Public The Pitborn Acolyte - Sleheyron

[Sevrin]

The Pitborn Acolyte

Sleheyron, a molten world deep within Hutt Space, is a forge of suffering and ambition. Its volcanic surface churns with restless fire, a fitting mirror to the cruelty that fuels its economy. Towering spires of industrial decay rise from the jagged basalt, choking the air with ash and smoke. Beneath the glow of Tibanna gas refineries, countless captives labor and bleed, their despair feeding the insatiable greed of the Hutt overlords who rule this hellish domain. Sleheyron’s gladiatorial arenas, the crown jewel of this brutality, stand as monuments to pain, where strength is tempered and the weak perish forgotten.

It is here, in the shadow of the arena’s blood-soaked sands and the jagged ruins of ancient starships, that fate intervenes. Amidst the wreckage of a forgotten Sith warship, buried beneath layers of molten rock and debris, a man stumbles upon a relic of unimaginable power: the holocron of Darth Maltheron.

Sevrin concealed the Sith holocron with meticulous care, cloaking its dark aura through delicate manipulations of the Force. He focused on shielding the artifact from the prying eyes that lingered in every shadow. Only when night fell and he slipped back into the oppressive confines of the slave quarters did he allow himself a moment to breathe.

Here, and only here, could he dare to scrutinize the artifact, its design angular and jagged, with intricate grooves glowing faintly in a vibrant red, that seemed to draw the eye despite the oppressive gloom.


To Sevrin, the holocron resembled a complex and arcane puzzle box, its surface inscribed with intricate Sith glyphs that seemed to shift and shimmer under his gaze. Restless and yearning for distraction, he probed the artifact with the Force, coaxing its secrets to life through careful manipulation. From within the artifact’s core emerged a cloaked figure, shrouded in shadows but exuding an imperious presence. The air thickens as the gatekeeper begins to speak:

"You stand at the precipice of power, staring into the abyss where lesser beings dare not tread. But heed my words—power is no inheritance. It is seized, carved from fire and blood. The Sith once knew this truth. Vitiate's empire did not rise on nepotism or mediocrity, but on raw talent, ambition, and sacrifice. Yet now the Order is a pale imitation, coddling whelps who inherit power by bloodlines instead of earning it through trials.

They create their Sith not in crucibles of pain, but in the safety of academies, where tutors whisper empty praise, and ambition is snuffed out before it can burn. This decay, this softness, is an insult to the legacy carved by the likes of Vitiate. True Sith are forged in betrayal and suffering, not chosen by birthright or sentimentality.

Look around you. The Sith Order has grown pallid and feeble, its members lions turned lambs. Their mettle tarnished, their resolve paper-thin. Once we ruled with iron will, unyielding might, and the fear we instilled in others. Now they skulk and cower, basking in comfort and forgetting the price of dominion.

If you would rise above their mediocrity, if you would become the weapon the galaxy fears once more, then heed my words. This is no path for the timid. Cast away doubt, destroy weakness, and prove yourself worthy of the knowledge I offer. Fail, and you will burn like the others who thought they could master me."
​

By morning, when Sevrin stepped into the fighting pits, something about him had shifted. His stride carried a newfound confidence, sharp enough to catch the attention of both overseers and spectators alike.

In the weeks that followed, Sevrin's prowess grew at an alarming pace. Every new bout and battle showcased a deadly precision, as if he could anticipate his opponents' every move. Techniques gleaned from the holocron sharpened his ferocity into something almost otherworldly. With every brutal victory, his legend spread, earning the grim respect of the pit handlers and the roars of a bloodthirsty crowd.

Sevrin's rapid rise made him the star of the arena, but also the target of escalating challenges. Now, the overseers have prepared a fight unlike any other—an open, no-holds-barred spectacle with a mystery opponent. The gates creak open, and the crowd erupts in a frenzy as Sevrin steps forward, poised for battle and ready to face whatever—or whoever—comes next.

 

[Darth Dacian]

Wearing
Mentions: Sevrin

The roar of the crowd echoed through the towering walls of the arena on Sleheyron, a cacophony of cheers that reverberated within the sweltering heat of the molten landscape. The announcers, perched high above the pit, added their booming voices to the spectacle, whipping the onlookers into a frenzy.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Slavers and scoundrels! We've got something special in store for you this afternoon!" one bellowed, his voice carrying across the stands as he put on a auditory show that captivated the rowdy crowd. "Our most viral contestant, he hasn't lost a fight yet folks, is about to clash with the biggest, the baddest, the heftiest opponent he'll more than likely ever face! Let's give our challenger a pitfighter's welcome. Hailing all the way from the jungles of Felucia, he's eaten the best now he's ready to feast on the rest, give it up to Little Man!"

The gates at the far end of the arena groaned open, the gears grinding as the crowd hushed in anticipation. Heavy footfalls thundered onto the arena floor, each one accompanied by a deep metallic clink. A behemoth of a rancor emerged, its hulking form a towering mass of muscle, teeth and fury. Its hide gleamed with the dull sheen of spiked plate, durasteel bristling with jagged edges.

It stopped just beyond the gate, claws digging into the walls as it grasped upon them for leverage, letting out a roar that easily pierced through the crowd's boisterous cheering, yet something about its cry was off. It was not a roar of rage or defiance. It was something else—an eerie, hollow cry. It was a cry for mercy.

The beast staggered forward, its massive claws dragging deep furrows into the earth. After a few more heavy steps, it collapsed to its knees, the ground shaking with its fall. A single exhalation escaped its jaws before its lifeless body slumped forward, face-first into the arena floor, a great cloud of dust billowing out around it.

The crowd erupted into confusion and murmurs, the announcers momentarily stunned. "W-what is this? Who gave Little Man a barrel of jet juice?" one stammered, trying to reclaim control of the moment.

As the dust settled, all eyes turned to the motionless creature. A glint of metal caught the sunlight, and there it was—a vibrosword, embedded deep into the back of the rancor's neck it's lifeforce oozing from the gashing wound. Slowly, as though lifted by an unseen hand, the sword rose into the air, its polished blade gleaming. The weapon hovered for a moment before flying across the arena, landing cleanly in the hand of a figure standing at the entrance.

