ReignOfKarth

Celora knew how important maintaining a tight grip on certain types of resources was, part of the varied and painfully learned education "provided" by her former slave masters, in the forms of overheard discussions and remorseless punishment if she failed to know some piece of information they deemed critical. An aggressive attempt to seize Bacta made sense for the growing criminal organization, particularly with the conflicts raging in other parts of the galaxy. Her thoughts turned briefly to her rescuer and former friend, "Don't go dying on me now, Tallin. I still owe you." The girl gestured toward the saber at her side, manipulating it with the Force so that it lazily spun in circles in front of her, displaying the telekinesis she had started to learn from the Force memories, "I've had some training with it, and in the Force. But anyone, uh, truly good with the blade would beat me I think. We, we are getting paid, for this job, right?"

"Bacta? That stuff is like, super expensive right? Used for armies and stuff? I saw a container of it in a Hutt palace onetime, and my former... masters talked about stealing some alot. Are you guys planning to cut off the supply to the rest of the galaxy? I mean, I know you guys do like... bad things, but that dosen't seem, uh good? Won't other armies come and try and take it over, I mean yall are pretty strong, but I've seen the Empire. Not sure you want to fight those guys... But, uh, I'm down if thats what we're doing... I kinda need a job, like, really bad." Celora jestured to the lightsaber at her side, "I mean this does the job most of the time. Maybe," The girl spotted an interesting weapon on the wall, a "retrieved" Imperial grenade launcher.

Sudden and surprising physical contact was NOT something that Celora enjoyed, but she recovered her wits before she decided to follow through with her first impulse, that being to slice off the hand of the Black Sun girl. In the eye of her damaged mind, it was not the smooth hand of the cybernetic agent, but the rough and painful grip of her former masters, brutish strength and callous disgust directed toward her pale and delicate flesh. Memories danced across her vision like waking dreams, memories of those same hands roaming up past her thin shoulders to grip her neck or yanking on her arms and hurling her across the room to add to the permanent yet ever changing mass of bruises, cuts and scars, many of which still marred her flesh. A gruesome testament to the suffering she and millions of others had endured, as the weak fell to the strong. However, in the time since her freedom, Celora had developed something of a wary expectation regarding surprises, and recovered quickly as she followed the insistent tugging of the Black Sun Agent. While much of the under city looked similar to the slave alleys of her home world Nar Shaddaa, she found the atmosphere under Black Sun rule superior. If nothing else, there were far less of the massive slimy tubes of fat and flesh known as the Hutts, (No offense intended to her former master Sheog the Mad). The statue of the Blood Prince was impressive, but she was used to the worst of the myriad races, and found it hard to be in awe of any she had not personally met. Being based out of Nar Shaddaa, the name of the Blood Prince was usually either accompanied by curses and hate, or spoken in furtive whispers behind tankards of ale. Celora found the weapons to be much more impressive, however. In her slave years, most of the weapons had been cheap and worn, taken off the bodies of other pirates or foreigners they had murdered, or plundered from the corporate ships and freighters. While the armories of the Imperial's no doubt had a weapon collection equal or greater to the one before her, she hadn't stayed long enough to be able to access them. A few pieces in particular stood out to her, such as an advanced personal energy shield, and several heavy pieces reminiscent of bounty hunting rifles she had seen in the bars on a hundred criminal worlds. "What is the Thyferran league?"

The dilated eyes of the former slave girl opened even wider as the Black Sun Officer stepped forward, an intent gaze in her eyes. Celora flinched back, expecting to be struck in punishment for her actions, but the blow past by her without so much as a hair being disturbed. Her eyes blinked rapidly as the final Gamorrean dropped to the ground, and her dangerous companion simply laughed. Everything the criminal did seemed to throw Celora off a bit, like her simply looting the dead slavers as they passed, even though she was undoubtedly paid far more by the same organization that these slavers worked under. "Well, um, we could do that, and get some cool, uh, duo kills going. Like... tough girl style? I mean, if, uh, d-do they deserve it?" Celora instantly blushed as her brain caught up to her mouth and she realized what she had last said. She was a criminal now, she was supposed to be tough and evil, and now she sounded like a simpering, loose-tongued goody-goody idiot. Her internal monologue restarted as she beat herself up mentally, "No way she's gonna want to hang out after this, who'd want to be around someone damaged like me anyways."

