

The older slave looked at Veradun, his eyes that of a grandfather who would never be. It was clear he was considering something, but it took him a moment to finally speak again.

"You told me you grew up on Tund. What's it like?"

TAGS: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron​

Veradun worked quietly, though a bit quickly. He was used to physical labor, and frankly many of the corpses he had to move were little more than starved husks, weighing a fraction of what they might have been otherwise. He didn’t talk at all throughout the gruelling, sickening work - and though he might have seemed calm on the outside, the boy was simply numbing himself to the sights that greeted him. It was all he could do so as not to just stand there and utterly stare at the sickening sights all around him.

It partially reminded him of his childhood on Tund, though this was certainly more horrific, in its own ways.

Soon, the piles of bodies were burning, the scent of cooking meat filling the air. Through his work, the boy noticed others had come to watch from the shadows, waiting it seemed for Veradun and Garren to move on. Occasionally, the boy would stop and turn his piercing, grave-cold eyes upon the awaiting scavengers, standing over the bodies as if he himself had been the one to claim their lives. Then, he would return to the task at hand, seemingly unbothered.

Some time into their work, Garren paused to take a break, suggesting to his young helper that he should take one as well, and Veradun complied without complaint. The scent of death clung to the boy now, his dark and dirty robes seeping with the scent of the dead, of ash and soot.

After a few moments of silence, the older slave spoke to the boy, and Veradun’s pale blue eyes slid over to the older man as he listened to Garren beseech the boy not to turn out like the others. The Nagai pondered the man’s words, even as he once more regarded the scavengers beyond and around them. Of course, Garren had no idea who or what Veradun truly was.

Well, that was if his Master ever chose to elevate him again. He could now be nothing more than what Garren and the rest of these wretched souls were: slaves.

“I…will remain strong, even if things get hard.” The boy said, choosing his words carefully. “As strong as I can, anyway.”

"Death is the only escape from this place. Let the dead rest. The trade of flesh and bone makes you no better than the Corpse Soldiers, any benefits they bring aren't worth damning yourself."

But I am already damned.

A sudden flash of guilt stabbed through the boy and he turned his face away from Garren for a moment to stare at a flickering and smoldering pile of still burning bodies some distance away. Here this man was going out of his way to help Veradun, who seemed to believe that there was hope, goodness, left in the boy.

I have to let him believe that, for now. I need him to survive this place. If he learned about my connections to Nefaron then…I could lose the only safety net I have down here.

“If it makes you feel any better, I have no intention of taking skin and bones to use for anything. So long as you’re here to help me through this…then maybe I’ll be okay.”

After their brief moment to catch their breaths, Garren rallied the boy back to work, and together they finished off their task of body disposal. By this point, the Nagai boy was tired and a bit sore from the constant movements; his feet ached from having to traverse the varied and uneven terrain, and he felt a strange mixture of both nausea and hunger clawing at his belly. Despite all this, the boy remained as silent as he had been, simply following Garren wherever he was led to next.

Once the equipment had been returned to its rightful place, Garren brought the boy back to the level he resided on, and while it wasn’t anything good by any stretch of the means, it was better than a lot of other places Veradun had seen already. Garren’s hut, and now Veradun’s as well, was tucked away in the back of a shallow cavern, away from the majority of the others. Once within, the boy looked around to take in the sights that greeted him and once again, he was briefly reminded of his time living on Tund.

"You won't freeze at least, the machinery deeper in the pits runs at all times, and all that heat has to rise toward the surface."

“I…appreciate you being so willing to help me, and share your space with me. I know it is certainly not something you needed to do.” Veradun replied in a low and somewhat tired voice. For a moment, the boy appeared older than he actually was, the innocence of youth robbed by the horrors of what he had endured in his life thus far - especially more recently.

"Have a seat, my boy, it's not comfortable but it's better than being on your feet."

Cautiously, the boy removed the black outer robe he’d been wearing; it once had been a fine thing, but now it was dirty and tattered and smelled of old death. He looked around himself for a moment, before finding a place within the small hut to lay it out, a barrier between him and the ground. Now all he wore was a tunic and trousers and his boots - all he had left to him, really.

Once he’d done this, the boy settled down to finally sit and get off his sore feet, exhaling heavily as he did so. It was only after he had sat down that he realized just how weary he actually was. It wasn’t just physical tiredness either, but emotional and mental and spiritual exhaustion. And Veradun knew that it was only going to get worse.

For a long few moments, the two slaves shared only silence between them, though Garren appeared as if he had something he wanted to say, but seemed to be hesitating on speaking his mind. Eventually, however, the curiosity got the better of him, and he broke the silence.

"You told me you grew up on Tund. What's it like?"

The pale and gaunt boy with his disheveled black hair was silent for a little while, before he finally chose to answer the inquiry.

