Open Sullust In the Church of Starry Knowledge (Open to Sith)

Algus Doll

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Reality had become a shade of red murky heat that shifted in waves, altering his perception of what was real, and what was not. Imagery of teeth grinding metallic rods, the ripping of flesh and the breaking of bones occupied his mind; his body was a canvas that had been decimated and destroyed. Pain infiltrated every fiber of his muscle and inseminated his very being. With every passing moment he squirmed and writhed, flexing and contorting to a state of exhaustion, his mouth caked in dried blood-tinged saliva mixed with dirt. There was no sentiency left in him and when he did regain the very smallest modicum of clarity, it was only to question if he had died, or ever existed at all.

Time was a concept he did not understand. It was something he existed outside of and between simultaneously. Eventually, there was a warmth that claimed him, swallowing him whole and without mercy. There was a familiarity to it however, an odd sensation that removed all pain and stress. It made him feel innocent and he wanted to cry. But he had no eyes, and he had no mouth. Right now, he was fetal, and at peace. There was a false finality to it all that would not last.

Light flooded his sinuses as around him, the gelatinous fluid that held his battered body began to drain. Unable to move, in fever-dreamed desperation, he urged his hands to collect what he could of the liquid, to somehow force it to comfort him once again, but to no avail. Falling flat, he was wetly placed on a cold metal table. Whatever sedatives they had given him were still in effect, although their potency was beginning to wane. Surrounded by droids, their lifeless still bodies began to move, retrieving two pillars of thin black metal that were almost skeletal in appearance.

Drilling and grinding, the artificial legs were anchored to his bone and muscle, the sedatives did little to null his core; he could feel the pain and pressure increasing as if being strangled by metallic bands, crushing, and pulling his femurs until they would give. His teeth began to chatter sporadically, clanking together as if he was freezing to death. He thought his legs, or what was left of them, would snap off right then and there. The droids offered no comfort, they were silent and as soon as they had begun the procedure, they retreated back to the shadows of whatever laboratory he found himself in.

He laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, once again feeling like a person, his nerves beginning to function once more, but delayed. Prematurely, he eventually mustered the strength to pull himself from the table, trying to stand but instead finding himself immediately collapsing, his newly fabricated limbs hitting the ground with a heavy metallic thud. Sitting and hunched over, he tilted his head up for the first time, finally able to make out his surroundings.
 
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Saragnayan

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Hrist, clad in her stolen Mandalorian armor– no, Saragnayan rued the fact that she wasn't able to join her fellow Sith on their return to the defiled Jedi temple on Ajan Kloss. She lamented that she hadn't been there to witness the temple's destruction, and that she hadn't been there to witness the defeat of two, fully trained Jedi Knights in the hands of her brethren. The agony, fear, and despair the Jedi surely felt must have been intoxicating.

And she had missed all that because her Father instructed her to go to Sullust, instead. His word was law, and Saragnayan knew that it was wise to heed him. Never had she been disobendient, and while she was free to think and act for herself she was not going to break the rules by ignoring a direct order.

The female Sith's unflinching obedience was rewarded with the arrival of a man broken beyond what was physical, whose belief and faith were shaken, beaten, pried from his grasping hands as easy as taking candy from a child. She felt him before she saw him, and Saragnayan followed the emotions and the intense feeling of pain.

Down, down, the hallways she went, honing in on that delicious feeling, until she found herself standing in the darkest corner of the room where a figure – dismembered and beaten – floated, suspended in a bacta tube.

Saragnayan watched as he was taken out of the tube. She watched as the droids did what they were programmed to do, merciless, unfeeling, but with frightening precision and efficiency. She watched as the lifeless pieces of metal fled once they were done, and only then did she allow herself to approach the man lying on the metal table, not stopping in her tracks even as he collapsed on the cold, unyielding floor.

He looked like a sacrificial lamb to the Darkness that always hungered for death and destruction. A gruesome sight to some, but a welcomed vista to the Sith as greedy, blood-red eyes drank the vision below her. She went down on one knee, robes rustling quietly as she reached out to him.

She knew this face.

