Oracle of Ventooine

[Darth Voyance]

[[member="Darth Carnifex"]]

Ventooine
Slaver's Bazaar

​The red lights inside the onion shaped lanterns flickered sending flashing and stuttering red reflections on the walls of Pythia's quarters. The lanterns rested on a low vanity table covered in sheets dyed in vivid colours. Ocean blues and pale greens lined the table. While all around it large pillowed cushions rested on the floor. Long rough rugs in reds and browns lined the floor of her quarters. Between the lanterns a large mirror and holo-projection deck occupied the most space on the table.

Chandeliers made of lanterns fused together hung from the domed ceiling. It was all a pretty cage for the Pykian Slavemaster Grebb's most precious and pretty jewel - the pale blue twi'lek Pythia. She was tall and curved with blue soft skin and long lekku's that were gentle to the touch. Faint green eyes beamed from between dark eyelashes and full dark blue lips flexed as Pythia applied black lip ink. She stared at her reflection with a blank stare, like a machine, or a droid prepping for a task there was no love in her work. Although there was the illusion of meticulousness brought about by passion, it was all done so that her body was prepared for her product - the clients of the Bazaar liked to see their mistress as they wished she would be, some exotic goddess.

But, Pythia was no goddess, exotic yes, but, no goddess. She was a slave. And a tormented one. Pythia knew no other life that wasn’t in chains on Ventooine in Grebb’s Bazaar. Tormented by powers she could not understand, but, had always had. Pythia, from a very young age, was considered special. She could see things, old things, new things, and things forgotten. Haunted by nightmares and prophetic dreams; just by a touch of her hands she could dive into your memories. She was a living oracle, the slavers would advertise. Finishing with her lips she began applying a bright blush with flakes of gold that made her skin shimmer and shine like diamonds. When finished she stopped and glared into the mirror, the first signs of emotion. She summoned some strength, strength in her abilities. Strength to tolerate the intolerable. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands together.

She prayed. But, to no gods. She prayed to the thing, the phantom in her mind swimming in the memories and nightmares her empath powers held - the warm shadow she called it. The shadow listened and she could see it in her vision. She had always had this power but, she did not know from where. Grebb said it was because she was a jewel. Once she had heard one of the clients say she was wielding the Force but Grebb had him tossed out berating her to avoid the “lies of the mystics.”

There was a knock on the door in a fearful flinch Pythia broke from her praying and quickly stood up onto her feet. Two other pleasure sisters had arrived. One of them carried a shock collar. “You know what to do child!” the collar carrying one barked. Pythia nodded and bent down onto her knees and bowed her head forward raising her hand to brush aside her lekku. The pleasure sister fitted the shock collar and then stood over her. Before, when she was twelve she struggled and had to be shocked into a numb paralysis for what came next, the narcotics. Pythia when order turned over her arms. Grebb had thought that euphoric narcotics like nyriaan spices would heighten her abilities, but, all it did was drag her into a dazed and entranced state where she could not resist what lecherous habits his clients liked to exercise in her presence. The pleasure sister stabbed her forearm pressing a syringe impression on her skin and injected her with treated nyriaan cocktails. The narcotics ripped at her mind. Pythia closed her eyes and shivered until the drug took over and Pythia suddenly jolted her head back and slowly reopened her eyes.

Entranced she was stripped and then a small zeltron girl helped her put, on her dancer’s garb. It consisted of a metal and silk bikini with see through thin green lace fabrics that draped from her curves. The zeltron girl was six and had bright fusia skin and glowing yellow eyes. Her name was Zerra. Zerra patted down Pythia’s transparent fabrics and held her hand bringing her up.

“Are you ok Jewel?” Zerra called Pythia by the only name she knew, her slave name.

“I am fine Zerra.” Pythia said taking a gulp. “I am..fine.” She wasn’t. The narcotic messed with her nerves and made her sway in her walk. It gave her an otherworldly posture like an ethereal being descended from the starry veil. Amusing and seductive to the clients but, a nauseating hell for Pythia. She and Zerra made it to a small antechamber built behind the large bar of the bazaar where Pythia would dance and use her powers to sensually draw memories from the minds of it clients.

