ʜᴄ sᴠɴᴛ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏɴᴇs
"No." The pale man simply said the word most of the time. Sometimes, he would shake his head slightly, then continue to hobble down the line. He was thin, yes, but his thinness wasn't born of anything but unsettling weakness. Looking at him revealed that something, somewhere, had gone deeply wrong. This man was not supposed to be walking around, making judgements, giving orders, or examining things. He wasn't supposed to be outside. He belonged in a hospital bed, or a morgue, or a prison camp. Did he choose to be this way or was it some hidden consequence of whatever occult powers he dabbled in?
Beuka Myu didn't care. The atrisian woman was a medical craft pilot for the Sith Empire of Athiss, and she knew who she served. She knew what she was doing. It didn't, simply didn't matter what they looked like. They were aliens, or they were people so changed by things that they did that they may as well be, but they were powerful. And the Sith were the bringers of order, the keepers of peace, the harsh lesson that a chaotic Galaxy needed. She had learned this at the Academy as long as she could walk.
But still, seeing the Sith was different than revering them, and she felt the urge to cringe away welling up in spite of her best efforts as the man grew closer. The personnel he had ordered lined up were eclectic: most conspicuous were a few Sith acolytes, some of them with the letter Forn branded on their cheek or forehead for 'failure,' the refuse of Kalee, Ziost, and Korriban. Others held their heads high, still certain of their prospects at becoming Sith.
"No." He would say to each of them. The exception was when he passed over a failed acolyte. "Yes. You are chosen, take your place with the others." Then another. "No. Failure, useless." The second one, the failure, made no motion at the distinction, offered no awareness of his fate, but there was a flash of light as though a blaster had just been fired, and a faint hissing noise, like acid chewing through metal, and the "failure"'s body had sprouted a hole the size of a man's fist straight through its heart.
It crumpled, softly to the ground, and burst into blue flames that turned the rest of it to ash before any near it could make out the twisting and blackening of its flesh. The Sith Lord moved on, paying little heed to it, but those further down the line grew ever slightly more nervous.
Beuka kept her head high. She wasn't a failure, she knew she wasn't, she couldn't be, she would not be. That man had chosen to take the trials, and knew what happened if he failed, he had made his own destiny. Hers was hers to make, and she was not useless. She screwed up her eyes tightly for a moment, not wiping the sweat beading on her brow.
"Yes." Her eyes flew open, it was all she could do not to stumble backwards at the man's words. For a moment, she examined his face as he examined hers. It was astonishingly human. Not red-skinned, not ridged, it was soft. Feminine, youthful. The eyes were swirling, supernatural gold, as though lit by starlight from within, and the skin and hair were pale, as though leached of color. He had a warm smile on his face, but the way he looked at her made her feel like a sample on a slide.
"You are chosen. Take your place with the others." He pointed to the failed acolyte, standing away from the group. They were joined by a border security records official, and those were all the chosen.
Chosen for what, she did not know. The Sith were cruel and the Sith were kind. Anticipation mingled with fear as she awaited her destiny.
Beuka Myu didn't care. The atrisian woman was a medical craft pilot for the Sith Empire of Athiss, and she knew who she served. She knew what she was doing. It didn't, simply didn't matter what they looked like. They were aliens, or they were people so changed by things that they did that they may as well be, but they were powerful. And the Sith were the bringers of order, the keepers of peace, the harsh lesson that a chaotic Galaxy needed. She had learned this at the Academy as long as she could walk.
But still, seeing the Sith was different than revering them, and she felt the urge to cringe away welling up in spite of her best efforts as the man grew closer. The personnel he had ordered lined up were eclectic: most conspicuous were a few Sith acolytes, some of them with the letter Forn branded on their cheek or forehead for 'failure,' the refuse of Kalee, Ziost, and Korriban. Others held their heads high, still certain of their prospects at becoming Sith.
"No." He would say to each of them. The exception was when he passed over a failed acolyte. "Yes. You are chosen, take your place with the others." Then another. "No. Failure, useless." The second one, the failure, made no motion at the distinction, offered no awareness of his fate, but there was a flash of light as though a blaster had just been fired, and a faint hissing noise, like acid chewing through metal, and the "failure"'s body had sprouted a hole the size of a man's fist straight through its heart.
It crumpled, softly to the ground, and burst into blue flames that turned the rest of it to ash before any near it could make out the twisting and blackening of its flesh. The Sith Lord moved on, paying little heed to it, but those further down the line grew ever slightly more nervous.
Beuka kept her head high. She wasn't a failure, she knew she wasn't, she couldn't be, she would not be. That man had chosen to take the trials, and knew what happened if he failed, he had made his own destiny. Hers was hers to make, and she was not useless. She screwed up her eyes tightly for a moment, not wiping the sweat beading on her brow.
"Yes." Her eyes flew open, it was all she could do not to stumble backwards at the man's words. For a moment, she examined his face as he examined hers. It was astonishingly human. Not red-skinned, not ridged, it was soft. Feminine, youthful. The eyes were swirling, supernatural gold, as though lit by starlight from within, and the skin and hair were pale, as though leached of color. He had a warm smile on his face, but the way he looked at her made her feel like a sample on a slide.
"You are chosen. Take your place with the others." He pointed to the failed acolyte, standing away from the group. They were joined by a border security records official, and those were all the chosen.
Chosen for what, she did not know. The Sith were cruel and the Sith were kind. Anticipation mingled with fear as she awaited her destiny.