Private The Freedom of the Damned

[The Grunt]

Location: In the Shadow of the Sith Citadel, Exegol
Time: Days after the Aftermath
Tags: Maestus

Darkness and fear.

Runt stumbled through another set of broken ruins, one of countless that littered the world. Without a proper day and the weak starlight, navigation would have been impossible. But the raider struggled on. For in his head, he felt something. Like the impulse that had gotten him out of the Scar Hounds barracks, but stronger and more forceful. A tug, like a rope tied to his ankles. He despised it, for it felt like fetters all over again. And yet, it was alluring and calm, a quiet pull that sent him on unmarked routes, boiling streams of clean water and hidden shrines. He knew it could, would, bring him to something worth it. But he did not know what.

He pulled himself across a broken wall, his muscles aching from days of travel. Fear of possible pursuers had been replaced with fear of what lived in the ruins and the wilderness: likely, nobody back in the barracks had noticed he was gone, despite the handiwork he left behind. But the threats that could live out here were very real, and very cognisant of his presence. Already he had seen their effects on the environment: rocks that walked, air that moved like a living thing, rain that crept up his skin. Whatever lived, if that word could even be used, beyond the walls of the Maw's tribes were far worse than anything within.

Landing on his feet, his knees buckled and he lay sprawled in the dry soil, panting. The exertion of the past few days was bad enough, but his wounds from the battle at Tython had not yet fully healed. Not for the first time, he cursed himself for his stupid idea. He did not relish the journey back, but perhaps he could still turn back...

He felt the pull again, over a mound of rubble further north. Runt grit his teeth and begrudgingly followed it, taking a swig from the makeshift canteen he'd tied to his belt. He'd lost his weapon defending himself from a metallic beast that had ambushed him a day after his escape, and now it was run or hide.

Something I'll have to do soon, he thought, hearing the telltale metallic ringing behind him that warned of one of the unnatural inhabitants of the ruins tracking him. He increased his pace, knowing from experience it chose not to pounce yet.

He set one foot on the mound, looking around. Extending beyond its sides to the left and right was a low wall made of mangled metal and something organic. Better not to chance that. The ringing changed its pitch, and Runt began his ascent. The rocks were loose and slippery, but held together enough that he could quickly walk up it without the rubble mound giving way. The sound of the pursuer disappeared and Runt continued, controlling his breath as he laboured onwards. The mound was tall, and he had to keep pace to prevent his footholds crumbling away before he lifted his feet off.

By the great Maw, the destination has to be near. There's only so many ruins this damned planet possesses...

He could feel himself slowing, and stretched forward with his arms to get a grip, but this was barely enough. Pushing (or pullig) onward, he reached the top and slipped, tumbling down the gravel to the other side. His gut clenched, and he felt the Force reach out from his body. Instinctually, he pushed outward, towards the ground with the Force, slowing his fall and preventing his body from tumbling through the rocks. He landed on his stomach with a thud, the wind knocked out of him. Groaning, Runt looked up from the ground, and saw it.

A great, gigantic block of black stone, radiating malice and secrets, still a hundred metres away. Yet even at this distance, it towered over him. In his head, Runt heard it call to him, distinctly now, in raised whispers and hushed screams. Power, knowledge, strength,

f r e e d o m​

Runt pushed himself up, unable to take his eyes off it. It was forbidding and inviting, and he found the energy to get up, with his goal so close at hand. He stepped forward, moving inexorably towards the menacing Citadel, his knees straining.

Even in the eternal grey of Exegol, the Citadel cast a great, cold shadow, a shadow that seemed to creep towards Runt as he continued forward. A band of dull lights lit up a strip of it heightwise, and another band along its base. As he got closer, the mist parted, and he could see it float off the broken earth, a light shining at its base. As he got closer, the light, though weak by any other standards, strained his dark-accustomed eyes. He moved forward, the voices subduing but the sensation remaining. When he found himself passing the sides of the Citadel, moving under its floating base and entering the light, the light seemed to adjust to him, and he could see that it was a flat, featureless expanse below the citadel, save for a smooth, metallic disc near the centre of the covered area. A platform?

