Private The Devil Demands Her Due

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Mood Music : {x} Warning Adult Themes​

Deep in the heart of the region known as Hutt Space pulsed a mud covered gem of a world; Nal Hutta. Far beyond the ancient bayous of the prestigious Hutt families, passed the uncharted bogs that covered so much of the world, rest a garden that was wholly different to the rest of the planet. From the plants themselves to the soil they took root in, the entire garden was alien and beautiful compared to the swamps around it. This was not a garden as one might find on a more pleasant world such as Chroma Zed, or Naboo. From the shrubbery that spread toxic spores instead of pollen, to blossoms that wept poisons from their thorny stems, and even outright carnivorous vegetation, this garden had been carefully cultivated to kill anything unfortunate enough to wander its pathways unprotected.

At the center of the garden, dangerous flora stretching more than fifty meters in every direction, stands a small control pedestal. With the correct, living, biometrics and up to date security codes, the entire garden rose up out of the swamps around it. Splitting in two, the garden moved aside to reveal a landing platform beneath. Any craft that could rest on that nearly hundred meter pad was then brought by elevator to the Hanger Bay nearly a full kilometer below the planet's surface, thus taking one's first steps into The Facility.

What lay beyond the Hanger Bay could only loosely be referred to as a research laboratory. It was a place where science was conducted, certainly, even Zenva's personal cloning lab resided here. Along with a sprawling network of labs dedicated to the development of narcotics, medicines, weapons, and worse. Some were modular laboratories, able to be adapted and rented out as desired. All without minor annoyances like government oversight, laws, or morality.

It was in one such laboratory that Zenva now sat. The chamber was largely empty, and almost completely void of light. The only exception being the faint blue glow of antibacterial lights along the inside of the Bacta Tank at the room's center. The Zabrak warrior sat in a throne-like chair in the darkness, dressed in her favorite evening gown. Before her was a small dining table, only truly noticed in the dark because of the unusual glassware that decorated its surface, glowing in the ultraviolet light. The crimson skinned alien in her black gown moved through the dim light like a shadow, sipping from her wine glass as she admired the prisoner floating in the tank before her. The only part of her that truly stood out was the red and white glow of her face tattoo, which obscured her features in a neon haze with this lighting.

The Zeltron floating before her wore a specialized breathing mask that should project her voice outside the tank, if she had the strength to talk at any rate. The woman's form was obscured by thin pieces of silk cloth that provided some modesty for her. Around her throat was a metal collar that Zenva had been assured would sever the Sith's ability to touch, manipulate, or even feel the Force around her. Combined with the woman's destroyed spinal column, the Zeltron shouldn't be able to do much of anything. Zenva wondered what, if any, sensations the Sith could still feel in her current condition.

Zenva smiled viciously to herself, leaned forward, and tapped against the transpari-steel lid of the Bacta Tank with her dinner knife. "Oh, do wake up already. I'm told you are whole enough that we can remove you from your coma, finally. So open those eyes, little Sith. I want company while I dine." Again she tapped the glass like window that separated the two women.

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The tap made the glass of the tank shake, and with that Sarla’s eyes opened, those milky white pupils peering out at the Devil.

She was alive.. disappointing. The Sith Lady had hoped to be in the grave, confined in Chaos for eternity.

Sarla could not feel her body, it was numb from the shoulders to the base of her spine, when she remembered, the fall of that great ceiling. Equally chilling was that she could not feel The Force, had this Zabrak preformed Severance? She did not appear to be an angel, for that power required The Light to preform. Perhaps this was a punishment from Lord Inferno, to strip her of the Power and make her wander the living realm as an ordinary being. That was painfuk to contemplate, that after all her strength she now could be nothing but a slave, unable to wield the Sorcery that had made her what she was, a Sith.

Faced with these fears, she looked at her Captor, age did not recognize her. Who she had seeh last was in some technological armor, not a fine dress and not adorned with horns and the maze of black and red marks that painted a face.

The Dark Lady of the Sith spoke into respitator comms,

“Where am I? Who are you? Why am I alive?”

