Of monsters and darkness.

[Zhai'ellev]

It was the still, quiet hour before dawn, when darkness kept its vigil across the surface of Ryloth. Bare feet padded soundlessly through the compound, keeping to the deepest shadows, walking the same path she had every day since she had been brought to the planet. It clawed at her skull from the inside, that insidious anger that bubbled beneath the surface of her skin, wailing to be let out. She would have let it out if she could, if only to save herself a measure of the abuse she’d endured until now.

But she didn’t know how. So she waited.

Suffered.

Endured.

Zhai took a deep breath as she stepped outside in the chill of night air, fingers rising to adjust her slave collar absently. The cold was welcome, as was the rough terrain beneath her feet, because it was not the tiny chamber she was most often confined to. Her keepers had become lax in the last few weeks, and she took advantage of it by slipping out of the compound to see the rancors.

It was a lineage that had been brought from Dathomir, she’d heard, and that was enough for her to risk the wrath of discovery. It was the only thing she remembered of her homeworld before she’d been taken. Comfort and warmth, surrounded by the great beasts that treated her as if she were one of their own.

She slipped quietly down the worn, crumbling path, taking her time to avoid being noticed by the patrol. Soon enough, the massive beast pens were in sight, sprawling across the landscape beneath the moonlight. The distant horizon warmed slowly with the coming sunrise, and Zhai made her way down to the smallest of the pens, containing a small group of female rancors with their young. She waited by the gate until they caught her scent and rumbled a soft, sleepy greeting.

It wasn’t long before she slipped into the pen and greeted each of the adults with a soft word, checking to see that each of them was well. The young were still mostly asleep, save for one that stumbled it’s way over to climb into her lap the moment she found a spot to sit down. It was soon asleep again, and even Zhai relaxed enough to allow her eyes to close, if only for a few short minutes.

All too soon, it would be time to go back.

[member="Darth Metus"]​

 

[Malok]

The whispers were alarming.

It was not everyday that a local rumor landed in the lap of one who commanded a nation. It was not everyday that one who commanded a nation gave a damn about a local rumor. But, in the case of the Darth Metus and the Compound, the situation was one that demanded his attention. How he had come about the whispers of the Slaver Hub's existence was pure happenstance. On a whim, the Sith garbed himself not as an executive or a warrior, but as a common man. And following that whim, he descended into the marketplace of Ryloth's capital.

It was there that, whilst munching on a local fruit, he overheard talk of the Hub. Although Ryloth had been liberated at the hands of his Confederacy, there would always be those who were skeptical. Not that they were now truly free to determine their destiny, no...but for how long. You see, when Darth Metus was just a young adult another Confederacy had liberated this same world from the bondage of slavery. But upon their collapse, the chains and shackles returned to the far flung world.

And now, despite freedom having been given to all - the question of how long it would endure was on their minds. So much so that they worried and fretted about every remnant of slavery on their world. They were skeptical, yes...and the conversation the Sith overheard told him why. How can they rely on this freedom when an exotic Hub exists in the Wastes? This alone did not spurn Darth Metus into action, of course.

What made the Hub exotic was what saw him depart the Market immediately.

Not only were they trafficking people. They were poaching Rancors. They were poaching something sacred from his Home. This, now, was personal. This, now, was not something that he would turn over to the local militia and have faith that it would be dealth with. No. The Sith personally followed the tracks, the whispers, the rogues, and the rumors until one day he discovered iron walls wrought into the mountains. An old outpost, most likely Imperial, that had been overtaken by the Slavers.

It was not too difficult to breach.

Soon, the slumbering [member="Zhai'ellev"] would be roused not by the necessity of returning to her cell, but by a boot gently thudding against her own. Entering the waking world once more would introduce her to the sulfuric gaze of Darth Metus. His finger was to his lips, as if to denote that her silence was absolutely necessary. And within his grasp rested his lightsaber.

And yet, for as menacing as his apperance was, a rancorling felt confident enough to rest its head on his other foot. Dathomir knew its own, apparently.