Pythia asked Zerra of the clients. Zerra shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think there are too many, or any of the lusters.” The lusters were the worst of them. Drunken and lustful drifters looking for loose money and chained women. They were the ones who always took advantage of Pythia entranced state. Even now she could feel their rough touch crawling over her skin, her mind projecting the groping grasp of a hundred past client’s hands. As she waited for Grebb to announce her entrance she whispered to herself, “Shadows protect me.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

​

​

Ventooine
Outer Rim Territories

Slavery.

It was the natural institution of the strong to enthrall the weak, pressing them into their service to fulfill their needs. The Dark Lord of the Sith had always found slavery to be a useful tool of the Dark Side, the oppression imposed upon others was a wellspring of hate and suffering that invigorated those who fed on such negativity. Others in his cabal didn't see slavery in the same light as he did, they saw it was wasteful and an unnecessary drain on finances, arguing that cheaply made automatons could perform the same duties as flesh-and-blood slaves much more efficiently.

Naturally, they were right, but that wasn't the point.

It wasn't about if it was cost effective, it was about the desired effect it produced. It was the destiny of the weak to suffer beneath the boot of the strong, his family's motto was based around that primordial truth. Yet when one of great potential was enslaved their talents would inevitably wither away, unstimulated and left to stagnant in confinement.

That was what brought Darth Carnifex to Ventooine.

His secondary shuttle, the Crestfallen II, slipped in through the planet's cloud-wreathed atmosphere. Whereas the first Crestfallen was designed for combat insertion, the second iteration was designed purely for stealth and quick insertion. The vessel crested a bluff overlooking the Slaver's Bazaar, and swooped down to land in one of the empty docks adjacent to the sprawling metropolis. Unlike the rest of the surrounding systems, Ventooine's society was still relatively primitive and had only just begun to receive an influx of modern luxuries.

The Dark Lord emerged from the shuttle alone, his muscular body swaddled in a thick black cloak that concealed his appearance. A glittering silver amulet hung from his neck, suppressing his presence in the Force to nearly nothing.

He didn't waste much time, and quickly moved to track down this Jewel of Ventooine.

[member="Pythia"]​

 

[Goran]

Query: How does a Shard, exiled from Mandalore for its Force sensitivity, find a new home?

Answer: Go back to an even older home.

Before Goran had ever called itself a Mandalorian, it had spent several decades with the Sith. Not as a Sith, mind. The former Iron Knight had about as much use for the Dark Side, or the Light for that matter, as it had for a spleen. As far as it was concerned, trying to impose "sides" on something like the Force was a purely organic folly. But the Sith had an appreciation for chaos, and that's what it specialized in. Trying to work with Jedi was entirely too stifling.

The problem with the Sith, however, was one simply didn't show up to the halls of power and expect a warm reception. The best way to get in with the Sith was to bring them a gift. Make yourself useful, and keep yourself useful, and they were fairly steadfast allies. The really hard part was convincing them that you weren't just some disposable toy to be discarded at the earliest convenience, or worse. Slaves were also useful, and Goran had no intention of ever being a slave.

For months, the Shard prowled around the seedier parts of the galaxy, looking for something suitable. And then came rumors of an oracle, a slave girl known as the Jewel of Ventooine. As a rule, Goran hated slavery. It had spent some time among the Aing-Tii, and while it had never had any talent for their particular style of Force use, it wholeheartedly agreed with their stance on that. Sure, it had mellowed a bit on that (working with the Sith will do that to a fellow), but it never turned down the chance to burn down some of the sick karks that still went for that kind of action.

And so, it had used its contacts in the Shard Network to get set up in with a slaver named Grebb, a particularly sick kark. His "oracle" was a teenage girl, kept strung out so he could make a boatload of credits selling her services, of both oracular and other, less tasteful varieties.

The Network had a cordial relationship with this newest incarnation of the Sith. Not exactly friendly, but mostly they stayed out of each other's ways, and on occasion, agents would trade a bit of intel. In this case, that intel was of the presence of this Oracle. The Shard had more or less free reign of the place; no one paid much attention to astromechs. By day, it trundled around, performing odd jobs. Once, memorably, it had been called in to serve drinks for one of these performances. That had been both fascinating and sickening. But at least it had been able to record footage of the oracle, to give whoever came to collect her something solid to go on.

By night, it still trundled around performing odd jobs, but since most everyone in the Bazaar was busy getting as heavily intoxicated as possible, it became a lot easier to subtly sabotage security. Tiny bundles of baradium were strategically placed. Lines of code were inserted into the security system. There were a hundred different ways to screw with a system designed to impress upon visitors the importance of their patron rather than provide actual protection, and the little Shard knew them all.

