Private In the Bowels

[Maestus]

Gehinnom. The Holy City for the Brotherhood of the Maw. A place where those uninitiated fear to tread. Even the initiated tread lightly. The hallowed halls and walls could tell many stories. But like the Heathen Brotherhood, they remained silent and foreboding. Content to watch and listen.

Deep within the bowels of the Holy City, Maestus waited. She was in the dungeons, surrounded by the wails and screams of pain that echoed forever. She moved casually down a long line of cells. Every so often, she would pause to observe one poor soul or another. All were in various stages of torture. Reeducation as the taskmaster, Tu'teggacha described it. These souls would either convert or die. Quite simple really.

It was to the dungeons that she summoned Gren Blidh . For what nefarious purpose was yet to be revealed. The Sith Lord waited patiently.

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[Gren Blidh]

The screams came from the walls. As Gren Blidh strode down the dark corridor that boxed him in on either side, the walls around him moaned and pleaded. Shadowy, enfeebled hands reached from between cold durasteel bars, grasping for any kind of feeling that could resemble hope. Gren recoiled as woeful fingers touched his leather trenchcoat, paying no attention to the begging wails as he carved a path through the jungle of outstretched hands.

He had no idea why Maestus had summoned him to this monolith of torment. Perhaps to remind him of the cruelty that existed within the galaxy - and that cruelty indeed, was seemingly the only lynchpin that held the Maw together - but Gren had seen enough heartless acts already for ten lifetimes. The sadism of his fellow Maw brethren was nothing short of barbaric and crude. They had no greater purpose for their savagery; they were only motivated by that ever-burning ember that resided deep within the black recesses of their souls, a twisted joy that was found in torture and pain. They acted the only way their primitive minds knew how, and made no apologies for it. Gren could at least respect that.

But his burgeoning senses told Gren that Maestus had other plans today. His dealings with his master had been sparse to this point. Aside from reporting in to her regularly, Gren was free to do as he liked and take what he wanted from the enemy. That was how he liked it. The navigator didn't need to announce his presence as his silhouette filled the doorway. Maestus would no doubt sense he had arrived.

"Master." His one eye was visible from behind the shadow, looming like a specter in the black.

 

[Maestus]

Maestus had indeed sensed the approach of Gren Blidh for some time now. When he stepped into the doorway, she beckoned him close with a wave of a hand. She stood facing away from him. She stood before a particular cell, housing a particular inmate.

Who he is seemed unimportant. To Maestus, at least. In the cell, being prevented from escape by the energy field, was a male Twi'Lek with blue skin. Clad only enough to protect his modesty, he sat crouched against the cold walls of his cell. What was quite surprising about the male was the defiance in his eyes. He had a will to survive that usually did not last here under the lash of Tu'teggacha .

Tell me, Bren. What do you see here in this cell?​

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[Gren Blidh]

Maestus 's visage was a mad red crescendo against the void of shadow. Gren stood facing the Sith Master in silence, their two forms swimming in the dark, illuminated only by the constant neon glow that kept the prisoner encased. Gren turned toward the prisoner's cell, the sunrise of blue neon washing over the outline of his face. Between the crackles of ion energy, his lone eye met with the gaze of the imprisoned Twi'Lek. The prisoner shot him back a stare of burning embers, unafraid to make or break contact with Gren's soul-piercing eye. The Twi'Lek's daggered stare threatened to blow apart the four walls that kept him encased, could he only find the strength and power to do so.

Gren turned to Maestus. "This one is not yet broken," He answered her plainly, knowing that this distinguished the prisoner from most of the rest down here. Perhaps that was why she'd brought him here.

 

[Maestus]

Wrong! You see with only your eyes. You deny the very essence of the Dark Side within you. It grants you perception on a deeper level, if you can but harness it and wield it.

She glowered at him. Black eyes narrowing, falling on him heavily.

You must feel. There is strength in passion, fool. Or do you cling so desperately to the Light that you have submerged your passions, your emotions?

She circled him then. A predator stalking her prey. Her lips parted slightly, breathe slow and measured. Everything about her oozed controlled rage. From the silent foosteps to the pulse beating within her, she was the embodiment of rage.

She looked upon her apprentice with disapproval.

What excites you, apprentice? What frightens you? Show me...ALL.

A hand scratched forward, reaching towards Gren Blidh and his head, but not connecting. Within Gren's mind, she attempted to invade. She clawed and scratched, attempting to force him to relive his most deep dark fears and memories. He could feel the strength behind Maestus attack. It was unrelenting and without mercy. The Sith Lord would not let up. Gren would find himself under a brutal assault of Memory Walk.

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[Gren Blidh]

"I cling to no illusions of light!"

The eyepatched face stared back defiantly, his voice cutting through the dank chamber and reverberating to far-off corners.