Runt stepped over expectantly, and as he placed both feet on it, the sensation of pulling ceased, and the disc rose up, up, into the light of evil.
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[Maestus]

The Grunt


She stood on a platform. Eyes gazing out before her into the vast nothingness. Her hands rest on a railing, gripping it tight. She was focused, vigilantly.

She felt him out there. Alone. Weaponless. She felt his fear and it sang to her. She felt his frustration, too. But his fear, that was delicious. So she called to him.

Come to me.

Something mundane as that was even a test. Everything The Runt did from this moment forward would test him, in all ways. Push him past boundaries and limitations. Strengthen him mind, body and soul.

Or, if not, he would die. It was quite simple. Sith do not get coddled and pampered. Theirs is a hard life, of pain, trial and tribulation. Their reward? Strength and power to those worthy. Death to those who are found wanting.

He was close, she sensed. She turned, releasing her grip on the railing. Her robes swirled around her feet as she spun away from the platform. But the call she sent was never ceasing. She would see what he was made of. Figuratively or, perhaps, literally.

She strode to a turbolift, and zipped downwards. As the lift came to a halt, she strode from it, her head tall. She wore sleeveless robes today, black with her signature crimson threading. Her Lethan skin all but covered in black Sith runes and tattoos.

As The Runt rose up, he would find Maestus standing nearby. Hands clasped loosely in front of her and a weighted, assessing gaze laying heavily on him.

What is your name?

​

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

The platform stopped, and in the dim light, Runt could sense another presence. Strong and powerful.

He turned and saw her. Black and crimson robes, bare arms baring her red skin and tatoos. She watched him intently, enough that he almost took a step back.

What is your name?

The voice. It had a similar... impression?- in his mind as the earlier sensation. Did this Sith call him here?

"My name is... They call me Runt."

 

[Maestus]

She scrutinized his every move. Every breath he drew, she assessed. The way he held himself. How his eyes moved. She devoured it.

When he told her his name, Maestus gave no indication of mocking or contempt. She simply nodded.

I am Lord Maestus. Tell me...Runt, what is it you seek?​

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

What did he seek? Under her intense stare, the images he saw in his mind's eye at the courtyard came back to mind. Power. Wealth. Respect. But in the span of half a heartbeat he already knew none of those were the answer. No. He came here for the same reason that had driven him since he condemned his fellow slaves to death so many years ago.

"Many things... But above all else. Freedom."

 

[Maestus]

Whether the answer was right or wrong, she gave no hint. She simply began crossing the platform towards The Grunt . Her movements while graceful, were also predatory. Arms at her sides, hands slightly outstretched as if to cast some form of sorcery upon the man.

Freedom. A novel concept, when in truth, we are all slaves to something. Even myself. Oh, to look at me, one may think I would be a slave of men.

She gave a sharp, harsh laugh.

No, there is no man who could conquer me and make me a slave. No, I am a slave to knowledge. I crave more, for there is no end. But you, Runt, stand here now, a free man. You are free to leave and none will stop you or harm you. You see, freedom is a choice. Freedom is not something to be taken for granted. It is something to be protected, at all costs.

She walked around him, making circle after circle as she spoke. She moved inwards with each word. Until she ended up standing damn near nose to nose with him.

So. You have your freedom, Runt. What will you do with it?

She stared him down, eye to eye. Hers, black with red rims, boring down into his. Was there more meaning than what she was saying? Perhaps. Or was this a test? Some kind of trick question?

His answer would determine all.​

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

So. You have your freedom, Runt. What will you do with it?

A question with so many answers, and so many ways to answer. Runt stared ahead, trying not to show fear at the Lethan circling him like a predator.

She stopped in front of him, her skin almost glowing in the unnatural light of the Citadel. His answer came out of him like it was alive.

"I would use it. Enjoy it, savour it. And defend my freedom from those who would take it, especially those... most unworthy of it. Those beneath me, unable to take thair freedom for themselves. And those above, who seek to deny me what is mine by will and strength alone."

 

[Maestus]

She listened as he responded. And she watched, as well. Not just his lips, bit his body language overall. Amd yes, he tried to hide it. Admirable. But pointless really. She could almost smell the fear rolling off him in waves.

