Bramoc Karr
Character
Night on Fresia belonged to the mountains.
Far from the settled regions, where scattered settlements cast light into the darkness and speeders occasionally crossed the skies, the northern ranges remained untouched. The stars ruled there. Wind moved through stone corridors carved by ancient ice, and the only sounds came from the wilderness itself.
Until the transport arrived.
Its engines disturbed the stillness briefly as it descended toward an elevated landing platform extending from the mountainside. Moments later the vessel settled onto durasteel supports, and silence reclaimed the landscape as though nothing had happened at all.
Few places on Fresia resembled this region. Winter never loosened its grip upon the high peaks. Snow buried the world beneath layers of white that stretched to every horizon. Ice choked the valleys below. Entire ridge lines vanished beneath storms capable of stripping flesh from bone. Locals avoided the area whenever possible, and those who ignored the warnings occasionally vanished without explanation.
Stories had grown from those disappearances. Most involved a towering figure wandering the mountains. A monster. A ghost. A demon. The details changed depending on who told the tale. The outcome never did.
Bramoc found the rumors useful.
Beyond the landing platform rose the fortress itself. Massive and severe, it emerged from the plateau like a monument to conquest rather than habitation. Sloped walls climbed toward a flattened apex, broken only by narrow windows and sparse crimson lights glowing through the snowfall. From a distance it appeared less like a building and more like part of the mountain itself.
The unconscious Jedi remained draped over his shoulder as he crossed the exposed walkway leading inside. Snow lashed against black clothing. Wind clawed at them both. Neither received acknowledgment.
Only when the fortress doors sealed behind him did the storm disappear. The silence waiting within felt heavier than the one outside.
He descended through the structure without pause. Corridors gave way to deeper corridors. Stone and metal blended together until it became difficult to distinguish where construction ended and the mountain began. Eventually he reached the lowest levels.
The dungeon.
Rows of restraint chairs occupied the chamber. Every chair was filled save one.
The occupants varied in appearance, but shared certain similarities. Youth. Potential. The remnants of lives interrupted. They lay motionless, heads lowered, eyes fixed toward the floor. No conversations passed between them. No one attempted escape. Most barely acknowledged the presence of another person entering the room.
The Force had been taken from them. Not permanently. Merely removed from reach.
Bramoc considered that deprivation necessary. Too many Force users treated their gifts as crutches. Dependency bred weakness. Weakness invited failure.
The newest arrival was secured in the last chair. Unlike the others, he positioned her facing upward rather than downward. Restraints locked around wrists, ankles, and torso. Only after confirming everything was secure did he move away.
Nearby tables held instruments arranged with meticulous care. From one container he withdrew a slender strand of living tissue suspended within preservation fluid. The organism twitched faintly as he transferred it into an injector designed specifically for the task.
Then he returned.
The sleeve covering her arm was rolled aside.
A firm press of the device against exposed skin.
A sharp hiss.
The living strand disappeared beneath the surface. Ysalimiri cells. Enough to sever her connection to the Force completely. For now, at least. The injector was set aside.
Bramoc regarded the unconscious Jedi for several moments. Around her, the other prisoners remained silent and still, offering no reaction whatsoever.
Eventually he folded his hands behind his back and took up position nearby. The waiting began. Sooner or later she would awaken. And then she would discover what had become of her.
Talia Larkin Swift
Far from the settled regions, where scattered settlements cast light into the darkness and speeders occasionally crossed the skies, the northern ranges remained untouched. The stars ruled there. Wind moved through stone corridors carved by ancient ice, and the only sounds came from the wilderness itself.
Until the transport arrived.
Its engines disturbed the stillness briefly as it descended toward an elevated landing platform extending from the mountainside. Moments later the vessel settled onto durasteel supports, and silence reclaimed the landscape as though nothing had happened at all.
Few places on Fresia resembled this region. Winter never loosened its grip upon the high peaks. Snow buried the world beneath layers of white that stretched to every horizon. Ice choked the valleys below. Entire ridge lines vanished beneath storms capable of stripping flesh from bone. Locals avoided the area whenever possible, and those who ignored the warnings occasionally vanished without explanation.
Stories had grown from those disappearances. Most involved a towering figure wandering the mountains. A monster. A ghost. A demon. The details changed depending on who told the tale. The outcome never did.
Bramoc found the rumors useful.
Beyond the landing platform rose the fortress itself. Massive and severe, it emerged from the plateau like a monument to conquest rather than habitation. Sloped walls climbed toward a flattened apex, broken only by narrow windows and sparse crimson lights glowing through the snowfall. From a distance it appeared less like a building and more like part of the mountain itself.
The unconscious Jedi remained draped over his shoulder as he crossed the exposed walkway leading inside. Snow lashed against black clothing. Wind clawed at them both. Neither received acknowledgment.
Only when the fortress doors sealed behind him did the storm disappear. The silence waiting within felt heavier than the one outside.
He descended through the structure without pause. Corridors gave way to deeper corridors. Stone and metal blended together until it became difficult to distinguish where construction ended and the mountain began. Eventually he reached the lowest levels.
The dungeon.
Rows of restraint chairs occupied the chamber. Every chair was filled save one.
The occupants varied in appearance, but shared certain similarities. Youth. Potential. The remnants of lives interrupted. They lay motionless, heads lowered, eyes fixed toward the floor. No conversations passed between them. No one attempted escape. Most barely acknowledged the presence of another person entering the room.
The Force had been taken from them. Not permanently. Merely removed from reach.
Bramoc considered that deprivation necessary. Too many Force users treated their gifts as crutches. Dependency bred weakness. Weakness invited failure.
The newest arrival was secured in the last chair. Unlike the others, he positioned her facing upward rather than downward. Restraints locked around wrists, ankles, and torso. Only after confirming everything was secure did he move away.
Nearby tables held instruments arranged with meticulous care. From one container he withdrew a slender strand of living tissue suspended within preservation fluid. The organism twitched faintly as he transferred it into an injector designed specifically for the task.
Then he returned.
The sleeve covering her arm was rolled aside.
A firm press of the device against exposed skin.
A sharp hiss.
The living strand disappeared beneath the surface. Ysalimiri cells. Enough to sever her connection to the Force completely. For now, at least. The injector was set aside.
Bramoc regarded the unconscious Jedi for several moments. Around her, the other prisoners remained silent and still, offering no reaction whatsoever.
Eventually he folded his hands behind his back and took up position nearby. The waiting began. Sooner or later she would awaken. And then she would discover what had become of her.
Talia Larkin Swift