The general questions any woukd ask considering the circumstances. However, uttered with a tone channelled frustration. She hated she was alive, the metal collar hummed and began to zap her as this emotion was calling to the Dark Power. Feeling the shock, she passed out. Coming back to she saw that Devil still starring at her through the glass like some test subject, perhaps an experiment. The point is Sarla was unable yo tap into the dark side and her body was so broken she could not feel much of her extremities. At the present moment she would have to accept she was in the hands of whoever this was, and spend her efforts recovering, and discovering how to access the Force again. That was the Path of the Sith, to never accept defeat nor give up long as you drew breath.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Rolling, almost musical, laughter rang through the dark chamber, the glowing skull tilting back as the Zabrak chortled. The Sith seemed to convulse, passing out briefly as she tried to touch the Force. Setting down the glowing crystal glass she had been drinking from Zenva's attention turned to her meal. The only glowing place setting at Zenva's little table held a single piece of meat at its center. It was in fact an organ roughly the size of her hand wrapped over her fist. She sliced a piece off, popping it into her mouth. In her mind's eye, she imagined it looked much like shadows slicing shadows, feeding them to a skull.

"Yes, yes. I'm sure you have many questions, but first I want answers to some of mine. For instance." She paused to slice into her meal once more. "I don't imagine you can feel that anymore. I did cut your heart out days ago after all. But I'm curious what you can feel. Are you in pain? What parts of your body can you feel? What can you remember?"

Zenva popped the second slice of the Zeltron's roasted heart into her mouth. A soft hum of pleasure rolled through the dark before she took another swallow of her drink. "Don't worry. Everything indicates that the cloned heart I gave you is working properly. For now." Again she paused, slicing off another piece of meat.

"You are alive because I desire you to be. As for who I am, I warned you death would come for you. Only now death can have you once you've earned it. You shattered my palace. You killed my pets. Slaughtered my underlings. The pound of flesh I've carved from you doesn't nearly earn you the right to die." Again she paused to savor the next piece of flesh.

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The Dark Lady of the Sith watched as this Zabrak sliced and devoured morsel after morsel of what appeared to be an organ. Then it was verified to be a heart, her heart in point of fact.

The Devil asked so kany questoons and given the state Sarla was in, she was not in a position to object. Who knew what this person was capable of, perhaps she would shut doen her Becta which was the path to mending not being a Jedi anymore.

“My heart.. what does it matter, my soul has been devoured by the devils of Abaddon.”

The Dark Lady could not conceal her condition, this heart-felt Lady could probably use instruments to ascertain her health. Her questions may even be tests, as in some kind of game to assess if she was prone to truthfulness or not.

“A better question Madam, is what I do not feel. In the flesh my limbs are dark to me, my nerves quiet, and from the back of my neck to my navel I feel a deafening numbness. But I bet you want to know more about the Other.. can I feel that Power that brought your pathetic dwelling crashing down? That storm that crushed your play things.. well that you will have to wait and see.”

Her insolence was emboldened less by the feast on her organ and more in the manner in which this Devil spoke. She treated her as if she was not a Dark Lady, and that was a mistake.

Sarla began to laugh in maniacal way, it shook the glass which almost cracked.

“Oh glorious! You did not know.. He will come and you will know nothing but woe! Hahahahaha! Oh my dear Hell Spawn come! Hahahaha!”

Blood began to swirl out of her mouth as a serpent of red, it went around her as her eyes dilated, her mouth grinning. She had contacted Him when the ceiling began to fall, her final message. Now she remembered, He would find her and this Lady would suffer.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva continued her meal, listening as the Sith spoke. "Deafening numbness, interesting." She replied with half-hearted enthusiasm. The threat was largely ignored as Zenva continued to cut pieces from her meal. The laughter however, quickly grew into something that irritated the Zabrak beyond words, eventually causing her to set down her fork.

She reached out to press a button on the Bacta Tank's control panel, and held it down for several long seconds. A rapidly fluctuating current of electricity coursed through the liquid the Zeltron was suspended in. The cloned heart in the woman's chest was not as reliable as the real organ had been. Nearly instantly the false organ began to fail, it's rhythmic beats becoming rapid and random. A heart attack by remote control. Eventually Zenva released the button, smiling again as she watched the Sith's heartbeat returned to a more normal, though accelerated, rate.

"Allow me to educate you, you ignorant Bantha. I cut you down months ago. I have cut you into a thousand pieces. Taken samples from every bone, muscle, and organ you have. Put you back together as much as I've cared to. Not to mention moved you to another region of the galaxy so vile, nothing is going to notice your insignificant presence."

She rose from her seat to lean towards the glass, looking the Sith in the eye. "No one is coming for you. There is no revenge, except mine upon you for your arrogance." Slowly she settled back into her seat. Clearing her throat before taking another swallow of her drink. "Now then. Where was I? Ah, yes! Who are you, and why did you attack me? I've looked through your DNA, and I have no idea who you are. So either, we weren't enemies, or you were so unimpressive I've forgotten you. Which is it?"