Maestus nodded finally. Her arms dropped, and her hands clasped loosely in front of her. She tilted her head to one side, and looked Run in the eyes.

Tell me, how can you defend your freedom? I can sense the Dark Side in you but it is weak, untrained. Physically, you would get destroyed possibly in hand to hand combat. Ah! What about inner strength, let's see where that stands. Let's see if you can push me out or slow me down.

She stretched out a hand, fingers curling to point her index finger towards Runt. He could begin to feel her inside his mind. Riffling through memories, searching, but no clue as to what she was looking for. What Runt could feel, unless he was able to slow her or defend himself, was the effects of Force Fear. Maestus stirred up feelings of worthlessness, being useless, even implanted images of herself killing Runt. She did these things slowly, allowing the terror and amticipation to build.

She took her time for another reason. She was not truly out to hurt or kill Runt. She simply needed to see what his capabilities are. And to let him have a slight taste of what he would be in for, should he choose to stay.

It's up to you, Runt, how long this lasts. It is always your choice to curl into a ball, or fight back. I recommend defending yourself, or it will only get worse. Show mr what you can do!

Her last words came out with such a pounding air of authority, Runt could feel the words into getting hammered i to him metaphorically. Maestus maintained her focus.

And waited.

The Grunt

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

Runt involuntarily gasped as a sequence of images flashed through his head. Fear, revulsion, a yawning gap opened in his mind, and through it all, the sense of being so very, very small struck his mind like a hammer blow.

He was only distantly aware of his real body as his mind flooded with images of the past. Working in the mines, fighting in the pits, his body being brutalised by shadow-images of his past. The very real pain smashed into his ribs, his guts, his limbs. Memories of fear as he killed for the first time, as he fought in a war for the first time. A hundred petty tyrants and small-minded bullies. Overseers, gang leaders, priests and commanders.

"Useless-"

"-waste of meat-"​

"Pathetic, throw him back-​

"Broken thing-"

"-a real runt of the litter eh-"​

A voice, almost drowned out by the screams in his mind:

It's up to you, Runt, how long this lasts. It is always your choice to curl into a ball, or fight back. I recommend defending yourself, or it will only get worse. Show mr what you can do!

Her last words came out with such a pounding air of authority, Runt could feel the words into getting hammered i to him metaphorically. Maestus maintained her focus.

He was still on Exegol, still inside the great Citadel. And the Sith was there. His body struggled to maintain upright, but Runt could see through the veil ever so slightly, and saw the face of the Sith, her features locked in concentration, looking into his soul.

A searing flame of anger in his heart, a burning desire. Small at first, but growing around his mind's eye, the shadow-images recoiling. Their wounds and words would always stab at him, but they were dead, ash and dust in the wind, and here he stood, but a step away from grasping ultimate power. A Sith.

In the real world, Runt lashed out. It was undisciplined, unbounded, but nontheless he channeled the Force in a single, directed strike aimed at Maestus' heart.

 

[Maestus]

She paid careful attention to the struggle and steife building within Runt. She coukd feel as his fear gave way to something much stronger, more dangerous.

Rage.

She knew what a powerul motivator rage could be. She channeled it often herself. No, she gloried in her rage. Amd she would teach the Runt the same tactics. How to draw power from such a potent emotion. All emotions held power. But rage was intense. It was deeply embedded within Runt's psyche. It simply needed unlocked.

And there it was.

Runt erupted and flung a bolt of pure Dark Side energy at her. Had she not been wearing her Dragon Shield Talisman, things could have gone very wrong for her. As such, it did break her focus, and Runt felt the fear dissipate.

Very good, Runt. Untrained, but good. You need to become familiar with your feelings, thoughts and emotions. They are fuel, a tool. And tools are to be used however the wielder sees fit.

You could have given in to the fear and pain. You could fallen into a puddle of self pity. But that isn't how you responded now. What made you suddenly change?

Her tone was genuinely interested in him and his response. She watched him still, assessing him in a different light.

Perhaps he passed the first test.