"You." he began. "No noise. No sudden moves. Don't know how long until the bastards come back around, so, question. Best door to break these ones out is...which?"

He motioned the hilt of his saber towards the slumbering Rancor.

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

Grey eyes opened slowly upon the soft bump of another boot against her own. It was disconcerting that she had heard no approach, but the rancors were still quietly relaxed and unalarmed. There was no more sound than usual, rancorlings shuffling against their mothers, the mothers stretching as only now beginning to rouse themselves.

Her gaze narrowed as it traveled the length of the form that towered over her, remaining silent as she had been bid to do. With the gentlest touch she could manage, she woke the rancorling in her lap and nudged him back to his mother. She herself rose, straightening the rags she wore and narrowly avoided drawing attention to the collar that lay heavy around her neck, though she longed to adjust it.

He was tall, a strong frame that towered over her shorter stature. The shadows that still held sway over the landscape did little to dull his presence to her senses, and her gaze lingered where it probably shouldn’t. The woman had little reason to care about propriety however, and as a slave, took her pleasure where she could. Her stare was unashamed and forthright, grey eyes gleaming almost silver as they drank in the sight he presented.

Soon enough, Zhai gathered herself and allowed quiet, careful steps to draw her over to the perimeter fence, where she canted her head and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep, measured breath and holding it for a beat before expelling it slowly. Her gaze returned to Metus even as her feet carried her back to where he stood.

“We have two minutes, and the Eastern gate will be easiest. It has no arch to hamper the adults and will remain in shadows the longest as dawn breaks.” She said softly, voice audibly rough, the collar partially activating as her voice emerged. Zhai winced and tugged at it ineffectually, turning away to carefully pick her way across the enclosure.

In spite of the discomfort, she bid the rancors to rouse themselves quietly, her mother tongue slipping past her lips. <Go gently, Mothers...I would see you free.>

 

[Malok]

There was a fierceness to her.

Over the course of his tenure as Vicelord, Darth Metus had been exposed to the vicious realm of slavery numerous times. And, though the individual tastes of the slavers varied, there was always a common ground among the victims. When they were finally liberated from their chains, there was fear yet burning in their eyes. Tremors yet wracked them. But this one...was a contradiction.

This one responded without fear or flinch. This one simply placed her grey eyes upon his own. As best the Sith could tell at a glance, she was not afraid. Darth Metus did not linger on her face for too long, as the straightening of her rags inspired him to avert his gaze. Slave or not, tact was tact. While she righted herself and stood, his eyes instead inspected the rancors about them. Most were free of any external signs of abuse, save one mother bearing a nasty slash over her eye.

But all the adults had heavy rings about their wrists. From experience, he knew that slavers restrained human and beast alike using powerful magnets. No need for extra chains when a current would do better. The Sith bared his teeth in disgust.

We have two minutes...

When the Fierce One addressed him, the Sith was surprised at her grasp of the Basic language. She spoke well, for one in her condition - leading him to make the snap judgment that maybe she hadn't been a slave for long. Proper speaking, a lack of fear...With the directions now in mind, the Sith stepped in the direction of the Eastern Gate. True enough, what the woman said held true - it seemed as though there was no arch that could be seen from this side of the enclosure.

But whether that held true for the whole way out remained to be seen.

He parted his lips to speak - to address her with the same blunt tone as he had before. But...the language of home reached his ears. Darth Metus spun on his heel, just in time to notice the woman adjusting her once-concealed collar. They had...They had stolen more from home than just the sacred beasts. They had plucked Sisters. < You are safe now, Sister. > he began.

< Lower your hands, I would see you go free. >

He jutted two fingers in the direction of the collar which held her bound. In the same movement, his finger slid over the ignition of his lightsaber. The bloodshine blade burned into being; yet there was no malicious intent to be found in the Sith. < Come close. Stand still. Trust in me. >

Paecaen was so demanding a language at times.