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The jolt that sent her in V-fib made Sarla nearly lose consciousness, blood now mixed in the Becta fluid, coloring it rosy. Then the button was released and her heart rate gradually returned to a normal and steady beat.

“Cough.. cough.. your wrong. He will come. You do not understand the nature of The Force nor our Bond.”

The Dark Lady of the Sith continued to gag, whe almost embraced it. In fact, if she tried she could loosen the respirator with her chin and drown herself.

“Who am I? I am Darth Sarlaac, and when I am free you will be taken aoart and digested in my wrath for eons!”

With that she bit the chin strap and the respirator came loose, her mouth flooded with water, and bubbles of rose color formed, she smiled as she tried to breath in the fluid. She was going to teach this Nobody that you do not mess with a Sith! She felt her lungs fill with fluid and she gaged, struggling in water, her arms and legs limp, her going still as a bone fish.

All began to go black, and for a moment she saw Remy’s face, precious sweet Pureblood, who she had failed, and then Anak who she knew would avenge her if she perished and help her if she lived. It was not fair how much she asked of Him, but what good is having an ex who is a Hell Spawn if you do not call upon him?

What was certain is she was not going to give this dicer and slicer satisfaction. She was going to show she had power over her own destiny, that she’d even end things and brave hell once more if it meant not being controlled. Even paralyzed as she was she had fight in her.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva laughed anew, cold and fueled by contempt, as this Darth Sarlaac spat nonsense about "understanding the Force". She had been born to Sith, raised by them, fought wars against and beside them. She understood their views of the Force well enough, and found it lacking. "As though the narrow mindset of a Sith could possibly hope to understand the Force as a whole. You limit yourself and call it power. It's pathetic, and ignorant."

The crippled Dark Lady spouted more, as far as Zenva was concerned, empty threats of retribution. "Digested by my." She interpreted herself with a snort of laughter. "You saber jockeys really try too hard with these name gimmicks." Shaking her head, Zenva's attention turned back to her meal.

Warning lights flickered to life on the display in front of the feasting Zabrak lady, drawing a curious glance up to the tank. "Oh how cute. Promise revenge, and immediately drowned yourself. This is exactly the type of idiotic behavior one should expect from a Sith." Again, she shook her head, turning away to take another bite.

After a moment, in a nearly after thought motion, Zenva's hand came out to press another button on the control panel. Droids entered the chamber a moment later, moving to aid the prisoner. Zenva's hand come up before they could help the dying Zeltron. "Let her die. Then revive her, and prepare her for surgery. I have no use for a crippled slave."

It would be another week before their conversation continued. The calm stillness, and comfortable darkness of unconsciousness was disturbed by burning pain, and blinding lights. The Sith would awaken to find herself secured face down on an operating table. The buzzing whine of saws and drills grinding on metal and bone filled the room as medical Droids cut out the Zeltron's ruined spine, attaching nerve endings to new cybernetic vertebrae slowly. Zenva's face, unmasked for the first time, hovered in front of the Sith's while the woman hung in the air above the Zabrak. Caustic, and clearly corrupted, yellow-red eyes stared directly into the milky orbs of the Zeltron. "Good morning, Darling."

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The Dark Lady came to, blinding lights fogged her line of sight, she saw pieces of her bone fell on a great metal bin, the cracked vertebrae covered in rose colored fluid. She felt completely numb, as yhe droid tore into the rrst of the columns and tosded them into the bin, then a device, a new metallic veryabrae was being placed inside, thin metal rods tug into tissue and the nachenrt slowly was fixed in place. The Zabrak she had defied leaned to look t her and called her an affection name.

She moaned to the Red and Black Tattooed One, she considered her a devil not a darling. Her white eyes like egg whites jostling like jelly, she could not believe she was awake, the sheer volume of blood washed on the table like waves. She wanted to fade, to black out, to die, but this was not the art of torture or worse, this Devil was doing something else. Was it a tracker? A Bomb? Or something else? Sarla had no idea, what she knew is this Lady was experimenting on her and she feared it would never end. She found herself longing for that coffin in Chaos, if only she knew what was to come. That was her problem, her mind was ever on the present, unable to fathom what would come later. If this Red Skinned Gal intended to tear her apart and destroy her, she could have done so when that palace fell.

Feeling a tinge in one finger, she moved it towards The Devil. Her eyes fixed in the index finger motioning normally, she smiled, tears running down her cheeks as she looked at those eyes. They weren’t so evil, why had she attacked this Zabrak she barely knew?

