Private A Pound of Flesh

[Leven Jeyd]

E X P E R I M E N T​

LOCATION: The Spyre, Garde Noir, Illyria.
TAG: Drazen Lutris

Far from the poisoned caverns of her Aishishhadz'idaks mines, Leven's seat of power resided within the imposing peaks of the mountains of Garde Noir, a fortress nestled deep within the heart of Illyria's shadowy and ominous province. The structure loomed over the landscape like a brooding sentinel, built of dark stone and twisted metal, veined with the red and violet hues that were native to the land. Gothic spires pierced the sky, surrounded by dense packs of mountain trees that whispered with hidden life, as though nature itself was bent to higher will.

The interior halls were wide and echoing, lit by braziers and sconces casting flickering light on the obsidian-like walls. Ancient tapestries of crimson and deep black adorned the walls, depicting twisted scenes from Sith history, while scattered throughout were relics of her alchemical practice—tools, texts, and other strange devices waiting for the opportunity to be used. Leven had her servants—men and women of many species—moving silently about the place, their eyes vacant but loyal, minds hollowed by her influence. She had bent their wills, rendered them docile and pliable, their lives now entirely devoted to her bidding. They moved with precision and grace, ensuring every need of the house their Lady was rarely in was attended to, while their minds were locked away in an unrelenting fog.

Here, Leven had brought the creature, avoiding the poisonous atmosphere of the mines even though she would have much preferred to scurry down into its tunnels, for its skin was sensitive and would have withered under the constant exposure to the toxins. The basement chambers of the Spyre were now its new prison. Unlike the mines, the atmosphere here was far more controlled. Leven had built her home to ensure that it could accommodate her… various interests. The underground chambers were lined with reinforced stone, each one sealed with alchemic runes that kept both Force and physical escape at bay. The creature lay on a stone slab at the center of the room, where chains bound its limbs in place. A large circular window in the chamber looked out into the forests, though the view was often obscured by mist and fog, leaving only eerie shadows to creep at the edges of sight.

Leven had not planned to stumble upon such a creature, but as fate often worked in her favor, she found it during one of her frequent dealings with Illyria's underground network. It had been a routine acquisition at first—a trade between lowlifes who had nothing of real value to offer. The transaction took place in a grimy, smoke-filled backroom in the heart of a crumbling city. There, concealed within a caged transport, was the creature. Clearly the product of some kind of genetic tampering. Leven's interest was piqued instantly.

Those involved in the deal had no idea what they truly possessed. Perhaps they saw it as an oddity or a failed experiment—something to be sold off for a quick credit. But Leven's eyes were sharper than most. The nature of the being wasn't a deterrent for her—it was a challenge. She didn't waste time with negotiation; the men handling the creature had been thieves themselves, and Leven had no qualms about stealing from thieves, or from anyone really. By the end of the night, the creature was hers, taken with little regard for who might have claimed ownership before.

As for its original creator or rightful owner? Leven hadn't considered them, nor did she care to. The prospect of future consequences never entered her mind as she walked away with her new prize. She was not a woman easily intimidated by the possibility of pursuit or retribution. After all, if they came for her, she would be ready.

Now, in the depths of the Spyre, she stood before the creature that had been stolen twice over. To Leven, it wasn't about where it had come from, but where it could go. It wasn't the origin that mattered—it was what she could make of it. The creature stared at her with those large, unsettling eyes, cased by traces of white locks, and Leven paced around it, her mind whirling. "Comfortable, are we?" she asked, her tone casual but underlined with a cold amusement. She knew the creature could feel some level of discomfort, though it was hard to say what was truly going on inside its mind.

Leven's attention moved to the servants standing by, their bodies stiff, awaiting her command. They had no will of their own—only the will she granted them. "Prepare the infusion," she said softly, and the servants moved instantly to do her bidding. One moved toward a row of vials, selecting one filled with some dark liquid that seemed to shimmer unnaturally, while another brought forth a surgical kit, its blades gleaming under the dim light.
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[Drazen Lutris]

Tag | Leven Jeyd​

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The thrice-damned Octavius had struck his labs on Arkania, taking trivialities and annoyances that now pestered Drazen in a time he needed a quiet space to think. Already he had deployed hundreds of agents, Sith and Arkanian alike, to hunt down what he lost to that man's insatiable need to bother him. Why couldn't Octavius just let his Wife go? What did it matter she had lost her senses, she was still alive! For the most part.​

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Even then, Drazen took pleasure in the thought of the torture he had given her. Perhaps it wasn't justified in the moment, but if Drazen could have seen the future, he would have done far worse to Octavius and his brood. A punishment before a crime was more efficient, afterall, so why wouldn't he simply cut the rot away before it had a chance to spoil the pantry? A Jedi, a Republic Judge, an ignorant man would all say he was wrong for this, but he had seen the genetics markers for crime.​

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Drazen could tell who was a miscreant just by the shape of their skull, and the pungent odor they gave off. So tuned was his genetics focus, he had long since overcome the needless desire for psychological understanding. He had the genetic foundations of nuerology memorized, so what else mattered? A Material Mind, controlled by material thoughts.​

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Today, his knowledge would pay dividends. While his other agents spread across the Galaxy to repossess his property, one of his favorite little abominations had strayed into the hands of someone more dangerous than the average Cartel Musclehead. It wasn't that he had a soft spot for the thing, just that he enjoyed watching it try to walk around his home on his misshapen, misbegotten excuses for legs. Behind its white fur stood the generational knowledge of his entire House - and he would not allow it to be tampered with by some upstart.​