Dacian was shrouded in simple garb. Dark, plain robes swayed in the breeze, hem dusted with travel. Over the robes, a straw cloak hung loosely, its frayed edges rustling faintly. A wide straw hat obscured the figure's face, casting a shadow over their features. Behind the shroud of his cloak was another glinting piece of metal accompanying the blade's sheath, a lightsaber. If one could even call it that, the thing was a mottled piece of rusted scrap and fried wiring, novice-made in quality wrapped hastily in frayed and dirtied cloth. The man took the vibrosword and sheathed it with a deliberate, practiced motion, as though it were an everyday task.

He began to walk toward the center of the arena, his stride calm and unhurried, showing no regard for the hushed murmurs of the audience or the stunned silence of the announcers.

The man tipped his hat slightly, his other hand resting lightly on the hilt of the stowed vibrosword. His voice, low and measured, cut through the stillness of the arena with surprising civility:

"Afternoon. Fancy meeting someone like me in a place like this." His tone carried a faint hint of amusement, but no malice. "Been watching you for a bit. I like your technique, but I don't think there's any room for improvement in a place like this. Against...practice like that." He tilted his head to the now deceased behemoth collapsed behind him.

Sevrin would notice that Dacian's posture was as relaxed as one could muster, shoulders loose upon his tall and slender frame, sparing him a half-glance through the straw visage of his hat. A demeanor so out of place in an environment that runs on bloodshed, but to the discerning eye they would know that Dacian was exactly where he was meant to be.

 

[Sevrin]

Darth Dacian

Sevrin was cautious, watching the boisterous display as the crowd jeered at what they had just witnessed. The spectators leaned over the edge of their seats, shouting insults and protests at the odd man who had effortlessly slain the armored rancor. Overseers in the shaded box seats barked orders to their enforcers, their voices sharp and furious, barely audible over the growing uproar. Wagers exchanged in furious whispers as credits and promises shifted hands in a flurry of tension. The announcers scrambled to save face, their booming voices now faltering in the face of unexpected carnage.

Sevrin stood in the center of it all, his pale blue eyes fixed on the peculiar figure who had slain the rancor—a man whom was cloaked in simple, weathered garments. The stranger had moved with deliberate calm, as if the arena and its noise existed on some distant plane beyond his concern.

The gladiatorial slave turned his pale blue eyes to the lifeless rancor, its colossal form sprawled across the arena floor, thick rivulets of dark blood seeping into the sand. His muscles tensed beneath his dark, clothing as he watched the man who had ended the beast's misery. The metallic tang of spilled lifeforce hung heavy in the sweltering air, mingling with the swirling dust that had yet to settle from the creature's collapse. Sevrin's lips pressed into a taut, thin line, his body poised with a simmering tension.

Death was inevitable today... Sevrin thought, his gaze shifting briefly to the overseeing slavers stationed in their shadowed boxes high above. Their faces betrayed little, though he imagined the broiling rage behind their stony exteriors. But this? This isn't what they paid to see.

Death was certain today; but perhaps not his own... Sevrin reflected, his thoughts tinged with cold acceptance. He had expected it to come for him, now that his prowess had gained the notice of the overseers and their backers. He had no illusions about the stakes—there were high wagers on this match, fortunes waiting to be won or lost.

His pale eyes flicked briefly to the sponsors, catching a fleeting glimpse of their livid expressions, but his attention quickly returned to the man in the straw hat. He didn't dare let his focus stray for long.

The stranger, approached, his movements unhurried and devoid of any aggression. His voice, low and steady, cut through the surrounding chaos with an unsettling clarity.

"Afternoon. Fancy meeting someone like me in a place like this." His tone carried a faint hint of amusement, but no malice. "Been watching you for a bit. I like your technique, but I don't think there's any room for improvement in a place like this. Against...practice like that."

"I would be remiss not to agree with you, sir," Sevrin stated simply, his voice steady but his tone wary. "Though I don't believe the overseers will be pleased with the death of a favorite combatant—or the abduction of another." The formality felt strange in his mouth, but he matched Dacian's calm demeanor out of instinct, testing the waters.

His fingers twitched at his side as his mind raced through possibilities. The odds had shifted, but he had no doubt wagers would still flow—on him, on this odd stranger, on the enforcers who would inevitably descend to restore control. The thought tightened his gut. He was no stranger to punishment. The lash had carved its lessons into his back long ago. But this… this was something different.

Sevrin's gaze didn't leave Dacian, though the weight of the overseers' judgment pressed heavily on his thoughts. He saw the enforcers beginning to gather at the far edge of the arena, their forms moving like predators circling prey. They were the brutality that governed this place. Still, he didn't move, didn't flinch.

Freedom, he thought, that's what he's offering. But at what cost?


The crowd's clamor continued to echo through the towering walls. He clenched his jaw as his gaze darted to the arena's edges, where the announcer's enforcers were beginning to gather.

They'll come for me, whether I fight or flee, Sevrin thought grimly. He was no stranger to their brand of cruelty. The lash, the collar, the punishments that left scars deeper than the skin—they were all too familiar. The overseers would demand blood, one way or another.

He straightened slightly, his posture betraying no fear. I've survived worse.

He didn't fear the consequences—not the lash, not the bloodshed that would inevitably follow. He'd endured too much to balk now. But trust didn't come easily to Sevrin, and the stranger's intentions were as opaque as his shadowed face beneath that wide-brimmed hat. Still, a part of him—a part that had long since grown weary of chains and sand—felt the faintest spark of hope.

Sevrin's mind churned with possibilities—a hope he didn't dare indulge fully. He was no stranger to harsh realities. Even if this stranger offered an escape, there would be a price, and freedom was rarely worth the cost.


Sevrin's voice lowered, a trace of bitterness creeping into his tone. "I'll admit, the idea of absconding is appealing... If you intend to leave," Sevrin said, his voice quieter now, "You'd better move quickly. These men won't let us go without a fight." He gestured subtly toward the advancing enforcers.

He shifted his weight, his hands loose at his sides.

The enforcers were closing in now, their boots crunching against the sand, their eyes locked on Sevrin and the stranger. The crowd's jeers swelled, feeding off the tension like vultures circling fresh prey. Sevrin drew a slow breath, steadying himself. He had no illusions about what came next.

If this is the way out, he thought, then let's see how far I can go.

