Orientation

[Darth Prazutis]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PouS6aAsD4I[/media]​

Iron Mountains, Panatha
Vain Hollow

A group of low hanging black clouds gathered around the mountainous clearing that was Vain Hollow. The mountain called Blacktalon Peak was separated by a short clearing away from the others in the chain, but still it rose higher than all of its counterparts. Rarsaza it ri Siqsa it was often called in that ancient tongue or "Den of the Demon" in its basic counterpart, and rightfully so. Anyone approaching the massive citadel whether they were gifted in the force or not, felt like something was just terribly wrong or unsettling. Whether it was the unnatural darkness that seemed to form over the mountainous peak, or the feeling that one was always being watched every minute, or even the many massive statues masterfully crafted in various visages of the God-King and his God-Prince.

The entire region around the massive dark citadel was completely saturated with the dark side of the force, which hung in the area like a smothering fog that would've choked the life out of the inhabitants had it been given the chance, if the cold mountains air didn't get to them first. If it weren't for the legion of soldiers, battle droids, and monsters patrolling in, on and around the fortress, if it weren't for the nexus of dark side energy that swirled unnaturally throughout the area, it might've been beautiful. The entire citadel was a architectures masterpiece, someone having taken the time to carve both in and build onto the outside of the citadel. The black stone battlements, high towers and occasional hollowed out statue were of ingenious design to build inside as well add outside to the citadel..

Wall upon wall, tower upon tower, battlement upon battlement. Vain Hollow lived up to its name as the most heavily guarded citadel in all of the Panathan Empire. A veritable legion of dark armored soldiers and gun toting battle droids constantly walked the battlements and manned positions on towers. A horde of elite imperial graug, A special sect of elite graug patrolled around the entire mountain as well as serving as auxiliary forces alongside the soldiers who lined the massive black gates. These dedicated men and women were cold and unforgiving in their duty, no favor was given to anyone blessed enough to walk through its gates.

Wings of starfighters constantly strafed the skies in the restricted area which was a no fly zone to all personnel without the proper authorization. A lone S81 Omnicron Shuttle descended through the black clouds and flew towards this dark fortress. As soon as it cleared the clouds a full wing of starfighters already surrounded it slowing its pace until it sat idle. Inside this shuttle sat [member="Irid"] in the main bay of the ship in just one of multiple rows of seats. Alongside her sat four other individuals three unadorned men all in dirty grey tunics and matching trousers. The slave sitting next to Irid was a woman with raven hair and a slender, almost mousy face. Much like her own this women bore a black phoenix brand on the side of her face clearly visible.

Opposite of the slaves was another man Irid had seen before when she and all of the other men and women selected to be trained to serve as house slaves lined up, this man walked the many lines and selected only two individuals those being Irid herself, and the raven haired women sitting next to her. He was an elderly man standing at about six feet tall with deathly pale, almost alabaster skin. The mans face was slender with hollowed cheek bones, heavy signs of age and stress were present especially around the eyes, while his head sported short cut black hair that was mostly taken over by a new shade of gray. But this man unlike any of the others this man bore a gold phoenix emblazoned on his cheek in the center of a circular border.

He wore ornate black and gold silk robes of noble origin and an amulet hung around his neck bearing the bright cerulean phoenix of House Zambrano clearly showing an elevated stature. Accompanying him were the familiar site of four graug, but at the same time for Irid these men were entirely unusual. They weren't anything like the slavers she saw in the pits with their barbed whips and dirty, often blood encrusted armor. These graug stood every bit of seven feet tall wearing a set of highly ornate, and heavy dull golden armor. They carried large sweeping tower shields on their off hands and tall force pikes in the other. A pistol and a thick stun baton sat on their sides while a vibro-blade was sheathed on their back.

These elite graug didn't say a single thing except to occasionally whisper something in graugspeak she couldn't hear, and constantly patrolled around the shuttle. Any attempts to stand up out of the seats and the offenders would immediately find one of these intimidating creatures right in their face. The man paced impatiently up and down his row of seats before sweeping towards the cockpit, sticking his head in. She couldn't hear the first portion of his conversation with the men but she did hear the last part of it "--fine take us in."

 

[Irid]

Obedience, first and foremost.

