Private The Cons of VIP

[Adean Castor]

Jutrand
Gala of the Stars

Adean seldom went out of her way to lie to get into places of privilege. The vast majority of her misadventures masquerading as someone else were started by simply agreeing to someone else's assumptions. A politician's kid? If it meant getting out of a dangerous situation, sure. An investigator? If it meant getting past a taped-off area with minimal questions, absolutely. The lies of convenience, the 'you said it, not me's, piled on just about everywhere she went, one borrowed identity after another. And after each lie, Adean was sure to make a quick exit before it could catch up to her.

There was a first time for everything.

The Gala of the Stars was a celebration of the arts, culture, and travel among said stars, two-thirds of which Adean was particularly interested in. Ever since she'd accidentally lied her way from home, she'd kept on the move in a bohemian lifestyle, jumping from one life to the next. Her hair dyed green and the sketches of swirls and other designs that lined any paper she wrote on were easy indicators of a penchant for the arts. The festival was big, too. She could've easily remained nameless and faceless until she was ready to leave.

And then there was the call of VIP. Adean hadn't gone into the festival expecting to lie her way into the lounge decked out with comfy chairs and hors d'oeuvres, but when a particularly frazzled worker saw her walking by, shortly behind another group of dark-haired humanoids, and handed her a VIP badge, Adean wasn't about to say no. She glanced down at the name printed between sips of a fancy drink. Brassius Zambrano. At least half of that name, she'd heard before, the name 'Zambrano' striking a spark of brief panic in her belly. Surely it'd be fine, right? She'd enjoy a plate of snacks and be on her way. Surely she wouldn't run into anyone else of that name to catch her in the lie.

Darth Carnifex ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

It had been a long time since He'd sat in attendance to the Gala of the Stars. Before, the annual festival had been hosted upon the old throneworld of Dromund Kaas, but after the prior Empire's fall it had gone uncelebrated for several years. Now, with Jutrand the new center of Sith power in the galaxy, the festival had seen a slow return. Bright pennants of red and white fluttered in the open air, great banners of black sable unfurled from high elevations, various symbols inked in blood-red upon their ebony fields.

There were all manner of events unfolding throughout the festival, many of which were old revivals of things long since thought forgotten. But this was the way of the rising power in the Empire, the Revivalists, those who desired to see the old culture of the Sith not only reintroduced, but strengthened and proliferated all across the galaxy. Wherever their influence held sway, the Revivalists brought with them the hallowed memories of a culture long neglected.

Darth Carnifex, the architect of this Revivalist movement, sat upon a throne of polished obsidian and amber crystal. Around Him were the various power brokers aligned with the Revivalists, those who either shared the same cultural desires as He, or thought they could profit and advance from what was clearing the nascent confluence of authority within the Empire. The Emperor, by contrast, was nowhere to be seen, far too consumed with his war and his own secrets to attend.

That Darth Carnifex, the former Emperor, was visibly there was not by accident or happenstance.

All was deliberate.

A Sith demurely approached, falling to one knee. They wore the vestments of the Kissai over heat-blackened armor, denoting their status as one of the emergent priestly caste being reintroduced to the Empire. The caste held fanatical devotion to the Dark Lord of the Kainate, and thus to the Revivalist movement. "The prisoners are nearly prepared, Qoritwaidardirhoz." The utterance of the ancient Sith tongue of ur-Kittât was harsh and grated against the senses, causing the lesser servants nearest the throne to flinch back.

Without warning, the Dark Lord severed their heads from their bodies without appearing to lift a finger, such was His power over the Dark Side that He could kill with but a thought. Such weakness could not be tolerated in His presence.

"Very good, see to the final preparations. Long have our people traded in a diminished existence. We shall bring back the old ways, and show them to all who would serve us."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

The food was delicious, as to be expected in VIP. Adean contemplated a second plate as she glanced about the suite with practiced caution. So far, so good. No one had thought to interact with her, either caught up in their own conversations or scared off by the name on her badge. She could get used to the treatment, as dangerous an idea as that was.

But doing so would invite more trouble than it was worth, of that she was quite aware. Casting another glance around her surroundings, she got up to leave her plate near the closest trash receptacle. Much to her chagrin, she made the mistake of meeting the gaze of one of the workers, one who seemed to be in charge. Chit, so much for leaving before I'm kicked out, the thought ran through her mind as the event coordinator started in her direction. Her mind started to race with excuses or ways to further sell the illusion of her assumed identity, before catching the look in the coordinator's eyes. They didn't seem angry, only worried.