“I was an orphan there, from as early as I can remember. It was a city, scarred by past wars, impoverished, suffering. Us street urchins…we had to do whatever we could to survive. Most of us formed bands or gangs, fought over the best spots in the city - mostly in the Market District and the Slums. The rest of us benefited from the fights…anyone who died was…left to rot by the powers that be, and many of us took advantage of that. You could get better clothes that way. Some…some ate the fresh dead, and there was a sort of ritual…where if you invaded another gang’s territory and killed their ‘king’, the victor ate the loser’s heart. It was…a desperate place, and no one really cared about us.”

Veradun fell silent for a while longer, his gaze distant before he turned them back to Garren. “That’s what I remember of the place, anyway.”

 

[Darth Nefaron]

"Then I'm afraid this place isn't much of an improvement."

It might have been a joke if not for the fact neither of them was laughing. Garren shook his head, leaning against the cold stone as he folded his hands behind his head to provide some comfort.

"I'm truly sorry, Veradun. No child should have to endure such a thing."

Garren was utterly and truly pitying the boy. He had lived outside this pit for at least part of his life, and he knew what it was like to have some hope of a future, to have dreams of a better tomorrow. From the sound of things, the boy had never been given that opportunity before he was dragged away to serve in the black hell that they found themselves in. Perhaps all they had left were stories of a time when they could at least see the sky when they could breathe fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun on their skin.

"I'm from Serenno. My family wasn't a part of the nobility, but we made ourselves a life as traders in the outlying systems—clean skies, vast forests, and a bright sun that never failed to warm the soul. I might still be there if I hadn't tried to deliver cargo so close to Sith space. One day I was captain of a modest vessel, the next I am huddled into a slave market on a damned world. I've been here since then, but I cannot tell you how long I have spent down here."

It was only fair he provided something, but Garren found it too painful to reminisce on his life before becoming a slave. His parents must surely be dead by now, but perhaps there was hope his brother still lived, his nieces and nephews all grown and living a life of peace and joy. That's all he had left, that single thought.

They couldn't steal that from him.

"It's about time we got some rest. They deliver rations to this level in a few hours, and we need to be awake and quick if we want to get our share. It's hard to determine the time down here, so get as much rest as you can whenever you can. But never be late for your duties, or it's the lash."

Garren thought a moment, but ultimately he had already made up his mind. He took the blanket that had been his for all these years and passed it to the new arrival. It wasn't to retain heat, but the ground certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep on without something to at least cover the stone.

"Trust me, you never adjust to the stones jabbing your back and side. Just don't shift too much while you sleep."

They couldn't escape even while they slept.

There was only pain. Only fear.
​

They rose. They ate. They worked.

Work.

Sleep.

Work.

Sleep.

The endless cycle.

Garren set to his task, as Veradun was set to his.

Countless slaves came and went. Countless bodies were burned.

But Garren and Veradun survived. They always survived.

Month after Month.

Veradun was losing weight. Garren could see it.

But there was something else about the boy. Darkness in his eyes.

Veradun scared him. The boy was fading away and becoming something else.

Something worse.​

​

"It's... its been so long. I thought he had forgotten."

Garren was silent for a long moment before he elaborated on the great commotion.

"The Corpse Lord is coming. He has ordered an assembly in the ritual chamber, all who can stand must come."

The elder slave was quick to drop his container of meat, waiting for Veradun to do the same.

"Quickly. Whatever this is can't be good. The last time this happened he ordered a decimation, every tenth slave was to be killed by his peers to make room for more skilled workers coming in."

Garren grew silent again as they started to move.

He had done it. He had killed the man next to him.

It was the only way.

TAG: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron ​

Veradun scoffed softly, humorlessly, at the old man’s comments about the place not being much of an improvement, before telling the boy he was sorry for what the boy had endured in his life. The boy felt a stab of bitterness, a flicker of resentment towards Garren for the pity.

“No, this place is worse. I’ll take the slums of Tund over this any day.” the young teen rumbled darkly.

Next, Garren shared a bit of his story with the boy - an attempt to find some common ground, perhaps. The boy had shared some of his dark past with the man, now it was the old slave’s turn. Veradun listened silently, hardly looking at the man as he told his story, but the boy did hear every bit of it.

How sad - that Garren had been ripped from his family. His story was like so many who were freed by the Order of Wonosa, by Veradun’s now dead High Priest. Another stab of bitterness flashed through the boy; as far as he was aware, only Darth Strosius had truly cared about the plight of the galaxy’s slaves. And now…they had no one, no champion to save them.