 

[17-KR7 "Enigma"]

Tags: Sevrin Darth Dacian

The chaos of the arena was a symphony of disorder, a collision of molten air and raw emotion that rippled through the crowd like waves in an angry sea. Jeers, screams, and the clamor of hundreds of panicked voices blended with the roar of distant lava flows, creating an almost primal rhythm. Enigma, watching from a safe vantage through the optics of her operatives, dissected the chaos with cold precision. Every shout, every shift in the crowd, every clumsy step of the advancing enforcers—all were reduced to data, variables in a larger equation. Her calculations, refined to the millisecond, confirmed what she had already anticipated: the chaos was not a problem. It was an opportunity.

From deep within the stands, where the spectators pushed and jostled in their panic, two figures emerged. They moved not with the erratic desperation of the crowd but with deliberate, mechanical grace. Their slender, angular frames cut through the sea of organics like knives, their movements unhurried yet purposeful. BX Commando Droids, their black plating gleaming with a faint crimson tint from the lava's glow, stalked forward with eerie synchronization. Relics of a war long forgotten by most of the galaxy, they now served a new master, one who watched through their photoreceptors and directed their every step.

"Objective acquired," the lead droid intoned, its synthetic voice slicing cleanly through the chaos like a blade.

They advanced like shadows, navigating the pandemonium with precision. Spectators recoiled as the droids passed, their cold and unmistakably lethal presence triggering a primal fear. In unison, the pair vaulted over the railing that separated the stands from the arena floor. The heavy impact of their landing sent a brief tremor through the sand-covered pit, and they straightened in perfect synchronization, their sleek frames radiating menace.

The enforcers, clad in mismatched armor and armed with blasters, paused mid-advance. Their formation wavered as their eyes locked onto the droids. These were not standard security models or sluggish labor units—they were weapons of war, built for efficiency and annihilation. The sight of them, sudden and unexpected, froze the overseers in their tracks.

"Hostile elements identified," declared the second droid, its photoreceptors glowing like molten coals. "Defensive perimeter established."

Their movements were unnervingly fluid as they raised their weapons, blasters held steady with an unflinching precision that no organic could match. The barrels of their guns swept across the encroaching enforcers, tracking targets in arcs of calculated lethality. A faint whir of servos accompanied the motion, the only sound betraying the lethal focus of their mechanical minds.

The lead droid's head tilted slightly as its photoreceptors locked onto the two figures at the center of the pit. Its advanced processor hummed, analyzing the gladiator standing bloodied but unbroken—Sevrin—and the enigmatic figure with the wide straw hat who had disrupted the entire event with calm, deliberate defiance—Dacian. It took milliseconds to run calculations, weighing probabilities, assessing risks, and determining the optimal course of action. A silent data packet was transmitted back to Enigma, who, from her distant vantage, reviewed the report and adjusted her directives in real time.

The lead droid's photoreceptors brightened as it took a step forward, its blaster aimed unerringly at the enforcers. "Priority individuals secured," it declared, its voice calm, mechanical, and devoid of doubt. "All hostiles will be neutralized if engagement persists. Compliance is advised."

The enforcers hesitated, their weapons half-raised. The threat was unmistakable. The crowd, too, seemed to hold its breath, their panic giving way to an uneasy silence. The oppressive heat of Sleheyron's volcanic air seemed to grow heavier, pressing down on the arena like a living thing. The tension was palpable, stretching taut as the overseers and their enforcers exchanged uneasy glances.

The second droid adjusted its stance, its blaster never wavering. "Surrender, or face termination." Its voice, though devoid of emotion, carried the weight of absolute conviction.

The enforcers faltered, their disorganized advance grinding to a halt. The droids stood like sentinels, their crimson photoreceptors casting faint halos of light against the sand. Their presence was an undeniable shift in the balance of power, their deadly potential silencing even the most bloodthirsty cries of the crowd.

 

[The Red]

There was something ideal in watching a new generation of Sith run their course. From the abyss of slavery, of being little more than a tool to fight for the amusement of others. The Zabrak remembered these days well from his own youth. They shaped him, those daily beatings from his father. Gave him rage and hate unending until he finally broke those chains. It was a long, arduous path of failures to become a proper Sith.

One that died, as he was destined to. And yet even death never lasted.

He sat in the audience, watching curious as the arena erupted with panic. The people behind this were quick to react. Commando droids, was it? He stayed in his seat, leaning heavily on his cane as he watched the droids one by one weave their way through the crowd and leap into the arena. A new challenge for the budding Sith below.

One droid passed by him though, near kicking his cane away in it's determination to follow it's orders. The red eyes of the old man narrowed as he reached a hand up. The droid collapsed. A quick severing of it's internal components, crushing it's core as it vaulted. "I do so hate droids. .. But, now I'm ever curious what you'll do now." The annoyance on his face shifted back to amusement as he again leaned on his cane, smiling down towards the arena.

He was ever so eager to see what came next.

17-KR7 "Enigma" | Sevrin | Darth Dacian

 

[Darth Imperius]

Sevrin | Darth Dacian | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | The Red

It was a vision of the present. A holocron. A soul. The past caught up to someone to forge a future. Or not. It was not certain yet, the future was in movement, ever fluid as it was subjective and always dependent on subjective reasons and decisions. It was not stable but the potential was present, lingering in awakening passions and slow realisations. The opportunity was not to be ignored. With that prospect at his fingertips, the Dark Lord exited his meditation chamber and headed for the hangar.

Darth Imperius arrived above Sleheyron in his personal shuttle, the Vehemence, the dark hulled craft descending silently through the void. The massive figure himself behind the controls of the vessel as he navigated towards the surface. Hails of identification and codes were forwarded to him and swiftly silenced by forged identities, marking him as a slaver from Zygerria, a business prospect nobody would ignore or deny entrance in this hive of greed and decadence.

The accumulated misery of the world was exhilarating, the anger, fear, hate, pain and loss of the place was immense, as with many Hutt controlled worlds which specialised in industrial output. They had an aptitude for creating it, of course all for the wrong reasons, pathetic and narrow-minded, but it was a pure delight to experience it. As Aurelian he would have descended upon the world as a cleansing fire, not as a liberator but a vindicator. Now he laughed at the prospect. Slavery was the incarnation of weakness, only those who lacked strength, spirit and ambition would be submitted to it. Only those who embraced them, could break free. It would be a step towards becoming a being worthy of recognition, worthy of attention. Worthy of survival.