To say that the young human force user was surprised would be a gross understatement. Celora's lower jaw dropped open as she watched the Black Sun soldier casually execute a nearby slaver, unafraid of any response or reprisal. She even managed to taunt the former slave after Celora's attempt at diplomatically facing one of her greatest fears and dislikes. It almost seemed like the Black Sun girl wanted her companion to fly off and start cutting people to pieces without regard to their status, to watch the blood of these scum fly as the blood of many slaves had before... Before Celora could formulate any response, a familiar voice shouted a long string of curses from only a few dozen feet away. Celora recognized the overly fat Gamorrean as Rusak, the leader of a slaver gang she had become... closely acquainted with during her time as a slave. The Gamorrean and his two brothers were currently engage in checking their merchandise in an overly friendly manner, their coarse laughter a cruel response to the screams of their victim. Celora's thoughts returned to her own past as she stepped involuntarily toward them, her hand dropping to the hilt of the borrowed lightsaber at her side. By chance alone, one of the three brothers happened to glance at the approaching human, his ugly facing splitting into a tusk-filled grin as he reached toward the much smaller girl. Celora's training with the lightsaber was only in its infancy, but training with the Vermandois brothers had taught her one thing if nothing else: good reflexes. In a flash, the crimson blade dashed from its holster and flicked through the air, leaving behind the hand and arm of the Gamorrean brute. Before he could let out more than a surprised pig grunt, her return swing lopped off his head like a razor knife through bantha butter. The second Gamorrean, less stunned than their leader Rusak, reached one meaty hand toward the blaster at his side, the other hand fruitlessly holding his hand out for her to stop. Unfortunately for the piggy humanoid, he stood closer to the girl than his eldest brother. Celora dashed forward in a low run with her saber trailing slightly behind, before swinging the blade in a rapid circle with all the strength of her small body, chopping through more than half of the Gamorrean's body before her strike ended. Screaming in feral rage, Rusak charged, swinging the traditional heavy axe commonly used by his race. However, it proved no match for the power of her lightsaber, her block chopping the weapon in half as the blade plunged deep into the Gamorrean, his last pained gasp overshadowed by her vicious snarl. The head of the severed axe had grazed her arm as it plummeted to the ground, but Celora didn't even notice the dripping blood as she turned to face the Black Sun officer, adrenal flowing through her veins. "Good enough?"

"Well, I mean I know how to fly, kinda and how to be a ships gunner. Most of my recent years as a slave were spent on my bac... never mind sorry." Celora ceased her stammering as they entered the local slave auction. Most of the standard races were represented in the wide area, buyers peering around and testing out prospective buys while slavers looked on eagerly or hawked their goods. It was a scene Celora knew well from her time on Nar Shaddaa and other pirate worlds. She even recognized the marking of several crews, and unknowingly cringed back slightly at seeing them, one hand dropping toward the lightsaber and the other gently caressing her neck. Though she had not been a slave for some time, the memories of endless years wearing the deadly collar would not fade so soon. With a slight shudder at the question from the inhuman girl, Celora responded, "I can't say I particularly enjoy the site, too many bad memories. If I end up working for you, I would prefer to not directly be a part of slaving operations. However, I have left that portion of my life behind me, and I will do what I must. I am no longer Weak."