But for now, it waited.

A message had finally filtered back down through the intel networks. It was a simple message, containing only a date and a time, along with three words: He is coming. Who that "he" was, no one knew. Goran figured it was probably some hotshot looking to make a name for himself. Either way, that was its chance. Hopefully, "he" knew there was an ally on the inside, otherwise, they would be awfully confused when they encountered an astromech with a pair of E-webs strapped to either side of its chassis.

Maxim 37: There is no overkill, there is only "Open Fire" and "Reloading."

[member="Pythia"]
[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Voyance]

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Goran"]

From behind the thick red curtain, Pythia stayed in her entranced state slightly squeezing Zerra's hand. Zerra grimaced at the pressure but she said nothing, she wanted to be Pythia's support. When she herself had arrived, it was Pythia who saved her from the life of being a living pleasure idol when Pythia demanded she be her personal assistant. Zerra owed her much. So when Pythia squeezed once more Zerra rested her hand on top and squeezed back. Pythia felt her warmth and while her mind swirled with the voices of the patrons she focused on the worried whispers in the void of Zerra. The voices began to drown out Zerra's, her powers were bubbling lashing out grappling minds and bringing visions and voices. They made Pythia's mind ache. But, one in particular, not from a mind but from the voice, made her flinch. It was Grebb. His insectoid form sauntered over and ripped her away from Pythia. His slender hands cupped her cheeks.

"Now my treasure, its time to dance." he hissed at her. Pythia wanted to jerk her head away but, all she did was sheepishly nod. She had become good at being quiet and obedient. Grebb let her go but, made sure she knew her place by groping her behind as he left. Passing through the curtain slits he disappeared. Pythia turned to Zerra and knelt down. She cupped both of Zerra's hands and smiled to her.

"I'll see you later my dear." Pythia said kissing her forhead. Zerra nodded and tried to force a smile. She hated this part, watching Pythia vanish beyond the curtain. On the other side of the curtain as a horrid gathering of killers, lecherous drunks, and slavers. The drank and injected themselves as their attention turned to Pythia and her revealing outfit. Small cheers and low whistles growled.

Grebb wandered to the center, and his snivelling attitude was transformed to a timid host. "Now to dazzle us with power mystical and a performance most pleasing to the eye...the Oracle of Vestooine!" Grebb bowed and waved to Pythia. Pythia now fully consumed by the drug, danced towards the center of the domed bazaar. She sank into her powers, the world blurred and was taken over by auras glittering like nexuses of power to draw her in. She twirled and moved her hips hypnotically. She could feel their wanton urges. Yet to be touched, she could feel their hands on her. She always felt their hands on her. Wandering she came to one patron lightly caressing his arms she summoned his memories, memories of a life once not drenched in booze and filth. She whispered it into his ear and tapped his chin. Like a phantom. The patron's eyes widened and tears began to reach his eyes. He lunged for her but she nimbly danced away.

The other patrons grew impatient and wanted her. She then passed a black R2 unit whom she had come to know as a decent helper and a seemingly imprisoned one like herself. Dancing she by it she let her finger slide over his obsidian dome before she was now fully in the grasp of another patron. Grebb mirrored her movement haggling for donations and payment for her services a sinister smirk for every credit stick tossed his way.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The smell of sex and spice assaulted his nostrils as the curtain was drawn back, his eyes of molten copper taking in the hive of depravity. It seemed almost a lifetime ago that he, youthful and reckless, would have been one of this den's patrons.

Groping, kissing, letting their taste wash over his tongue as drowned himself in vice.

He was a different man now, one of principles and order. He was the master of his desires, not the other way around, and his will was unbreakable. Still, he must've looked quite out of the ordinary in that place, towering and draping with inky black robes as he moved with quiet deftness past the lecherous and the scantily clad. One of the dancers, a Keshiri, intercepted the Dark Lord as he neared one of the side entrances to the main floor, her heavy chest barely contained by the silk bustier draped over her shoulders.

She motioned suggestively at Carnifex, but with a push of his hand against her chest he removed her from his path. A stern glare silenced any outburst she might have made in retaliation.

Beyond was the main attraction, the Jewel, the Oracle of Ventooine.