“I…I was working with a group that rescued slaves in the Outer Rim, before I was captured myself.” Veradun suddenly admitted against his better judgment, though he twisted the story to hide the true nature of just how he had ended up in this horrific place. “How ironic, that I ended up a slave myself in the end…”

Eventually, both boy and old man would try to find a way to rest their weary bodies, getting some much needed rest before the food ration delivery. Garren had insisted upon giving the young Nagai his only blanket, and silent guilt consumed Veradun as he tried to find a comfortable place to curl up. Despite this and all that he had endured and seen and suffered, the boy was quick to fall asleep - exhaustion pulling him under its dark waves, though his rest was far from restful.

Unbeknownst to him his first night of rest as a slave, would be the best night of sleep he would receive while in the pits.

For after that moment, the darkness of Veradun’s mind would slowly start to consume him…

​

Day after day, Veradun’s life became a monotonous cycle of working, eating (barely), and sleeping (hardly) - and getting up again to do it all over again. Over the next couple of weeks, the boy settled into a rhythm with Garren, both setting about their tasks and getting them done as efficiently as possible. But as time wore on within the pits, the more fragile and fractured the young Nagai became, his psyche coming under attack day in and day out as he slaved away at his duties, learning how to function and live as a slave of his Master.

It was in these depths of his own personal hell, that the Darkness began to truly seep in and morph the young man. The spread of its corruption was slow and hardly noticeable, like a silent cancer - but it eventually began to manifest itself in the boy in more noticeable ways.

Weeks into his new existence, Veradun began to feel the dark urges that had always lurked in the back of his mind start to take more center stage within his pyche and thoughts. Every time he saw a starved and weakened slave, he would feel the need to relieve them of their pain and suffering. To surrender to that dark desire of his to kill. Veradun resisted it, at first. But the longer he remained in the pits, the less he found himself able to fight back.

And then one night - or day, perhaps, time was nigh impossible to tell in the dungeons below Anoat - Veradun cracked and gave in to those darker urges of his. He left Garren’s hut while the older slave slept and kept to himself as much as he could, making himself as innocuous and unassuming as he could within the horrid slave-city.

And then the pale and gaunt Nagai went on the hunt - his prey being those who were at death’s door already: men, women, and children of various ages and races. Perhaps in a dark and twisted sense of mercy, Veradun targeted the young that his Sith Master had forced into a life slavery.

They would never know what struck them, their fragile necks broken within the grip of the Force, and Veradun moved on like a grim specter of death. Those who were close to dying, who saw him coming, would only know him as the Pale Death - the last sight they would see before he sent their souls into the awaiting arms of eternity. And with each killing he committed, the more his humanity chipped away - replaced by something cold and predatory, cruel and devoid of kindness or care.

Soon, the amount of bodies that needed to be burned would grow, and Garren would notice the increase of dead youth, alongside those who had been too weak to carry on.

And as the months came and went, Veradun would grow more cold and distant, more gaunt and thin as he slowly starved as well. But he honored the older man’s pleas: not once did the boy stoop to consume the flesh of the dead, nor did he take bones or skin to trade. In that aspect, he at least kept a shred of his humanity, though it was lost in other ways.

Veradun didn’t become a half-crazed or insane slave - he became something else entirely, something worse, perhaps.

​

Word that the Corpse Lord was making an appearance spread through the slave ranks like wildfire, igniting fear and trepidation and anticipation as it went. Garren and Veradun were working together, feeding the Sithspawn together as was part of their day to day tasks, when the older slave man announced the news to the pale and skinny teenager that worked alongside him in silence.

Veradun paused momentarily in his task, his heart suddenly racing in his chest as pure fear flooded every fiber of his being. His already pale countenance turned even more pale, and near panic flooded his pale blue eyes.

Garren dropped the bucket of meat as he told the boy they needed to hurry and make their way towards the ritual chamber, and the Nagai set his own tray of meat down before stepping alongside Garren to follow the man to wherever they needed to go, digesting the rather grim tale the other man told him about the last time Darth Nefaron had visited his slaves.

Veradun wondered quietly to himself if it would be the same for this visitation as well.

“Well then…let us hope we are not the tenth individuals amongst the others.” the boy murmured, his voice devoid of warmth or even kindness - though his fear would be evident to the other man, despite his efforts to keep that fear buried deep.

The young teen knew one thing for certain however, any visitation from the Dark Lord was not a good thing.

Something bad was going to happen, the boy could feel it in his very bones.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Garren, and the rest of the vast hoard of slaves, flowed into the great amphitheater. The stone walls had been intricately carved to reflect various moments in Sith history, from the original split that led the Jedi and Sith into endless conflict all the way through to the modern day, to an Empire dominated by bickering, mistrust, and a lack of vision. Most slaves knew nothing of this history, all they knew was that the raised platform that they were all forced to gather before a great platform. Thousands packed together, forced to endure the limited air and the stench of countless species that remained unwashed and drenched in sweat from their work.