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

< You are safe now, Sister. >

Shock registered sharply upon her features, the silver of her grey gaze glittering in the little bit of light that filtered around them. The Mother-tongue tripped softly from his mouth, and she stared at him as she stumbled back. She had not heard it aloud in the years of her slavery, she had spoken it only to herself so she would not forget. Allowed to echo in her mind as a manner of comfort during the darkest times of the last twenty years of her life. The warm bulk of a randor stopped her from falling, and the creature bent down to snuffle into her hair, the gentle touch akin to one given to rancorlings.

< Lower your hands, I would see you go free. >

If she had been given to displays of emotion, Zhai might have sobbed in that moment, suddenly unable to process what she was hearing and yet having a familiar comfort at her back, supporting her. But she had spent so much time holding every last feeling back that she was just numb from the excess of sensation. It took a moment, but her hands lowered, shaking, to curl into fists at her sides, holding tightly to the rags that barely covered her form.

< Come close. Stand still. Trust in me. >

The rancor gingerly nudged her forward, and Zhai's feet moved of their own accord, carrying her to stand before him. Her gaze roved over him once more, taking a closer look and more careful stock of him given this new revelation. < It has been a long time since I heard the Mother-tongue. It existed only in my earliest memories. Who...who are you? > she asked, wincing as the collar flared to life, sending pain across her senses with each word uttered aloud. Fingers rose to clutch at it in spite of his earlier request, eyes closing tightly as she fought to remain conscious under the onslaught.

 

[Malok]

Such pain.

As the Mother-Tongue reached the woman's ears, an expression claimed her face. The intersection of longing and grief characterized her features, so much so that the Sith was left surprised for a moment. The nameless slave needed to steel herself for a moment, balling her hands into fists before succumbing to the encouragement of the Rancors behind her. With but a nudge, she stepped forward and came to a halt within arm's reach. And the brief quiet that had fallen was broken by her words.

Who...who are you?

For the moment, the Sith raised his finger to his lips, indicating that she should remain quiet. Not for fear of raising alarm or for making the most of their two minutes, but rather so that the flare of electricity upon her flesh would cease. Now that she stood before him, the Sith's gaze could clearly see the work of the insidious device. He would see her go free. Now. < Quiet now, for one moment. Be still. > Despite the bluntness of their meaning, they were uttered...gently. Reassuringly. As if to say that her torment was finally over.

He noted the presence of her hands against the collar. Angled his saber accordingly and took a well-aimed swipe against the device. Practice bred precision, so much so that the woman suffered naught save the discomfort of feeling the crimson blade so close to her skin. But, once the bloodshine weapon sliced through, the pieces would clatter upon the enclosure's floor. The Slave wore chains no longer.

But Darth Metus was not yet finished. His offhand rose with mighty purpose - the Force obeyed where he commanded. The thunder of his might rippled through the air as the Rancors, too, felt the relief of liberation. Their collars and shackles cracked and fell away. Raw telekinetics broke their bonds: The Force Freed Them. And when it was all said and done, Darth Metus lowered his hand.

< When we leave, you will be Home. We, kin, are here on Ryloth. You will hear the Mother-tongue evermore. > he began, addressing her with that same gentle tone. < Now, be strong. I need your eyes. I need your mind. Guide us through. Yes? >

< And I...am Darth Metus. Son of Petra. Son of Morte Clan. Who are you? >

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

In all her years of slavery, there was one constant...she knew where she stood. She was property. An object. A possession. It came with some measure of unhealthy, vile stability.

This...this freedom, Zhai didn't know what to do with. Fingers grasped weakly at nothing but air, her grey eyes wide and staring down at the still-smoldering pieces of her collar. It had taken with it her shackles, but left her with uncertainty and confusion. She breathed deeply, lips parting as if to speak, though she stopped herself out of reflex.