The creepy girl that was accompanying Celora to a destination yet unnamed continued her odd cheerfulness as the unusual pair landed at the docking port and exited through the cargo ramp. Her strange mechanical actions unnerved Celora a bit, so different from the semi-machine creatures she had seen many times before on the slave ships and worlds of the Outer Rim. The creature before her was fluid, her movements precise as her human and non human parts integrated seamlessly. This one was clearly not all human. "I, umm, I'm not sure what I want," Celora gritted out, her nervousness around the other girl and the atmosphere which constantly reminded her of slavery causing her stutter to return. "I-I've been a, uh, slave, with the Imperials and the Sith. None of them seemed to fit. I just... I want to feel powerful, but murdering and torturing everything in sight like the Sith doesn't seem right. I-I don't know." Her small pale hand clutched tightly to the handle of the lightsaber the Vermandois twins had given her as she watched the surly figures of slaver and pirates lurking in the shadows. She figured she wasn't supposed to take the lightsaber, especially since she hadn't made it, but she had left too suddenly to find them first. Perhaps one day she would return it with her thanks for what she been taught.

Celora stretched awkwardly as she surveyed the Mid-Rim planet of Ord Mantell, one of the strongholds of the Black Sun criminal organization which she was considering pledging herself to, rather than the legions of the Sith where she had recieved the beginnings of her training. From the numerous ads she had read on the Holonet, mostly for things like "Stretchy Well Trained Twileks: A Modern Art Presentation", the large drug-fueled hallucination shops "Night on Felucia: How to pretend everything is perfect without doing anything", and the largest casino's "Double Discount Night: All proceeds going to the support of our boys and girls at Onderon", this seemed to be a hub of questionable activities. She was very used to questionable activies. She had found it very difficult to avoid the cybernetically-enhanced Black Sun agent who had transported her here. Celora had quiet a bit of experience with cybernetic humans during her life as a slave, several of her cruel owners using them to beef up their already drugged-up strength. She shook her head, they could definently have used them better to change their extremely limited intelligence. The port at the base of her companions skull was new however, and slightly creepy. Still, it was the girl's friendliness that had disturbed her. In the experience of the young force-user, most people who acted friendly always wanted something from, wanted her to suffer, yet this girl had not harmed her, though she obviously could have on their flight. Celora understtod the mindest of the cruel, the fearful, and the just. This one, however, did not seem to fit into any of these categories, and Celora didn't trust what she couldn't understand.

Celora glanced away, her unwilling eyes too timid to meet the steely and unflinching gaze of the Black Sun Officer. A chance thought passed to her ship, which had gotten her into this mess in the first place, and one of her only links to... she didn't want to think about him. Her short teeth ground into each other at the thought of the GA, who she had despised since her days as a slave, destroying her prized vessel. "They want to attack here now," her distracted thoughts became audible. "But they never did anything for..." Celora blushed deeply, her gaze returning to the other girl's. "Sorry, didn't mean to... No I don't really trust you, but I am interested in what you are offering. I'll come with you, at least for now."

Celora jumped slightly as the voice of the uniformed girl startled her from her meditation, breaking her futile attempts at creating the sort of angry calm that was necessary for the Sith. The Sith apprentice smiled shyly at the Black Sun officer, who seemed to be everything Celora wished to be and wasn't, calm, confident and impressive. The clean and well ordered uniform fit well with what the other girl had seen of the Black Sun, whose professional nature seemed at odds with their actions. Some of the Black Sun had appeared almost garish, and to take a serious enjoyment from their work, rather than the cruel pleasure of the Sith's destruction. Thoughts whirled like a swarm of Dardanellian locust as Celora tore her eyes away from the red clothes and heavy black boots to stare at the slim hand and even slimmer datapad. The way of the Sith had been anger and pain for her, almost torturous experiences designed to strengthen her at the cost of whatever was left of her sense of justice or mercy. She had been forced to relieve her past, her long years of suffering, and it had awakened in her a power she had never expected. Yet, a small part of her missed the Zabrak she had left behind, and the path of success and power not only gained from crushing and destroying others. The way of the Sith had not been what she had hoped or expected. "I- I don't have much to bring to the table, just a single fighter..." She paused, gathering her rampant and scattered thoughts as her hand reached for the datapad. "Yes, I am."