"Pardon me, ma'am, my employees have noticed a disturbance in your uncle's suite," the coordinator's voice rose there as if she wasn't sure what the accurate relation was either, "Would you perhaps be willing to check on him, see if there's anything more we can provide?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." The confirmation there truly were others of the Zambrano name present sent chill down Adean's back, her answer of affirmative being driven by instinct rather than sense. "Where is his suite?" Get the directions, go the other way, never look back. That was the new plan.

"Wonderful, thank you! It's right up here." The worker gestured up some stairs, making no move to ascend them herself and watching Adean expectantly. "You won't miss it." Well, chit.

Adean met the woman's relieved expression with a tight-lipped smile, immediately regretting the position she'd talked herself into. But with eyes on her, there wasn't much of a choice but to head up the stairs. Each step felt heavier, wave upon wave of dread washing over her. A part of her desperately hoped to pass by another employee, maybe even a break area to ditch the badge and claim she was an employee herself. There was no such luck.

She saw the throne before she made out any other details, nearly turning around right then and there before her eyes caught the heads on the ground. Her already pale face went paler, eyes widening at the horror, breath caught in her throat. Adean found herself frozen in both shock and fear, only then realizing just who precisely sat on the throne.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

A dreadful sensation arrested her, an unmistakable horror flooding her cognition as she became deftly aware of the presence of the Dark Lord. More than that, the true frightening realization that His sight had set upon her. Even turned away, facing the entirely opposite direction, He saw her; like He was looking straight into her eyes from mere inches away. It was something few dared to actively seek, and now for one who did not truly belong she was it's current fixation.

"Come, child."

The voice that thundered from the throne was powerful, authoritative. Each syllable was laced with a dark power beholden only to the Sith, and by it's intonation it brokered no argument. Even as she walked forward, she found her movements quickened by an unseen force, as though she was being swept along into the Dark Lord's orbit against her volition. Actually seeing the Dark Lord did little to assuage the terror that rose up in her throat like bile, for He cut every bit the legend spoken in hushed, frightened whispers.

He looked at her passively, though she could tell that just beneath that placid expression was masterfully restrained rage. At no particular person or object did He direct this simmering rage, for it seemed directionless save that it was reserved for all life. Murderous, sociopathic, genocidal. Such were the adjectives used by trillions to describe the Butcher King, the Black Iron Tyrant; Scourge of a Hundred Worlds.

Idly did His hand rise, a flick of a gesture towards an unseen darkness beyond the young Adean's periphery. A massive claw, wreathed in silver scales, emerged from the shadows and wrapped around the legs of on one of the fallen servants. Slowly, it dragged the corpse away from view, the headless body disappearing incrementally into nothingness. All that followed was the wet rending of flesh and the crackling crunch of bone. It would be some time for the action to repeat, and the second body to be pulled within only for the cycle to repeat thrice and then end in deafening silence.

"Your face conjures some familiarity," spoke the Dark Lord at last, "But it is one that I cannot place with certainty. A rare thing, to be sure, for I have committed all who share my blood to memory. What is your name, little one?"

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

Adean's blood went frigid as it became all too apparent that her presence was noticed. All notion of the requested check-in being a simple task had left the moment she'd seen the throne, only further solidified when she was addressed. Yet something propelled her forward where her legs would've remained rooted in place.

It was only once she started walking that she remembered to breathe, doing so through her nose and ignoring the sting that threatened discharge from both nose and eyes. The anxiety was palpable, near overwhelming. And she'd surely be killed for it, just like the decapitated servants on the ground. Killed for her artifice and then killed again for being unable to keep it together.

A wave of resolve - not calm nor peace - washed over her just before she reached the throne itself. It was a sensation she'd experienced before albeit not with this level of intensity. As if her being, or perhaps something else, acknowledge the surely dire situation and decided to grit its teeth and commit. Her anxieties didn't depart, merely pushed deep, deep down somewhere where they could be felt later (assuming she survived to feel them). Almost as if Adean had departed, leaving this fictionalized Brassius behind.

Adean managed to get by with only one shaky swallow of bile and trepidation as the bodies were dragged away. She didn't want to see more of the scaled creature, didn't want to think about what it'd do with the corpses, or what it'd do to her should she do anything to upset it. She stared straight ahead, back straightening, making ever effort to avert her gaze from the Butcher King.