To his credit, Garren kept a firm grip on one of Veraduns shoulders so they did not separate. Though fearful as any of the beings occupying the chamber, he managed to stay calm and keep his gaze fixed on the platform. Around, fear and desperation grew as the slaves considered what awaited them.

Would the Corpse Lord order a decimation?

Were they all to be slaughtered for the foul Sith's enjoyment?​

All were silenced by a final blast of the horn that had brought them here. The Corpse Legionaries lined the amphitheater, cruel whips and clubs driving the slaves together as they awaited the master. When at last the air grew to a chill, when the Legionaries knelt before the coming of the Dark Lord, only then did Garren show genuine fear as he forced Veradun to the ground, falling to his knees as the other slaves began to do as a black-cloaked being strode to the center of the platform, overlooking those unfortunate enough to serve him.


For a long moment, Darth Nefaron was quiet. He observed the crowd, his dead eyes scanning countless beings before he began to speak.

"For ten thousand years, the Sith have been driven by a single goal, one unshakable doctrine that each Sith has committed to regardless of their personal ambition-"

He paused once more, taking a step toward the crowd.

"-to bring ruin to those who oppose us. Their worlds, livelihoods, families, and all these things belong to the Sith, and we shall do as we please with them."

Most of the slaves knew little of the Sith outside what they picked up from historical texts and the odd holoshow they watched before becoming slaves. To them, this seemed a lesson, but for who? Why did they need to know this?

"It has come to my attention that there is one among you, one being who defies my rightful claim to your lives, that has brought merciful death to those who suffer. To this slave I say this; congratulations-"

Now this was truly baffling. He seemed angry at first, but now he was offering congratulations to a slave. A slave that defied him?

Garren looked worried. More so than usual.

"I have been moved by the exploits of this slave. Since I doubt this being will step forward willingly, I shall offer all of you a chance to rise, to leave this pit, and once more feel the sun on your skin. From this day forth, a grand arena shall be opened, all may fight until we find our champion. But I tell you this, only one of you may gain this honor. The rest will continue as you are, servants to my will to be used as I see fit."

Hope and despair mixed together. Newer, fresher slaves saw their opportunity to escape this fresh hell and they thought themselves strong and healthy, especially looking at the slaves who had already languished in the pits for years.

Others hung their heads. They were old, tired, or simply drained of the desire to regain their old lives once more. They were already dead, all fight having left their eyes.

"This is a trick. No one has ever left this pit alive, regardless of what they do."

Garren spoke up at last, rising as the Corpse Lord strode away from the platform and disappeared from sight.

"He has a far worse fate planned for whoever wins his little tournament. Don't be fooled by his little speech Veradun, he doesn't intend to let any of us escape his service."

Something took hold of Veradun then as if a serpent had slid into his mind and began to speak.

"Oh, but I have such grand plans for you, my Apprentice. Even weak and starving, I see in you a dark fire. You seek to return to my side, I offer you a path. Enter the arena. Fight. Slaughter. Then you shall be once more elevated to what you were meant to be."

The serpent left then, leaving the boy with a choice. Would he cling to the last bits of his honor and slave away with Garren?

Or would he realize his destiny and become the monster he needed to be?

TAGS: Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron​

The raw emotion that flooded the amphitheater was almost enough to choke Veradun through the energies of the Force; it was so thick, so clouded, that he felt like he was swimming in it. It took nearly all of his strength just to stay composed while with Garren and the other slaves; he hadn’t revealed his Force sensitivity to the old man who had become almost like a father to the boy - and he wasn’t about to have his secret exposed just yet.

Still, the thin and starving boy’s jaw was clenched tight as he fought off the raw need to drink from the negative emotions that practically sang to him.

Steadily, the number of slaves filling the cavern mounted higher and higher until there was hardly enough space to move or breathe, and that was when the Corpse Legionnaires arrived with the blast of a horn - the heralds for the arrival of the Dark Lord himself.

Veradun felt the presence of his Master, long before he saw him. The deep and impossibly dark aura dropped the temperature of the cavern, enough so that even those not sensitive to the currents of the Force could feel its chill. The boy’s heart began to thunder and race within his chest, for he truly wondered just what would happen next. It had been months since he’d last seen his Master; had the Sith Lord forgotten about him? Had he found a replacement for the boy? The Nagai had a feeling that his questions would have their answers in short order as the dark presence against his mind grew steadily stronger.

When the Legionnaires knelt down, the slaves knew to do the same - an all dropped down in a show of subservience that made the boy’s stomach twist. Garren added pressure to the boy’s shoulder, and though Veradun wanted to resist, he knew better and so he dropped to one knee as well, dipping his head to hide his face as Darth Nefaron made his appearance upon the platform above the masses.

