Private Of Silence & Rot

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Nefaron //:
//: Anoat //:
//: Attire //:

A gloved hand adjusted the breather on her face while data scrolled across the datapad's screen. Allyson had found a hidden corner outside the imposing fortress ruled by the Sith Lord controlling the planet. She had witnessed things here, dreadful things that would haunt her dreams for months. Darth Nefaron's atrocities had twisted Anoat into something unrecognizable. It was far removed from her memories of the place from her youth.

Her hand flexed involuntarily, leather stretching tightly across tense knuckles. This was far worse than Taeli's reports had suggested. Allyson felt a sharp sting behind her eyes; she wanted to cry.

Taking a quiet breath, she pressed deeper into the shadows as the unsettling shuffle of the undead guards echoed nearby. They were everywhere, and Allyson wondered grimly if another living soul even remained on the planet's surface.

Her gaze settled on a small troop heading toward a waiting transport, curiosity turning quickly into revulsion as figures were slowly marched out, blindfolded, and shackled together like livestock. Her cybernetic eye hummed softly, zooming in to capture the grim scene. After a few blinks, the device started recording, transmitting encrypted footage directly to her databank.

Allyson shifted slightly, keeping her cover intact as she watched the casual cruelty unfold. Slavery had become the planet's heartbeat, a grim echo of the Kainite doctrines she'd long despised. Her thoughts spiraled to Madelyn. How could she go along with this? How could she stand by and let this happen? Yet Allyson rationalized, justifying the Minister's position. Madelyn's role demanded acceptance and compromise. Allyson needed to believe that to absolve Madelyn selfishly.

As the transport emptied, more undead approached, pushing the chained prisoners through the fortress gates for processing. Allyson saw her opportunity. She cloaked herself in the Force, becoming unseen and her Force presence unnoticed. Swiftly, she placed a small probe against the fortress wall, linking it to her cybernetic eye and datapad, before slipping the device back into her pocket.

She moved silently, shadowing the slaves and their grotesque escorts. Soft, hopeless cries reached her ears, each whimper like a needle piercing her resolve. Allyson considered helping them, but there was no path to safety, and no real escape. The Blackwall and Kainite regime left little room for hope.

The fortress gates groaned open. Allyson slipped inside undetected, immediately finding a shadowed corner near a neglected terminal. She placed a hand on its cold surface and quickly scanned the corridor, senses heightened and alert. The Force surged within her as she effortlessly sliced into the system, pulling up schematics and facility layouts.

If she could find a ventilation shaft, she could deploy surveillance effectively and get out.

Allyson never liked horror holos. Deep down, she knew this mission was becoming one of the worst.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

[TAGS: Allyson Locke ]
[Music: Anthem of Evil]
[Anoat]

There was much to do.
​

Events had been moving into place, and the next phase of Darth Nefaron's plan was about to begin. The Dark Council would come, but they would find themselves divided. He may be punished, and he may have resources and slaves ripped from him, but work continued on his projects nonetheless. Darth Malum of House Marr had brought him into his sphere, and he expected much from the Corpse Lord in exchange for his "protection". In truth, the boy had bargained away his soul in exchange for power. Nefaron did not look down on him for this, for all who embraced the Dark Side were choosing to give away a part of themselves in order to impose their will on the galaxy. But Malum would need a monster if he was to take the throne of the Sith.

Nefaron would give him a monster. ​

Still, for the time being, Nefaron would need to build his cache with his new patron, which meant operating under certain restrictions. For one, the number of slaves coming into Anoat was drastically reduced, and only those skilled and necessary for his operations arrived. Thousands became a few hundred, but they would be enough. The Heir of Marr would see the error of his ways one day when the Core burned and hundreds of millions flowed into the Empire, payment for the Corpse Lord's efforts.