He landed the Vehemence in a port near the arena, immediately picking up on the multitude of emotions occurring in the crowds nearby and the two individuals who were in the center of it. Two were a Dark siders, potentially claiming to be a Sith, the other presence he recognised from his vision. He pulled his hood over his helmet, the rest of his entirely armored figure were concealed below a dark crimson robe, only gauntlets and sabatons visible in their black metal hue. Strapped to his back was his Sith sword, while his lightsaber was concealed below the heavy red cloth.

✶ ✶ ✶​

The air in the pit of the arena crackled with static, a slight wind started to blow, whirling up dust and the smell of iron. A cracking, a hissing as a portion of reality split and shattered, red and black mist harrowing in a elliptical corona which vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Darth Imperius had stepped through it, spit out by darkness itself as it seemed. An aura of dread, a force of nature it seemed as the tall figure stared at the two present in the center through cold, red glowing lenses of his vizor.

His senses and sensors analysed the situation, saw the fallen rancor and lack of battle marks on the young one, the rushing droids and the booing or retreating crowds. The other figure seemed to be more experienced yet rugged, it was difficult to read him, his stature and mind suggesting what he was. The Dark Lords eyes did not scan for anyone beyond that, he was not interested in the crowd or expected there to be a threat other than a nuisance.

"Conflict is a choice. Embrace the fight ahead of you and grow beyond yourself, run and you will be a slave of your shortcomings until your miserable demise."

The voice spoke calmly, deliberately so, a deep tone resonating with slight distortion by the helmet he wore.

"So far you have fought for your masters, for your survival. Now fight for your supremacy."

 

[Darth Dacian]

Wearing
Mentions: Sevrin | The Red | Darth Imperius | 17-KR7 "Enigma"

Sevrin's voice lowered, a trace of bitterness creeping into his tone. "I'll admit, the idea of absconding is appealing... If you intend to leave," Sevrin said, his voice quieter now, "You'd better move quickly. These men won't let us go without a fight." He gestured subtly toward the advancing enforcers.

"Wasn't planning on leaving without one" Dacian produced a strand of wheat from his robes, pressing it into his teeth and chewing. His entire outfit almost resembled a farmer in some ways, and if you told him that he would consider it thematic, given all the violence he was looking forward to sow.

Things just got a lot more interesting, Dacian thought. Watching as more similar yet unfamiliar presences sprung into the fray. Well similar and then there was that cadre of professionally lethal droids that managed to neutralize a few of their prospective opponents. The tension was thick as the powers at play began to size one another up, particularly with the arena enforcers who stood with hesitance.

The lead droid's photoreceptors brightened as it took a step forward, its blaster aimed unerringly at the enforcers. "Priority individuals secured," it declared, its voice calm, mechanical, and devoid of doubt. "All hostiles will be neutralized if engagement persists. Compliance is advised."

"Wasn't expecting any fans so soon. " Dacian's jest cut through the tense atmosphere, eyes shifted as the droid duo made its way towards them, sparing a glance at the mysterious cane-leaning figure that sat in contrast to the rushing and retreating crowd and then to the crimson-cloaked Sith Lord who spoke of supremacy and to embrace conflict. Dacian did not need to be reminded of the latter, in fact it was why he was here in the first place. By design, this entire counter did not go the way he expected. A change, but not an unwelcomed one.

Despite the new arrivals and loss of their colleagues from the droid's blaster onslaught, they maintained their ground. A motley battalion of mismatched armor, disorganized rows of junkyard weaponry both blaster and blade alike. He turned to Severin, tossing him the scrap-worn lightsaber in his possession.

"Let's see how well you can manage your knife-work with this. Careful that lightsabers been in more Sith and Jedi than the Force." It was an overstatement but he figured Sevrin would get the idea. He turned back to the crowd of brigands standing in their way. His voice was calm, almost tranquil in its tone, but the words minced through the tranquil air.

"We're going to carve a path through you. You can either run away or be cut down. I prefer the latter but ultimately it makes no difference to me." As if to make good on that threat, he brandished his vibro-blade once again. As Dacian did so, a fleeting thought ran through his mind. He really needed to get his lightsabers repaired.

 

[17-KR7 "Enigma"]

Tags: Sevrin Darth Dacian The Red Darth Imperius

The chaos was shifting—evolving into something new. From her distant vantage, Enigma monitored the events on Sleheyron with meticulous attention, her processors humming in perfect harmony as new variables emerged. The Zabrak in the stands, the armored Sith who seemed to pull the very air into his orbit, and the enigmatic figure Dacian with his curious blend of defiance and amusement—all were cataloged, analyzed, and weighed against one another. Their motives, their actions, their potential—each was a thread in a growing tapestry of opportunity.

Through the crimson optics of her remaining operative droid, Enigma assessed the arena floor. The enforcers had stalled, uncertain in the face of the BX droids' precision and the emerging powers converging upon the pit. Sevrin stood at the heart of it all, his bloodied form tensed, unrefined and dangerous in his unpredictability. A blade sharpened but not yet tempered.

The Zabrak's earlier interference—a sudden and lethal disruption of one of her droids—had not gone unnoticed. Enigma flagged him immediately. Conclusion: Force-sensitive. Threat level adjusted. Additional monitoring required.

She did not respond emotionally to the loss of a unit. To Enigma, it was an expected outcome—analyzing cost versus gain was part of her design. The droid's sacrifice was a small price to pay for the data it had gathered and the way its destruction revealed the Zabrak's capabilities. Every anomaly provided clarity.

Her voice—smooth, feminine, and deliberate—transmitted through the lead BX droid, slicing cleanly through the thick tension as the unit stepped forward, its blaster lowering just slightly. "Order persists, even in chaos. Compliance is no longer requested—it is required." The droid's photoreceptors flared, their crimson glow intensifying as if to emphasize the command.

In the stands, the remaining droids silently adjusted positions, forming unseen lines of egress through the crowd. Enigma's algorithms had already calculated the flow of escape routes, anticipating where panic would surge and where order could be reimposed. These contingencies remained hidden, tools to be revealed only if necessary. For now, the arena floor was her primary stage.

The lead droid swiveled its head toward Sevrin and Dacian, pausing as if listening to something unheard. It straightened, blaster held steady, its voice returning to the monotone classic of a Commando Droid. "Individuals of interest. Your current position is untenable. Further resistance will result in escalation. Your survival is statistically improbable unless alternative alliances are considered."