Silence reigned, and then the boy heard his Master speak for the first time in months. He listened carefully, intently, just in case there was anything embedded within the Dark Lord’s speech that was meant for him.

Nefaron started off with a tale of Sith supremacy, and how they had sought the same thing for thousands of years: the complete destruction of all who would oppose them. That everything within the galaxy belonged to the Sith, and to them alone. At first, Veradun questioned the reason for the lesson they all were receiving…but when the Dark Lord continued, it became quickly apparent on why Nefaron had come to visit them all.

Veradun felt his face drain of any blood as his Sith Master practically called him out on his actions taken against the weak and the dying. He expected something horrific to happen next, especially as his defiance was called out. But instead…Nefaron congratulated the boy. Veradun barely lifted his head as wary and icy blue eyes flickered to the dark figure above and beyond him. Beside him, he could practically feel the waves of genuine fear radiating off of Garren.

"I have been moved by the exploits of this slave. Since I doubt this being will step forward willingly, I shall offer all of you a chance to rise, to leave this pit, and once more feel the sun on your skin. From this day forth, a grand arena shall be opened, all may fight until we find our champion. But I tell you this, only one of you may gain this honor. The rest will continue as you are, servants to my will to be used as I see fit."

It was difficult for the boy to not rise instantly to his feet and claim responsibility for his actions - just to defy his Master’s expectations, but he remained where he was for the time being. All around him, he could feel a fresh wave of emotions fill the energies around him - hope and fear, desperation and dismay. Many seemed to almost take courage from the announcement, emboldened to perhaps participate in whatever game his Master wished to play.

When the Sith Lord turned and disappeared, Garren rose to his feet and Veradun did the same.

"He has a far worse fate planned for whoever wins his little tournament. Don't be fooled by his little speech Veradun, he doesn't intend to let any of us escape his service."

Before Veradun could respond, however, he felt almost seized and a dark and powerful presence assaulted his mind. At first, the boy resisted and tried to push back but then he recognized the presence of his Master and he dropped his guard to avoid any further retaliation or punishment.

Into his mind slithered the thoughts from the Dark Lord: -Oh, but I have such grand plans for you, my Apprentice. Even weak and starving, I see in you a dark fire. You seek to return to my side, I offer you a path. Enter the arena. Fight. Slaughter. Then you shall be once more elevated to what you were meant to be.-

The pale and skinny boy almost shouted with dark glee; his Master hadn’t forgotten about him! The intruding thoughts also confirmed to Veradun that the speech, and the upcoming fighting arena, had been for him. Here he was being given his chance to finally return to Nefaron’s side, and reclaim his rightful title as the Dark Lord’s Apprentice.

He could leave this wretched life of enslavement behind; all he would have to do is kill anyone who stood in his way.

A faint but wicked grin flashed over the boy’s face, and his pale eyes glimmered viciously as he responded to the dark voice in his mind. All I need is the chance, Master, to return to your side - where I belong.

Veradun shifted his gaze to Garren, schooling his expression to appear nervous and uncertain. “Trick or not, Garren…I don’t think we have much of a choice in the matter.” he muttered, falling into an uneasy silence before saying further: “...But I think I will fight. What is the worst that could happen - I die?” the boy scoffed softly. “I have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

And judging from the hopeful expressions of many of those around him, others felt the same about their odds too.

Good, the young Nagai thought to himself; At least I will have some fun. Killing those who are unable to defend themselves against me gets boring after a while…

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Nefaron said nothing in return.

Garren had plenty to say.
​

Or at least he had plenty he wanted to say. But the elder slave was no fool, he had been young once and he knew that the fire Veradun held within him would overwhelm any desperate plea's Garren made to the contrary. In truth, this was a long time coming; Veradun had not always slipped out unnoticed by his guardian, and though he attempted to ignore the spree killings of weak and dying slaves, he found it impossible to ignore the truth.

Veradun was different. He was no normal boy, and it was becoming increasingly obvious he was no ordinary slave. But that didn't mean he wasn't acting like all the others who had come before, all those who gave into the darkness that lurked within the Corpse Lord's slave pits. Like Garren, Veradun would die down here, for killing dying slaves was one thing, to battle Nefaron's abominations was another thing entirely. The old man's final hope was that he might be able to save the thing that was most precious to him.

"You're wrong, Veradun. You do still have something to lose."

The elder slave placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, his tired, sad eyes locking with his would-be son in hopes of finding some path to redemption, to at least see the boy die with some dignity instead of being ripped apart for the Corpse Lord's enjoyment.

"Your soul, Veradun. Even if you do win, that monster has a far darker fate planned for you. You'll never stop being his slave."

Garren's attempts to appeal to the boy were in vain. He saw nothing but cold fire and ambition in Veradun's eyes, and he knew that he was already lost. Nothing he could say would bring him back to the light, for that was a journey only Veradun could choose to attempt; he could not be forced into it.