The knifelike sensation of Maestus attempting to invade his mind took over then. The prison walls shrank around him as a shrill voice penetrated his ears and, insidiously, began to worm its way into his brain. The invasive force sent him to one knee, a hand reaching up to grip the side of his skull and pull at his damp hair, as if in attempt to physically excise the brain weevil from his skull. Gren knew that his master was attempting to scour his brain for weaknesses as if she were simply reading a book, and the only method to combat her was the Force.

He summoned up all the powers he could to deflect her mental assault. Her powers wormed and weaved into his inner thoughts; their efforts were blanked by a clear, focused energy from Gren. They moved again and again, and met the same wall of resilience. But in the end, the attack became too overwhelming. The apprentice's defenses gave ground, and allowed Maestus a glimpse into his innermost fears and desires. She'd see an image of Gren, frantically flipping through holoprojections. He was watching his own life unfold upon them. He would know every laugh, every cry, every moment of joy and suffering he would ever experience, and be powerless to change it.

A life without free will, where omniscience is a curse.

Gren gave an anguished moan, slamming his fist into the ground.

 

[Maestus]

Maestus took her time raping Gren Blidh mind. She stretched out and made herself at home. Letting the malevolent atmosphere she carried with her everywhere waft through his brain meat. She watched him as he battled himself, his fear and his pain.

You have seen it. And you are powerless to change it, yes?

She stood stock still as she watched him in a crumpled mess. She felt no pity, no sympathy. She was disgusted by such abject weakness. But there was potential within him, she could feel it. He needed her guidance to grow strong and powerful. He may not appreciate her methods, but he would find them effective.

Fear not, my apprentice. Your lessons have already begun. You may have learned now that your mind is your most powerful weapon, when properly trained. You will learn to prevent the attacks I am subjecting you to. But only if you strengthen your will. Yes, it can be augmented through the Force, but there must be a baseline there to begin from. And unless I am mistaken, there is some strength of will within you, is there not?

She circled him for several moments. Doing nothing except walking around him. Delicate bootheels clicked on the cold floor, finally coming to a rest at his head. She squatted down and gently lifted his chin her one hand until their eyes met. She spoke again, this time mentally, invading his mind painfully once again.

Force me out.

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[Gren Blidh]

The mental torture translated into the physical, Gren's head thrumming with pain as his spirit felt hopeless. Mental defeat was, truly, the only defeat of an opponent. His soul felt crushed as he momentarily faced the possibility of his worst fears being true. Was he merely a shell, living a life that was not his own? Maestus was still talking. Her voice continued to reverberate within his mind, bouncing off the cathedral walls of his skull. In that moment, he began to hate her.

"Shut up..." He hissed, still on his hands and knees.

Every word she spoke fueled a hatred and rage that started as embers within him, and soon began to plume. Who was she, to invade his mind and toy with it with such nonchalance? He began to envision himself projecting the Force so powerfully that it would manifest in a monolithic shockwave that would blow all four walls away from him, and her with it. He wanted the shockwave to keep going, like a gathering tidal wave, until it consumed and destroyed this entire galaxy and all the wretched existence within it.

"Shut up, shut up... SHUT UP!"

His voice crescendoed and echoed throughout the chamber. Gren stood to one foot, and then two, and screamed. There was no place left for his boiled up rage to go but out. He threw his hands out, letting his anger transfer into raw Force power, as it was expelled. In that momentary release Gren felt free. Vision went blurry and his ears popped and rang. Senses failed except for the feeling of abject freedom. He had no idea how much power he had just thrown out into the physical plane, all he knew was that it felt good.

 

[Maestus]

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Maestus watch without emotion as Gren Blidh struggled under her assault. She gave a dark grin as he began to actively fight her. Yet she did not recede from his mind. She continued to search it, dig into it.

She could feel his hatred and anger smolder to life. She was quite pleased to see such intensity in his emotions. He would grow strong under her tutelage. She would see to that. She felt his rage and hatred begin to roil and build. Maestus could feel the growing power of the Dark Side washing off of him.

And then he exploded.

He lashed out with such power, albeit untrained, that it drove her to a knee, and she had to place her palms on the floor to keep from fully toppling over. Lifting her head, she looked to Gren. She was pleased to see the Force was strong in him. Now, she would train him to wield it. She slowly stood to her full height, and regarded the apprentice evenly.

Good, perhaps you are not going to be a complete and utter waste of time. Your ability to tap into the Force is a step. Now, you will learn to control that so you will not be a liability.

She reached to her belt, where a phrik and durasteel hilt swung lightly. She unhooked it, and held it in the palm of her hand. She regarded Gren evenly and shrugged.

Take this, without moving.

 

[Gren Blidh]

The radiating energy of the Force blast left Gren feeling momentarily drained of power. His raw explosion was enough to knock Maestus back, but in the wake of the display, he picked himself up tiredly from one knee to the next, sweat forming on his brow as his locks of damp hair hung loosely. Gren had never felt such extreme power emanating from his fingertips before. If she could teach him to not only do that, but hold onto it -- it was worth any amount of suffering.