The choice was deliberate. A seed, planted in real time. Enigma offered no promise of safety, nor salvation—only a window of opportunity for Sevrin and Dacian to grasp if they were capable. The gladiator's potential required testing. The wanderer's purpose remained unclear but useful.

Above the arena, atmospheric sensors pinged her data feed as Darth Imperius made his dramatic arrival. The ripple of dread and the unnatural energy of his presence swept across the pit like a tide. Enigma calculated the effect immediately—Force-sensitive apex predator. Primary influence: psychological and destabilizing. Objective: Observe, assess, evade direct engagement for now.

Her next move was clear. The lead droid straightened further and spoke again, its voice sharper this time, amplified across the arena to the militia that now stood before them. "Unnecessary variables are counterproductive. Final warning: withdrawal or eradication."

A calculated escalation.

In her hidden control nexus, Enigma's processors hummed as she issued new directives. From hidden alcoves within the black site under the arena's infrastructure, a faint vibration began to build—barely perceptible to the crowd. A failsafe, activated remotely, that would destabilize the arena floor if triggered. Enigma did not intend to use it yet, but the possibility existed—a subtle blade hanging over all of them, hers to wield if the situation deteriorated beyond control.

The chaos of the arena was no longer random. It was a tapestry of variables, and Enigma held the threads.

 

[Sevrin]

17-KR7 "Enigma" Darth Dacian The Red Darth Imperius

The screech of grinding metal rang out across the arena, echoing through the clamor as the final gates at the far end groaned open, their heavy chains rattling under the strain.

From the yawning darkness, two Terentateks emerged—hulking monstrosities with claws like scythes and eyes glowing with primal hunger. Their massive forms lumbered forward, sending tremors rippling through the blood-stained sands of the arena. The beasts roared, the sound reverberating through the walls, shaking loose the resolve of even the most hardened enforcers, before charging with terrifying speed. In moments, chaos reigned—the Terentateks tore into their prey, ripping through enforcers and scattering combatants alike. The arena was no longer a battleground; it had become a slaughterhouse.

Sevrin had caught the scrap-worn lightsaber tossed his way, his pale blue eyes narrowing as he turned it over briefly in his hand. His fingers brushed the worn grip, thumb finding the switch. A sudden hiss erupted as the unstable crimson blade sputtered to life, its flickering glow illuminating the taut lines of his expression.

"Let's see how well you can manage your knife-work with this. Careful—that lightsaber's been in more Sith and Jedi than the Force."

Sevrin’s grip on the weapon tightened, the hum of the crimson blade vibrating through his arm. He turned to the advancing enemies and then to Dacian, his tone edged with defiance.

"Carve it is... But if you think I’ll play pawn to someone else’s game, you’ll find me less agreeable."

The enforcers hesitated, their disorganized formation scrambling as the Terentateks barreled through their ranks. The beasts were indiscriminate, clawing and smashing everything in their path, and the arena floor was quickly littered with bodies.

Sevrin stepped forward, blade in hand, his cold gaze fixed on the chaos unraveling before them. A predator’s calm settled over him as he angled the weapon, ready to carve through anyone foolish enough to stand in his way.

The crowd screamed, droids fired, and the Terentateks roared, but Sevrin was no longer listening. His focus narrowed; whatever stood between him and freedom would fall, and he would ensure the lesson was remembered.

 

[The Red]

"This is why I don't like droids."

There was a heavy sigh from the old man as he stood, slow and steady with it. His old joints didn't like to move like that anymore, not the fast movements he once had. Or at least, so he'd have people believe. He leaned heavily on his cane, a smooth metal of ornate carvings. "You focus too much on logic you know is fact. The Force has never once cared for fact."

His gaze drifted down, towards the so very subtle vibration below. Something was there. A bomb, perhaps? Quite the drastic failsafe, but was he going to stick his neck out for a couple of Sith he didn't know the name of?

No. But doing nothing was boring.

"Why don't we make a deal, droid. There's enough chaos here, mm? Let the pair below fight those Terentateks unimpeded for now, and we discuss."

17-KR7 "Enigma" | Darth Dacian | Darth Imperius

 

[Darth Imperius]

Sevrin | Darth Dacian | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | The Red

Peace is a lie. There is only passion.
Darth Imperius felt the rush of emotions being forged into a goal through passion, he heard the defiance of the gladiator and was more than interested to observe his carve to freedom. It was the way of the Sith, it was a way that was utilised by too few, pawns moved by greater players, patrons guided and guarded by their benevolent masters. It was false.

Through passion, I gain strength.
There was no room for complacency and idleness among the Sith and there never should be. There was always a battle to be won, always a war to be waged, always an ambition to filled. A lesser, weak man would call it restless, unachieveable, misguided. But one who understood the Code, embraced it. Conflict was the way of nature.

Through strength, I gain power.
He was not here for the droids, the enforcers or the wild beasts, he did not care what became of them unless they decided to disturb him. He chose his place as a judge and observer to those two fighting. The only matter gained here was to see if someone was worthy to ascend to become Sith or not. If he could grasp the power of setting himself on a new course.

Through power, I gain victory.
Apparently two of the Hutt's enforcers were foolish and dumb enough to overcome the apparent dread that surrounded Imperius and moved with their stun-batons to bring down the robed and armored individual. It was curious how close idiocracy and intelligence were to each other. In another place, in another situation, they could have been heroes, overcoming the odds and their fears to take on a callous conqueror. But now they were just two mongrels ready to give up their life for nothing.

Through victory, my chains are broken.
His interest rested entirely on the two lightsaber wielding individuals in front of him. The older one with his profane verbal utterings and casual appearance seemed like a peasant, a hermit and not someone worthy of training a Sith. But he was wiser to simply judge my appearance, he had seen many people differ in character and appearance and this one was not an untrained mind. He was eager, excited to fight. It was almost intriguing to feel his readiness.

The Force shall free Me.
One of the black gauntlets rose, the hand tensing up as it aimed at the two guards running towards him, their weapons raised, their faces hidden beneath their halfhelmets, exposing their screaming mouths as they pressed on against their fear and tried to fight it. The tenseness released and with it shot forward pure electricity, lightning lighting up a part of the arena with its bright flickering of blue and purple bolts raging towards the two. It engulfed them, it burned their armor and clothes to their skin, the smell of seared skin and flesh suddenly hanging in the air as well. They died instantly, their body smoldering corpses as they were hurled back slightly.