Number 2003418's head remained bowed. The young woman had always found that absolute submission was the only correct course in this life. She had seen, watched quietly in those years as men and women with heads held high and proud found themselves dead or with their necks broken back down to where they belonged. Foolish.

You stayed quiet. You did as you were told. You worked hard. You survived.

However, will is a tricky creature. It found a way to persevere, even when hope wasn't a word that left chapped and silent lips. An unwanted gift from Viyers, the man unlike any other. Will bread curiosity, and although there was no hope, it somehow existed, if barely. Even still, even now when subservience was the very sweat that left her brow there was still will. It didn't want for much, or want anything at all.

It asked questions.

Why am I here?

Does Viyers know where I am?

It made statements.

I don't like this feeling.

Suffocation. Not a kind that she'd ever felt before. No, this was different, very much unlike the mines of the Blood Pits, where heat and toil combined with an overwhelming close atmosphere made it difficult to breathe whilst in the midst of hard labour. Not like that at all. It was oppressive in another sense of the world, it made her stomach weak and left bile tickling the back of her throat. As if there was only darkness, and that's all there ever was. Fear, pain, despair. The only things that could be tasted in the air.

Made it hard to breathe.

This was all new to her, most things in the Galaxy would have been. Everything about her life was born and bled in the Blood Pits. Will asked again, daring, tempting higher powers.

Where am I going?

For but a moment Number 2003418 lifted her head, if only but a fraction, chestnut eyes embarking upon what was for her, a brave endeavour. She looked to the viewport, for a clue, for will.

A gasp almost escaped, exhausted eyes widening upon greeting the grim spectacle laid out before her. Gargantuan in proportion, the slave had never seen a construction like it. It gave her pause, before another wave of dread washed over her at the mere sight of it all. It was consuming, foreboding. Made of such grand intricate design.

Will asked.

How many died to build this?

Internally, Number 2003418 corrected.

How many did as they were told?

Before her lingering gaze could be caught, the slave bowed her head once more and resumed a steady stare at her own calloused hands placed gingerly upon her lap. There was still dirt sitting thick beneath her fingernails, all in various states of breakage. Worn yet slender fingers trembled at the very atmosphere that surrounded her.

I'm scared.

---

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

The shuttle swooped down past the tall ornate keep built around the mountains peak deep below that, about three quarters of the way down the mountain. Out of the mountainside was a large hangar carved right out of the stone, a shimmering blue shield glowed in front of a massive now opened set of blast doors. The edges of the hangar were piled with stacks of crates and the whole space was vacant of ships. There were swarms of gray uniformed men and droids working on these stacks and conversing among themselves, their eyes drifting towards the shuttle that slid inside, landing off to the far right side.

Once the light bump of hitting ground vibrated through the ship the older man jumped from his seat, barely giving the docking ramp enough time to drop before he swept right down and out of view. One of the guardsmen stomped down the ramp with him while the other three stood on either side of the slaves who still were forced to remain in their seats. The raven haired woman in the meantime reached over and grabbed [member="Irid"]'s trembling hand, giving her a light smile and a reassuring nod that everything would be alright. Whether she possessed a degree of hope, or false courage was yet to be seen.

"Brems srak!" A deep voice barked in graugspeak up into the shuttle. Over the period of her life Irid would have at least some degree of understanding in their language, if she cared to pick up on words here and there. The albeit brief statement meant something along the lines of bring them. Sure enough the guards moved towards the slaves pulling those who didn't stand from their seats. They lined them up first before marching them out of the shuttle and into the hangar. A cool breeze swept into their faces when they entered the large open area and again the elderly man came into view speaking to the guardsman that accompanied him, the graug had its shield slid onto his back while he talked to the man.

"Alright let's get moving bring them in for proce-" The elderly man just began to say but the stomping of footsteps interrupted his words. A squad of approximately a dozen men wearing sets of elaborate, ornate armor all of them bearing the cerulean phoenix of House Zambrano emblazoned in the chestplate. These men were led by an even larger epicanthix who easily stood as tall or taller than the graug who had his armors helmet tucked under his arm. The large figures face looked as if it was chiseled out of stone, and a pair of light sulfuric yellow eyes wrapped up an intimidating gaze. The group swept towards the slaves.