The lightsaber hilt sat placidly in his Master's red hand. His instruction to take it without moving surely meant that he needed to call upon the Force. How was he supposed to summon the energy to take it while enduring such exhaustion?

Gren's lone eye met her pair. As his breathing slowed, he knew that defeat must be purged entirely from the mind in order for his goal to be accomplished. How had he called upon such powerful energy before? He had simply done it without acting or thinking -- it was a feeling, nothing more. It was anger channeled and translated into Force energy at its purest. Why could the same thing not be done here?

That feeling, simultaneously infuriating and ecstatic concocted together in a toxic brew, flowed through his veins freely. Gren didn't think about it; he merely pulled his pilot's coat back to reveal an inner pocket, and envisioned the lightsaber hilt sailing out of Maestus' grasp and into it.

The hilt wobbled and began to move.

 

[Maestus]

As Gren Blidh met her gaze, he would find her eyes hard and unforgiving. She would tolerate no weakness or failure from the acolyte, and her entire demeanor left no illusions about that.

She stood unmoving, hand extended with the hilt of her saber resting within it. As it moved, but did not leave her hand, she scowled at Gren.

I said to take it, not make it dance. Your enemies will not allow you to rest and gather yourself, no matter how exhausted you are. Admit defeat, so I may find another worthy of my training and time. Or, take it. The choice is yours.

Her voice was hard. She was obviously displeased by the lack of taking her saber. Clearly, she expected him to make a choice then and there.

The point of no return.

 

[Gren Blidh]

Fingers curled and flexed as Gren manipulated the Force to the best of his ability, veins protruding through his arm like little rivers of concentrated anger. Focus more, work harder, or face shame. But unlike his other abilities, these were skills he was barely trained in. How was he supposed to succeed?

Gren found himself only growing more furious at Maestus and her taunts. How delightful for her, to have the ease of setting up an experiment he was doomed to fail, only to relish the joy of pointing out his weakness.

And there was perhaps nothing more in the galaxy Gren loathed more than weakness in himself.

Gren's Force grip on the lightsaber ceased. It was a mistake coming here. The Maw had given him a good opportunity to get rich off some quick loot, but this sorceress wasn't really interested in training him. As his thoughts spiraled, Gren found himself only wanting to lash out at her even more. Forget the lightsaber; he wanted to do violence upon his Master.

After all... what made her so god damn special?

From the murky shadows Gren turned to face her again. He spun on his heels and thrust his arm out, his fingers beckoning the laughing voices behind the dark maw of the Force, channeling their omnipresent and ineffable power.

"Get over here!"

His voice rang thick and shrill throughout the dungeon. The lightsaber hilt left Maestus' hand and slapped against his palm.

 

[Maestus]

She sneered as the saber left her hand finally. She had watched Gren Blidh grow tired, weary exhausted. But she granted him no reprieve. To do so would be to encourage mercy, pity, compassion. Weakness. If Gren were to become a strong Sith, she would not coddle him.

Good. I sense your hatred for me. it will only grow stronger as you grow stronger. It will drive you to great heights, and depths. Beware that it does not consume you. That is weakness, to lose control to our base selves. We are to rise above, and rule. Not devolve and be subjugated.

She studied him, though she did not have to do so in depth right now. His exhaustion was plain to see. He was on a precipice. At a tipping point. Maestus could end this session and let him rest. Or she could push him even further. See were his point of no return was.

Of course she pushed.

She lifted a crimson hand, and the saber Gren had worked so hard to take was ripped from his grasp. It smacked into her palm. Upon that touch, it ignited. But it wasn't the typical crimson blade of so many Sith. This was a deep purple, snapping and crackling with power.

Draw your weapon.

 

[Gren Blidh]

The dark chambers resonated an effervescent purple, the lightsaber of Maestus standing between herself and Gren. The calm hum of the blade was the only sound that filled the room, a serene backdrop to the stewing hate that boiled within Gren.

The raw emotions and will to power had given him strength. The sorcery that had drawn the lightsaber hilt to his hand no longer felt ineffable; he could feel its power within himself after tapping into it, and he felt able to recall that power. For a moment he felt a sense of ecstacy at this revelation, but that was soon quashed as Maestus demanded he draw the only visible weapon on his person -- a pathetic blaster pistol.

Any weapon was better than none at all, and so the blaster sprang from his trenchcoat pocket and trained its barrel between Gren's Master's eyes. Gren knew the hopelessness of the situation as it appeared; there were many weapons one could use against a Force wielder, but a blaster was about the worst option. She would bat away his blaster bolts in the blink of an eye, even turn them against him if she knew what she was doing with that blade. Which, she assuredly did.

"How am I to know the hatred that produces strength, from the hatred that produces weakness?"

He leveled the question at his Master, his voice calm and steady as the two trained their weapons against each other. The question was sincere, but double-edged. Perhaps, in answering, and in mocking his poor choice of weapon against her surperior lightsaber, she would not notice the sonic grenade he had just primed on his belt.