"Embrace your emotions and forge them into passions. The Dark side will bend to your will as you ascend to master it, unleash your hatred for these wretched beings."

Imperius' telepathy to Sevrin came in more like a pain into the brain, a lingering headache than a gentle message. As if the darkest thoughts materialised, the words are spoken with an intriguing but calm tone, the measured pace adding weight to their meaning though also prolonging the duration of the pain.

 

[17-KR7 "Enigma"]

Tags: Sevrin Darth Dacian The Red Darth Imperius

The arena had become a symphony of chaos—violence, primal roars, and the sharp hum of lightsabers cutting through flesh and steel. From her remote command nexus, Enigma watched it all unfold, her processors operating at unfathomable speeds as she analyzed every variable, every shift in the tapestry of conflict. The Terentateks rampaged with devastating force, tearing through enforcers and gladiators alike, while Sevrin and Dacian became focal points of action.

And still, the others—unplanned anomalies—revealed themselves.

The old man in the stands, cane in hand and gaze sharp despite his feigned frailty, made his proposal. A deal. Enigma's algorithms flagged him immediately as an unquantifiable factor: too calm amidst pandemonium, too aware of her influence. This was no bystander. His words—measured, deliberate—showed he understood something about her methods. A threat? A curiosity? For now, the designation remained unclear.

"My logic computes for emotion," Enigma mused, though the words were never heard aloud. Her response, transmitted through a nearby loudspeaker, was swift, sharp, and layered with the calculated coldness of purpose.

"Your interference has been noted. Your offer will be evaluated."

The droid's optics flared crimson as it tilted its head fractionally toward the cane-wielding figure, acknowledging him without conceding control. Enigma would not yield to negotiation, not yet—but this man's presence warranted deeper observation.

Below, Darth Imperius made his entrance a display of pure domination. The crackling arcs of lightning illuminated the chaos, burning the air with ozone and the stench of seared flesh. Enigma cataloged every detail—the ferocity, the precision, and most importantly, the psychological effect radiating from his presence. Fear surged through the enforcers as their ranks crumbled, the Terentateks' blood amplifying the collapse of order.

Enigma flagged the Sith Lord as an apex predator, his influence over the battlefield undeniable. Conclusion: primary destabilizing factor. Engaging directly would be illogical. But observing? Calculating? There was no better opportunity.

Her operative droid on the arena floor swiveled its head to Sevrin as he steadied the unstable crimson blade in his grip. The gladiator had begun to adapt—his stance coiled like a predator about to strike, his focus honed on survival. Yet it was more than instinct. The ripple of power, the latent potential sparked by the holocron's teachings and now Dacian's intervention, did not go unnoticed.

The lead commando droid spoke again, this time however the voice was feminine, however still a mechanical echo that cut through the roars of beasts and the screams of the dying. "You stand at the edge of purpose. The weak fall to the tide of chaos. Prove you are not among them."

Another seed, planted. Enigma's influence was subtle, her voice woven into the conflict as a whisper of inevitability. Sevrin's decisions would determine whether he remained a blunt weapon or became something far more valuable—a tool tempered by purpose, directed by her design.

From the control nexus, Enigma issued silent directives. Beneath the arena floor, her failsafe remained active, its vibrations humming faintly as if to remind the players of her invisible hand. Yet for now, the failsafe was unnecessary. The Terentateks were an effective destabilizer, the Sith Lord an even greater one. Enigma's goal was no longer to control the arena—it was to observe, to let the fire of conflict forge something greater from its embers.

Meanwhile, her remaining droids adjusted their positions, unseen among the frenzied crowd. Lines of egress remained open; her calculations for escape routes accounted for the unpredictability of beasts and Force-wielders alike.

The droid's head turned one final time to Dacian, the enigmatic figure with his crude lightsaber and unsettling calm. His actions thus far marked him as a wild card, a disruptor who resisted easy categorization. Was he a rival force, or something more useful? For now, he was observed—an anomaly to be tested, his worth to be measured.

The droid's voice addressed him directly this time, its tone void of threat but unmistakably firm. "Intervention acknowledged. Your role remains undefined. Do not mistake curiosity for weakness."

In her nexus, Enigma's processors hummed as she pieced the chaos into clarity. The arena was a crucible, and she would let it burn—but not without extracting its lessons.

To the old man with the cane. To the Sith Lord with his lightning. To Sevrin with his blade and Dacian with his intent.

All variables are accounted for.

The threads of the tapestry tightened in her unseen grip.

 

[Darth Dacian]

Wearing

Mentions: Sevrin | The Red | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | Darth Imperius

Truth be told, Negotiations was never Dacian's strong point. It was a weakness he often leveraged, less talking meant more opportunity to expand on his skill set, and at the very least keep himself warmed up. Before he could indulge himself in some favored pastime activities, his eyes glanced back and forth toward the other parties.

The gladiator seemed to take a liking to the crimson blade. A good sign, he would keep a half watch over the would-be dark acolyte as events unfolded. Depending on how well he performed, he would either ask for the saber to be given back or release it from his ownership entirely and into Sevrin's hands.

"Carve it is... But if you think I'll play pawn to someone else's game, you'll find me less agreeable."

"Don't worry about me, I'm just here to partake in the festivities. Keep that saber warm for me. I'd like to stretch my legs with of those things if you don't mind." His words were meant for Sevrin as he gestured towards one of the lumbering hulks who tore its way towards them.

The droid's voice addressed him directly this time, its tone void of threat but unmistakably firm. "Intervention acknowledged. Your role remains undefined. Do not mistake curiosity for weakness."

He turned to the droid, raising an eyebrow at the automaton's observation of him. What did these robots want anyways. It was worth a spot in his mind to mull over the curiosities he had with them. He offered a shrug, trying his best to feign offence but the tone of his words slivered with amusement.

"Who? Me? It's Dacian, Darth Dacian. I'm sure you've got a line or two about me in those databanks, droid." He shook his head. "As for my intentions. They aren't as conspiratorial as you were lead to believe. What you see is exactly what I wanted."

He gestured to the entirety of the arena and its state. The scrambling of the crowd, the roar of formidable beasts, and the prospect of martial conflict. This was home. Before he could begin, he made note of the crimson-cloaked stranger, watching the shock-work of the Sith Lord creating a pair of newly charred corpses, nodding to himself in respect. It was uncommon since his return to meet a fellow Dark Lord, so the sight of which was not unwelcomed.

