Raxus Prime - Sith Temple

[Sheog the Mad]

Hwyfar, tied her auburn hair back with a strap of studded leather, tying a tangle of her bangs into a braid that fell loose down her freckled face. She stared into the swirling matrix of hyperspace through the viewscreen of Le Morte d’ShadowFett, watching her reflection. She looked tired, and like she had been since meeting her Master, hungry beyond imagination.

 

She was not starving, but she felt empty. Drained. Insatiable for an energy that was neither her own, nor accessible to her. A small beeping drew her attention from her self-reflection. Raxius Prime was close. She opened her pale lips to speak, but a touch upon her soul gave her an acknowledgement to what she had not spoken. The touch pulsed, filling her with a fiery warmth. A thank you of sorts from the Sith Master. Hwyfar curled up in the pilot’s seat, setting in landing coordinates to the Sith Temple for the ship’s AI to follow in course before closing her eyes.

 

The girl focused on the fire that was blossoming within, settling her breathing around its pulses. She had never felt such power.

 

….........

 

As Le Morte d’ShadowFett landed, the great Hutt disembarked. He had disguised himself in the traditional robes of the Monks of Hildago, bright baby-blues with pink highlights, and a tonsured headdress of feathers and beads. His multi-lidded eyes blinked at the bewildered Sith troopers that rushed to investigate the new ship, flashing the human officer a grotesquely innocent smile that made her immediately cringe. He held back his presence in the Force to a sputting candle, buffeted by inner turmoil.

 

<<I was told by an Iberagian Soothsayer that I was… What was the word… FORCE ALLERGIC? Or was it… Force Intolerant? No… Sensative that’s it.>>

 

The officer sputtered out a reply that was lost in the noxious winds of Raxus Prime.

 

<<Fantastic! Take me to your temple so I might donate to the monks that live here. Do you have a gift shop?>>

 

He brushed aside their queries and pushed his bulk into the temple, leaning on his ornamental staff. Behind him, Hwyfar stepped gingerly, her dual blaster pistols holstered on her sides in a cross-draw fashion.

 

The Hutt breathed in a breath of the noxious air, complimenting its acidic qualities and phosphorescentness. He paid the landing fee with a showering of Old Republic Credits and followed the Trooper’s directions to the security processing line, which he avoided in a somewhat blustering appeal to the lack of handicap access. it wasn't long until he had talked and bribed his way onto one of the supply shuttles that was resupplying the orbital vessel. It was a cramped flight, but the troopers took it well due to the constant shower of credits and old war stories of his time serving under Jassic Terabet on the battle of Haroou IVX, a commander, a battle, and a world that had never existed. 

 

As he moved through the halls of the Sith's paltry flagship, he began to smell the all too familiar sensations of other Force Wielders, a smell he had scarcely detected since his departure from the arms of the Maw. He kept his force signature in check, frightfully small for such large a frame, and burst into the meeting of the Sith Lords, his multicolored robes a whirl of light. His jovial eyes stared into those of Mordecai.

 

<<Do you know where I can buy scented candles? This boat has a delightful salty smell that would pair just wonderfully with a white Snevrian wine!>>

[Sheog the Mad]

 

Lust bloomed like a muja in spring and Sheog blinked his eyes at the sudden influx of the foreign emotion. Lust always made him think of Darla, or the extravagance of Lord Ar-Pharazon. His many-lidded eyes fluttered their way to staring at the Sith Lord, Sirena, who in some way reminded him of innumerable other Sith and Jedi he had met in the galaxy, but at least this one was a beauty. Assassins and their sex-drives were a dozen a credit, and overall exhausting to deal with for any length of time. 

 

In response to the feelings of Lust, the Hutt winked an enormous eye at the Sith, the multiple lids fluttering as if to say “Come to the back and fade to black with me baby”

[Sheog the Mad]

The boy spoke, and his dictatorial words carried the flavor of authoritarianism with it. The Hutt sniffed in a breath through his misshapen nostrils, taking in the man’s essence most fully. He had the corruption of the nightsisters on him, which would make his master either that Nightsong woman, or his own niece Telperian. The hand on the lightsaber was a familiar gesture of the new generation of Sith. What he was at the simplest was a Sith Lord, pushing for his own advancement through conquest. The older generations of Sith would have poured out a snifter of fine whiskey at the least for a potential new recruit. The Master of the Krath gurgled some phlegm from his tongue, seeming to consider the Sith’s words.

 

<<Well then, mister Darkened Lord of the Jedi, I’ve come to train to become your most stealthy assassin…>>

 

If the overlarge slug had eyebrows, they would have waggled with delight at his own jokes and teasing. Instead, several rolls of fat that had built up around his reptilian eyes jostled for dominance in a rather disturbing display of rippling grease. He chortled a bit and pulled out his briarwood pipe, packing the elaborately carved bowl with a well-aged spiced perique blended with newer Corellian Cavendish with the twist of a greasy thumb.

 

<<You don’t mind if I smoke do you? I know it’s bad for you, but well. Hutt and all. Carcinogens be damned I say. Not as bad for you as being a Grey Jedi am I right boys...>>

 

The mountain of filth gave an exaggerated wheezy cough and continued, bringing a lighter to the bowl and taking a small sip from the swirling stem of Blackmorne Briar, talking around the bit as he did so.

 

<<I am your humble apprentice, lead the way and I will follow. What is my first task? If it's killing this horny Sith, I'll do it for free.  Speaking of, what is the pay?>>