A gloved hand brushed against wet, dark hair, the tender touch a macabre imitation of comfort and peace as Saragnayan gazed down at Algus through the visor of her helmet, her eyes alight with a maddening hunger that seductively reached out to the budding Darkness that had been planted in his soul. His emotions, his thoughts, his pain...

He felt divine.

Her hand trailed down to his cheek, thumb brushing against pale lips, before settling to cradle the back of his head. She would reach out to him through the Force, her Darkness meeting what was left of his Light, seeking to snuff it out completely. His thoughts were muddled still, but she would not need to delve deeper to grasp a sense of betrayal he felt. Her voice, modulated by her helmet, came out in hushed tones – masked with a poor attempt at sympathy.

"Oh, sweet, faltering beacon of Light... who betrayed you?"



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R5 9A

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R5-9A would have sighed if he possessed the lung capacity. He was doing his best to oversee these useless droids and here came this woman barging into his experiment. Bad enough that these bots had been assigned to his lackeys - these medical droids were frustratingly committed to the "do no harm" doctrine of medicine that made good experiments so difficult - but now another outside influence had come in?

R5 was just about to subject Algus to some electroshock torture to test a running theory he'd held about a cyborg's resistance to lightning based attacks but all that had ended when this woman walked in. He'd have to approach this with some level of caution. Despite his venerable age and his unique expertise, many Sith still looked down upon him as just a droid and not the Order's best medical asset they had. As such, he couldn't be too blatant with his displeasure. Not without backup.

"Pardon me madam but this is supposed to be a controlled environment. If you're looking for the results of the recent experiments, I'm happy to print you out a summary once you vacate the premises." R5 beeped, which was then translated by one of the droids nearby. That was actually him at his most polite. He hoped it'd be enough.

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Algus Doll

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Sitting, amniotic fluid from the Bacta Tank pooled around his naked body, casting his pale flesh in a wet sheen. The idle lighting of the laboratory and its mechanisms danced off his reflective skin and slowly, he coiled his arms around his midsection, holding himself. Someone was next to him, he could feel her presence before she spoke and, in that instance, he thought she may be God. As she extended her palm and caressed his wet locks of dark hair, he lolled himself into her touch deliriously, resting the weight of his head on her for a moment while his stygian black eyes peered up at her masked features like a newborn, his lips parted while his lungs exhaled newfound breaths of life.

“Where..?” Language was difficult and he tried to force it from his mouth with confused hardship. Pulling away from her and beginning to stand, he instantly stumbled yet caught himself on a nearby table littered with medical apparatuses, his hands slamming atop its surface to stabilize his body and causing jars of glass to fall to the floor.

His mechanical legs appeared as a crow's, unusually gaunt and solid in appearance with soles that supported his weight on their toes. “Where am I?” Eventually, he spoke with an odd stutter. His perceptions were coming back to him slowly but surely.


Was Ajan Kloss something he made up and if not, did he die there?

Turning, he supported his weight on the table behind him, raising his head and looked at the droid and armored women before him. Coughing, stray Bacta dripped from his nostrils and the ends of his hairlocks. Regarding them both as much as he could, he finally stood upright for the first time, his lithe frame unusually tall due to the elevation of his prosthetics.

“The Jedi betrayed me.” Again, the sweltering anger he had felt in his past creeped into his marrow. It remained there though, harnessed yet ready to erupt in a scorching vehemence. Clearly now, he breathed, and, in his remembrance, he witnessed once again the edge of that shadowy forest, the thick trees that cradled the fallen Jedi temple and the master who had left them all to die. Pulsing, a feint and fiery seismal quake of the force briefly overtook the area, causing glass to crack around him, subdued only by his exhaustion. It was powerful, but raw and unrealized.


“The Jedi betrayed me, but the force does not.”

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Saragnayan

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Saragnayan hummed softly at the broken Jedi, gaze piercing through the naked, pale flesh and metal before her. There was always something so horrendously sweet at witnessing the Light being extinguished in the Jedi's eyes, whether if it was in death or in their fall to the Dark Side. With the Darkness budding fruitfully in Algus' soul, the female Sith would see to it that it would grow and bloom with chaotic beauty – under her guidance or someone else's. Of course she preferred the former, if only to satisfy her lust and hunger for the destruction of that hated morsel of Light that clung desperately at the vision before her.