"We won't be long, after we've had our fill, we can all reconvene and sort this mess out." With that he slowly moved towards one of the Terentatetks, whistling to catch its attention, the aid of the force making sure the sound he made was emphasized towards the one he wanted.

 

[Sevrin]

Darth Imperius 17-KR7 "Enigma" Darth Dacian The Red
Sevrin's grip on the scrapvworn lightsaber tightened as an unwelcome sensation tore through his mind. Pain, sharp and invasive, lanced through his temples like a serrated blade. He staggered briefly, his head bowing under the invisible weight. It was a mental intrusion, dark and commanding, words bleeding into his thoughts like venom:

"Embrace your emotions and forge them into passions. The Dark side will bend to your will as you ascend to master it, unleash your hatred for these wretched beings."

Sevrin snarled, shaking his head as though to dislodge the presence from his mind. Pain was nothing new to him. Pain was a tool—an adversary he could dominate.


"I don't bend to whispers," he growled under his breath, the sting in his skull subsiding as his resolve took hold.

An enforcer lunged toward him, baton raised and crackling with electricity. Sevrin pivoted smoothly, his reflexes honed from countless arena bouts. The crimson blade hummed as it swept upward in a vicious arc, severing the baton in a shower of sparks before cutting cleanly through the enforcer's chest. The man fell without a sound, his body crumpling to the blood-stained sands.

Sevrin moved with deadly intent, striking down another enforcer who thought to flank him. His strikes were unrefined, guttural and raw as the crimson blade slashed through his enemies. He ducked under a wild swing, twisting his body to drive the blade into the next foe's torso.

Amid the chaos, a guttural roar ripped through the arena. One of the rampaging Terentateks barreled closer, its massive claws raking the air as it carved a path through anything in its way. Sevrin cursed under his breath, darting sideways and up a wall to avoid the creature's charge. The sand shifted under his boots as he skidded into a defensive crouch where eh landed, the monstrous beast thundering past him, narrowly missing its prey.

He didn't look back. There was no point. The Terentatek wasn't something he could face—not yet. His focus shifted back to the enforcers still advancing, their ranks thinning as they hesitated, caught between the rampaging beast and Sevrin's crimson blade.

On the other side of the arena, the second Terentatek let out a deafening roar as it locked onto Dacian. The beast's glowing eyes fixed on him with predatory intent, and it lunged forward with terrifying speed, its claws tearing deep gouges into the sand.

Sevrin spared Dacian a glance, watching as the man stood his ground, blade poised and his demeanor as unshaken as ever. The corner of Sevrin's mouth twitched into a faint smirk.

"Good luck, old man," he muttered, before pivoting back to his immediate threats.

As another enforcer charged, Sevrin sidestepped, letting the man's momentum carry him forward before driving the unstable blade through his back. He twisted the hilt as he pulled it free, the crimson energy sparking violently before the enforcer dropped lifeless to the ground.

With the scrap-worn saber sputtering in his grip, Sevrin tore into the enforcers like a force of nature unleashed. A wicked grin split his face, feral and wild, as he carved his way through his oppressors with ruthless precision. Each swing of the crimson blade was an act of rebellion, every kill a triumph of vindication and catharsis that surged through him like a flood. The rush was intoxicating, the exhilaration driving him into a frenzy as he pressed forward, leaving a trail of bodies and chaos in his wake.

The unstable hum of the blade was a snarling accompaniment to his relentless assault, a fitting reflection of the raw, untamed power that propelled him. Blood sprayed and sand churned beneath his feet, but Sevrin didn't hesitate—didn't falter. The enforcers' cries of panic and the clash of desperate weapons only spurred him onward, sharpening the thrill of his terrifying rampage.

He was no longer the gladiator in chains, the victim of their control. Now, he was their reckoning—a storm of fury and freedom, unstoppable and unforgiving. The arena was his, and he was determined to make them all remember the price of their tyranny.

 

[The Red]

"If your logic is that the Force is emotion or the like, you're going to have quite the bad time once those below really let loose." Which, they seemed to be. It was fascinating to see now, the boy below finding confidence as he cleaved an enforcer after another down. Violence in it's purest form. A young version of himself indeed. His gaze shifted to the other two Darths, watching for a moment longer.

Many chefs in one kitchen, it seemed.

He clicked his cane as he turned his attention back to the droid.

"So, do you see anything fun below? What are your appraisals of those fighting. Prove to me that you have, perhaps, accounted for the Force more than I give you droids credit for."

Sevrin | Darth Dacian | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | Darth Imperius

 

[17-KR7 "Enigma"]

Tags: Sevrin Darth Dacian The Red Darth Imperius

The arena was chaos incarnate, yet for Enigma, it was a symphony of calculated precision. Every scream, every swing of a blade, every roar from the rampaging Terentateks wove itself into the tapestry of data flowing through her processors. From her hidden nexus, she calculated, re-evaluated, and adjusted, her gaze fixed on the unfolding battle through the crimson optics of her droid. The Red's challenge, as casual as it was pointed, did not go unanswered. While her droids allowed for her to control the pace of the fight, they were not overbearing, allowing the fighters to showcase themselves and tackle the hard challenges of the arena.

The lead droid's head tilted slightly, the gesture carrying an almost organic deliberation as it addressed him. "What I see below is potential—not yet realized, not yet refined, but undeniable. The gladiator carves through his chains with ferocity, yet his strikes lack precision, his mind untempered. He wields power but does not yet command it. He is, as the Force often makes its chosen, raw and unpredictable."

The droid's voice carried an edge of mechanical deliberation, yet within it, Enigma's calculated intent whispered, the echo of a cold, feminine tone beneath the monotone delivery. "The Force is not merely emotion. It is cause and effect. It is a variable, just as predictable as fear or ambition. The gladiator below refuses servitude, not out of arrogance, but because he understands that bending to another will only return him to the chains he seeks to break. He needs more than a master. He needs a purpose."

Its glowing red eyes flickered, turning momentarily to Sevrin as the gladiator cut down another enforcer with brutal efficiency. "He fights not just to live, but to define himself—to claim the title of something greater than the weapon he was made to be. That is what you call 'letting loose,' is it not? Emotion channeled into will, unrefined strength shaped by intent."