The Grunt

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

As much as he had fought to stay upright, Runt was almost doubled over at the exhaustion that flooded into his system once the fear went away. He straightened himself up, fidgeting and readjusting his armour. The power to induce fear in someone... Runt had seen what the Force could do, but to experience this specific manner himself...

Very good, Runt. Untrained, but good. You need to become familiar with your feelings, thoughts and emotions. They are fuel, a tool. And tools are to be used however the wielder sees fit

The core of the Sith, from little he understood of it. And what separated them, and by extension the Maw, from the Jedi.

You could have given in to the fear and pain. You could fallen into a puddle of self pity. But that isn't how you responded now. What made you suddenly change?

"I... I had a bit of a revelation recently. I see clearly that my future, my choices... I have to actively respond to them. I'm done with letting fear control me."

"And to be fair," he admitted. "There was a clear, direct source of the fear, and it was clear what action I had to take to end it," he sheepishly admitted.

 

[Maestus]

She nodded as he spoke.

Fear is a potent emotion. And the ability to manipulate it in others is a very useful technique. One of many you will learn. Sometimes, the best way to defeat an enemy, isn't by striking physical blows. It's by getting inside their head. Messing with their perceptions, their own emotions. Would you like to learn how?

She turned away from now, giving him some breathing room. Space to relax. If only for a moment.

The Grunt

 

[The Grunt]

Just like that? She would teach him? Runt would be lying if he said he was not grasping for that knowledge at this very moment. He knew the potential and power of fear first-hand. Getting into their head... perhaps this too was a test. But how else other than to keep moving forward?

"Yes."

Maestus

 

[Maestus]

She knew his answer before he spoke the simple word aloud. She could feel his eagerness. His hunger. She would use that against him, naturally. All in the name of making him stronger.

She nodded slightly. Then unhooked one of the saber hilts from her belt.

One thing I require is that youbegin immediately. I am a harsh, sometimes cruel woman. But there are reasons behind it all.

She held the saber hilt in an outstretched hand.

Focus your mind. Concentrate. And take my saber.

 

[The Grunt]

Maestus

One thing I require is that you begin immediately. I am a harsh, sometimes cruel woman. But there are reasons behind it all.

She held the saber hilt in an outstretched hand.

Focus your mind. Concentrate. And take my saber.

Runt steadied himself. He did not know what awaited him from this moment on. For all intents and purposes, he knew this was the start of a new stage of his life.

The carved, detailed saber shone in the gloom. Focussing on it, he reached out for the saber, and for his freedom.

 

[Maestus]

A brand new life did await The Grunt . Maestus could show him new heights. And new lows. Must keep him humble. Perhaps Runt would be the apprentice to rise up and slay her. Such as the way of the master/apprentice relationship. And, of course, if Runt failed in killing her, she would not hesitate to strike him down.

She watched him intently as he struggled with taking the saber from her palm. She could tell her was reaching out with the Force. She could feel it rolling off of him. Untrained. Unfocused. Unhoned. All matters she would see rectified in time. Right now, she was getting a baseline.

Focus! The Dark Side is not something to toy or tinker with. It is not an obedient creature, content to simply come when called. You must command the Force! Bend it to your will and your bidding. Now...Again.

She extended her hand with the saber once more. And waites.

 

[The Grunt]

Focus! The Dark Side is not something to toy or tinker with. It is not an obedient creature, content to simply come when called. You must command the Force! Bend it to your will and your bidding. Now...Again.

To command it. To call it. Runt frowned as he emptied his mind, trying to keep the anxiety and uncertainty out of his mind. He focussed again, and his vision narrowed, aiming at the saber. The call of the Force again, in his mind, the strange sensation. If he jumped after it, it scattered and flowed away. No, he needed to command it, to control it.

In his mind's eye, he expanded his senses, encroaching on the sensation. It retreated, and he followed, gaining on it.

In the real world, the saber began to vibrate, subtly at first, then shifting perceptibly.
​

Steadily, he clasped the feeling, willing it to engulf into his sould. The feeling expanded into a state of mind. An expanded power.

And the sabre floated off Maestus' hand.​

Maestus