< When we leave, you will be Home. We, kin, are here on Ryloth. You will hear the Mother-tongue evermore. >

< Now, be strong. I need your eyes. I need your mind. Guide us through. Yes? >

She swallowed hard and tried again, dipping her head and gazing up through her lashes, suddenly aware of just how dirty she was. Zhai nodded, the words unwilling to emerge as she put the effort into trying to find her widely scattered wits and senses once more. Hands lowered slowly to her sides, even as a runt of a rancorling emerged from behind his mother to scamper to her side. She was thankful for it, laying a hand on his head and finding a measure of strength within that small gesture, as she watched with wonder as his simple gesture freed the rancors from their bindings. She knew the wave of energy came from him, somehow, and that was as disconcerting as it was invigorating.

< And I...am Darth Metus. Son of Petra. Son of Morte Clan. Who are you? >

< I am called Zhai'ellev...it is the name I was given at birth. I have only the faintest memories of Dathomir...the Mother-tongue and the rancors are all I can recall. If I had a clan when I was taken, I do not know who they are- > her voice was rough, still, and it stopped abruptly as the distant scuff of boots caught her ear.

< -we are almost out of time. This way. > she whispered in a rush, guiding the rancorling back to his mother and making her way to the Eastern gate.

 

[Malok]

< Zhai'ellev. >

He repeated her name with the beginnings of a smile, yet did not have the opportunity to say more. There was some...quiet satisfaction that came with seeing the woman's expression. The wonder which danced within her grey eyes as she attempted to clutch something that was no longer there. But, time was of the essence - though all in the enclosure were free of their shackles, they were still within the compound. Zhai'ellev moved with haste to the Eastern Gate, acting as a guide for the rancorling that had taken a shining to her.

The Sith followed suit. His quick strides bore him across the enclosure until he was at the woman's side once more. She, Wordlessly, was like a conductor to the Rancors. They followed her without question - as if there was a familiarity there. Perhaps this wasn't the first time she was among them? Who knew? Meanwhile, Darth Metus set his attention on the Gate. His gaze followed the mechanism which raised the door before them, noting that the entry source was outside. Zhai'ellev being present was a clear indication that it could be reached from the outside. But, he doubted that an adult Rancor could slip through the same gaps as the young woman.

So, the Sith reached out.

Spacing his legs shoulder length apart, he lowered himself ever so slightly - as if he were going to pick up a heavy object. Power surged through him, and the servos holding the door fast began to shudder. The Force did the heavy lifting, dragging the behemoth of an entryway up in an agonizing display of telekinetics. The door was fething heavy, but when it was all said and done, Darth Metus managed to raise it into the up position. A final, brute application of the Force jammed the mechanism into place, holding it as if it had naturally been raised from the outside.

< We only need to get outside. Allies are waiting. Lead on, Zhai'ellev. >

He returned to her side and held his saber at the ready. By now, the two minutes was surely almost expired.

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

It took several moments of coaxing, burning precious seconds they did not truly have, to guide the rancorling back to his mother. She paused there, putting a hand on the massive beast and whispering softly in the Mother-tongue. A soft rumble was her answer, and as they all moved toward the gate, each of the rancorlings was carefully picked up and carried by their mothers or those few females without hatchlings of their own.

She turned to whisper to Metus, hand rising to her throat as the discomfort of her disused voice settled in, fingers pressed lightly to scarred skin. Grey eyes blinked as her gaze focused and the words died on the tip of her tongue, a wave of energy emanating from him once more, the sensation sharp and bitter on the back of her tongue. It was somehow stronger than before, as her senses floundered under the pressure of it. Her gaze widened and her head whipped back around to watch as the gate slid upwards and jammed itself into the upper mechanism, leaving plenty of space for the rancors to exit the small pen.

Zhai breathed deeply and cast another glance at Metus, only to find him standing beside her once more. She blinked and tore her gaze away from him, turning her attention forward toward their charges instead. The rancors strode forward, stooping carefully to pass beneath the raised gate, before they milled about, uncertain where to go once their freedom was gained. As security outside of the pens themselves was lax on this side of the compound, she gently nudged the mothers toward the pathway leading out of the compound between two massive stone walls.

