human
Star Wars: Fear of the Dark
8 BBY | Thurra System
Planet: Thule
Night Time
Beauteous as it was barren the planet of Thule was considered one of the great Sith Strongholds in the lost histories of Galactic Antiquity. Tales of the Old Republic a time when space was still wild and shaping, of which neither Jedi Order or the forming Republic had made their alliance against the Mandalorians. A time long, long ago where in parts of the galaxy far, far away the Sith created vast empires and dominated parts of the Unknown Regions without contest. Thule was said to have once been a grand agricultural world for the Sith; however, constant exposure to Force Storms, much like those that battered Dromund Kaas and Ziost, had stripped the mineral rich soils and revealed vast (almost unnatural) deposits of rare metals and crystals.
Obviously mines were formed and vast crystal quarries were discovered with unique qualities gifted by the storms centering about a Nexus of the Force. Sith gravitated to this planet en-mass during the days of Naga Sadow erecting temples and colonies. Various species were enslaved from near and far and brought them to work. Humans from the Tapani Sector made a majority of these slaves with few other captive species being sprinkled between but a time passed and things changed.
With the fall of Naga Sadow the Sith had one great empire that followed and with much of its history and conflict forgotten, or willfully denied by the Republic, so was Thule, once more forgotten along with many of Sith Worlds. Stricken from record and memory the Purebloods had died away and left in their shadows the inheritors.
A military Oligarchy formed soon after the Sith left Thule to engage the Republic with much of the Planets fleet. When they never returned eight generals took charge and utilized the vast resources the planet held to revitalize the military complex and introduce independent industry in the Thurra system. Eventually the generals changed roles and the military power structure transformed into a Barony that would be led by an appointed High Baron. In that time they had various conflicts with the Chiss and the Vagarri, the former of which found a peaceful resolution and trade with. To the point the second largest alien population on Thule was Chiss by a census count of almost twenty percent.
The teachings of the Sith never left however. Temples still stood and it wasnt until the arrival of the Jedi Knight, Drevveka Hoctu, that these landmarks of a Lost Empire were nothing more than places of idol worship. The first of the Thulian Witches she erected the Arts Academy and renewed the Sith teachings almost a thousand years after they had been abandoned.
This planet much like its history has been scarred, brutalized, and forgotten. Yet beneath the surface Thule had always been a center point of power and influence. Something which the High Baron, Tygil Ortus, took as a fact of pride, remembering the tales his mother would tell of how the Sith of Thule maneuvered through the Galaxy unsuspected. Making motions: Small waves of influence with important consequence. All so they could reach this moment, the moment Tygil could open the doors to his private kingdom and manifest his destiny!
Looking out his high window at the desolate night the Baron watched as wild pack of hounds raced the steppes dressed in a glowing moss displaying an aurora color. Their shadows drifted in synchronized motion. Leaping from stone face to stone face they were absolutely fearless of the fall below. The night bristled with a cool wind under the pale light of a waxing moon. Dressed in a long black robe the thin man untethered the binds and let the fabric drift from the length of his slight frame as a chill rushed over his skin. Fingers waved out in the darkness letting his mind trespass beyond his body. There were new arrivals to his home, a small collection of women and a few men. He focused through the force his sight flickering through the perspective of guards and servants. Strange looking Witches and the name of a planet hung heavy on his tongue as he clutched his fingers into balled fists.DathomirHe punctuated with an exhale of excitement.
With almost a glide to his bare footsteps he moved across the dying embers of his fireplace towards a large open wardrobe filled with fine fabrics and odd ends. He was just as those Thulian beasts and felt the desire to fade into the night. He wished to see these guests first hand, know them, before formerly being introduced.
gpt
It was cold on Thule, but Macabre was often cold. He spent most of his time on a temperature controlled ship. So other than the odd desert planet most planets were cold to him. He was thankful for his poncho, the inner lining of which was covered in totems and fetishes. He had expected to be dressed in traditional Nightbrother garb, but apparently the witches didn't particularly care if they looked presentable. Oh perhaps Sharzenza had argued for their clothing to stay.
Sharzenza Ketra was not your typical Nightsister, and because of that Macabre was not your typical Nightbrother. Sharzenza was for all intents and purposes a deserter. She had decided to take her chances as a bounty hunter rather than live as a Nightsister. She'd taken Macabre from Dathomir when he'd barely been old enough to fight to raise and serve as her weapon. It was strange that she was specifically called for for this mission, but the Nightsisters had offered her too many credits to turn down. If she had asked Macabre he would have said it was because they didn't expect them to return, but she didn't, she never did.