Her gaze remained locked with his even when the droid beeped it's request, wholly ignoring the translation offered by another. Without looking at the one that translated, Saragnayan lifted a gloved hand to its direction before making a fist, drawing on the Force surrounding them and reducing the droid to a pile of scrap. It would crash on the floor, sparking electricity and sputtering out smoke as its photoreceptors darkened.

"No," she simply told R5-9A, knowing full well the medical droid's proclivity for experimentations. In any other circumstances she would have humored the tin can, having admired it's thirst for knowledge and destruction. Now, however?

Saragnayan brushed her hand on the back of Algus' head one last time before he pulled himself away from her. The female Sith rose gracefully on her feet, watching, waiting, as he struggled on the new set of limbs he had been blessed with. The sight was fascinating, almost comparable to the movements of a newly born animal. She offered him no support, letting him get accustomed on his new legs himself.

"You are on Sullust, in the stronghold of the Sith," she replied truthfully, one hand stretching out to block R5-9A's path should the droid choose to approach Algus. Saragnayan glared at the droid over her shoulder, a quiet warning for him to back off lest he be reduced to a broken husk of metal like the one she just destroyed. Gaze finding the Jedi's form once more, she approached him, craning her neck up to look at his pale face. He was tall, that much she knew from their first meeting on Naboo, but with his new prosthetics he now towered over her.

Having to tip her head up to look at him brought a pleasant shiver down the Marauder's spine. The inherent need to be submissive and subversvient sang a haunting and vicious tune in her head, and she would've gone down on her knees before Algus if it weren't for her Father's teachings about controlling her baser instincts.

Molten anger – his, not hers, no, no – coursed through her veins and Saragnayan reveled in it, her Darkness reaching out to stoke the flames that was now seared into his bones. She fed his rage with her own, the Force making the room quake with his uncontrolled emotions. Algus' anger was raw and potent, powerful and more overwhelming than hers, that it made Saragnayan shiver where she stood. She took a step towards him, then another, body trembling like a leaf in the wind, as she reached up to cup his face in her hands.

Exhaustion soon gripped him, his body supported by the table behind him and Saragnayan's touch. She caressed his cheeks, the action almost loving if it weren't for the Dark Side of the Force pulsing in every fiber of her being. With the Jedi's betrayal to him she would pull him down with her to a path that led far from the treacherous Light. She would be the guiding hand that would help him embrace the growing Darkness in his soul.

"You must understand, my sweet, fallen angel, that the Jedi is only good at one thing... and that is betrayal." One of her hands traveled down to his neck, fingers tracing his collarbones, before her palm found rest against his sternun, feeling his heart beating through skin and bone. "Take a look at yourself."

Her burning, ruby gaze would meet his midnight eyes. Saragnayan poured all her anger, all her hatred for the enemy of her Order in her next words, urging Algus to see what the Jedi did to him. What the Jedi gave him in return for his loyalty.

"Look what they did to you."

She smiled up at him, her eyes alight with morbid happiness at his words.

"The Force is your ally. It will never betray you, yes... and so will I."



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Raze was satisfied with the outcome of Ajan Kloss. They had confirmed the death of a defector, and he knew the Knight he released would sing his tales. She carried with her permanent reminders of what happened that day. It wouldn’t be long until the galaxy itself quivered in fear of his name.

He had been the one that gave the order to retrieve the fallen Jedi. He could recall the rage and betrayal that surged through him, the emotions singing the sweetest song in the realm of the Force. Raze didn’t need to announce himself as he entered the facility, operatives quickly stepping aside and giving him a wide berth.

As on Ajan Kloss, he was adorned in his armor complete with the metallic helmet. An icy chill trailed the path he walked, a sense of dread always a part of his aura. It was jarring to any that hadn’t been in his presence for elongated periods of time. Raze only showed mercy when it proved advantageous, and he had arrived to confirm or deny it in this case.

Heavy boots carried him towards the room with the tank, and he could hear voices inside to signal that the Jedi was awake. Raze stood in the doorway, fixing his gaze upon the man that was taking his first steps. He didn’t bother to look at or acknowledge the others in the room, even as the woman seemingly caressed the former Jedi.