"Lord Bruul if I may ask what is the meaning of this?" The man said in a very respecting and submissive tone. The giant peered behind him to the slaves who were pushed into a line, before replying "Were expecting him to arrive here, get them down now." Even as the large man spoke the graug moved forcing the slaves down to their knees, before placing boots on their backs to drop them right down to the ground. Irid whether she willingly dropped or not didn't matter, she was still forced down her gaze facing the far left side of the hangar. She would see yet another shuttle similar to the one she arrived in slide into the hangar, the guards moving in positions around the hangar while the man called Lord Bruul swept up to the shuttle, kneeling before the ramp.

What swept out of the shuttle was an unnerving sight.

A towering man swept down the ramp in a set of wicked dark runed battleplate stained thick with dry and wet sheen's of crimson blood and gore. A large helmet was tucked under his arm revealing his tan skin and short cut black hair. She couldn't directly see his face but she could feel his very presence. The dark side swirled around this man like a constantly raging maelstrom, suddenly the air felt as if it got heavier simply by his very presence. He stopped to exchange words with Lord Bruul before sweeping past the row of guards, the Lord in tow and towards the elderly figure who dropped to his knees. "Your majesty has returned successful I hope against the treacherous swine." He said. Apparently this was some sort of breach in protocol as it received a sneer from Bruul who stood behind the dark figure.

But the man held his hand low and gestured for him to stand up he spoke. "It did Hastus. There is a price for insurrection, they paid it in full." The Dark Lord said his eyes passing over the slaves before returning to the man called Hastus. He reached to a pouch on the side of his armor and pulled a small object out and showed it plainly, turning it slowly to show the elderly man. "I've brought a new trinket for you Hastus. It belonged to one of the dogs I put down, take it as a remainder of what loyalty provides." It was only when the man handed the blood stained ring off to Hastus that she truly was given a look at the ring, and suddenly she realized now exactly what he was holding. It was the silver hawk ring that Viyers treasured, often hiding it from the slavers to ensure they wouldn't take it from him. It was his most prized, and only possession he cared about. Now it sat on Hastus's finger.

"Thank you, your majesty is too kind."

 

[Irid]

She remained.

It was as if her life's purpose was to sit there as still as humanely possible. A tragic statue of a slave, sat perfectly in the abyss in which she existed, perfect to be in the backdrop of such grim majesty. Involuntary trembling aside, she did not move a single muscle. Obedience, above all.

That was until a hand upon hers. Gentle, although just as calloused as her own. It gave way to a small initial flinch, tender touches were not often felt in their life times. No, the only touches they would know left welts, cuts, bruises and legs that quaked the very next day.

Well, there was an exception.

Viyers. His touch was always kind, always gentle. Reassuring, somehow even within their own existence. Sometimes she pondered how the man managed to bring a second of safety with a single hand upon the shoulder, or even a soft squeeze of the hand.

An illusion. Nothing more.

However, the woman sat next to her offered none of that same comfort. Even that tender smile only brought forth another wave of dread. 2003148 simply looked to to raven-haired woman, with widened eyes that only spoke of fear and uncertainty.

Her head twitched upwards in a snap as the guttural graugspeak barged into the shuttle. She could understand, or at least understand what they were saying at that moment. The limited snippet of her knowledge at least accommodated this certain phrase and without hesitation the slave stood, waiting to be led by a more than forceful hand.

Coming off the shuttle the girl felt overwhelmed, somehow even more-so than before. The unease, the suffocating horror did not subside but in fact only felt to be growing stronger. Senses seemed to cease all function, the awareness of her surroundings, her thoughts, her feelings all muddled and obscured by what could have only been described as darkness.

It was only until she was suddenly forced down upon the ground that she regained any modicum of awareness.

A man, or at least what seemed to resemble one.

He was the epicentre, the eye of the grim hurricane. That suffocation, it followed him, swirled around him and amplified the dread and anguish that clogged her mind like a sickness. All Number 2003148 could do was lay upon the ground and stare, trapped somewhere between awe and terror.

Until.

She saw it.

Unmistakable. The sheen of silver attracted her eye, and then the flecks of crimson upon the ring. Viyers' ring. Perhaps they found it, and took it away as punishment. Maybe even cut off his hand for the trouble.

