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08.12.2012 , 06:46 AM |
What's in a Name?
Broan sat on the chair, waiting. If he said he was nervous, he would be lying. He was terrified. He was still wearing his tattered and blood stained Jedi robes. The red had all but washed out, turning into dirty brown blotches. His fingers curled around the coarse fabric of his trousers, feeling the material scratch at his skin. He took a deep breath, tried to centre himself and failed. He was afraid. The fear was primal and total, overwriting the flight or fight, sticking him to the chair. His breathing was coming in gasps and as he trembled the chair rattled and shook. It had been hours since he had been left alone in the room. At first, he had felt confident, self-assured. But as the minutes had ticked away and melted into hours, that confidence had waned. The empty, dimly lit room had become oppressive. Every corner had shadows, which blurred into shapes, haunting him. His back was to the door and every moment he expected a knife to slip into his neck. All he felt, however, was the cold sweat dripping down his back.
At last, when the room had started to stretch and fall away, the door opened.
"What are you?" Broan opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He looked at the Sith, feeling his tongue go dry and tears roll down his cheeks. "I shall tell you. You are nothing. Neither Sith nor Jedi. Little better than a slave. I have no use for slaves."
"My Lord, if I may, Broan here may not be entirely worthless."
He recognized that voice: the smooth, almost arrogant tones. He knew her, but how or why he could not tell. The room was slowly taking his mind and twisting his memories.
"You would find use for this snivelling wreck, Vizloch?"
Broan jumped as he felt two strong hands rest on his shoulders. They did not grip him and there was no pain, but he could move under their weight.
"I would, my Lord."
"He is nothing, worse than Jedi."
"Then he is nothing, but he will be my nothing, my Lord."
"He will amount to naught."
"Of course, my Lord."
"If only because I'm sick of seeing people weep while they die." The Sith Lord walked from the room, not looking at either Broan or Lord Vizloch. The oppressive aura lifted somewhat and Broan let out a sigh, not realising he had been holding his breath.
"Do you know," Lord Vizloch ran her fingers through his hair, pulling at his braids. The simple ties fell apart and she proceeded to comb out the kinks. "That all Sith are named?" She spoke with emphasis to her words; a meaning he could not understand. "Darth Yt'klor out ranks us both, but he has already named you."
"He said," His voice was quiet and rasped with tears. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself. "He called me nothing, said I was nothing."
"And Darth Yt'klor was right. You are nothing," She brushed his hair away from his face, before cupping her hands under his chin. Vizloch tipped his head back, fixing him with indifferent grey eyes. "Will you continue to be nothing?" She bent down and kissed his forehead. A shiver ran through him and he felt nauseas. "You will be given a room, child, do not leave it unless you are asked. You will study, I will teach."
"I don't understand."
"You do not have to," Lord Vizloch considered him a moment, standing above him, still holding his chin. She smiled and did not reach her eyes. Broan shuddered again and they both heard the chair rattle. "You are 'Lord Naught' from now on, as Darth Yt'klor has named you. Welcome to Dromund Kaas, Lord Naught."
Not amazing, but I didn't really want to weigh heavy over the dialogue but adding in any "he said, she said". I know that's how it supposed to be done (ish) but it's something that I just can't use, I don't
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