The Sith Lord stood in silence for a moment, visor meeting the man’s eyes.

“The Jedi did nothing you didn’t deserve,” He said flatly. The Force would coil around the woman, skidding her back and away from the man. This would take away the former Jedi’s support and force him to remain standing.

“You will not sit here mewling and lamenting the actions of the Jedi. You alone are responsible for your actions. You will survive here only if you can prove yourself valuable enough to stand amongst us,” The mechanized voice was dripping with frost. It was clear that he had little patience for dwelling on self defeating thoughts. If the former Jedi displayed it, Raze would likely choke the very life from him, “The Force is only an ally if you are worthy of it.”

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Algus Doll

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Peering down at her, Algus’ eyes did little to illustrate his inner indignation. They were black voids, null of sensation and emotion that reflected her image like mirrors of ink. There was an odd familiarity to her, even though he couldn’t make out her features. Perhaps she was another image of his past, a ghost like so many others manifested to remind him of his failures. He died on Ajan Kloss, but he fell long before that point. Once he let go, everything became clear; it was destiny manifest.

“The Jedi are but a side of a coin.” Lurching, he caught himself on the table once more to regain his composure, Bacta pooling at his feet into a reflective puddle on the ground. “Or, I always thought it was a coin. You see, they teach you that it’s a coin, one side and then the other. Light and dark. But those are just words. Eventually though, you believe it.” Letting his eyes titter upwards, he stared towards the entrance of the lab, his keen ears picking up the sound of heavy footsteps. They were confident and carried weight. “Someone is coming."

As if on cue, Algus’ lips turned upwards into an unconscious sneer at the Sith Lord, his eyes glowering as seething pits cut from space itself. He didn’t move and simply watched as Hrist was torn away from him. “Darth Raze.” Acknowledging him, he rested his palms back against the table at his rear. “The Jedi are only acting the only way they know how. The only way we knew how. But they are weak because of it. They can’t protect anybody, not in their hubris.” He looked down at his prosthetics, the site of the blackened metal disgusting him. They were crows feet.

“No. The Sith did this to me.” He finally spoke, his voice melancholy and sobering. Pushing off from the table behind him, he sauntered to the far-side of the room, his elegance lost and mastery of his limbs weak. His stride was weighted and heavy; he stumbled like a newborn calf, calculating each step painfully as if he had hooves.

“The power to act is in those who take it. For many years I believed I was trained to be virtuous. On Ajan Kloss, I realized that I was right. It all became clear in a moment.” Staggering forward, his footfall sounded as if it would pierce the ground. Eventually, he found himself before Darth Raze and let his mechanical limbs buckle, kneeling in front of him. "It was clairvoyance."


“I am virtuous.”



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R5 9A

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R5-9A would have rolled his eyes if he'd had them. Listening to these Sith babble on about clairvoyance and The Force and betrayal made him want to tear out their innards and not in the usual way. But the Sith were a means to an end so he kept his digital tongue, writing a viritual reminder to substitute acid for bacta should Saragnayan ever find herself in need of medical assistance.

Truthfully though, she had done him a bit of a favor. By scrapping this droid, she had effectively taken him out of the Sith's record keeping. Everyone would assume that the poor droid was scrap when, in reality, R5 had oh-so-lovely plans to rebuild it and take it apart again. It would make an excellent test subject for an experiment on cyborgs he'd been conjuring up. Oh yes, it would do nicely.

"If this subject should not prove itself valuable to the Sith, am I to have priority access to the subject? Force Sensitive test subjects are so rare to find, you know." R5 asked. Organics may have cowered and silenced themselves in the presence of such dark figures with terrifying power. But R5-9A was a scientist first and foremost and he needed to know his experiments had subjects lined up. Plus, he was of good enough rank and standing within the Sith Order that if his question did offend, he was sure only one of his medical assistants would bear the brunt of the punishment. And that was something he could live with.

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During her time as a Cadre-subject, Saragnayan was taught to keep her mouth shut, her thoughts to herself, and to listen to anyone who had authority. Aside from being loyal, she was also made to be subservient. It was drilled into her mind, going as deep into her subconscious that she had learned to recognize authority with just the sound of their voice.