Her dance was mesmerizing, hypnotic even, and the pigs that gawked and lashed out for a handful of flesh ate it up like it was candy. Carnifex slowly advanced, mingling in with the crowd while simultaneously towering over them in his shadowy glory.

It was up to the agent that had been planted in the bazaar to give him the opening he needed.

[member="Pythia"] | [member="Goran"]​

 

[Goran]

Oracle in place? Check.

Talk, dark, and creepy? Check.

Goran didn't have any doubt that this was the hitter. You didn't get that sort of Dark Side aura without being a truly bad apple, and the yellow eyes were a dead giveaway. Plus, you know, date and time.

The Shard ducked off to the side of the bazaar, to a little alcove where no one ever went, and for the last few days, where the going would have been fatal. Because land mines. And directional mines. And the tripwire hooked up to the trigger of 4 E-web heavy blasters. Goran was a firm believer that there was no kill like overkill. It slipped in between the two sets of blasters, each pair mounted on a bracket designed to mount on his legs. Four power feed lines went into the back of its body, where they were fed by a power generator of the sort that would make any proper droid mechanic wet dreams. For that matter, the average ordinance technician would probably salivate if they could get their hands on it.

However, it didn't leave its alcove. Not yet. Rule 1 of working with the Sith: never upstage them. They hated that action. Give him an opening, let him start the show, and then Goran could start shooting. In the meantime, it sent out a signal of a specific intensity and duration on a specific frequency. All over the bazaar, there were a series of muted pops as the tiny baradium packets detonated into miniature suns. No one ball of plasma was larger than a grapefruit, but each and every one was strategically placed. In an instant, the power was out. So was the backup power. The guards' ready room, already a mess of epic proportions, burst into flames as their ancient and misused tactical controller droid brain burst into flames.

What did this specifically mean for the bazaar? Well, for starters, everything went dark. There were no lights, save the occasional datapad or glowing pipe or cigarro. The music died too. A hush fell over the crowd. Some of the more intoxicated dancers might not have noticed, but just about everyone else was about to notice something was up.

The guards who weren't in the process of burning to death, or who weren't too stoned to care, straggled to their feet. It was then that Goran broadcast his last radio message, this time over their personal freq.

"How does it go? Oh yeah..."

https://youtu.be/H8ZCM4FuI5A

Cue the music.

[member="Pythia"] [member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Voyance]

[member="Goran"] [member="Darth Carnifex"]

Suddenly darkness and chaos. In the new blackness Pythia found herself catching the end of a table and tumbling to the floor. But, she did not reach the cold stone. Instead she feel into the arms of a stranger, dark and terrible. Her powers were still in flux as she fell and when she grasped this stranger. Her mind was abruptly consumed by a deep shadow, dark, and cold. But, warm, the shadow she envisioned in her prophetic nightmares. She clung to the stranger's arms and dug into his dark robes as her mind was pulled into a darkness of its own.

It was familiar but, strange and terrifying all at once. She shuddered and tried to recoil, and yet she held her grip. She was afraid to meet the eyes of such a person while still intoxicated. She only whispered through her empathic powers and all she received in turn was visions of unimaginable pain, death, and doom. This was too much she released herself and slid down to the floor. Was this the shadow true nature? Terror and pain? But, what of this warm calling.

This beckoning darkness.

This...power.

Suddenly, she felt Zerra's touch and to this touch she welcomed embracing Zerra. "What's happening Zerra!?"

"The bazaar is under attack!" Zerra shouted as drugged bounty hunters and bazaar goons drew their blasters and waved them about in sloppy brovado. "We have to go to your chamber!" Pythia nodded. When Zerra helped Pythai rise she drew a small ounce of courage and turned to face the dark stranger of death and power. What she was a figure that trained his eyes on her. Pythia froze.

Brilliant, gold and red. Brilliant and warm. Once more the darkness beckoned. The visions in her head called to her.

Power. And the will to change. What will you do....what will you do.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

There was his opening.

In the confusion the Oracle became disoriented, and threatened to collapse to the floor amidst the panicking patrons. He was at her side in an instant, his powerful arms cradling her smaller form before she could harm herself. She initially recoiled from his embrace, a reaction that he had gotten used to from those who first met the bulwark of his power, yet strangely she did not seek to flee from his darkness. She welcomed it, letting it wash over her with an eerie familiarity until it proved too much for her and she finally slid back from his grasp.