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The Sith's moan of pain was sweater than any symphony to Zenva's ears. The raw anguish of still being alive, still being held captive. The unimaginable suffering of feeling your nerves reawaken one by one. It sent a shiver of pleasure through the Zabrak who reclined into the same throne-like chair she had used before. A smile curled her coal painted lips as her eyes closed to better enjoy her prisoners pained cries. A giggle slipped through her cruel smirk, one that quickly grew to laughter, and soon boiled over into maniacal cackling.

"Oh! Oh, gods! Look!" She managed between fits of laughter, slowly calming herself. "She's twitching, and crying. Oh gods, that's just delicious." The Zabrak sighed heavily, forcing herself back under control. Turning aside for a moment Zenva took a crystal glass from a small table beside her, swallowed a mouthful of the amber liquid within, and set it aside once more. "Nurse, status."

A synthetic female voice answered the Zabrak from somewhere behind the Sith. "The first section of the spine is now operational, Mistress Vrotoa. All signs indicate that muscle control is being restored appropriately. She is, in fact, moving on her own, your Excellency. At this rate, the operation should be completed within your requested sixteen hours, Mistress."

"I take it you can feel that, Sarlaac?" She asked as she settled back into her seat. Slowly, one long leg folded atop the other at the knee, a stiletto heel bobbing in the air. "I told you, death can have you when I'm done with you. But don't fret, little Sith, you can earn your way free of me. In time."

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

Lady Sarlaac felt her other fingers begin to move, they bent and reached, it was a miracle of technology. The Zabrak was giddy over her tears and moans, she turned and reached out at the dancing stiletto. Words broke through,

“For— forgive me.”

The Sith Lady was aware of what was happening, this Devil was repairing her, the droids and synthetics acting as surgeons. She reached her hand our further towards her stilleto, a droid leaned down,

“Can I be of assistance?”

Sarla blew a kiss, her former ire had given way to worship. The fact she could feel again in her extremeties. Other things stirred to, the experiments on her pheremones made her pink and writhe in ecstasy, she felt herself drawn to the Zabrak. Her eyes fixed on the Devil Woman, it was not a potion or some mind control, no something in Sarla was rising like a storm.

How had such a transformation taken place? Had The Enthroned One tampered with her wires or was the Zeltron experiancing that time of month when the pheromones overloaded and she needed a release.

The answer was not forthcoming, all Sarla knew that she was bo longer in a hostile mood. She would moan as the mechanical healers did their work, she made a fist on the table as she looked at Zenva, her eyes glowing white and her black lips persed as the surgery carried on.

With each hour more of her body hummed to life, she bent her toes and wiggled them, then her legs, and her thighs which remained uncovered. All yhe while she kept her eyes on The Zabrak, her dancing stiletto as a hypnotic pendulum swinging in front of her eyes. Sarla kept smiling as more of her broken flesh could be flet and sinew and muscle and bone bent with ease.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Zenva's smile deepened, her cheeks dimpled as her serrated teeth flashed through her blackened lips. The broken Sith asking for her forgiveness was a pleasant memory Zenva would never stop enjoying. She leaned forward, the razor sharp slivers of Titanium that served as her fingernails sinking into the Zeltron's cheeks as Zenva grabbed her by the face. "Have you suffered enough to earn my forgiveness, Sarlaac? I feel like we're just beginning to teach you about my anger. I'm not convinced you've learned your lesson just yet."

Zenva's claw pulled free of the Sith's flesh, droplets of blood scattering as the Zabrak flicked her fingers. "Keep up the pretty whimpers of pain, and we'll see if you earn forgiveness." With that, the Zabrak fell silent, gesturing for a nearby Droid to bring her a datapad. For a long time Zenva's fingers tapped across the tablet, one foot bobbing in the air as she worked. She had nothing else to say to her prisoner, not for the moment at any rate.

Hours passed before Zenva's attention returned to the squirming Sith in front of her. "You've gone rather silent, my little Sith. Are you getting accustomed to the pain of your surgery? I could get some Devaronian gem dust if you want? Do you know what that is, Sarlaac?" She paused, a look of annoyance crossing her sharp features. "That's a stupid fething name, by the way. It's ugly. I think I'll call you Sarla. At least then you sound like you should be allowed on two legs."

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

Sarla stuck out her tongue and licked the table, her eyes focused on Zenva Vrotoa . She knew that forgiveness would require more fervor than her empty words, she spoke in choked manner,

“I.. will do anything..”

Her pheromones were exploding inside, heat moving between her legs and chest. She writhed and moaned, the droids still doing their work well. Then she went quiet for a moment. The Devil took notice of this, Sarla’s eyes seemed to bely a euphoria of some sort.