No.

In her heart she knew in that moment that Viyers was dead, her killer standing so tall not a few feet away. There was a flash! The briefest moment in which Irid felt a sensation that had never existed for her before. Anger. Those wide chestnut eyes for that split-second held a vicious feral glare, as a deafening roar took reign of the girl's senses but just for that one moment in time. Vengeance. For the first time in her slave's existence, Irid was not consumed in her obedience, but by her rage.

Then it was gone.

Swiftly replaced by crushing boot of grief upon her soul, the whites of 2003148's eyes suddenly became glossy as tears tried in vain to erupt, but could only hold a sheen from fear of consequence.

Will wondered.

Is this my fault?

---

[member="Darth Prazutis"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Just as quickly as he came the towering Dark Lord swiftly disappeared out of the hangar, taking with him the force of Crownguard. Traffic in the large hangar quickly resumed as normal in the mans wake once his personal shuttle left. Irid was quickly pulled to her feet and the entire group led into the hallway from the hangar. Inside it was a brilliantly blended display of masterfully crafted stone hallways and chambers blended with metal additions to round it out for good measure. Gold glittered in the black stone walls and when the lighting was particularly bright the gold shined.

It was almost too much for [member="Irid"] to take in at once a nearly endless maze of intersecting corridors and hallways, an endless amount of rooms ranging from armories, security rooms, barracks, storage rooms, training chambers, gardens, kitchens some of which she could see into for the briefest of moments. It was entirely overwhelming and all the while its hallways were filled with soldiers, crew and the occasional slave. Most had pale skin, and others with hollow cheekbones, none of these people held friendly looks on their faces.

It certainly felt like they were climbing higher and higher with the presence of stairs and elevators Hastus took them through, about halfway through the four men were taken away by two of the four graug leaving only her and the raven haired woman. The only words the other graug spoke of the four men she could understand were "Arena." Finally the pair was pushed into a large chamber in a sector of the citadel that looked like a slave quarters. It was isolated and sealed off from the rest of the citadel, they needed to go right past a fully manned barracks. She and the other woman were escorted into what looked like a bathhouse, where multiple women all bearing similar slave markings with small additions, she knew anything past the base design meant a number of things including higher position, good conduct, etc.

They were stripped down then they were thoroughly washed and scrubbed in a number of different oils and scented water to further scrub them down. It was an odd experience she never witnessed or heard about being done on Fornow. They were then dressed in a set of black, gold and blue ornate outfits.

Afterward they were all brought out to a large open chamber lined with white marble. They were lined up here.

 

[Irid]

There wasn't a moment to absorb anything.

Not Viyers' demise, nor her constantly changing and new surroundings, not even the fate that awaited the slave. The colossal man departed, and they were pulled back to their feet and made to march onwards.

2003418's mind could not settle. Event the grim magnificence of the interior around her could not fully be absorbed following, were she not so unsettled she might have worried about the absolute maze that they were being led through, or the almost dead-eyes of the slaves that worked here. Alas, too many thoughts swirled around viciously, every question that she might have asked herself was immediately overtaken by another.

Where a-

What did Viye-

What have I do-

Only the word arena brought the slave forth from her haze, as the men that were with them were taken away for a separate fate, but at least now it was a known one, for them at least.

The other girl and herself however were taken elsewhere. Still they walked onwards, how did they not get lost in here? It was another thought lost and jumbled within the symphony of the frantic mind. Elsewhere turned out to be, well, the slave didn't know what it was. There were other women, other slaves.

She complied as always as they were stripped down, apparently to be washed. Admittedly this was entirely unfamiliar territory, but one that didn't bother those hailing from the Blood Pits. Shame was too trivial to be found in nudity and foreign hands were not a foreign sensation. So they stood perfectly still, as to be cleaned for their fate.

It all seemed so...excessive.

Dressed in new fineries that were a far cry from their usual attires, once more they were on the move, coming to a grand chamber that was somewhere between unfamiliar and terrifying for the slave. Lined up once more, 2003418's head remained down, eyes practically glued to the floor as obedience oft demanded.

---

[member="Darth Prazutis"]