Private A Thousand Deaths

[Darth Prazutis]

Location: Maena, Obsidian Desert, Approaching the Black Spires
Tags: Elise

H E L L​

If there was such a place that could be coined a hellscape in the physical world then this was it.

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Before them was a massive desert of glass and craggy sierra peaks constantly thrashed by scorching winds. It was a place that seemed to defy the conscious mind which failed to register such horror existed. It was a land of eternal shadow, a realm of umbral blackness that seemed to drink all light out of existence. It was a sea of sand as black as the void of space itself, it shredded flesh it's touch like microshards of jagged obsidian, and rife with mountainous peaks of black spines that twisted into agonizing shapes skyward, stone of the same foul obsidian hew as everything else. It was utterly devoid of beauty or tranquility, everything seemed vile, oppressive, even aggressive by nature. It was a blighted land of pure darkness bathed in an eternal twilight. Vision seemed to wax and wane at odd intervals and it was utterly impossible for an outsider to tell of the time of day or even get a glimpse of time at all. The temperature of this hellscape like the rest of the world was absolutely boiling. The Season of Ash had never been the same since the end of that vile conflict and it had waned little by little with every passing year, bringing the temperatures higher. In all accounts it should've been cooler yet this particular day saw the temperatures rise to two hundred and ninety two degrees.​

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It was a place forever ravaged by aeons of hideous warfare the true scale of which could scarcely be imagined. Oceans of blood had battered the sands accompanied by the deafening, agonized, fearful, maddening screams of billions put through such violent deaths that not even the most bloodthirsty of the Sith Order could imagine. It was a place made infamous in this forgotten worlds indigenous history by the Stygian Sorrow, the ninety year war of the Ghoul King and the Oracles of the Black Sign against the Forces of Ultroxium, Heralds of Xoth'za, and the Red Waste. But it was just one horrific war and in the time since hundreds, perhaps even thousands had graced the sands that saw the violent deaths of more souls fall on the obsidian sands that burned so hot, even Maenan's howled in agony from its mere touch to their skin. It was a land prowled by vicious beasts crafted by the hands of maddening sorcerers, psychopathic alchemists, and legendary black hearted sadists and the most depraved to walk the earth, populations brought from distant worlds forced to evolve. Many of the horrific beasts to stalk the trackless wastes had never felt the touch of the sun on their skin before, they never knew its radiance. They stalked with an innate ability to inflict physical and mental agony to break down and victimize even the strongest, courageous, and the most depraved until the building blocks of sanity came crashing down.​

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It was to this patch of world that the Grandmaster of the Jedi Order was taken.​

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After the duo of Allyson Locke and Darth Daiara had taken the matriarch, who had been originally captured by Ellie Mors , to the Saaraishash Headquarters they were greeted by an emissary from the Sith Darth Carnifex speaking with the authority of the Imperial Throne. Plans had been changed and they were to surrender custody of the woman to the escort of Imperial Crownguard. As soon as they had done so she was whisked away into a shuttle and that was the last anyone had ever heard of the woman. As far as any nefarious intelligence agents, informants, as far as anyone knew Elise had been carried off the face of the earth the moment she entered that shuttle. There was no trail in the physical realm and her presence in the force had vanished, any bonds she might've held with others felt as if they were severed for the time being. As far as the woman herself? Elise would spend the entire time unconscious. The wound she had suffered at the hands of the Shadow Hand were healed and she was kept sedated. The semblance of consciousness came back in time to see a cover ripped off of her form and her body bathed in the full exposure of the blazing heat. It burned so hot against her skin she might've felt like she was being set on fire. It was unimaginable agony from a world that often ran so hot it made the famous desert planet of Tatooine feel cold. To the woman herself it was entirely unknown how she didn't burn alive and die from exposure after minutes in such heat. Yet she would feel its pain across every inch of her body that would burn and blister skin.​

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The beings that carried her could only be described as formless shades.​