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So he let his ship land on the ancient world of Illyria, then let the atmospheric rush drive him towards the aptly named 'Spire'. He didn't need a large force with him, he was sure he could deal with the inhabitants if they decided to get uppity, but for appearances and reassurances, he brought with him two of the Praetorians his brother Empyrean had brought into the Empire through the dreaded Eternalist church. They had their uses, but chief among them was intimidation as each stood well over six feet covered in great red plates of armor, holding saber pikes at the ready.​

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His favorite part? They almost never spoke besides casual grunts of affirmation.​

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As the door to his ship opened, they tailed him from either side. His foot left the ramp as soon as it touched ground with a heavy thunk. He looked about, waiting for his greeting, singular eye glancing about. He know he came unannounced, but was this really the hospitality Illyria offered? What a shame.​

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"I think it's best we talk.", he said with a casual tone, but the Force carried it through the facility like a loudspeaker - whispering it into every servants ear before it finally found Leven Jeyd . It took found his creation, and as the voice was heard the abomination began to grow fearful even beyond the reasoning of surgery and blades. It violently shook in its chains, then bleaded as it tried to escape. It neared even the point of breaking limbs it struggled so bad.​

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It seems whoever had made it, whoever 'took care of it', had come to retrieve his property.​

 

[Leven Jeyd]

E X P E R I M E N T​

LOCATION: The Spyre, Garde Noir, Illyria.
TAG: Drazen Lutris

The voice reverberated through the walls of the Spyre, slithering through the shadows of the dark halls, echoing as though the building itself had been possessed by some unseen force. It reached Leven just as her blade glinted in the dim light of the chamber, poised to draw across the creature's pale skin. The familiar cold amusement on her face faltered for the briefest moment as she straightened up, allowing the instrument to be set down on the tray beside her.

It seemed someone had come looking for what was his. Perhaps the rightful owner had finally shown up to reclaim their lost little toy. How delightful. She had expected this to happen sooner or later—though sooner would have been more convenient. Nonetheless, Leven could not deny the thrill of what came next.

The creature, already shuddering under her care, reacted to the voice like a cornered animal, writhing violently in its bonds as if it could break free through sheer terror. Leven stepped back from the slab, observing with a mix of curiosity and annoyance as the creature’s panic escalated to the point where it seemed ready to tear itself apart. She let out a soft sigh, her violet eyes narrowing as she turned to the brainwashed servants who stood at the ready.

"Restrain it," she ordered calmly, her tone now devoid of humor. Two of the servants moved to secure the creature more tightly, their actions mechanical and devoid of urgency. The creature bleated again, its twisted form trembling under the influence of the voice that had been sent to find it.

Leven allowed herself a moment to savor the situation. Whoever this man was, he clearly had some investment in the thing. That was useful information, but it also meant this was no common thief or lowlife seeking to reclaim what had been stolen. He carried the air of someone who believed himself important. But Leven had met many people who thought themselves important. Most ended up disappointing her in one way or another.

With a slow exhale, she composed herself and then made her way to the upper levels of the Spyre. She felt the ripple of his presence before she saw him, a power that commanded the space around him. The door to the entry hall groaned open as she stepped through, the light from outside spilling into the dim chamber. The great fortress of Garde Noir had many defenses, though now Leven saw no need to engage them. Not yet, at least.

As her gaze settled upon the man waiting at the foot of the entrance, flanked by two massive Praetorians clad in crimson armor, Leven offered a smile. Her presence was as calm and poised as ever, a contrast to the towering figures standing before her. She stepped forward, her black cloak trailing behind her as she descended the steps to meet them. The braziers flanking the entranceway cast flickering shadows over her figure.

“Welcome to Garde Noir,” she greeted, her voice smooth and dripping with an almost saccharine sweetness. “You must forgive the lack of preparation. My household can be so... unobservant at times.” The Illyrian Court had trained her well.

The wind from the mountains howled behind her, the oppressive weight of the Spyre looming above them. She stopped a few paces from Drazen, tilting her head slightly, her gaze flicking to the Praetorians before returning to him. The Force rippled with his presence, swirling around him like a storm barely contained.

"I take it you are here for... business," she said, her lips curling into a more genuine smile.

Her eyes flicked upward as if to gesture toward the Spyre, the creature below them now shuddering and whimpering in its chains. She could still feel the waves of fear radiating from it, a sensation that intrigued her more than anything. But now, she had to play this game with care.

“I must admit,” she continued, “I didn’t expect such a sudden visit, but no matter. You’ve found your way to me. Shall we?”

Her smile remained, charming yet cold, her posture relaxed but vigilant. She did not fear this man, nor did she take him lightly. If he had come all this way to retrieve what was his, then this would be an interesting encounter indeed.

She motioned for him to step inside with a graceful wave of her hand, the shadows of the Spyre beckoning them all inward. The servants did quick work of setting up one of the halls, a long table set, a bottle and glasses neatly placed, waiting for them within the vowels of the castle. "Marvelously curious specimen, I have to say." To warrant collection, and in this fashion? And yet in truth, the creature in her posession was now almost a distant thought.

There much more promisisng personalitites to deal with now.

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