Star Wars: Slave Of Darkness

Silence reigned in the manor as the staff went about their work without speaking. There was a nervous energy crackling beneath the skin of all, from the lowliest slave to the highest butler.

Many had worked on the estate for years, some for the whole of their living memory. With such long servitude had come a sense of complacency and routine.

None would dare suggest that a Sith Lord was predictable, but Darth Rictus was, at the very least, consistent with what he expected from his servants. The lord desired for his orders to be obeyed promptly and completely, in the spirit in which they had been given. 

Obedience was rewarded, while failure or insubordination was punished. Barring the occasional black mood, he did not stray from this.

His late wife and son had been more volatile, but time had made them easier to placate. More often than not, they had followed the wishes of the Master.

It was an honor to serve one of the Sith, but few of the staff would delude themselves into thinking that it was safe. After all, the most dangerous threat to a Sith was from another Sith, rather from than an outside force.

As such, sudden changes were not something any of them looked forward to.

Two pieces of news had been relayed to them by the guard captain that morning. First, the Master had taken on a new apprentice for the first time in nearly seven years. Second, the apprentice would be arriving at the manor within the day.

Maids rushed to prepare quarters that had not seen active use in years and dug out spare clothing from deep closets. The house chefs performed inventory of available food and sent out slaves with lists to replenish what was found lacking. 

The head butler worked with the guard captain to arrange passcodes for the new Sith's use to gain access to secured rooms.

When it had all been arranged, the staff scrambled to make themselves presentable in the time remaining.

But for all their preparations, no one, not even the perimeter sensors, noticed the manor's newest intruder until they were already inside.

...

The first see them was a maid as she rounded a corner, carrying a basket of sheets to stock the linen closet. Startled at an unexpected presence, she nearly dropped the basket, only to freeze as the stench of decay hit her nostrils.

A mangled, eyeless face turned to meet her gaze briefly, half-covered in ragged scars, sand, and rotting flesh.

She stared at it, unable to move, as it stared at her for a moment that seem to stretch on far too long. A slight mechanical whine escaped its mouth as it worked its jaw, likely deciding what to do with her.

But as suddenly as it came, it left. She didn't even register that fact until the breeze of its passage hit her, leaving a trail of red sand in its wake.

...

The next to encounter it was a guard on patrol, but he saw only what he thought was a flash of movement and nothing more. It was not until he looked down that he truly noticed that something was amiss.

A trail of rusty-red sand lay on the plush carpets, leading up to the guard's own feet…before moving around him.

Fear gripped him as rational thought departed for a moment. Eyes darted about the corridor in vain as his grip on his electrostaff tightened.

Fingers still shaking, he tapped at his wrist-mounted commlink.

...

In the kitchens, the head chef observed the inventory as he ran through a mental checklist of what meals could be prepared on short notice with the supplies on hand. 

As the Master was away frequently for weeks at a time, most of what was on hand was preserved, with fresh goods being procured once word of his arrival reached them.

As such, the sudden notice of the impending arrival of the Master's newest apprentice had left him with little opportunity to restock, so he would have to improvise to buy more time.

The chef's pudgy fingers fidgeted at one end of his enormous bushy mustache as plans ran through his mind, remembering when the Master's son had returned from his training, years ago. 

The young man had been positively ravenous after not having the opportunity to eat for several days.

Darth Rictus' other apprentices had been similarly deprived of nutrition in some form or another. They had cared less for the taste of the food itself and more about how it could fill their bellies. Somehow, he doubted the newest one would be any different.

The large man sighed. Of course, there were also potential allergies to consider…

He started to reach for a package of fish, only to feel an odd sensation telling him that he shouldn't.

'No fish.'

That sounded like it was in the room, but it wasn't a voice he recognized. And having served the Master for several decades, he knew many voices.

The chef blinked and slowly retracted his hand before turning around, only to find the kitchen empty. Just as he was about to turn back, his eye caught on a small pile of muja fruit. It was an insignificant detail, but…

There had been three muja fruits on the counter when he entered the room. Now, there were only two.

The only evidence of an intruder into his domain was a thin trail of red sand.

...

She had worn the collar for several years, but the persistent itch of metal against skin ensured it would never be comfortable. Of course, being a slave was hardly the most luxurious existence. Being around Sith and their negative emotions constantly was just an unfortunate bonus on top of everything else.

Luckily, Darth Rictus was, at best, indifferent to her presence in the estate. After all, the Sith Lord wasn't the one that purchased her from a prisoner camp, but one of the other staff. Her species' abilities were well-suited to dealing with irate Sith. In more ways that one.

It was a damn shame that slaves weren't allowed anywhere near alcohol. She could have drank herself to death, a fate far more preferable to her current one.

Oh, she did as she was told. As much as she hated her life, she wasn't a fan of pain and a shock collar was an excellent motivator.

Which is how a Zeltron slave found herself carrying a box of old clothes to a recently cleaned bedroom.

As she stepped through the door, she paused.

Something…wasn't right.

The room was empty and had been for at least half an hour. The maids and other staff had all departed to freshen up while they had time to do so.

And yet, the slave couldn't shake the feeling that the room wasn't empty. Someone, or several someones, were present.

Her eyes swept the room, looking for something out of place. Immediately, her gaze was drawn to a chair, drawn away from a matched desk.

The longer she stared at it, her eyebrows furrowing in concentration, the more she started to believe that there was someone sitting in the chair, despite her eyes telling her otherwise. There was an air of disembodied curiosity clinging to the area around it.

Crunch

The sudden sound made the slave blink. As her eyes fluttered back open, the chair was abruptly occupied…or rather, its occupant was revealed.

She could safely say she had rarely seen such a bedraggled man.

His clothes, a ramshackle ensemble of once-black robes and armor, were caked in layers of dried mud and red sand, the latter of which was gathering on the floor at his feet. 

A large bandage was wound around his eyes, seemingly blinding him, while large ugly scars, bordered by rotting synthskin, covered half his face. Red-brown hair, made more red by the sand clinging to it, was haphazardly cut, as though by an unskilled hand.

The source of the noise was the man taking a bite out of a muja fruit.

A light mechanical whine echoed in the quiet room as he chewed and swallowed the food, revealing the presence of cybernetics.

"The compulsion wasn't very strong, but it should have been enough to fool most non-Force Sensitives. Yet you found a flaw I overlooked and broke it." He muttered, his voice deep but quiet. The slave wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or just making an observation, 

"Interesting."

Though his eyes were covered, she got the feeling that he was looking her up and down. Despite being fully-clothed, she felt an inexplicable urge to cover herself.

"You'll do."

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, the man seemed to lose all interest in her, content to continue eating and leave her alone.

Still confused as to what exactly had just occurred, the slave robotically approached the bed and set down the box before making to leave. But just as she did, the smell hit her.

It was like rotting meat, sweat, oil, blood, and stars know how many substances slammed into her nose all at once, nearly making her gag.

"Milord? Might I run you a bath?" She asked carefully. She hated speaking so deferentially, but it was better than getting a dose of lightning.

The Sith, and there was little doubt in her mind about what he was, paused mid-bite. Slowly lowering the fruit away from his face, he raised an arm and took a sniff. Judging from the way his nose scrunched up, he did not appreciate what he had found.

"Yes." He quickly replied, his voice just a bit strained, "That would be appreciated."

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The first book of this fanfic has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.

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