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There were four of the depraved Torturer's of Zalacodyr clad in black robes. The only exposure of skin would bring the sight of scarred flesh the whitish hue of bone. Each one of them stood over seven feet in height and their forms seemed lithe in nature. Yet looks were so deceiving and the iron grip they held on her indicated just how powerful the depraved truly were. Beneath their robes was the familiar clinking of metal. They were sadists by nature from the cabal of that depraved god, driven towards the perfection of the ecstasy of pain. They lived their lives in reverence of the ways of their deity. To these dark men flesh was their easel, screams were their symphony orchaestra. They were peerless artists of the flesh, masters of the mortal canvas. Each and every single one of them carried full sets of instruments designed to cut, bruise, blister, the skin and all manner of horrific acts. They seemed uninhibited by the blazing sun and moved in absolute silence, not so much as a grunt of exhaustion slipped from their lips as they carried her through the endless dunes as if she were utterly weightless.​

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Beyond them was yet more giants.​

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These towering forms were a nearly forgotten group, a rare sight to see in this day and age on this world. They wore sets of Ar Golraz Blood Iron, the craftsmanship of the legendary Sanguine Hammers. It was a great suit of jagged, spiked armor that seemed slick with the gleam of freshly spilled blood. Their eye slits burned with a deep crimson light and every single one of these warriors carried massive seven foot greatswords of the same construction. These profane weapons were jagged and to an outsider might've given a crude appearance. Yet therein lines the absolute perfection that had gone into their creation. These towering warriors were from the infamous Bloodreaver Legion and they were the handpicked best of the best, from that legendary group the Bloodskald Wardens. They were the chosen greatest among the famous legion and each one of these warriors were lifebound to the one that laid her low, to the Bloodsoaked Desecrator. These warriors were spread equidistant from one another around the perimeter, their eyes peeled all around.​

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The one known and feared as the Shadow Hand of the Sith Emperor walked at the lead.​

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For attire the giant wore a leather shawl of ebony Icarii leather flayed by a Kr'ylland Leatherworker. It hid beneath the set of black Tsha-hy'zi Hide Armor he wore. Only a single blade was set at his side and even it was of a special creation from the blighted dark forges of Zybiisan. Out of all of them he was the tallest, broadest and yet it was strange how every so often he seemed to vanish and appear. The Lord of Lies seemed to draw and warp the shadows of this twilight bathed hellscape around him, they seemed drawn to his form like a moth is drawn to a flame. Even without looking at her he spoke as if he had known "Welcome to your new reality Elise." The Shadow Hand said. He turned over his shoulder and seemed to speak to the escort then. The words he said flowed in a blasphemous tongue that assaulted the ears of those with the displeasure to hear it. It was impossible to understand and wouldn't show up on any translator or protocol droid in the known galaxy, and he spoke it like a native speaker with the wardens.​

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"You should be honored. No Easterner has ever lived long enough to travel this deep into the desert." Braxus said raising a hand to the world around him. "Know this. If you try to resist you will suffer. If you escape you will certainly die before you could make it a mile away. There is no method of communication to the known galaxy here, they will not find you here. You are trapped here until I decide to take you home." He added. The way he said it seemed to chill the blood it wasn't boastful speech, it wasn't the words of an arrogant tyrant. It was simple fact.​

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In the distance a series of black crags approached. ​

 

[Elise]

It was almost a surprise to wake, given the events that had driven her unconscious. Relief flooded her as she returned to her body, a blissful state of disorientation cocooning her. Then the pain reached her.

A searing heat dragged over her body, blistered against her flesh like a burning sun. She seized, jerking against her sleeping her body as she tried to move. But she couldn't. Drugs held her body down, turning her thoughts loose as quicksand. Where was she-- where was the padawan she had seen-- where-- She silenced the cacophony of thoughts running through her, breathing the force in and letting its calm fill the cracks her terror inside of her. She fought against the primal urge to scream and fight, the dark presence of the man besides her felt even as she pulled out of her coma. Easy goes it. She was still in control

She took a deep breath, her panic calming. The man spoke. Her heart rate spiked in a bout of adrenaline, her eyes unwillingly opening to glimmer at the man.