With luck, it would still be the overnight skeleton crew on security duty, though the guard presence would increase with daybreak. As such, she did her best to hurry them along. The scuffling of boots on patrol was closer now, just around the last bend beyond sight of the now-empty pen. It wasn't long before shouts of surprise rang out, and Zhai gave up on discretion and just urged the rancors to run for it.

The sun had crested the horizon, warming the sky and casting light across the landscape. As the rancors ran for the passage to safety, Zhai grabbed Metus' wrist and pointed toward it. < There will be security...and the guard changes at daybreak...I have no weapons with which to defend the Mothers... > she added in her harsh voice, free hand pressing to her throat in an effort to soothe the pain.

 

[Malok]

The guards were at their backs.

As the sacred beasts made their escape down the corridor, the nighttime patrol discovered the empty pen. Their surprise and dismay echoed through the hall, causing some of the rancorlings to chatter upon their mothers' backs. At this age, they should be learning many things - of survival or of their native terrain - but terror was not among them. Darth Metus had half a mind to turn back so that he might smite them all himself, but he had to see them safely outside. If they could just breach the compound...

The former slave grabbed the Sith's wrist and pointed ahead. Dawn was coming. Urgency was conveyed to the Rancors who now began to stampede towards freedom at her behest. Though it pained her to speak, she made it very clear the danger before them. And, that she had no means to protect the Mothers. The Sith readied his saber and gave the woman a confident nod. < No. You have me. And you have the spirits. I will go ahead of you. Feel. Listen. Act. >

And what would an orphan of Dathomir know of the Spirits? Of their customs and ways? The Spirits never forgot their children - even if they were a Galaxy away. Their reach was vast and their love deep. The Sith grasped her forearm, giving her a confident squeeze before sprinting off past the Mothers. The Force aided his every movement, empowering him to run faster than the sacred beasts. As the patrol personnel reached his vision, the sound of blasterfire greeted him.

A moment later, he was upon them. His crimson blade bit into their flesh and batted away their paltry offense.

And while Darth Metus unleashed hell upon the guards, a sweet whisper would echo in the former slave's ear. A loving, gentle voice that had always been there - but had never been all at once. Where, for years, she had felt powerless...in this moment, in this second, she would feel strength. Paecian lyrics entered her head - words of magick to guide her through the battle. All she had to do was listen. Speak. And act.

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

There was something reassuring about the way the words of the Mother-tongue felt tripping from his tongue, drawing out a long-forgotten sensation that slithered along the length of her spine. The uncertainty she felt at her own boldness melted away under his gaze and Zhai nodded, fingers gently, reluctantly leaving the warmth and comfort the touch of his skin had offered. But his voice…the Mother-tongue…it would be enough.

The Mothers could be safe – would be safe, as she felt their roars echo while their mighty steps forced the earth to tremble beneath their feet.

She…she could be free.

The forgotten child of Dathomir turned to ensure the last of the rancors were free from the pen they had been trapped in, and found angry guards in their stead, rushing towards their retreating backs. She stood in the doorway, hands fisted tightly at her sides, the sweetest whispers intruding into her senses and nearly overwhelming her. Zhai had lost the tenor of that voice over the years, longed for the echo of remembrance and home.

It had returned.

Metus had given her this…this incomparable gift. He’d given her back the only thing that had ever brought her comfort, and even now worked to ensure the safety of the Mothers she was so desperate to protect.

The spirits gave her the time and the space to breathe, but then…then they insisted that she act. Zhai was called upon to visit their retribution upon the slavers that had stolen the sacred creatures, and that she did. With a roar torn from her throat and her hands flung forward, a wave of intoxicating dark energy visibly rushed from her slender form and crashed into the running slavers. Their blasters fired wildly, a shot catching her in the shoulder, which she paid little attention to. This level of pain was nothing compared to the sensation of not being powerless.

Their broken bodies were fling away, clear across the pen, landing in torn and broken piles across the packed earth, a head even impaling itself upon a shattered fence spike. Her breath left her in a rush as the spirits jubilation seeped into her veins and her flesh, propelling her forward as she turned, rushing after the mothers with a preternatural speed she’d never been able to call to her command before.