"Damn..." Celora fell again into the dream-like scape where the Force memories appeared before her, their visions oddly real, interacting with her as if it was truly real. Perhaps it was, but simply on a different frame of refernce from the one she could see and feel, the same which others could, at least she supposed they could. She really had no idea what went on in other peoples minds, most seemed focused on hurting others and the rest seemed to be to busy pleasuring themselves to the tune of their lofty ideals to help anyone else out. Except the kriffing Remnant. She stood in the center of a black floor, the walls and ceiling shrouded in a dark mist that concealed all far closer than her vision should have allowed. Ambient light filled the circle around her, ending abruptly in the dark mist. Suddenly, the form of the wookie she had slain, ragged wound still glowing on his chest, appeared in the ground in front of her. The vision wavered for a moment, then returned with another wookie, cradling the head of the fallen wookie in her lap, a mournful scream fleeing from her lips. Again it wavered, and the two froms were joined by several wookie children, one covered in burnt and burning fur and the others neck resting at an unnatural angle, all staring at her with unseeing and unflinching eyes. Another shimmer, and dozens of wookies appeared around the circle surronding her, each with a pale glow in their eyes, and most sporting serious wounds, scars and the marks of battle. Upon many, the wounds were clearly fatal, massive chunks of their bodies, heads and entire missing limbs visible. A slow chant started, dozens of deep voices growling from the darkness, their columns extending into the fog beyond her site. They began to stamp their feet from side to side, even those who were missing legs shaking their bodies as if their legs were still attached. As the chant grew louder, they began to stomp forward, pacing roughly forward in an ever shrinking circle toward her as the loud stomps continued. As they neared, Celora began to shake, her form unarmed and the Force seemingly beyond her grasp. Before they could touch her, the Wookie she had slain began to shake, the head cranking from side to side, and looked up to face her, head tilted to the side with a brilliant pale glow emaniting from them. The nearest Wookies began to spring forward as Celora seemed to fall into the body of the one she had slain. She opened her eyes again, a familiar taste coating her lips, the thought of the vision she had experienced fresh in her minds as she looked up at the Sith Master. "Kriffing hells."

"No Fear of Death? Kriffing great advice you ****." As the boarding ramp dropped, a massive wookie bolt smashed into the floor beside her as she jumped with the Vermandois into the fight. Landing heavily on the ground, stumbling abit as she was unaccustomed to such heavy landings, Celora half ran after the Sith toward the line of troops they had come to reinforce. A bolt missed the side of her face by mere inches, and a small round from one of their ceremonial guard pistols grazed her arm, taking off little but the tiny hairs and the highest layer of skin with it. Celora dived for the ground, plopping next to a Sith trooper whose helmeted face glanced down at her as she lay awkwardly on her stomach in the muddy ground. Celora blushed heavily as her face mirrored his, imagining the disdain or cruel humor no doubt visible on his face at her embarrassing actions. Around her, war cries, blasters and artillery fire created a cacophany that dulled her senses and muted the screams of panic from within her own mind. As the trooper beside her leaned up to take another shot, a heavy bolt slammed into his shoulder, sending the trooper flying backward, impacting heavily into the ground. Without a second thought, the small apprenctice sith leaped out and pulled him back to cover, calling upon the force to help slid his armor across the ground. For a moment, he glanced up, his armored thumb poinitng upwards, the rest of his fist glenched in a gesture unknown to her, before his head and hand dropped heavily against the ground. Celora leaped over the fallen log before her, dashing headlong with arms flailing at her side. The wookies paused in surprise at seeing a small unarmed girl dashing toward them, a quickly fired bolt missing her by a couple feet as she neared their location. Just before she would smack headlong into the heavily muscled body of the lead wookie, the lightsaber ignited in her hands, slicing across his body in an awkward yet effective swing. "No Fear in Death."