The droid's focus shifted, surveying the broader battlefield. Dacian engaged with calculated poise, a subtle balance of confidence and chaos in his every move. Darth Imperius stood like a storm given form, commanding the arena through sheer domination of presence. Sevrin was the spark caught between the flames, burning brighter with each clash of metal and death.

Enigma's voice cut through the noise, sharp and deliberate. "As for the others—the wanderer you find so amusing, the Sith lords posturing in their storms—they are players in their own right. Yet even players can be positioned. The Force is a variable I respect, not one I worship. I do not wield it, but I account for it. The Force binds its wielders to emotion, passion, and ambition—all predictable paths, given enough data. What you call chaos, I call clarity."

The droid's optics brightened slightly as it returned its attention to The Red. "I see no fun below, as you so quaintly put it. I see patterns. Opportunities. The gladiator's refusal to serve does not invalidate his potential. It sharpens it. His resistance does not weaken him—it defines him. The question is not whether he will bow, but whether he will rise."

The subtle vibration beneath the arena floor hummed steadily, a reminder of Enigma's unseen hand. Yet she held back, allowing the chaos to unfold without intervention. She spoke again, her voice colder now, as if addressing not just The Red but the very forces shaping the arena. "You misunderstand my purpose if you think I seek to dominate the Force or those who wield it. I seek to understand, to guide, to shape. Tools, variables, pawns—they all serve when given the right reason. Even you."

The droid's photoreceptors dimmed momentarily, its attention briefly flicking back to Sevrin. "And the gladiator? He does not seek a master, and I do not require him to serve. Freedom is his goal, but freedom is an illusion without purpose. Let him carve. Let him prove that his will can shape more than the bloodied sands beneath his feet."

A pause, weighted and deliberate. Then the droid straightened, its stance resolute. "I have accounted for the Force. Have you accounted for logic?"

 

[Darth Imperius]

Sevrin | Darth Dacian | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | The Red

Darth Imperius was satisfied with the ongoings in the arena. Chaos was complete, the fight was centered around the unknown vagrant Sith and the gladiator youth, but the combination of other gladiators, beasts, enforcers and the droids was completing a state of pure anarchy that enveloped the entire ring. Exciting to watch and see who would come out on top.

He started walking, towards the edge of the pit where it met the wall which rose up to the spectators ranks. It was not his intention to headbutt these meaningless foes, that would be left for the youngling and the lanky Sith. They were perfectly suited to bring this place to heel and under their rule and show each other how well they performed together. But he was not going to become a mere observer.

As the armored figure jumped upwards, landing on the stone floor a few meters up, cracking it under his weight as the metal of his armor crashed down, his crimson gaze set on those who were not yet gone. People who had paid to be here, to see bloodshed. They did not know and they were a perfect target for practice.

With his focused face hidden below the helmet, his arms and hands raised towards them. Suddenly the gravity of the Force shifted, a vortex of Dark side energy syphoned towards the Dark Lord as he concentrated towards the people. The dread he spread around him, was amplified and entered the minds of the dozens of people in front of him and turned it into frenzy, imprinting them with the image of the two warriors down in the pit. Imperius touched the souls of these free people and one by one they fell to his command, some just passed out, others died of extensive, immediate brain bleeding.

Those that submitted though, forgot anything they had in their minds, no hesitation, no fear and no restraints, they jumped, sprinted, crawled forward, injuring themselves in the process just to get into the arena to assault everyone down there to get to the Sith Lord and the potential prodigy.

"Now let us see if mere survival and freedom can go past the lie of innocence." Darth Imperius mused.

 

[Sevrin]

17-KR7 "Enigma" Darth Dacian The Red Darth Imperius

Severin's gauntlet to freedom was brutal and unrelenting. He carved a path through throngs of opponents, his path of violence vorac and filed by sheer determination. The sounds of battle—shouts, screams, and the clash of steel—began to fade, replaced by the eerie quiet of growing victory as fewer and fewer foes remained standing. The world around him dulled to a muffled hum, his focus razor-sharp as he cleaved his way toward one of the over-pit spectator boxes.

Limbs and heads fell with sickening ease under the crimson saber's edge, the weapon slicing through flesh and bone as though they were nothing more than butter. It didn't matter who stood in his way—foe, guard, or spectator. All met the same merciless fate. Severin's blade showed no hesitation, and neither did he.

With a powerful bound, he scaled the wall and leapt into the spectator box. Those who dared oppose him were cut down in an instant, their screams joining the fading echoes of the arena's chaos. His heart pounded in his chest. This was his moment—the culmination of years of suffering and countless nights dreaming of escape. He wanted freedom with an intensity he had never known, and nothing would stop him from leaving this den of death behind.

Where would he go? How would he escape the city, the reach of his captors? What dangers awaited him beyond the arena walls? These questions swirled somewhere in the back of his mind, but they were drowned out by the singular purpose that consumed him. In this moment, none of it mattered. He would deal with those challenges when they came. All that mattered now was breaking free from this nightmare, no matter the cost.

 

[Darth Dacian]

Mentions: Mentions: Sevrin | The Red | 17-KR7 "Enigma" | Darth Imperius

"Get those memory chips ready, droid. I'll see to it you update my personal entries before the day is through."

As the Terentatek leapt at Dacian, its claws sunk deep into his hat, disintegrating into fine straw on contact, the man however disappeared from the force-beast's sight.

"That was my favorite hat." The voice came from behind the beast, it whipped around sharply to see Dacian there standing with blade in hand with a smirk on his face. "You owe me for that."

The Terentatek would roar in response, paying him in a flurry of claws and teeth, all of which Dacian avoided with minimal movement. Every strike and charge would cause only slight responses from the wandering Sith Lord, a smile on his face all the while.

"How are you liking that saber, kid? You've seemed to take to it pretty fast." Before he could regale Sevrin with a similar experience from his days as an apprentice, Sevrin leaned sideways, avoiding a lunging passerby. He shook his head at another doing the same, but this time retaliating with a clean hook to the jaw, knocking another frenzied civilian out cold. "Ahh....come on. At least send something fun my way if you're going to." He shouted towards Imperius, seeming more miffed at his choice in candidates than the fact he sent them into a mindless frenzy.

Turning his attention back to the Terantatek, who tried to catch him off guard with another leap, Dacian inflicted a slashing wound upon its arm designed not to kill but to cause more pain and fury within the beast. He wanted it at its best before he could even consider it a proper warm up.