There was another in the darkness, one that had been at the Oracle's side throughout all of her trials and tribulations in this debased place. She was no threat to either of them, but the same could not be said for the others who writhed in the shadows.

Already panicked and reckless blaster fire broke out in the crowd, several patrons and dancers cut down in the mayhem. Some came perilously close to the Oracle, and the Dark Lord would not abide his newest acquisition being destroyed before her time. Without a word he reached down to his hip and retrieved his lightsaber which he activated with a crackling snap-hiss. The bazaar was illuminated by his blood-red blade, drawing the crazed combatant's attention to him.

Their attempts to destroy him would be met by unwavering ferocity as he deflected their shots and loomed closer and closer until a swipe from his blade ended their existence. Those that were too far from the edge of his reach would find their windpipes crushed, or their bodies flung into the air like ragdolls to be broken upon the walls and floors of the establishment.

None that drew a weapon against him would survive.

[member="Pythia"] | [member="Goran"]​

 

[Goran]

An E-web is not primarily designed to engage ground troops. Many consider the weapon too unwieldy, its bolts too powerful, and power demands too high, to be a cost effective antipersonnel weapon. It was certainly true that most armies preferred to use them sparingly. A single one was a powerful deterrant, especially when backstopped by more conventional weaponry.

Goran didn't have conventional weaponry to backstop his E-web. He had three other E-webs.

A single E-web bolt does terrible things to flesh upon impact. Unlike normal blaster bolts, which tend to scorch the target, the E-web bolt has enough energy to superheat the water in cells, causing it to burst violently into steam. Rather than merely causing deep burns, the bolts can actually cause the flesh to explode. The effect on bone is even more pronounced; as the marrow explodes, bone fragments are sent flying outwards. Gruesome organic shrapnel peppers the already damaged tissue.

Four bolts striking a single target at once tends not to leave much behind but a fine spray of pink, the smell of burnt meat, and flying limbs.

Hold that image in your mind. Now imagine it repeating itself five times a second.

The bazaar was a perfect example of a target rich environment. Goran didn't discriminate between guards, customers, or slaves. The guards and customers, he had little sympathy for. As for the slaves, they were all hopelessly addicted to a variety of intoxicants, ranging from narcotics to barbiturates to opioids. The steady supply of fresh slaves incoming meant that the owner didn't bother taking care of the ones he already had. Few survived past a few years. As far as the little Shard was concerned, killing them was a mercy.

It was easy enough to track the Sith and the Oracle. His darkness oozed malice into the Force, and even if Goran didn't have a knack for tracking presences, it would have been hard pressed to miss the sense of overpowering corruption. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't a small time player looking to make a name for himself. The ones closest to him, the Shard left alone. The Sith was more than capable of taking care of himself. Instead, it focused on the outliers.

The linked E-webs tracked around the room, leaving nothing but carnage in their wake. It would still take a few minutes to completely clear the room, but surely the Sith noticed that the crowd was rapidly thinning.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
[member="Pythia"]

 

[Darth Voyance]

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Goran"]


Flashes of crimson. Pythia was transfixed on the glowing blade of the dark stranger who had saved her. He swiftly floated about the bazaar ending its patrons in red streaks. It red path were mirrored in her eyes like a mirror's reflection.

This power. The darkness, the shadow within, called out.

Pythia then felt a tug on her arm. She ignored it at first, the darkness within her too enticed by the dance of death in front of her. Her fingers twitched and her mind tingled with the a growing will to reach out to the stranger once more. But, a greater tug pulled her away. Pythia spun her head around. It was Zerra she had been pulled and tossed aside by Grebb who leaned in wrapped his fingers around her neck.

"Time to go, Jewel." His words repulsed Pyhtia. The darkness within her rebelled and thrashed in her mind, continuously screaming for her to finally break free. She was so close. The dark stranger had finally come. All those nightmares and warm dreams of a shadow descending into the abyss of suffering to drag her free from beneath its waves. And yet, this Pykian filth kept her from it.

She would not have it. She clung to his arms with both of hers and attempted to pry herself free. Enraged Grebb smacked his back hand across her face cutting her lip and sending Pythia into a staggered stumble. Zerra from behind Grebb lunged forward to pull him away. But, Grebb, startled thought the advancing Zerra was a bandit in league with the dark stranger and fired a blaster round right into her chest. Zerra's chest fumed with scorched flesh and when the vapours of the blast dissipated the zeltron collapsed onto the floor.