She then stirred and looked at the beaytiful mosaic of red and black of the Woman’s face,

“Sarla.. I like that. What..”

She coughed.

“Is your name?”

She tired of referring to this Zabrak as a Devil, that was actually a rather prejudiced term that people called Zabrak people. She had not done that intentionally, she more referred to that term to denote beings in Chaos who tortured people with firebrands, but this Lady was not torturing her, she was mending her body which made her an angel, a dark angel that she longed to touch and express her gratitude, and earn forgiveness from.

The Dark Lady of the Sith was bespelled, no one had cared so much for her well being since Remy. And no one had the capacity, nay technology to repair her body. Sarla perhaps should inagine there was a design, no one did favors for free, and honestly she did not care. If this Dark Angel wanted her soul, so be it. She felt for the first time safe, even in the hands of someone she barely knew. The truth is she felt peace in passion, and there was an aura of passion coming from her Zabrak Guardian.

She had let fear cloud her, lead her to the palace where she tpre down everything, burying herself. Burying Alice. Perhaps those hunting her would recieve reports she was dead and she could at last start over. And who better to seek a new rebirth from than this Dark Angel? That fiery spirit that concealed kindness beneath her mask of Zabrak ritual tats. Sarla was the same, she projected menace and power to protect herself, when deep down she cared very much. Though it was not fair to presume, she wanted to know this Dark Angel better. She had taken the first step, an exchange of names if she so obliged. Oh to have her name on her lips, her Horned Savior.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

"Anything? Isn't that precious." The Zabrak said, her voice low and sultry. A smile curled her lips once again, serrated teeth contrasting sharply against her dark skin and markings. Slowly she shifted her position, bringing her heel down to cross the opposite leg atop the other. Her caustic gaze monitoring everywhere the Sith's eyes traveled, and every micro expression she wore.

After a moment she turned to pick up her glass once again. This time swirling it beneath her nose while her prisoner coughed out a question. "Me? You don't even know who you were attacking?" She let out an exasperated sigh before taking a swallow of her drink. "I am Zenva Vrotoa. The Crimson Devil of Nal Hutta, Major Domo of The Hutt Cartel, along with a half dozen other titles, I'm sure."

She smiled, sipping her drink. "Things will be gentler for you if you remember to speak to me with respect, Sarla. I am basically royalty, after all. That reminds me, I believe we have yet to settle your debts. You shattered my palace, I shattered your spine. Fair. You killed my pets, I cut your heart out. Fair. You made me bleed." Her eyes narrowed, leaning forward to scowl at her prisoner. "Not fair. Status."

The Nurse Droid responded from behind the Sith, "The operation is approximately forty two percent completed. Vital signs remain within acceptable limits. No adverse reactions to the chemicals in her system. I predict over ninety percent recovery within six months, Mistress Vrotoa."

The scowl she wore was so fierce she was almost snarling at the Sith. "You'll continue paying off your debt right now. Roll the remaining vertebrae in Devaronian dust before they are implemented. You'll love this, Sarla, so pay attention. This gem dust is toxic to basically every living thing in the galaxy. I'm told once it enters your blood stream, your veins feel like they're made of glass. Every heartbeat becomes more and more excruciating."

She leaned back to finish her drink in a single swallow before she rose from her chair with serpentine grace. "You have three months to present yourself to me on my Flag Ship, and thank me for giving you your body back. Learn to crawl if you can't walk by then. Maybe then we can discuss how you will repay this new debt."

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

The devil, who she now knew was Zenva Vrotoa read her a litany of her crimes, most of them paid for, save one in blood. The plan was to install the rest of vertebrae with a toxic substance that had the prospect of making her every heart beat and flow of blood painful. Sarla considered asking for mercy, but she knew that was impossible, she simply starred Zenva,

“If my agony can make penance, so be it..”

So resigned for her fate, bowed her head as if in prayer, a last rites of sorts, for what would come next would mean day to day pain unending. Her soul had known the flames of Chaos, bow the flames would be in her veins, burning her cells till she begged for death. The only consolation was it would be a constant reminding of her being alive, that she was bot slipping into The Void.

A tear graced her cheek, for she was going to be transformed. It was at this moment that little did she know Anak was transforming far across the gaalaxy. The pair was undergoing rebirths, and hers was to be Lady of Pain, and if the collar was ever permitted to come off she would harness this hurt to strengthen her power, to sharpen her rage, and make her The Sith Scorpion, brandishing her tail of venom, her saber as an extension of the undercurrent of agony that the Davorian Powder afforded her veins. She would not shirk this gift from Zenva, no she would embrace it as a chalice, and drink it to the dregs.