"I will not watch you die. I will be waiting at our home should you come to your senses. I hope that you make the right choice."

Yes, their home was little more than a dwelling carved into a cave wall. But at least there they could speak freely, speak of their hopes and dreams and mourn together. Garren had forgotten how much he missed that. But he feared that he was to return to isolation once more, and the boy he had toiled alongside for so many months would be added to the idols of the Corpse Lord.

Garren was so tired.

He just wanted this to end.

But he would wait. He would wait for Veradun.
​

Garren said nothing more. He simply sighed and began the long trek back to their dwelling. Leaving the boy alone in the amphitheater dedicated to his master's power.

​

The arena was a vast thing. Separated from the deep slave pit by a long tunnel, it was obvious that Darth Nefaron had been importing far more slaves than ever expected. It would be from Anoat that Nefaron would rule his growing realm; this place would rival Jutrand, Dromund Kass, and even Korriban in dark splendor once Nefaron had achieved his goals. But for now, the group that had chosen to join the arena fights was being marched in a long column toward one of the side entrances, protected by members of the Corpse Legion.

Three rounds.

All is permitted.

No mercy. No pity.

Simple.
​

The competitors were allowed to choose from crude melee weaponry littered around various racks. Some chose no weapons at all, instead relying on brute strength and speed to win the day. The first round was to be a mass brawl, the survivor of which was to move on to face down Nefaron's champion before a final round would take place to determine the true winner. Though not announced, the Corpse Lord's presence could be felt by all who held some sensitivity to the force.

He would be watching.

He would be waiting. ​

Once competitors were armed, they were separated into smaller groups to enter the arena. In all, there were 100 slaves who wished to fight for their freedom; others who volunteered were whittled out as their fear overtook them, and they were cut down by the Corpse Legionaries who prevented any escape. Slaves were ushered toward the great gates, and the roar of a cheering crowd could be heard throughout the vast tunnel system. It was obvious the slaves were not permitted to watch their fellows be butchered, but the vast Corpse Legion was in attendance to enjoy the slaughter.

Their chants were the guttural roar of the Sith.

They learned from their master well.

A great horn blared.

The gates opened.

The slaughter began.

Tags: Veradun Sharr

​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron ​

The Nagai boy stood silently as Garren gripped him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye, telling him that he was wrong and that the boy did have something to lose, and it was clear that his declaration to fight did not sit well at all with the older slave man, who had become almost a father-figure to the gaunt boy.

"Your soul, Veradun. Even if you do win, that monster has a far darker fate planned for you. You'll never stop being his slave."

A cold hardness came over Veradun’s eyes; Garren didn’t know - but the boy he had come to care for as his own, had already lost his soul; the Nagai had sold it to Darth Nefaron the moment he said that cursed oath to serve the Dark Lord as his Apprentice, to become the Heir to the Sith Lord’s growing dark empire.

A willing sacrifice to rise and take the power that the boy so craved and wanted for himself.

Garren searched the boy’s face and knew…that he was speaking to a proverbial wall. The boy could see and sense the defeat in the old man, but Garren still held on to a fragment of his hope. "I will not watch you die. I will be waiting at our home should you come to your senses. I hope that you make the right choice."

The man’s words tugged at what remained of the boy’s heartstrings, and he stood motionless as he watched Garren turn and walk away, icy eyes boring into the old slave man’s back. Guilt and then hesitation tried to worm their way into the Nagai’s mind and heart, but he hardened himself towards such emotions. He couldn’t afford to feel them and let them ruin his chances at freedom once more.

A faint glare crossed the boy’s face before he turned away from the retreating form of the old slave man as a cruel thought slipped through his mind: he would not allow the old slave to become an obstacle for him as he sought to return to Darth Nefaron’s side.

BATTLE THEME​

Soon, Veradun had taken his place amongst the other hopeful slaves who sought freedom for themselves as well. Many looked down upon the boy with derision; he was so gaunt and thin and starved that he looked more again to a walking corpse than anything. Not to mention, he was just a boy - what hope did a child have at surviving through a slaughter fest?

But this played perfectly in the Nagai boy’s hands, and so he continued to act frail and weakened, and though he was, he knew that he was far more powerful than any of these wretches could ever comprehend.

He would stand victorious at the end - and he didn’t care how many bodies he had to stand on to stare his Master in the face once more to achieve his triumph.

And thus the boy prepared himself to enter the fighting pit; adrenaline raced through his blood, and dark energy simmered just under the surface, begging to be released. He and the others were guided towards weapons racks and there the boy chose what appeared to be an old katana style sword, its once gleaming surface dulled through time, though its edge was still sharp enough to cut. He resisted the urge to give the sword a few practice swings - wanting to keep up the appearance of being helpless and clueless about what lay ahead of him.