This gift…this freedom…it was immeasurable.

By the time she returned to Metus’ side, a wonder-filled expression warming her features, the Mothers were through the pass, pounding feet leaving the slaughtered guards little more than stains in on the surface of the earth.

The spirits were pleased.

[member="Darth Metus"]​

 

[Malok]

Darkness.

The faintest sensation danced upon his tongue, as if iron had been splashed upon its length. So often did this taste manifest when the Dark Side reared its head. It was much akin to the smell of ozone before a lightning strike - a warning of devastation that would crash down in an instant. Darth Metus paused his wanton destruction of the slavers, setting his sulfuric gaze upon the Orphan. Where once...a meek woman stood, bound to servitude, there now stood a warrior.

And though he was far, he could see the gleam of amber claiming her eyes. The Spirits had returned for their lost child. They uplifted her. The empowered her. They filled her a might that saw many a slaver crash through the air. A satisfied laugh filled the Sith's lungs as he witnessed the storm that was Zhai'ellev. Even when she was struck by an enemy's blaster, she crushed them all the more.

When it was all said and done, there was a cacophany which filled the Fortress. A divine grinding of iron against the fiery will of rancors. Mother after Mother piled upon the final obstacle, bursting down the blast door that dared stand in their way. And, for the first time in so long, the light of day warmed their flesh unopposed. Where once there was shackles, now there was freedom.

Darth Metus offered a toothy grin to the woman who joined his side. Though there were surely more slavers to come, he did not seem deterred. He did not seem bothered. He did not...continue to fight. For but a moment, there would surely be a modicum of surprise on the part of the Orphan. Why come this far...why stand with Rancors pouring out into freedom and not move? The answer came in the next moment. The sound of engines filling the air - dropships descending from on high.

The Sith laughed all the more as ordnance began to pour into the fortress. All the King's Horses and All the King's Men had come to burn the karking place to the ground. < Do not be afraid. They are mine. > He began, placing the rear of his hand upon her cheek. < And you are strong. You are free. The mothers are free. >

< You can come with me. Be mine. Learn. Grow stronger. Yes? >

He did not wait for an answer, as he noticed the marred flesh that was her shoulder. Concern danced within his sulfuric gaze. < Come. You are hurt, you will be healed. >

As if to illustrate his point, a single dropship lowered a rope just close enough for the Vicelord to clutch. He wrapped his fingers around the line and offered his hand to the Orphan.

[member="Zhai'ellev"]

 

[Zhai'ellev]

There were no words.

There was nothing that came to mind that she could possibly give voice to that would do this gift justice. That would allow her to give voice to the fierce joy that burned in her heart to see the Mothers finally free. The spirits suffusing her mind settled as the sight of the compound being bombarded soothed their rage.

One by one, they took their leave, lingering at the edge of her senses, filling the void that had been there for so very long. One remained, however, giving her purpose and strength, and she breathed the name ‘Doashim’ as if it were a prayer. And perhaps it was, in a way, given how he settled into the back of her mind as if he had always been there, lending her what she needed to continue.

Gazing up at Metus as he spoke, her now amber-limned gaze slowly coursed across his features. She leaned her cheek against his hand and finally allowed herself a moment to breathe deeply, a measure of tension beginning to seep away from her slender form. It was to be savored, to be remembered, to be treasured as her first moment spent in true freedom.

He posed a query but did not wait for an answer to pass her lips. She did not need to give one aloud, she would have followed him anywhere in that moment. The concern in his gaze and soft words of the mother-tongue reminded her of her wound, and her body finally deigned to recognize the pain of it at last.

Zhai winced, pressing a hand to the wound briefly before she realized he had outstretched his own. He offered her everything in spite of having given her the most precious gifts of all already. Without hesitation, she took his hand and stepped in close to him, sighing softly at the warm and comfort she found.

Words…were utterly unnecessary.

[member="Darth Metus"]​