"You will get nothing from me, Darth Prazutis." It was a promise, her voice forced into a cool, collecteded. She seemed to mean every word, her expression a seamless mask, not a crack showing. She knew why he had her out here. The woman might have been sheltered, some might consider her naive, but even a Healer raised in the depths of a sheltered praxus knew what a sith did to a jedi. She wouldn't give it to him. The information she carried was worth more than her life, and she was ready to carry that conviction into death.

Her fingertips tingled as the sedation started to fade off. They twitched, itching to do more. She glanced around once at the setting, the approaching creg's giving her pause. She looked back up to him, her chin raising.

"You will only waste your time,” she vowed, fighting against the sedation to clear her mind.

 

[Darth Prazutis]

As lucidity returned to the reserved woman so too did her realization of the world around her. It wasn't evident at first while she moved to call upon the force to help in her time of need, it struck. It was a hammer blow through the glass framework of her concentrated mind, an eruption that broke the delicate focus the Grandmaster sought so desperately with the overwhelming flood of profound emotion. Death. Since before the days of recorded history wars had raged over the length and breadth of this world and the blackened sands beneath her feet were stained with the blood of aeons, armies clashing like two ocean waves bringing with it nausea inducing violence. These were not a peaceful death nor were they a swift death common to the eastern conflicts. These were horrific ends of such pain, they stained the sands and tainted the howling winds with the echo of forgotten screams. It was death seemingly without comprehension, killing just for the sake of killing. The immensity of this hellscape was such that its thunderous presence went beyond the spiritual and into the material.

All around her the woman would hear innumerable voices in a hundred unknown languages, mixed with screams and the mind numbing, maddening cries. The sounds of battles so fierce, the brutality of such conflicts were etched into the very earth and carried perpetually on the searing winds that blew that Maenan heat into their faces. It was the sounds that rocked through mind and body of foul, horrifying whispers. They sought to dig into every fiber of her being and provoke madness and savagery within the depths of hidden depravity that every soul was capable of. So much pain had been invoked on this blasted world she could practically feel the wounds of history being carved like a blade driven into her skin. Across the desert came the omnipresent noise of volcanic storms. They came like the crash of thunder amidst a hurricane, or the roars of some titanic beast. It was a constant attack upon the tranquility of silence, reminiscent of the sounds of great marching armies, billions of souls that willingly cast themselves into oblivion.

"You will get nothing from me, Darth Prazutis. You will only waste your time."

"So naive. Such eastern optimism falls of deaf ears here woman. You are in our world now."

The distant spikes grew close now. A series of peaks that rose from the earth like the gnarled jawline of some colossal horror of mythic proportions long consigned to death. They were more like jagged knives thrust skyward, a break in the heated winds that crashed against them, slowly working the stone into a towering effigy to the violent realm. The slick black stone seemed to draw in even the twilight of the desert with a ravenous hunger. Every inch of the rock was saturated with the echo of such overwhelming fear, it left its imprint on the stone as if it drew every last ounce of terror out of the victims to die before them. The stone bore the brunt of the worlds chaotic history upon its faces, a silent witness to the horrors committed by the depraved people that called this world home. All across the peaks sight through was blocked by an unnerving shadow. This shadow was unnatural even for this world and it was an obscuring umbral fog cloud that roiled over the stone across such a vast distance. Every soul that called this black desert home knew of this terrible place that earned its name from the fieds that called it home...the Laughing Spikes.