Celora tightly gripped the handle of her lightsaber as she waited within the hull of the dark shuttle. When she had crumpled to the floor in the training cell, she had not seen the disdain for her broken self she had expected, nor a cruel beating, but a sort of acceptance, an awknowledgement of suffering endured. Now, though, she had a chance to rebuild, to be the iron fist, instead of being under it. She had been ordered by the Dark Lord to reenforce a detachment of Sith troops struggling with a Wookie counter attack. It would be her first real taste of combat under the Sith empire. Hesitantly, she turned to the Vermandois, "I heard that nothing's worse then dying on the first day. So, uh, don't let me die, ok?"

The tall man before her leaned down, an expression of disgust and anger playing across his face, eyeing her terrified face and feeling her fear with a dark smile. Her fear distorted the girl's view of her trainer, his form seeming to grow and distort, eyes becoming flaming red and face becoming that of a monster, the buzzing of the lightsabers becoming a roar in her ears. She went down on one knee, as far as she could bend away from the power of the Sith Lord. His words stuck her, the world seeming to fade as a memory flashed across her mind with the strength of long reenforcement. "I'm sorry, master." A small child knelt on the floor, legs splayed slightly beneath her, shoulders hunched and head bowed as she sat beside a shattered mug, its pieces splayed from the impact with the hard floor. A platter sat forgotten against the wall, while the master paced slowly before her, a stern expression on his face. "I didn't mean to drop it, it just slipped off. I'll be more careful, it won't happen again." "It won't happen again? Weakness is a part of all those undisiciplined, all those who have not been trained to overcome their inner selves, to rise high above. I have spent my life as a paragon to those who would rid themselves of the weakness of mortal forms, and now, with you placed into my hands, I must pass this on to you. You reek of weakness, of uncontrolled and unaccepted pain. I will cure you, as through fire and torment, to be reborn in true power, the power to control oneself, to never accept vices or weakness. Lower the garment from your back." "Ma-Master?" The older man made no answer, but simply stared at her, waiting for her obedience. She slowly dropped it, the first of many tears dripping down her small face. The Master slowly paced behind her, carefully uncoiling a long whip in his hands. "Now shall I cleanse you." Screams and cries echoed through the halls of the small ship, a thick pattern of red marks growing across her pale back. Finally, the whipping stopped, scarce an inch of her back missing a red stripe. The master knelt beside her, his voice now soft as he scrapped his fingernails across her bloody back. "Now you have taken the first step to being cleansed, to being freed from the weakness that consumes you. Through this pain, you shall be made strong. And this will be the punishment, and the cure, for each time the weakness overcomes you." The memory was replaced by another, then another and another, dozens and hundreds flashing before her mind. Each was a moment of weakness or a mistake, and the painful punishment that occured. Her vision returned, and as the words of the Sith played over in her minds, she dropped fully to her knees, the lightsaber dropping limply from her hands. Her shaking hands moved slowly to the neck of her clothes, slowly pulling down the back to reveal a carpet of faded scares, most places several layers thick, unable to ever fully heal. "I'm sorry, Master."

A pair of hums broke the stillness of the room, two sharp blazes of light, two sabers held by very different hands facing off. The hands of the man were delicate, emaculate, carefully trimmed and clean, holding the saber with the ease of knowledge and the grace of long practice, supported by a deep knowledge of the Force and the science necessary to preform the arts of the Sith. The hands of the girl were pale and dirty, a slim layer of dust and grease long worn into them, palms rough and scratched from hard labor, shaking wildly as they clutched with her full strength the handle of the weapon. "O-ohhh-okkkkk." As the blade slowly approached her, she parried desperately, swinging with arms fully extended as she leaned away from the impending clash, fear that she would miss dancing in her eyes. Her hands clenched tightly, unwilling to move from their position as her shoulders rotated uncomfortably, swinging the blade as if it was a snake about to bite her.