Pythia was horrified. She fell to her knees letting out a shuddering shriek. Her hands shook as she reached to touch Zerra. Her powers could feel all the pain and the sudden death that consumed her. It ripped through her mind and touched the darkness. Igniting it into a black flame of hatred. Now she truly had nothing to lose. Her eyes narrowed, her teeth grit together, and her fingers began to curl into claws. Grebb once more moved to preserve it prized slave. He tugged at her lekkus screaming Pykian profanities demanding her to stand.

Pythia stood, turned, and then leaped towards her master.

Power. Use it! The darkness demanded.

Pythia using her empath and mind-intruding powers, once used to seduce and entrance patrons, now bleed from her fingers like torturous spikes. When she grabbed Grebb by his face she dug her nails into his eyes and began to use all of her strength to press on his skull. Grebb shocked that a timid and once weak slave would learn such rage so quickly. He screamed and flailed as Pythia's nails gouged his eyes. And as her powers burned into his mind ripping at memories, scorching synapses, and bombarding its flesh with force shockwaves. Grebb began to convulse and foam at the month until Pythia let out a deep howl and the force brust from her fingers in a push that sent Grebb crashing into a booth.

The Twi'lek toppled backwards and landed on the floor. She didn't move at first. She didn't want to. What had she done? She shouldn't have listened. Her want for the dark embrace and lead to the death of her friend, and now death by her own hands. The darkness no longer spoke to her. Instead Pythia began to weep. Tears freely poured down her cheeks staining her skin into a darker shade of blue. Her hands shivered and her nerves broken.

You must escape. You can no longer stay here.

Embrace what you have become. ​The darkness whispered.


"What I have become." Pyhtia muttered to herself.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"You're becoming what you were destined to be."

Suddenly the presence of the Darkness was abundantly obviously, his towering form looming over her as he held his still lit lightsaber in his right hand bathing both of them in a vicious red hue. It was the first time he had spoken to her since he had arrived, and his powerful authoritative voice had the consistency of sludge and gravel with the booming intensity of stone breaking. Around him lay the bodies of the slain, their bodies hacked into smoldering chunks or their throats crushed and their limbs twisted off by monstrous force.

He deactivated his lightsaber and crouched down until he was resting on his haunches, darkness enveloping them save for the hellish glow of his sulfuric eyes. A hand was extended towards her, a gesture of comfort and acceptance.

"For too long have you endured the hardships of enslavement, your talents wasting away in sex and spice. Your last owner used you for his own gain, but I envision a grander destiny for you. Come, take my hand, join me and I will teach you how to become the master of your own fate."

The hand lingered, the offer was given.

It was now up to Jewel to choose where the threads of destiny would lead her.

[member="Pythia"] | [member="Goran"]​

 

[Goran]

The bazaar fell silent, save for the cries of the dying or the occasional crackinling fire.

All in all, a decent day's work, as far as Goran was concerned.

It could practically smell​ the Dark Side rolling off the Sith Lord (there wasn't much doubt at this point) in sickening waves. The little Shard wasn't much for Light or Dark, but this guy made a pretty compelling case for why the Jedi and Sith had been at war for the last 20,000 years or so. His very presence was like an open wound in the Force, the sort doctors seriously considered seeding with maggots until the dead and rotting flesh was eaten away. Just his very existence was an affront to the concept of Light, and no right minded Jedi would be able to countenance it.

Fortunately, Goran was not a Jedi. Nor was it particularly right minded. It was, however, very pragmatic, a character trait that had served it well over the centuries. The Darkness held no particular appeal to it, but it wasn't exactly repelled by it either.

Curiously though, the girl, the Oracle, was feeling pretty Dark her own self. It hadn't yet taken root, but Goran suspected she had taken her first step onto a long, blood soaked path. Which, come to think of it, was probably why a freaking Sith Lord had come all this way. The Shard couldn't deny a twinge of sympathy for the poor girl. She hadn't had an easy life, but she had been kind to it, a trait so few shared in this wretched hellhole. The path of the Dark Side would stamp that out pretty quickly. Kindness was the next best thing to weakness, and weakness was intolerable. She would find all the power she could ever dream of, at the cost of her soul.

Oh well. If her soul was Goran's ticket out of here, so be it. She was probably better off with whatever that Sith had in store for her than she would have here, drugged to the gills and passed around like a chunk of meat to the scum of the universe.