A careful eye might take notice of the subtle shifts in the obscurity that indicated movement. But all would feel the presence of eyes upon them when they approached these legendary spikes. So many eyes that watched their every move from the sadistic animals that lived upon the stone. When the eyes were afforded a rare glimpse of these beasts they were truly a putrid sight to behold. Vile abominations large enough to dwarf even the largest stallion horse. They bore a foul odor that assaulted even the prepared nostril. Their heads were an appalling mystery to even the brightest men of science and theory manifesting features that were equally Feline, Canine, and Chiroptera in nature. Incredibly tough and hardened teeth as long as khanjar daggers jut menacingly out of their toothy maws, a long glossus dangles and slithers mockingly along their great fanged mouths. Their bodies were covered with a hide that appeared decayed in nature. There were patches of sickly fur and exposed, decomposing black flesh that had been seemingly stretched across a greater volume of protruding, obsidian bone. A ghastly smoke of deep ebony seeps out from their disgusting bodies, it was a marvel how these creatures lived at all. These beasts looked more akin to skeletal aversions ready to fall into dust yet their appearance betrayed the reality of their startling power.

The Tsha-Hy'zi.

It was a rare sight indeed to lay eyes upon such a large congregation of these typically solitary hunters, upon what Kr'ylland hunters call a Feral Clan. To cast such a nebulous vapor over the area there had to be well over a hundred of the cretins. Yet none of these atrocities were ever seen in their totality. Many were hidden beneath the shadow and laid or sat lazily on the rock, while those that moved darted like blurs, only parts visible when they appeared. The hounds seemed quite well aware of the approaching group and their eyes glossed over the towering forms. Out from the gloom came the first sounds then. It was a maddening, cruel, hungered laugh from one hound to the other, an effervescent utterance. It was by no means a frenzy as those who feast on fear spoke to one another in this harsh sound. Every single one of them emanated an aura of uneasiness and dread that congealed together into a great storm.

"You will give me what I seek and open the way eventually,until then.." The Shadow Hand said and with a single word in that foul Maenan tongue her reality shifted. The worshippers of Zalacodyr on either side placed hands on her back and slammed her face down into the sand below. The heat that came from the sands was worse than anything the winds could carry into her. The sand like microshards of obsidian rock was blinding hot, like pressing skin against a hot forge or into the agony of boiling water. They didn't hold her down for very long before she was pulled upward. The pair of torturers behind her seemed to pull the cloth from her back and rub some sort of foul smelling, oily substance across her canvas. Whatever it was seemed to agitate the skin, a form of hyper sensitivity on her back. They brought forth whips then. They were long black studded things, each stud bore the runic sigils of pain in the shape of screaming faces. They struck the sensitive area in unison with these depraved instruments. When they touched her smooth skin they brought an agony the pain surged through the rippling flesh, a crippling poison seeping into every delicate, alerted nerve ending. The other held her in place then while the suffering had only just begun.

Elise​

 

[Elise]

Elise couldn't help back to struggle when she was shoved down. Her resolve to ride through this did not override natural instincts. She thrashed, her hands catching the ground just before her face. The heat exploded over her in a blinding flash. The flesh blustered and burst across her cheeks. An intake of breath killed a scream in her throat, the fiery air burning its way to her lungs.

Most noticeably was the crisp tingle of her eyes as they near shriveled away. She had not known they could feel heat. She felt it then.

Her vision left her. Her damaged throat tighten, not letting her scream surface. The assault on her body was beyond disorienting, a fact she tried to cling do as sudden whips tore open her back. There was a reason for this-- a reason-- She could do nothing but writhed and jerk blindly, pain searing over her back. Or was it her front? Her nerve endings were on fire, and where there wasn't pain, pain reached her.

There was a reason for this, screamed her inner voice, fighting to keep root in her mind. Amani Serys 's face came to view, the child's fear reaching her through the void of time and space. The urge to protect her pulsed through her, putting distance between her mind and the next lash that exposed her spine to the unforgiving air.

"You will give me what I seek and open the way eventually,until then.."

A strangled cry escaped her, the woman crumbling to the hands that held her. The green face stayed centered inside her, swirling against the explosion of lights and darkness that threaten to drag her under.

The reason. The reason.

"I will not," she rasped, steel still in her voice.

Darth Prazutis