“Baptize me! I am ready!”

The Dark Lady surrendered to the Will of this Dark Angel. She owed her for all she had done, and the debt was still in need of payment. So she would pay with her body, a living sacrifice to the Devil Lady.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

A vicious grin curled the Zabrak's blackened lips as she leaned forward listening to the Sith's reply with keen interest. A chuckle rolled through her, delighted by her prisoner's answers. "Good answer, clever girl. Foolish, and impulsive, attacking me without any knowledge of what you were getting into, but clever for how quickly you learn your place." She cooed, obviously pleased with how things were progressing.

Zenva's head tilled to one side, her smile wavering for a moment. One hand reached out, her metallic nail running up the Sith's cheek, wiping away her tear. "Don't cry, my little Sith. After this suffering you will be reborn. Free of the shackles of your old life, and the close minded teachings of your so called Master. You will walk under your own power, maybe for the first time. Survive this, and thrive, Sarla."

The Zabrak turned away as the first toxin coated vertebrae was set into the Sith's back. "Three months, Sarla. Don't keep me waiting." The sharp report of Zenva's heels on the durasteel floor receded, the renewed sounds of screaming no doubt chasing her as she left the operating suite. While a piece of her wanted nothing more than to listen to that woman suffer for injuring her, Zenva had an empire to run, and business before pleasure had become a necessity for keeping her enterprises running smoothly.

~ ~ ~ Fade to Black ~ ~ ~​

Days turned to weeks before the Sith's body was likely to finally work the last of the toxic Davorian dust out of her system, but merciful it did eventually leave her body. Droids entered the Sith's recovery room at random times, changing bandages, and often forcing her to move and exercise her weakened body. By the end of the first month, Sarla was left to largely fend for herself, feeding herself, and exercising herself. By the end of the second month she was rarely even checked on, instructed on how to change her wrappings, and left to her own devices in a spacious room with little to do.

Time losses meaning in a room without sunlight. It became impossible to track the days with the randomized visits becoming less and less frequent. Zenva's arrival in the system however was impossible to miss. A display scene blinked to live abruptly one day. It showed stars, clouds of gas and dust, the void of space filtering through different light spectrums slowly before settling on the image of a Ship dropping out of Hyperspace.

Zenva's newest personal Cruiser, The Ever Storm, drifted ominously towards the point of view displayed on Sarla's wall. Moments later, Sarla's chamber opened as a number of medical Droids swarmed in to usher her to the Hanger Bay, and the shuttle waiting for her. As for Zenva herself, she sat in her full war dress, a sword laying across her armored thighs as she waited for her so called guest to arrive.

The mechanized Zabrak sat in a throne at the head of a large chamber known as the Grand Hall aboard her Cruiser. The Hall was lavish, crimson silks, and rich amber lace decorated every surface of the black marble chamber. Along the side walls of the chamber run two raised dias, each covered in a wide array of tables, chairs, and sitting pillows. Numerous Zabrak were scattered around the room. Most sitting, eating and drinking, others holding quiet conversations in their native tongue. When the Grand Hall opened, a hush filled the room as they all turned to watch the Sith enter.

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

The Pain of the Davorian Dust felt like a burn that filled her entire system, her nerves responded with a needle sensation through her body, she began to experience a seizure, her face contorting, her ivory gel eyes bobbing and her mouth gagging. The promises of The She Devil were followed by deafness as the droids tried to stabilize Sarla. The Sith were trained to survive, to rise in the fire of adversity, and be forged anew, something Zenva Vrotoa alluded to.
Months passed, the awareness of time was impossible to discern, the droids refrained from telling The Prisoner. As her body mended Sarla began to walk, at first a struggle, then she ran on a tack of black marble, and began to build her muscles, hanging upside down to test the new spine, and doing push ups to tone her body. Droids watched her progress, her determination was steady, all effects of toxin faded away as hee former self had been shed. Sarla the Sith was no more, she had learned to hone her strength without The Force, the collar here severance during this sentence. In truth it was a boon, a gift, for she now channeled her power in other ways, through martial arts she praticed on droids, and the use of a Vibro Sword which she carved sentinel droids with electo staffs, leaving great gashes and slash marks on their steel frames.