Nefaron dwelled in his laboratory atop the central spire of his fortress, his hands at work on various projects that had been ongoing since he first took hold of Anoat as his own. His toxins would bathe worlds in terror, his beasts would rip apart entire armored columns, and his blasphemous rituals would forever tip the balance of the force toward the Dark. His efforts had borne fruit, for developing within the heart of this terrible place was a vergence in the force, a place where hope came to die. Tens of thousands had languished under the lash, their pained cries only driving the Corpse Lord forward, his power growing and his terrible joy ever-present. Even in his laboratory, he swore he could hear the suffering of those who were worked to death in the pits below. This was a rare day for the Dark Lord, for his trusted servants had been dispatched on missions of their own. His apprentice, Veradun Sharr had shown great promise, the darkness in that boy might one day rival his own, but he would first have to confront his former High Prophet to forever break the chains that bound him to his weakness. The latest addition to Nefarons retinue, Serina Calis had ambitions of her own, seemingly after a bite of the Sith Empire to call her own in the form of Polis Massa. Nefaron cared little for her games, she was permitted to carry out her own schemes so long as she continued to obey the Corpse Lord and aid him in his projects.

But Nefaron was not alone.

There was another.
​

The Corpse Lord paused for a time, his hands still as he blended various chemicals. He peered off to one side as if looking at nothing at all as he sought to determine what he was sensing. Though his fortress was formidable, he knew full well that there would always be a crack to be exploited. An intruder has most certainly come into his home, but what was it they sought?

Backing away from his workstation, Nefaron folded his arms behind his back as he moved to the center of the room. A turbo-lift sprang into motion, creaking as it descended into the command center, a large room that contained the beating heart of Nefaron's military operations. Various communication stations and projections of the work ongoing beneath the surface filled the room, though a massive viewport occupied the largest part of the room, overlooking the vast, dead plains of Nefaron's world as storms continued to rage. The bulk of this technical work was entrusted to droids, as slaves were in short supply and his Corpse Legion was occupied policing those slaves that remained on-world.

"Have there been any disturbances detected in our central network?"

"No, Master-" a droid began, turning to meet the Corpse Lord "-but we are detecting unusual feedback from a terminal in sector 12b."

Nefaron processed that. He allowed his mind to wander the length of his fortress, the power of the vergence permitting him a form of sight within the walls of his home. There was no clear image of this being, only that they were alone in this terrible place.

And that they were afraid.

The fear was buried, but it was there.
​

"Cut power to that section. Seal the main gates and lock down the main hanger."

"Shall I dispatch security to that sector, Master?"

"No. We are going to welcome our guest properly. Ensure they have an open path to the throneroom."

"Yes, Master."

The Corpse Lord returned to the turbolift, but he wasn't quite done yet. He would very much like to meet his guest, show them his home, and allow them to enjoy the hospitality he had prepared for just such an occasion. But perhaps they would need a bit of prodding to delve further into his home?

His mind was free once more. Through dark halls and blooded corridors, he reached out to the intruder.

His voice was soft, even as it burrowed its way into the being's mind.

"If you wanted a tour, you need only have asked. The throneroom awaits."​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Nefaron //:
//: Anoat //:
//: Attire //:

The lights cut out without warning. The terminal flickered once, then died, spitting the woman out of the system.

Allyson stepped back instinctively, releasing the Force cloak that had wrapped her like a second skin. Darkness, once a threat, now became her only shield.

Her breath caught. It was too sudden and deliberate. She hadn't sensed any eyes on her, living or dead. And yet, something knew. A chill crept up her spine. She thought the undead shouldn't be able to sense her through the Force. That was the whole point of the cloak. Another question for Taeli. Another nightmare for later.

Her heart pounded violently in her chest, and Allyson swallowed. Whatever had lodged in her throat refused to go down. The cybernetic eye adjusted with a low whir, shifting into night vision as she scanned the corridor.

She hated the dark. She hated the sound of the undead even more, the slow, uneven shuffle of limbs, the drag of rotting flesh across the floor, and, worst of all, the broken wheeze. The corpses still breathed. Or tried to. A habit from the living days that their bodies refused to forget.