Hrist was a good girl, and so was Saragnayan. And while Algus was still physically weak from the operation he had just been subjected into, she recognized the rage he felt and deemed it superior than hers for the time being. Superiority and authority went hand in hand, and so she kept her mouth shut, her thoughts to herself.

She listened.

"A side of a coin..." she mused, gaze drifting down to her gloved hand on his chest. It almost resembled her Father's teachings if it weren't for the man seeing the Force as an absolute entity, the Light and the Dark simply created by those who adhered and drew power from said sides of the coin. To her Father there was no Light nor Dark. There was just the Force, and nothing else.

Mimicking the former Jedi's actions, Saragnayan turned to face the lab's entrance, ruby eyes growing wide at the sight of the armor she only ever saw from afar. Staring this close at Darth Raze felt as if someone had pushed her in the middle of an icy lake and forced her to sink further, to drown and to die alone in the harsh embrace of the cold. Her lungs refused to take in air as the Sith Lord's presence came crashing down on her in tumultuous waves. Words escaped her, and she did not even protest nor fight when she felt the Force coil around her like glacial chains, wrenching her away from Algus.

She was released from the invisible grip and the Marauder fell to her knees, silently gasping for air as she clutched at her chest. Her blood was pounding harshly in her ears, and for a moment she forgot where she was, who she was with in the laboratory except for him. Darth Raze. The Sith Lord who could probably kill her with a single thought and a nudge from the Force.

When she was but a child, her Father once asked her what she would do if she ever met a Sith Lord. In her arrogance and her need to impress the man who adopted her, she proclaimed that she would kill them.

Saragnayan rose on her feet, now calm and composed, as she gazed at the Sith Lord. She didn't need to follow on that childish arrogance she had displayed from years ago. One look was all it took for her to see that she would've already been killed in eighteen different ways for even approaching the Sith Lord with hostility.

She would serve. She was, after all, a good girl. And wasn't this Father's command? To offer her services to the Sith?

And so she listened, her attention solely on Algus and Darth Raze, the annoying tin can of a droid forgotten for the time being.



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The Sith Lord gazed at the two that knelt before him, though his thoughts were on the words uttered by the former Jedi. While the woman rose by herself, Raze had little desire to watch the former Jedi waste his time by struggling to get up. The Force coiled around the man and would abruptly yank him back up to his feet, the metals of his new legs screeching against the floor as he did so.

“Do not ever underestimate the Jedi,” He said after a moment, the word of caution for all in the room, “If the right Jedi had been on Ajan Kloss, they very well could have destroyed us. They weren't there simply because it was foolish to be there. Don’t ever forget or abandon what the Jedi have taught you. Harness and build on it with what you learn from the Sith,” Raze’s thought process varied greatly from how most Sith saw things. He was not ignorant enough to only focus on Sith being the superior order. He extensively studied whatever he could about Jedi teachings, and he even had their holocron on his ship.

Raze slowly turned to regard the droid that spoke out of turn, half considering simply destroying the errant piece of junk. In the end, however, he gave a command while ignoring the request the droid made entirely, “Clothe this man. He does not need to continue to be a spectacle for all of us here.”

He then glanced at the woman to focus on her for the first time, the steely visor fixed her way in stony silence. The mechanized voice called out after he stared at her for a few moments, “What is your purpose for being here?”

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"Of course, Master. I have some garments from a Corellian who, shall we say, won't need them anymore." R5 said, fondly remembering the man and his unnerving resilience to pain. He'd made an interesting test subject that really pushed the boundaries of how long a human could live with no spinal cord. He beeped a command to one of the medical droids under his employ and the robot obediently fetched a warm black sweater and matching pants with a Corellian bloodstripe on the side.

"Let's hope these clothes give you better luck than their last owner." the droid said ominously.

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He felt the pull of the force tightly encircle his midsection, constricting his chest as he was lifted from the ground. Turning, he drew his attention to the medical droid, reaching forward to grasp the pile of clothes as they were brought to him. Gripping the fabric of the pants, he would pull on each direction, powerfully ripping at the fibers and tearing the lower legs of them off, allowing room for his prosthetics before easily sliding them over his body. “And to remember.” Turning, he strode to the edge of the Bacta Tank, bending down to a pile of clothing and retrieved a dark cloak from between. Its side was ripped and covered with dirt and a large brand of blood that melded with the dark fabric, swathing down its side. Pulling it over his head, he let it billow down his thin frame loosely. It was his garments from Ajan Kloss.