Macabre absently wondered if the other Nightsiblings here were also outcasts. They didn't look like it, but it was hard to tell. He'd sat with the other Nightbrothers on the the flight over, but they hadn't been talkative and Macabre certainly wasn't one to start a conversation. Macabre hated talking, he never felt like he could find the right words.
It wasn't just his clothing that made Macabre stand out amongst the small crowd of Nightbrothers. He was significantly shorter than the rest of them, standing a good head smaller than the next shortest one. Sometimes Macabre wondered if Sharzenza was disappointed he hadn't grown taller or purposely picked a runt because she didn't think he'd be missed. He was pink in color, not exceedingly uncommon but none of the Nightbrothers in this group were quite as bright. Still in some ways he fit in. His traditional tattoos and for once did not make him stand out and the spear on his back was in line with the weapons the other Nightbrothers carried.
There were other things about him that made him different to his brothers, secret things, things even Sharzenza didn't know. His connection to the ichor of Dathomir was his best kept and only secret. After years of watching Sharzenza perform her magiks, in a desperate moment he'd tried to copy her and had succeeded. So, in secret he'd conducted experiments. To see what spells he could cast. It hadn't been all of them. He'd never been able to push an object or create lightning, but he could produce objects that vanished into smoke if he stoped concentrating, could heal small cuts, at least on himself, and imbue his totems with energies. He'd even been able to speak with the dead something Sharzenza Ketra only ever spoke of. His powers were Macabre's treasure, and the only thing he was more proud of than his fighting prowess.
As they got off the ship the Nightsisters convened to make a decision about what their first move would be. None of them had specifically given command, so it could take a while. One of them, if Macabre remembered correctly her name was Thish, ordered the group of Nightbrothers to scout about. Macabre looked to Sharzenza, who gave a curt nod, before he followed orders. He had been trained to obey any woman that asked something of him, but Sharzenza above all.
Macabre wandered off in a different direction to the other night brothers, choosing to look ahead rather than establish a perimeter. He wandered a bit, lazily exploring the nearby allies, confident that he could handle any ruffians he might run across. His look alone tended to keep most people away.
human
From the moment that Sharenza and her outcasts landed upon the one of seven extended ports off the acropolis where the High Barons Palatial Estate sat. It was often asked if the large towering Manor was Baron Ortus home. Many a visitor would be corrected to know the length of a city that spread across these plateaus were the whole of his enviable estate. Below within the wide crevices of the high Thulian Steppes of Zozan was an even greater expanse blooming with lights and interconnected networks buildings integrated into the stone walls sprawling for kilometers outward filled homes, bazaars, and a wealthy commerce booming in the recent flood of intergalactic trade.
Before Macabre would even step foot from the landing shuttle a dozen or more servants dressed in fine robes of a myriad colors surrounded them. Their faces were hidden behind Ivory and gold laced effigies of the Ancient Sith, contorted in expressions of joy, terror, and wrath. By the size and shape of these servants they appeared to be a mixture of men and women. They practically swayed and danced about the Dathomiri entourage. Hands touched and lead like a swarm of distractions singing and chanting a welcoming hymn that was standard for all newcomers to the Barons home.
It did not appear that the Witches by any means enjoyed this display shirking the hand touches, but as they were lead into the building, past two large statues of men kneeling with their heads hung low in reverence, they noticed very little else than refusing the playful pestering of colorful gauzy fabrics being draped upon them. Walking into the halls art and style dripped off the walls in beauteous grotesque. Mirroring objects filtered a myriad of reflections distorting as they trailed across marbled floors.
No one would notice one of the servants that moved close to the smaller Macabre. Short and lithe in comparison to the other nightbrothers, the young man practically folded into the shadow of the man that stood beside him. An ivory face stricken in terror faced down as a firm hand pressed to the Zabraks shoulder.Such strange people you are The man spoke with a thick accent. The Thulian servant gripped tighter upon Macabre as they crossed a small alcove, and with a pull and push of force the tall man pinned the Zabrak against the indention in the walls. A finger calmly pressed upon the lips of the young man.
Be careful not to trust what you see here He warned. Rich brown eyes swirled beneath the white ivory fixated on Macabre, the mans finger drifted as both hands then held the Zabraks shoulders.Thule appears to be many places to many people, and easily distracted minds do not notice when small things go amiss. There is danger here for you if you are not careful and you should be. You are special unlike the others who look as you do. The servants voice was rich in its reverberating tones and possessive hands trailed the neck of Macabre, fingers laced about the outcropping of horns still holding him still. It was clear that the man was fascinated by his alien nature. What could not be simply ascertained was a motive and a chill distinction could be felt as the possibilities trickled through thought like a stream.