"Brassius, m-my Lord," she answered quickly, cursing the stutter that snuck in to her speech, only hoping that the creature's gruesome display would be justifiable enough for that reaction. To anyone else, she would've manufactured some flavor of casual in her tone. Something that could easily lead into a 'oh I just have one of those faces' or another similar excuse. Here, however, there was no room for additional subterfuge. "I apologize for the disturbance. The employees below wish to confirm everything here is up to your standards."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Brassius."

The Dark Lord spoke the word slowly, tasting the syllables. Being subject to the Dark Lord's direct attention was withering, like being placed beneath an oppressive spotlight whose illumination left nothing hidden. But perhaps worse than that was to be pulled away from the light of His eyes, to be engulfed by the aching void left in it's wake. She would experience both agonizing sensations as Darth Carnifex again turned His attention back to the celebrations beyond.

"What do you make of the celebrations, Brassius?" He seemed to ignore her inquiry on behalf of the servants below, along with her apology. "An exaltation of traditions stretching back over a hundred centuries, our most hallowed rites thrust into the modern age. Most of them fail to realize the importance, the symbolism, of what such rites represent. They see it as entertainment, enjoyment, an excuse to indulge. I suppose they should be allowed their momentary vices, so long as they continue to serve in ways both imagined and unimagined."

He now looked to her again, and the spotlight of His eyes shone right through her spirit. "Tonight is a night of ascension, Brassius, and you will have your part to play before darkness falls."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

There was a mixture of relief and dread when the Sith Lord - no, more than that - former Sith Emperor turned his gaze elsewhere. Relief in no longer being the subject of the Butcher King's attention. Dread in knowing she was still very much under scrutiny. The weight of his presence was oppressive on every level.

'That's cool but doesn't answer my question at all.' Had Adean been in familiar company, she might've said as such aloud. That also beget the question of how long had it been since she was in familiar, let alone comfortable, company. It had to be months, if not longer.

She took a deep inhale as if to buy herself a few precious moments to consider what would be an acceptable response. The Tyrant hasn't given any indication to suspect her lie, at least not yet. She wasn't about to show her hand if she could help it. "It serves its purpose. So long as the masses can be controlled, the sense of community provides by the festival should embolden them to better serve." She didn't like the implications of her own words, reducing the masses to pawns to be controlled, but what little she'd heard of the Sith mentality suggested that was right up their alley.

Back under the fire of his gaze, it took everything in her not to flinch away. A new chill of apprehension claimed her person once he spoke again. "And what shall that part be?" She didn't want to know, not really. She'd much rather offer to get a refill for a drink or something and disappear into the masses.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"There is power in the masses, Brassius. Power that can be harnessed. If they were to discover their collective might, it could threaten all that we have built. These festivals redirect that power, harmlessly dispelling it away. If a festival is not enough, then other means are presented. An enemy to focus their hate, a catastrophe to cultivate their sorrow and outrage. All is a meticulous balancing act, requiring constant attention. So long as those beneath us are placated with their bread and blood, they need not consider anything other than eager obedience."

Slowly, the Dark Lord arose. He towered over the young girl by several magnitudes, a veritable titan of violence. Every inch of Him cut the image of a conqueror, a leader and destroyer of men. He reeked of darkness, of the faint coppery scent of blood, of ozone, of a storm yet to burst forth. In the Force, it was worse. He was an event horizon, darkness so unfathomable it was impossible to gauge where it began and where it ended; only that it was.

"I have a great task in mind for you, my child. One that I am eager for you to bring to fruition. At these kind of festivals, all is brought to a point where a letting of blood is indulged by the masses. As per tradition, one of our hated enemy has been secured for this offering. I have deemed it necessary that you be the one to perform the act, to remind all of your dedication and worth." He smiled softly, but to Adean it was the most grotesque expression imaginable.

"I have no doubt you will be up to the task."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

There was a piece of the Darth's philosophy, however heavy the whole encounter weighed on Adean's shoulders, that didn't sit well with the comparative youth. "Would that not tamper with the opportunity for innovation?" She regretted the words almost as soon as they were thought and yet she couldn't help but voice them. Perhaps it was the fact that in any far more desirable circumstances, she would by all accounts be one of the faceless masses he spoke of controlling. Perhaps there was a compulsion to almost vouch for her fellow nobodies, even if at the moment she played the role of somebody.