“The Jedi taught me well.” Running his hands absentmindedly down the front of his newly donned attire, he reached to the medical table next to the tank and seized his lightsaber hilt. Willing the blade to life, it instead crackled in a strained manner, refusing to ignite, its crystal inside obliterated. A remnant of who he was, its death caused his brow to upturn with momentary grief. It was the sole tie he had to Vandor and to his master. “Absolution..” Mumbling in lamentation, he let his thoughts wander.

His past was snuffed like an ember, the last fractal of light, a former way amongst an endless sea of black. But the void was not empty; it was a womb of rebirth.

“What is your name..?”

He didn’t move, his eyes anchored to the saber hilt in his palm, unblinking as he spoke to the masked woman to his rear. He stared longingly at it, his unfaltering regard for the weapon only broken when Darth Raze questioned the masked Siths presence. She had comforted him in a momentarily lapse of clarity and although it was brief, snatched him from the depths of an entropic dark space. “She was brought here, as we all, are by destiny.” Elevating his posture, he erected his frame back to full height. He was cadaverous yet towered like a thin beam of iron.

“I need a new weapon.” Facing the door to the medical bay, he enshrouded his features with the hood of his vermiculated cloak, placing the dead lightsaber hilt to his side.

“Then I will use it to fight in the wars to come.”


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Saragnayan was content to listen to the two men's exchange, watching as things unfolded before her. She sensed a faint warning from the Force and while it hadn't been directed to her, the female Sith was surprised that she somehow fought the urge to take a step towards Algus as Darth Raze practically yanked the former up on his new set of metallic feet. A feeling she had not expected sensing from within herself...

Thoughts came one after another in her head but she filed them all away for further scrutiny. Perhaps she would be able to dissect and find an answer to this anomaly once this meeting was over.

The Sith Lord's warning was taken into consideration. She might have killed a Jedi before and had taken his lightsaber for herself as a trophy but Saragnayan understood the Darth's warning. Had she been faced with another Jedi from that time, the result of the fight might have been different — and not once ever going to her favor. She had used the skills she had been taught with precision and surprising expertise, but the Force had been on her side that fateful day and thus had ensured that she would triumph against her enemy. Some might even dare call it luck. Maybe she had been, but who knew? At least one thing was certain from the outcome of that fight.

Two lightsabers hung on either side of her hips, one with a red blade and the other purple.

At Darth Raze's command, R5-9A displayed some of his uses and had one of the droids in the room to supply the former Jedi a new set of clothes. Must the sadistic tin can be so callous as to give the newest member of their Order such disgusting pieces of clothing? Saragnayan tamped down her irritation, accepting the practicality the clothes offered to Algus for the moment. She could always supply him with something that would fit him and his new prosthetics, and nothing like the drab pieces that he currently wore.

Two questions were thrown her way, and she first offered the Sith Lord her response. Despite having technically answered for her, Saragnayan voiced out her own, ruby eyes glancing at Algus before settling down and meeting Darth Raze's – or where she thought the Sith Lord's eyes would be, given that he was also wearing a helmet that concealed his face.

"The former Jedi may call it destiny as much as he wants, but I beg to differ," she began, reigning in her fear as she took a single step forward. "My initial purpose was to come to Sullust, with the full intent to take up whatever task that is needed of me – that is, until the Force revealed to me that my purpose now lay with him."

Her helmeted head shifted to gaze at Algus, tilting slightly to the side. "With your permission, my Lord? I would like to take him under my wing, to help guide him on the new path that now lay before him."

It was soft-speak for showing him the ropes and his place within the Sith Order, but it felt too drab and simple. If Algus was intent to wage war, then he needed a guide more than he would need a teacher. It was the way of things, or so that was what her Father taught her.

"And should I fail in this task – or any other you might require of me regarding him – I will meet whatever punishment my incompetence would demand of me."

"You may call me Saragnayan, fallen angel,"
the female Sith then answered Algus' question. Perhaps she might even tell him the name he was more familiar with, show him the face that smiled bashfully at him on Naboo. But that was a thought for another time.