Allyson pressed her back to the wall, closed her eyes, and breathed—then another. The old teachings whispered through her fractured mind but were grounding. She counted each breath until her heartbeat slowed and the sweat dried on her brow—until the pieces of herself began to slide back into place.

Mission first. Identity second. Emotion last.

Allyson compartmentalized who she was, what she had seen, and why she had come. Each truth is locked in a mental box, sealed by years of perfect discipline. The spy, the agent, the ghost in the dark, not the woman unraveling beneath the weight of everything she could no longer feel.

Still hidden in shadow, she pulled a small case from her pocket. Inside: a cluster of slicer spiders, their matte shells gleaming faintly under the cybernetic eye's glow. Tiny design marvels were Imperial-certified, Tsis'Kaar-registered, each stamped with a flawless license courtesy of Locke & Key.

She'd have to thank John for that. As always, her cousin didn't ask questions. Maybe because he knew not to. Perhaps he was happier not knowing what she did with his help.

One by one, the spiders stirred, chirping softly as they activated. They scattered, crawling into the cracks of the fortress's network, slipping between firewalls like silk through fingers. They became part of it, just more static in the signal before vanishing into vents, terminals, and power lines to feed encrypted data to a secure, hidden databank.

Allyson closed the box and held it tightly, a shiver crawling up her spine as something pressed into her mind—a voice—just an invitation. She froze.

This was a bad idea. Every instinct screamed it. Taeli had warned her what Darth Nefaron was. What he could do. What he would do if given the chance.

But curiosity clawed at her, deep and compulsive. There was a hunger in her to see him, to understand what made him real and powerful, to look horror in the face and not flinch. Curiosity always won.

The doors ahead stood open, waiting. No resistance met Allyson's steps. No alarms. No tricks. It was too easy. She walked forward with her chin high and her breath even. Her lies wrapped around her like armor, truths she whispered to herself until she believed them.

She was fine. She was focused. She wasn't afraid. She was lying, of course. But that was the job.

Allyson arrived at the throne room faster than expected. The architecture etched itself into her mind—column by column, shadow by shadow. Her eye scanned and memorized, silently calculating exit routes, transmission lines, surveillance blind spots. A signal discreetly burst from her system to three encrypted receivers scattered across orbit and ground. Ghost signals, untraceable, proof she was still here. Still alive. For now.

Stepping forward as he appeared in the silent hall of nightmares. "Darth Nefaron," she said calmly, smooth as silk. "My apologies for the unannounced visit." She let the Corellian drawl curl at the edges of her voice, just enough charm to make the insult feel like a joke.

"I promise I do have manners."

Spoiler: Coordinate Safety Tags

Madelyn Lowe Darth Empyrean Taeli Raaf

 

[Darth Nefaron]

[TAGS: Allyson Locke ]
[Music: Anthem of Evil]
[Anoat]

"Manners? I don't see you groveling before me, so I'm afraid I don't believe you."
​

The Corpse Lord chuckled, his voice filling an empty chamber of red-stained stone and banners that seemed to be the flayed remains of those unfortunate enough to be victims of this horrid place. Nefaron himself did not sit on his throne, instead, he stood with his back to his guest, looking up at the ruling seat of his small Empire. This intruder wasn't quite what he expected, but he was certain this was no mere attempt at assassination or theft, so he did not bother with any attempt at grandeur or a show of force. She was alone, so he would meet her as the host of his home instead of the nightmare that would haunt her dreams.

Nefaron turned at last, his dead eyes looking upon his intruder as his lipless maw attempted a smile. Arms folded behind his back, the Sith approached the young woman slowly, as if he was but a crippled old man hobbling about, but in reality he was far from what he appeared. His intruder guarded herself well; her mind was a wall of durasteel, but much could be gathered from her actions. She was deliberately trying to calm herself, to make herself an island in the middle of a dark storm. He should congratulate her for her effort, but in the end, he knew all too well that her mind was a wash with thoughts of escape, of fleeing from this place to breathe fresh air once more. But that was not to be, not at least until Nefaron got his chance to ask his guest a few questions.