The former Iron Knight carefully picked its way through the corpses, its all terrain tires finding grip despite the puddles of blood. It made its way over to the pair, and waited for them to finish their fateful exchange.

"Far be it from me to ruin a moment," it said, its electronic voice lacking any of the usual signs of gender that droids adopted to make comfortable their organic counterparts, "but the authorities are going to be on their way soon. I've cut off any outgoing communications, but they're bound to notice the ruckus sooner or later. I suggest we get while the getting is good."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]
[member="Pythia"]

 

[Darth Voyance]

[member="Darth Carnifex"] [member="Goran"]


"For too long have you endured the hardships of enslavement, your talents wasting away in sex and spice. Your last owner used you for his own gain, but I envision a grander destiny for you. Come, take my hand, join me and I will teach you how to become the master of your own fate."

The hand lingered, the offer was given.

It was now up to Jewel to choose where the threads of destiny would lead her.

Pythia watched the outstretched hand. Her eyes then ran up the dark gloved hand up its black sleeves and from the darkness locked with golden eyes. Glowing eyes, like binary stars beaming in the abyss. It was a corrupted light that drew her in. No matter what she felt, what anxiety she had about taking his hand. She knew one thing for sure. What once held her to this pit of pain was gone. It was dead now. There was nothing left to do but, embrace what she had become - or what she would then be. She reached out with her pale blue hand and gripped the darkness. Once again, her over active powers sucked the darkness into her mind. It was warm and made her mind brim with rage, fear and hate all in one.

It made her feel, powerful.

Could she use this power one day? Her prophetic empath powers began to vibrate in dreamscapes of black steel, crimson blades, and a figure of a Twi'lek bathing in its colors. Was this what she was to become later?

Standing up she kept her eye contact. The golden eyes, those stars of fear and power.

"Tha--thank you, stranger." Pythia began slowly. She did not know how to answer him. She gulped a ball of air that had lingered in her throat while her mind was incapacitated by hesitation.

"Whatever brought you here has freed me." Pythia's eyes lowered and wanted to see the body of Zerra, but, her mind forbade it. "There is no--nothing left for me here." By saying what she felt, it was as if now her soul was free too. A new confidence, perhaps the illusion of shock, came over her. She walked to Zerra's body and cradled it in her bosom raising her from the earth. Carrying her dead friend to the dark stranger she looked at him with her own beaming look.

"What do I call you...stranger?"

The dark stranger smiled, and rested his heavy hands on her shoulders.

"I...am Darth Carnifex, Dark Lord of the Sith."

The Sith. The word lingered and drifted in Pythia's mind while the stranger continued.

"I will be your teacher. And you may call me...Master."

A new master? No, she thought. A master of the way of the dark power that called to here, a master teacher, to break her free. Pythia nodded, and timidly, quietly she replied, "Yes...my master."

The droid who had assisted in the carnage interrupted and suggested to leave. Pythia turned and gave him a curt bob of her head. She would thank the droid too.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Good, and now we must leave."

By now most of the patrons had fled, screaming and terrified, into the city beyond the bazaar. That allowed the trio to quickly make their exit without any hastle or delay. The sounds of police klaxons could be heard echoing through the dry air and off the towering mesas that surrounded the city on all sides. They would have to be quick to avoid the swarm of law enforcement barreling down on them, lest the Dark Lord be forced to wipe them out as well.

And he wasn't in the mood for such meticulous work.

Luckily, the Force was on their side and the return trip to the starport was as unfettered as their exit from the bazaar.

Unluckily, the starport was on lockdown and several guards were posted at the entrance. However, the Dark Lord was in no mood to beguile his way past them, and opted to remove them forcefully.

​

​

With frightening swiftness he summoned his lightsaber to his right hand and cut down the three guards standing before him in quick succession, leaving none of them room to retaliate or even call out a warning as his blade scythed through their bodies. His left arm thrust forth to send an ancillary group of two other guards careening into the stone wall behind them, shattering their bones on impact and sending shards of broken rock tumbling down as the wall collapsed.

He pivoted his body and hurled his lightsaber like a boomerang towards the final guard duo, the blade tumbling through the air before cutting canyons of blackened flesh and melted metal into their torsos before the blade returned to his blade and was deactivated.

The rest was simple, and Pythia's path to freedom was assured.

[member="Pythia"] | [member="Goran"]​