The announcement of Zenva’s arrival made the Black Site Base stir, every droid went to and fro. Sarla was in her qaurters, doing a hand stand in her underwear, her back now stenciled with markings, like tattoos to conceals the scars of her surgery. Her eyes were closed, nothing but shadow, no echo, no chill of Bogan that she had depended upon in the past. She found The Void a comfort, when her eyes opened as The Cruiser arrived. Hanging was a great black dress, two droids with wigs, and lipstick entered, they spoke in tones like maidens who were jittery with gossip, they annoyed Sarla to no end, and yet their deviant programming was a nice change from the more stoic and monotone of the other droids. The two Droid Maidens helped her dress, placing the dress over her and tending to her hair, giving it a sheen that was glossy. She then had her door slide open two IG droids approached, one of them held a lightsaber hilt.

“Time to go.”

Sarla nodded, she then took her place between the IGs, their black metal bodies with cylinder heads made them shimmering beneath the bright white flood lights.

The Dark Lady boarded a shuttle of brass coloring, which like a barge flew to the Cruiser in orbit. She was brought to the great hall, where she took in the opulence that contrasted to the practical of the base. She walked between the two IGs, her eyes taking in dais, and the Throne, Zabrak at table, and there the One who all in hush tones bore reverence. The IGs taking the saber hilt handed it to Zenva, and they took standing positions on each side of the throne with heavy blasters.

Sarla approached in her black heels, her walk was elegant, her face painted in a smile as she approached The She Devil, and curtseyed, her bowing with her hands taking the train of her dress up and to the sides. The Former Sith then bore her neck, the collar shining with its smooth disk, there was no chip or crack, no attempt to remove it.

“Domo Vrotoa, I present myself as requested.”

Sarla’s words were crisp and to the point, no hint of sarcasm or disrespect, the tone had authority without conceit. It was evident that her intent was to follow Domo Vrotoa’s orders to the letter, even in speech.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

The marble hall was silent beyond the rhythmic beats of the Droids marching down the center of the chamber, and the sharp report of Sarla's new heels. Slowly, vicious alien whispers began to circulate among Zabrak gathered along the sides of the chamber. Whether it was a product of their native tongue, or their genuine opinions, an air of disapproval followed in the Sith's wake. When the Sith announced herself, the building tension around her burst.

A fist slammed on a table as a male stood from his seat to Zenva's left of the room. The male sported a crown of horns nearly the length of daggers, a clear indication of how much older he was than those around him, even Zenva's horns were short in comparison. The male began to rant in Zabraki, gesturing towards the Sith as he did. Others around the chamber rose their voices as well, though it was unclear if they were shouting him down or agreeing.

Zenva remained motionless for all of it. The screaming elongated skull of her helmet gave no indication of the woman's thoughts beneath it. She was a statue, her black eye lenses remaining fixed on her prisoner for several long moments. When she did finally react, it was to bring up her hand as her IG Droid placed a saber hilt in her upturned palm. She remained there motionless, the saber held up for all to see until the room fell silent once more.

"It's a pleasure to see you walking under your own power for a change, my Sarla. I am very pleased that you have found the strength to walk in to my Hall unaided. As you might guess, some of my clans men don't understand why I have brought them all this way for a single slave. But you are not a slave anymore, are you, my Sarla?" Slowly Zenva's hand settled back to a resting position on the arm of her throne.

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The Sith Lady stood before the presence which was shrouded. The tables of commotion rose at her standing before the Domo. It was clear that an affront was surmouting, when Domo Zenva spoke, assessing Sarla’a progress and then posing a question, “was she a slave?” The circlet around her neck spoke in the affirmative, and yet The Zeltron had found in this isolation a new self, forged from broken marrow and spirit.

“No, I am not a slave.”

Then in her pretty dress, she took a knee, her bare ruby leg peeking out of the side of the train and touching the cold marble.

“A slave is taken unwillingly, I now give myself with all my will, pledging fealty and loyalty as your bond servant. Ask of me and I shall do, tell me to take up this saber..” she pointed to the one on the arm rest, “and I shall severe any you command me to. For you have saved me, and in my rehabilitation I have discovered a strength I would not have..” she jingled the neck circlet, “keep this on or take it off, it matters not. For cut off from The Force I have grown stronger.. and I owe it all to you Domo.”

She bowed her head low, the long straight black hair fell over her shoulder, it shined beneath the lights. Her ivory white eyes trembling a little, not from fear, but feelings that stirred inside. The Zeltron did her best to hide what was in her mind, and heart, though her face was a natural portal to emotion. She hoped Domo Zenva would read it as some effects of her recovery rather than a rush of feeling, of heat. Her heart accelerated, beating, and she did her best to not let her body or dress shake. Sarla had yet to understand these feelings, why around The Domo did they swirl through her body? Was part of the procedure? Or something else? What matter to The Sith Lady was not to stain this glorious gathering, and so she remained kneeled, her heel slightly relaxing of her foot to show smooth ruby skin and the toes, which nails were painted black to match her fingernails and lipstick.