"But your apology isn't necessary. I am always eager to have guests in my home, even one sent to spy on me. I am an open book, my dear, but I'm afraid I cannot say the same for you."

He stopped a few feet from her, hands still folded behind his back, and that unnatural grin still plastered on his face.

"Let us be honest with each other. Was it Malum who sent you? No, he would know better not to prod. I doubt the Emperor sent you personally, leaving two potential Dark Councilers as your master. Only they could get away with dispatching a spy into my midst without fear of reprisal."

Nefaron's gaze bored into her, as if he was trying to look through and back down into the dark hallway. But he did not linger; he began to pace, walking around his guest as he continued to speak.

"No matter. I know why you are here. I have been accused of trying to overthrow the Emperor. While that is true, let me ask this. Is this not the goal of every other Dark Lord? Find me one fool who isn't scheming to take the throne. But what you are after is proof of my treason, offenses your master can use against me."

The Corpse Lord paused then, his pacing having brought him to a place behind his guest. In a swift motion, he approached her and leaned in, just enough for his whisper to be clear.

"Let me show you just what I have been up to."

Nefaron brushed past the intruder, making his way to the center of the room to stand on a large symbol, etched into the stone floor of this throneroom.

"This way, my lady. There is so much to see, but we must delve further into the darkness if you are to truly see why this place has become so special to me."

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Darth Nefaron //:
//: Anoat //:
//: Attire //:

"Unfortunately, the one that holds my leash forbids me to grovel at the feet of another." Allyson quipped with a cheeky grin. The Darth knew nothing of who held what for the Corellian, but it was still fun to poke at the lesser details of the conversation.

Allyson mused as he listed the possibilities of who had sent her. She did find it curious that he didn't suspect the Alliance or one of the other light-sided forces. But most Sith thought nothing of those governments; she had learned that while she did work under the banner of the Alliance.

The Lord moved closer as he spoke. The grin on his face sought to unnerve her, but she remained stoic—with the same plastered smirk upon her face. She allowed him to finish, her eyes watching him move as he circled her.

Allyson felt the hairs on her neck stand; the feeling of someone behind her was the feeling that made her uncomfortable. The sound of his whisper against her ear and the stench of a corpse chilled her soul to the core. Carefully turning on her heel, the Corellian faced him, keeping her back protected out of necessity.

"Another apology, my Lord, but you know most of the Order, despite knowing better, cannot resist the temptation of knowing more." She nodded, "Lord Malum is the keeper of secrets and head of the Tsis'Kaar - you seem familiar with him." A hand gestured, as she nodded again.

"I know nothing of the other Councilors, so I can't say if they'd send someone or not, but I work under Lord Malum's command. He sent me to observe, which us talking might get me in a bit of trouble." Allyson gave the Sith a sigh, fearing the retaliation for her transgression. "I was told to remain hidden, but he seemed to underestimate your facility's security or overestimate my abilities."

Allyson shrugged.

She felt his mind digging into hers but kept her thoughts muddled and focused on a false memory of Malum's directive. She filled the thought with the Tsis'Kaar meeting - if anything proving her false allegiances.

"Either way, I appreciate the hospitality," Nodding, she took her stride with the man. The cybernetic eye quickly continued to feed the conversation to the stream she had running. His movements were fluid, and she quickly followed, taking in everything she could see. Allyson was curious about the change in Anoat and what this man was up to.

"I do find it funny how many desire the throne. The entire thing sounds like a bother, honestly." Allyson continued to look, following a step behind Nefaron. "I would rather be free of it all, do what I want, and not have the weight of a crown to keep me bound to something." Another shrugged as she told her second truth about their meeting.

"Why is it that you want to break the Empire? Seems like you got a good gig going on - why ruin it?" She was curious, why break something that seemed to be fruitful.