If she could back away when the titan rose, she would. Why, if she could meld into the floor or dissapate into dust on a breeze, she would've preferred it. By no means short for her age, Adean was only made to feel small in the presence of the Butcher, even more so when he rode to his full height.

Blood drained from her already pale features at the mention of blood letting and her supposedly assigned role in the ritual. Her breath caught in her throat, suddenly feeling quite light-headed. "Surely, there is another more worthy of such a task." Her words were barely above a whisper, overtaken by the terror of both the figure above her and the sacrifice at hand. "The one who captured yo-our hated enemy, for example. I would hate to hold this...honor unduly." She couldn't hurt anyone, much less kill them. No, this had to be some sort of nightmare.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Is that so?"

The Dark Lord's smile grew, losing whatever meager qualities that softened it.

"It would certainly be unfortunate for one of your low station to throw aside this great honor. One might come to the conclusion that you've lost your taste for blood, Brassius, or perhaps have suffered a change of heart. That just wouldn't do, now would it?" He came to stand by Brassius' side, hand resting against her slender shoulder. He dwarfed her considerably, perfectly capable of grasping her around the throat with one hand. The implied threat of where His hand rested was clear, and there was little she could do as He began to steer her towards the exit she came from.

"Come, allow me to show you the sacrifice down in the cells. Perhaps that will galvanize your resolve, would it not?" Again, the smile.

Vicious and cruel.

Monstrous.

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

As Darth Carnifex's smile grew, so too did the pit in Adean's stomach.

Her eyes narrowed a fraction as he continued on, the analytical side of her brain taking enough of a break from paralyzing terror to really question his words. Was the real Brassius truly of low station (and if that was the case, why had they been granted vip stats at this event)? Or had that been a subtle indication that her ruse was noticed? "No, of course not," she stammered in agreement. Can't lose what you never had.

Yet all thoughts of objection promptly exited her brain as the weight of his hand met her shoulder. Any other person, that gesture might've been taken as comforting, grounding. In this case, the word 'grounding' still applied. As did 'oppressing', 'burying', and dare she say 'damning'. Like a feline grabbed by the scruff of the neck, the hand worlds too close to her throat rendered her immobilized beyond what the Sith Lord saw fit.

"That might just do the trick," Adean didn't have to wonder if the words of agreement were more for herself than the one who steered her. The cells were perhaps the last place she wanted to go, for fear she'd be left there as a charlatan. Yet now she had to wander if that were perhaps a kinder fate than what had been selected for her. Perhaps, when they descended the stairs, the real Brassius would be there to take her place, something Adean wasn't sure would be better or worse.

Once they crossed the threshold of the private suite, her body seemed to operate on its own, adopting a more neutral posture. It was as if even in the grasp of certain doom, her subconscious was incapable of presenting anything other than the cultivated illusion that she belonged, as if keeping up appearances was the only thing that mattered. Or perhaps it has accepted that even if her terror was apparent, there was no samaritan in this system that would dare speak up for her in this case. Indeed, the face she put on wasn't a brave one.

It was that of survival.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

They descended through the polished and sterile corridors of the villa, passing beyond the dull roar of the celebrations above until all noise virtually ceased. All that echoed through the halls were their own footsteps and Brassius' own breathing in her ears. Guards were intermittently posted throughout the lower levels, faceless enforcers armed with the weapons of brutalization and torment. The cells were the worst of all, for while they held the same cleanliness as the levels above, the soft moan of anguish permeated throughout.

Many Sith delighted in torment for torment's sake, doing little more than to feed their own sick arousal. The Dark Lord saw things differently, He believed that pain was evolutionary. To experience pain was to experience a form of enlightenment found nowhere else, for the sharp sting of pain cleared the mind and opened it up to new potentials. In time, He'd learned how to draw out the pain and suffering of others to elicit powerful visions and wisdom.

A door loomed ahead of them, bolted and shut. At their approach, the door unsealed itself and opened to allow their passage. Beyond was a singular chamber, windowless and dark. Brassius was brought into the chamber, the Dark Lord standing at her back. Suddenly, the door behind them slammed and bolted shut, darkness covering every inch of the chamber in a second.

"I must admit," began the Dark Lord as bright light flooded the cell.

The empty cell.