Soon, the slaves were being herded towards the great gate that led into the arena - and beyond the boy could hear the bloodthirsty roar and chanting of the crowd beyond, and buried beneath it all but so vivid to him was the dark aura of Darth Nefaron. The Sith Lord was somewhere out there, watching…waiting.

A small and dark smirk curled on the boy’s lips as the gates opened and the first wave of slaves was sent forth to fight for their freedom. Veradun was amongst them, and his pale eyes travelled over the gathered crowd of Legionnaires that had filled the stands all around the fighting pit. Their chanting and dark bloodlust filled the energy of the arena with an intoxicating cocktail of power - something that the Nagai boy willingly fed upon through the Force, feeling it empower him further.

A hint of corrupted gold flickered in his pale blue eyes as he felt the Dark side slither through his veins like a dark fire, and as soon as the declaration was made to begin the fight - chaos erupted all around the boy as slaves turned on one another.

The slaughter had begun, and blood soon began to splatter and stain the great pit and bodies began to drop to the ground, never to move again. For a brief moment, the sight of the scrawny boy disappeared in a mass of charging slaves, eager to cut him down and eliminate him from the ranks.

And that was the moment that Veradun Sharr came alive, and became the reaping Pale Death that others had called him behind his back. The boy moved with a speed that didn’t seem possible for someone like him; he was elegant in his movements, his forms, and his blade flashed with lethal and trained precision. Those that sought to overwhelm him stood no chance, for fighting was in his blood, and the blade was just an extension of the young Nagai. Soon, body after body began to drop as the katana blade sliced and pierced flesh, opening up space around the boy as those who came to their senses realized that something wasn’t quite right with this pale boy, this slave son of Garren.

But Veradun gave those who fled no quarter or mercy; he froze them with the grip of the Force and then slashed their throats or bellies open, carving a bloody swath through challenger after challenger. The roar of the crowd fueled his growing hunger for death, and a dark sense of pleasure swept through the young man for each slash and plunge of his bloodied blade.

Soon he was painted in the blood of his foes, those who had underestimated the boy, to their doom. One by one, fighters who had survived elsewhere in the arena came to face him. He crossed blades with others in a fatal dance, but ultimately his knowledge and prowess saw him come out as the victor.

All around the Nagai slave lay bodies and pools of blood and gore, and crimson splattered the boy’s pale skin as he lifted his golden-flecked blue eyes to the roaring crowds and smiled to the darkness beyond him.

“...who’s next to die by my blade?” Veradun roared to the crowd, into the darkness, a challenge to the Dark Lord whom he couldn’t see, but who he knew was out there somewhere.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

The crowd was ecstatic. The Legionaries were driven into a frenzy by the bloodlust, watching as the newest champion began his rise to dominance over the weak and helpless. Yet the Dark Lord did not appear, his chamber remained dark, and yet his dark influence grew with each death inflicted by his Apprentice. When the last slave challenger was put down by the boy's blade, the crowd roared with praise and they praised this monster that had risen from the slave pits.

Yet, the boy's challenge was not yet over. For Nefaron had his own candidate for the boy to battle.

From the opposite side of the arena, a great gate was pulled open by a group of malnourished slaves. From the darkness emerged a true monster of a man, one who was at least several feet taller than the boy and one who carried with him great dread. The arena grew silent, the Legionaries cowed by this monstrous thing that had come to put the boy in his grave.

Its armor was black. It's weapon caked in blood.

This was Nefaron's executioner. One he used against those he called traitor.

And now it was running full speed at Veadun, axe raised over its shoulder.
​

This was no ordinary warrior. This was a man whom Nefaron had spent many months torturing, mutilating, and remaking within the depths of his laboratory. It was clear that this creature had some ability with the force, for his speed was unnatural for one so large. Rather than waste time hunting for another who might replace Veradun as an Apprentice, Nefaron had forged a blasphemous being into the perfect servant, one who he could dispatch at the head of his growing legion and lay waste to countless systems.

Veradun was looking at what would become of him if he failed. But another experiment for the Corpse Lord's infernal laboratory.

Tag: Veradun Sharr
​

 

[Veradun Sharr]

Tag: Darth Nefaron​

Panting, the boy stood over his last kill, the roar of the crowd around him filling him with a sense of exhilaration he had never quite felt before. Piercing eyes lifted to regard the Legionaries all around, before eyes settled on the location where the Dark Lord should have been, but was not. Veradun could have felt discouraged by this, but he knew better. He sensed Nefaron’s darkness on the fringes - and he knew the Sith Lord was indeed watching his performance. Waiting - to see if Veradun would prove himself worthy or not.