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Sreeya
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Raze was largely unimpressed with those assembled before him. The only one that proved remotely useful was the droid. As the former Jedi began to answer the question of the woman’s purpose, he would find the Force rapidly coiling around his neck. Raze didn’t move from where he stood, choking the man till his face would turn blue. He was especially alert to see what the woman would do in response, prepared to strike her down if she intervened.

“I don’t recall asking you,” He said smoothly as he looked at the man that spoke out of turn and also had the audacity to voice needing a weapon, “You do not yet have the credibility for dramatic speech, insect, Raze was not at all amused by the man’s pathetic attempts to speak in purple prose instead of talking plainly.

With a casual flick of his wrist, the man would be sent hurtling painfully back into the wall behind him, likely resulting in him collapsing to the floor again. Raze turned to regard the woman, largely uninterested in her story, though he heard it out.

“You are responsible for him,” He said simply, “You will teach him his place because he clearly does not know it,” Raze stepped towards her, his frame towering over her, “Whatever you do with him, he needs to be made into a weapon for the Sith. His actions are your actions,” He leaned in slightly closer, the metallic surface of his helmet reflecting her own face, “I care not for your personal feelings being woven into his training, but you will die if they cloud his or your abilities.”

Raze didn’t elaborate further before he drew back. He would cast one more glance at the former Jedi before stepping out of the room and leaving. It was clear that he would keep a close eye on the man and check in on his progress with the Sith. Any Jedi that had already once turned on his principles before was permanently flagged in Raze’s mind.

@Fantasy Liver @Forsythe Crowholde @Flower
 

R5 9A

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Empire
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Agent

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Fantasy Liver
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"If you ever need any experimental modifications for your new legs, I have several ideas in the works. It would certainly be a tragedy if you were not to fulfil your primary programming to the Sith and be relegated to become my test subject again." R5 offered to Algus. Though his tone was hard to read due to his mechanical vocoder, it seemed that the droid did not think it would be a tragedy at all.

"The offer remains open. But I'm sure there are other places for you two to hone your Sith skills that are more suitable to your needs than my lab." R5 beeped.

@Forsythe Crowholde @Flower @Sreeya
 

Saragnayan

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Sith Order
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Champion

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Forsythe Crowholde
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The Sith Lord's disappointment was palpable, and had she not used to having felt such dismay directed at her Saragnayan would have already been subject to the downward spiral of her own fears and self-doubt. She did nothing, even when she felt the turbulent sway of the Force around her and the way it would turn to Algus with targeted violence. The Marauder pursed her lips, aware that any attempts at stopping Darth Raze would only be met with the same violence the former Jedi was currently being subjected into.

Lightning? Her neck getting snapped, windpipe crushed under the unrelenting power of the Force? The snarling hiss and hum of a red lightsaber, cutting through her as if she was something soft and fragile?

More predictions followed the more she thought of ways to intervene and so Saragnayan stayed her hand, obscured gaze locked on the Sith Lord's menacing form.

She did not flinch when he approached, nor when he towered over her, gazing at her as if she was someone unworthy. Maybe she was. Only the man she called Father was the one who saw her worth, and even then she was still a servant despite being named his daughter. She did not flinch when Darth Raze leaned closer and laid down his terms and subsequent punishment should she fail. The Marauder understood very little at the implication of her personal feelings, but the threat of death came quite clear. Now, that – that she understood perfectly well.

Saragnayan took a step back and, her Father's training kicking in, offered the Sith Lord a reverential half-bow.

"Thy will be done," was her simple reply, only raising her head when he was well and truly out of the room. Saragnayan let out a breath she had not realized she was holding before her gaze found Algus. She was by his side in a few quick strides, one gloved hand brushing through his hair, ruby eyes sharp and calculating as she assessed him. It was both stupid and useless to ask if he was alright, so she settled for stretching out a hand for him to take, to help him get back up on his new set of limbs.

"Get up, my sweet," she would tell him, voice dripping with poisoned honey, "the road to salvation awaits you."



Buried Presence:
ACTIVE | INACTIVE
@Flower @Fantasy Liver @Sreeya
 
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