Thule was unlike other worlds that Macabre had the privilege to visit. Something deep within it ebbed with a living presence, an eminence dark and intruding as boring into his being. The young Zabrak didnt know it then but what he felt was a Nexus of the Force. A strange phenomena where the Force welled up from specific points in the Galaxy, some called it a vergence, others a fulcrum. It enriched the dreams of the Nightsisters that had come here. Sharenza would have felt a surge of confidence like never before once entering the system but little did she know it was not reaching out to her.
With a warmer cadence the man let his hands fall to either side of Macabres face as he asked,Do you trust these women?That same unsettling pull of the force that could be felt light-years away seemed to concentrate now on the Zabrak as the mans voice flooded with compelling darkness. The amber glow of the hallway lights appeared would seem to dim as the Thulian mans gaze took upon a hypnotic trance, before the second question roiled with the Dark Side and his voice echoed with the faint sound of hundred dying screams,What do the Nightsisters want from the High Baron?
gpt
High Barons Estate was opulent in a way Macabre was not used to. He was used to the decadent mansions of the kind of person who had need for a bounty hunter, but those tended to be gaudy and rarely had weight to them. Here on Thule the buildings felt old in a way that gave them a sense of grandeur. Macabre had no academic interest in architecture or any real sense of why these buildings felt substantial in a way others had not, but he made note of the difference anyway.
Macabre dutifully followed the Nightsisters along with the other Nightbrothers through the streets and into the strange building the Baron called home. As strange as this place was compared to the rest of the galaxy it seemed mostly harmless. The local customs were unfamiliar, but Macabre's customs would have been unfamiliar to them in turn. Macabre could keep an open mind. He was mostly excited to be among his people again. It had been a long time since he'd seen another Nightbrother and longer since he'd spent time with one. He was secretly wishing that this would lead to Sharzenza having them work more closely with Dathomir, but he wasn't going to get his hopes up. Instead he was trying to make the best of the little time he had with his brothers. He'd work up to courage to talk to one of them tonight for sure.
Macabre's opinion of the dancing servants was mostly a passive interest. He wasn't particularly curious about them, but at least they weren't hostile. He didn't even really initially mind when one of them touched him. Macabre wasn't a stranger to physical touch, although most of it involved combat. He did sometimes use it to communicate when he was feeling particularly overwhelmed, but Sharzenza would always punish him for that. However he had a reputation to uphold, not just his own, but the reputation of the Children of Dathomir. He prepared to turn and bare his teeth at the servant only to find himself forced into an alcove. This he did mind.
Macabre thrashed against the servant, but despite his skill in combat, his strength was never in his, well, strength. He tended to rely on his speed and skill, so it was easy for the man to hold him in place despite his attempts to buck him off. When a finger pressed to his lips he tried to snap at it, but without the proper leverage he only managed to gnash his teeth ineffectively. As the man spoke what sounded to Macabre like a threat with his hands on Macabre's shoulders Macabre redoubled his efforts to escape. He was sure this man intended to hurt him. Perhaps pick off their party one by one and had chosen Macabre as the weakest link. That would be his mistake. Even without the space to draw his spear, Macabre was dangerous, but as Macabre readied to spring his attack the man moved his hands up Macabre's neck letting them settle in his horns. This caused Macabre to settle some, pausing his attack and ceasing his wiggling. The cause for this was two fold. One, Macabre's horns were sensitive, all Zabraks' were, so the fingers lacing through them caused sensation to run down Macabre's spine. Two, Macabre knew what an aggressive hold was like and this was not one. Sure, he was still held in place, but the other man couldn't really do any damage from there. If anything Macabre could cut up his hands simply by bucking his head. Macabre had no idea why the servant was touching him like this, but it wasn't to hurt him.
It was only after pausing that Macabre truly started to process what the man was saying. The power in his voice made Macabre's throat feel tight and tongue feel heavy, but he had been asked a question and was expected to answer. "You misunderstand," he said simply pausing for too long before continuing. His voice was small and soft. It emphasized how young he was. He couldn't have been much older than twenty. "It is by their mercy we are allowed to exist," again a pregnant pause. "I am never told the plan," the truth, but it wasn't like Macabre didn't have guesses. Dathomir was no friend to the Empire. Not since the Empire abandoned their consummate son, or so the rumors go. The Nightsisters, while powerful, were small in number. A call for allies could not go unanswered, even if it was assumed to be a trap. That why they sent Sharzenza. They needed someone expendable.
"Let me go," Macabre said in as stern as a voice as he could manage. He didn't move to try and escape again, or even remove the hands from his head. There was a part of him that was enjoying the closeness. He was rarely this close to people outside of a fight, and he was getting a similar rush. His pupils were visibly dilated, his breathing was heavier as his hearts sped up in tandem, and he really wanted this servant to punch him already. He bared his teeth at the man again and growled deep in his chest.