With the last slave challenger dead, the Nagai boy waited to see just who or what was next - and he didn’t have to wait long. Across from him, a great door was pulled open to reveal a being that should have made the boy’s blood run cold in terror. Bloody sword at his side, the boy’s eyes narrowed in cold calculation and curiosity as the monstrosity of a man appeared, and his head cocked to one side as the being charged forth with near berserk rage, moving faster than what should be possible for a normal man. Veradun stood his ground, his pale eyes never leaving the charging armored figure. He studied the individual in the brief moment he had before their inevitable clash.

The moment the armored Champion reached him and swung down upon him with a devastating overhead chop, the young Nagai put his lightning speed and reflexes to use, skillfully slipping aside and allowing the Champion’s forward momentum to be used against him and carry him beyond the boy. The brute stumbled but recovered quickly - faster than Veradun anticipated, and the armored titan roared in battle rage as he came at the boy once more - forcing Veradun to go on the retreat.

He knew taking a hit by this brute was not an option; his bloodied katana was all but useless here, but the boy knew he wasn’t completely without hope.

He was a Sith apprentice afterall. A weakened and enslaved one, but still one nonetheless.

Despite the growing outrage of the crowds around him, the Nagai continued to stay on the retreat, moving around the arena in an effort to stay just out of reach of that devastating and lethal axe, all the while learning and studying this powerful foe. His enemy seemed single minded in its goal - killing him - and didn’t give much consideration to anything else that might be around them.

The boy’s mind whirled with thoughts; ideas and possibilities, but nothing truly stood out to him and as his enemy continued to press upon him, the boy began to feel more desperate. Fear began to chip away at the cold confidence that he had felt only a short time prior. And that fear began to eat away his rational thoughts, even clouding his own awareness.

He made his first mistake then, tripping over a pile of bodies and losing valuable ground to the behemoth. Veradun managed to twist himself out of the way just as the axe came crashing violently into the ground where he’d just been - and the Nagai scrambled to his feet as an armored fist reached out to snag a hold of his blood stained and tattered clothing. Fear and panic propelled the boy forward to get away, and now the crowd was roaring for Nefaron’s Champion.

Surely, he would pound this pathetic slave boy into a pile of bones and torn flesh…

Veradun felt the hand secure a hold on his tunic, and with terrifying force the boy was flung violently aside, slamming into the hard ground with a loud thud that forced the air from the boy’s lungs. Dizziness swept through the young Sith and he shook his head in an effort to clear it from his mind before he saw the hulking figure descending upon him once more. Again, Veradun tried to roll away, but his opponent was right there and it was too late to get out of the way. An armored boot kicked into the boy’s side, cracking ribs in an instant and white hot pain ripped through the young man’s body as he was kicked to his back. Fear and pain made his heart race faster and faster in his chest, and a darkness started to cloud Veradun’s mind - he was going to die here. A failure. A wretch. A slave. Forgotten and cast aside. Everything that he was, that he could have been…should have been…would be for nothing.

The Champion of Nefaron caught the Nagai boy with his armored foot, pressing its weight into the boy’s injured and broken chest, and roared to the crowd, brandishing the bloodied axe before turning to look down at the boy underneath its boot.

You’re defeated. You’re going to die now - whispered the cold thoughts through Veradun’s mind. Weak. Pathetic…Unworthy…

NO.

Pale blue eyes flashed to a bright amber as a deep seated and seething rage boiled up and over within the young Nagai, and with it flowed the blackest hatred he had ever felt in his life. A fury and hate so deep, so pure, that it seemed to burn away everything else within his mind. Just as the axe was descending to cleave in him two, the boy uttered a primal roar and felt power unlike anything he’d experienced before moving through him with devastating ease, and an immense and powerful blast of pure destruction erupted from the boy - the totality of all the fear, the rage, and the hatred that he had been building up within for so long - released in one catastrophic burst.

Nefaron’s Champion was sundered, blown into pieces as blood and viscera exploded all around and pieces of armor and bone became shrapnel that tore into everything beyond. Dozens upon dozens of the Dark Lord’s Legionaries were ripped asunder by the blast and the bloody debris as part of the arena itself collapsed from the sheer magnitude of the destructive blast.

Silence fell over the arena, and as the Legionaries looked within - they would see the gaunt and pale form of the Nagai boy rise slowly to his feet to stand in the center of the broken and blood soaked arena. Exhaustion was clawing at the boy’s mind and body - he had expended far more Force energy than he ever had before in his life, and yet he still would not give up his fight.

“I have destroyed your Champion, Darth Nefaron.” the boy wheezed, his voice hardly heard over the growing roar of the crowd, spitting out a mouthful of blood, his eyes still blazing as the fires within his soul continued to burn and consume him.

“Who will be your Champion now?”