"I thought you would have tried to escape earlier, Brassius. The stench of terror hangs about you like a funerary shroud. I expected you to bolt as quickly as you could, but here you remain. So tell me, child, who you really are. What madness drove you to enter that box today."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

As their surroundings quieted, the noise in Adean's head grew louder. A part of her wanted nothing more than to bolt before they descended past the VIP area, to get lost in the crowds of the festival. It'd be an easy affair for her, having time and time again slipped from situations where her identity may be questioned by becoming one of thousands. Those previous instances, of course, weren't involving a lord of the Sith let alone the God-King of her own people.

She couldn't think of what she was to be made to, the sacrifice that it was deemed she'd partake in, so she didn't. Blocking out the thoughts of what was to come was perhaps the only thing that kept her from growing faint. Moans of anguish that served as an ambiance for the cells below were heard but not processed in a sort of protective mechanism. Perhaps that was why she didn't question when the cell they headed into was alarmingly quiet. Or perhaps her senses had been overloaded with panic enough that she couldn't question the red flag. Or perhaps, at that point, she'd subconsciously accepted her fate.

Any brave face that she'd put on had dropped once the cell's lights bore down on them. Fate accepted otherwise, it wouldn't have prepared her to be locked in a cell with the Butcher King even in the landscape of nightmares. A part of her, minuscule, dormant might've noted that the terror that clung to her had lessened since first entering that private suite, as if even the brief exposure to certain doom was already acclimating her to the gravity of the situation. It wouldn't matter in the end, though, would it? Surely she was dead to rights here.

"Would you have let me get away, had I bolted, Lord?" Had the opportunity presented itself, she absolutely would've, but alas, there had not been one she trusted. For only the briefest of moments, she considered telling the full truth. How she'd accepted the name of Brassius by instinct and had been happy to reap the benefits of it, unaware of the very real consequences from the floor above. And then, how the number of false pretenses that had propelled her forward for some time was beyond her own memory. The idea of claiming her name actually was Brassius, and that it had been an honest mistake was also tempting.

In the face of very real danger, her silver tongue seemed to turn to lead. "I'm not much of anyone, really. The doorman assumed the name when I passed by. I wasn't about to pass up the chance for VIP - I mean, who would? Had I known you were presiding over the festival, I would've refrained though, my Lord. It was not my intention to, uh-" To what? Cause damage? Get someone else killed? "interfere with the proceedings here."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"No, you would not have gotten far."

Powerful, but surprisingly nimble, fingers grasped the edge of her chin, drawing her face up further towards the light above. He studied her closely, eyes passing over every contour of her face. It felt like an eternity, being scrutinized so, but only a few moments had really passed. But those eyes had left their impression, burned into her own vision as if she'd stared too intently at the sun; a shadow lingering.

"Is that all you are? An opportunist? Or are you something more? The circumstances are strange indeed."

From behind the Dark Lord, came a small being wrapped entirely in red fabric from head to toe. None of their features were visible, only the general outline of their body hidden beneath the crimson vestments that entombed them. They approached slowly, cautiously, one hand rising to reach out towards the young woman.

"My Dzunkissai shall know. Your mind shall hide nothing."

Adean Castor ​

 

[Adean Castor]

TAG: Darth Carnifex

With a hand on her shoulder, Adean at least had the albeit thin barrier of fabric to protect her from the dread that radiated off of he who once ruled over her homeworld. Once fingers met her chin, even for one as unattuned to the Force so many raved about and started wars over, there was no mistaking how out of her depth she actually was. If there was some way to siphon just a fraction of the power that emanated off the Sith Lord, surely something she'd never survive, it'd change her life easily.

Wide eyes were not unlike saucers, the middle ground between emerald and chartreuse that wanted nothing more than to tear themselves away from certain doom found that they could not look away. Even a blink felt impossible under such scrutiny.

A thought occured to her whilst she was waiting what she could only hope would be a quick death. Her brow furrowed a fraction as she considered the Dark Lord's questions. An opportunity, perhaps. A way out. "Are you wanting something more?"

Movement from behind Darth Carnifex saw Adean stumbling backwards as far as his grasp would allow. A hand closed around the handle of a small dagger - feeble protection considering present company and hardly something she was trained in - but it was what she had. She didn't know just what this Dzunkissai was and she wasn't interested in finding out.

"Th-that's hardly necessary, my Lord. I've nothing to gain lying here."