 

[Zenva Vrotoa]

Beneath the soulless black gaze of the Domo's death mask, corrosive eyes watched Sarla's vital signs carefully. The prosthetic spine that gave the Sith her ability to walk once more, had a number of features Zenva had yet to relay to the woman. The abilities to monitor a wide range of her biological functions, or that she could now pinpoint Sarla's location almost anywhere in the galaxy for instance. Provided of course, that Sarla was close enough to a holonet relay for her spine to send such information.

An odd burst of static erupted from the mechanized Zabrak. An instant later it happened again. Zenva's head tilled back slightly as her chuckle devolved into maniacal laughter, twisted oddly by the speakers of her armor. The woman's heart raced, but not in the same way as when one lied. She was anxious, or excited in another way. Almost eager to know if she had answered her Domo's question correctly. "Very well said, my Sarla. Very well said indeed.

A faint hiss of artificial muscles accompanied every movement Zenva made as she stood from her throne. "You see, Uncle. This woman is not the instrument that you imply with such vulgarity. She is much more than a toy. The Sith creature known as Darth Sarlaac assaulted me in my palace on Tatoonie. I killed that creature for its stupidity. Then I rebuilt that creature into the beautiful woman before you now. Able to speak whole sentences, to think, to reason. Finally free of the shackles her Sith Masters would have her wear."

Zenva walked down the stairs of her private dais in near silence. The Zabrak's grace, and the careful construction of her armor allowing her to move more elegantly than one might suspect. "I hear you, Sarla." She cooed as she began to circle the kneeling Sith. A clawed digit from her free hand reaching out to draw a lock of the Sith's hair behind one of her ears. "I accept your oath. Your loyalty and devotion are greatly appreciated, my Sarla. I gift you the title of Devil's Handmaiden as your reward. You are to be my shield and my saber, an instrument of my will."

The Zabrak came to a stop in front of her kneeling servant, one clawed finger pointing to the marble floor before her boot. "Until you have repaid me for the life I have gifted you, that spot is exactly where you belong. You will do well to remember that. You will address me as Lady or Mistress Vrotoa, or simply Your Grace, when we are in mixed company. Am I understood?" Zenva turned away, sauntering back to her throne, and sliding into it with uncanny grace. Her boot tapped the floor in front of her at a slow pace, as though she were counting. "I think we'll put your oath to the test, my Sarla. What do you think?"

Darth Sarlaac

 

[Darth Sarla]

TAG: Zenva Vrotoa

The Zeltron remained kneeled as Her Master spoke to those at table, and then gave her a new mantle, “Devil’s Handmaiden.” To this she stretched out her arms, and lowered her head to marble floor in a prostrate position. The cold stone and her skin meeting, her heart beating, and her eyes trembling. This had been the rebirth she had hoped for, to be a phoenix, rising from the ashes of that Palace and ready to use her fire in the service of her Domo.

Then as was custom of her Devil and Liege Lady, the next command was sharp as a serpent’s tongue, putting the Sith Lady in her place, reminding her of all she owed The Zabrak Lady, and the various titles of adress.

“Yes Mistress Vrotoa.. may your worship ever be on my tongue.”

The Devil then mentioned a test, a proof these words. Sarla relished the chance to show her devotion, the vice around her neckle jingling as she shifted a little to say,

“Yes my Lady, whatever you ask, I will serve.”

The Rebuilt Sith felt a rush of pheromones, the mere presence of her Master made her warm all over. At first she wondered why this was happening, then if did not matter, all that mattered was how she felt. Though in this public settling the Zeltron would have to attempt a measure of self control, she felt her new spine coil and the new metal bend with her breaths. Another question that lingered in Sarla’a mind was why Mistress Vrotoa had saved her? The obvious was to add a practitioner of the Great Mystery, The Force, to her force. And if that was the only reason Sarla would be content, though she hoped it was more than that. Hope was a weakness that this Zeltron had learned from hard experience was like a dancing Twi’lek, it swayed in front of you and then whisked away the next.

The Devil’s Handmaiden would be content with her new station. She was alive thanks her Lady, and able to start a new. Truly Alice was dead, consumed by Sarlaac, this new form a Pit of Despair that would consume all in the wake of her Domo.