Private Lord Sro Can You Hear Me?

[Darth Solipsis]

DARK LORD OF THE SITH | VOICE OF THE MAW
Romund Sro | Darth Kalyptos
Exegol

​

The Sith Sovereign Protectors marched through the hallowed halls loomed over by the imposing forms of Sith long passed. Within their escort, guarding the four corners, was a medical capsule gliding over the cold earth. Recovered from the scorched earth of Noris, the contents of the capsule was none other than Romund Sro .

Found in the trenches, spared from friendly fire dealt with the orbital backlash of the vengeful Mawites. The Brotherhood swiftly spirited the Warlord of Najra-Va from the surface of the planet for the secluded capital of the Maw, the Sith Redoubt of Exegol. His body was scarred, deformed, and maimed beyond repair. Only in the Sith Laboratories could Romund hope to find a chance at survival, a chance at revenge, a chance at rebirth.

As the escort entered the laboratory, Sith attendants shrouded in black robes and wrappings scurried away. The chamber emptied quickly without a word of warning or reason. The Dark Honor Guard lifted the male from the capsule, noting the pain and suffering caused by such, releasing him upon the workstation built upon a circular dial.

Lightning flashed, an illumination from one of many static discharges that filled the thunderous halls. A violent screech echoed through the laboratory, nearby several Vong biots set by his station reached as if probed. Two figures approached from the darkness, the images of ones who’s eyes glistened with the fires of Hell.

“Look what they’ve done to you.” One of the voices cooed.

The silhouette faded away revealing the detailed image of the Dark Lord of the Sith. Draped in black robes that drug against the cold rock, the Sith’ari scowled openly as he approached. Inspecting the damage from afar, the Voice was displeased.

“How unfortunate.”

 

[Romund Sro]

Location: Exegol
Tags: Darth Solipsis | Darth Kalyptos

​

Some time had passed for Romund since that fateful battle on Noris he wasn’t even sure if The Maw had won the battle or not having been prematurely removed from the front. Currently he was unrecognizable, from the wounds he sustained from a mere thermal detonator utilized by a crafty and lowly stormtrooper. It was a great embarrassment to himself. The only thing that could remotely make him feel better was that he managed to capture the imperial vermin for himself. Now frozen in carbonite to torment at a later period.

Romund had been housed in a bacta tank since the invasion, and under constant extensive care from his subservient clones. The shockwave and the burns of the thermal detonator rendered himself helpless and hardly looked humanoid. More like some sort of larva which tried to grow into a human. Hands and legs amputated, face and eyes burned away and left behind a burnt skull. Internally things were worse, his insides having turned to jelly and non functioning. Various tubes had been lodged into what remained of his body to function as artificial organs.

In the last couple days he had developed a new yet still very crude manner in which to perceive the world around him. Seeing The Force, though still greatly unrefined and shoddy for him, was better than the total darkness and silence he could physically observe.

Now a great fear for Romund was becoming realized since he joined the Maw. He was physically nothing more than dead weight, and in a culture and society that valued strength and power above just about everything else. He was greatly concerned that there was no use for him, and that he would be discarded. But it would seem that by some twisted miracle The Dark Voice himself of The Sith had plans for Romund.

In the foggy vision offered to him by the Force. He sensed the darkness of Darth Solipsis' approach before he felt himself painfully hoisted from his bacta tank and into the cold, uninviting, stale air of the laboratory he was in. For the first time in what must’ve been days, he took a breath of “fresh air”. With an anguished breath he sucked in hair while being placed on the workstation. It felt to him like he was needing to relearn how to breathe on his own again.

Weakly coughing he felt Solipsis approach and faintly heard their words through The Force. After they did, Romund slightly turned his now skeletal face towards the Sith Lord, who could surly pick up on Romund’s own sense of dread. Only telepathically could he communicate back to them, like a whisper or a mumble. “Lord Solipsis… my apologies… for finally meeting you, but in such an unpresentable state…” It was true, for Romund this was the first time he really came into direct contact with Solipsis himself and he was less than half the man he was a few days prior. Oddly enough he refused to apologize over his current situation, but instead over his superficial presentability as if he was rudely underdressed.