The Legends of Darth Skhorrn Part 2

The Legends of Darth Skhorrn
Part II: Only for the Powerful
Cato Neimoidia
3873 BBY
It was fight day on Cato Neimoidia. Each of the hanging cities had their arenas packed to the brim with all manner of spectators from across the galaxy, and all had one thing in common: bloodlust. Some came just to watch, others had loved ones whose lives were on the line as gladiators. Still, there were others, a staunch few, who came to bid for the winners. Each arena would have one by day's end.
It was for this reason that Alek-Kith Irimore was here. Though she went by another name. No one must know that such a high-ranking member of the Commerce Guild was in attendance, let alone bidding for a gladiator slave. Fortunately, with her mask and hood cloaking her, no one would recognize her as Darth Skhorrn. Similarly, no one in attendance would question why she wore her hood up in Cato Nemoidia's humidity. Many beings at the arena wore similar disguises. Fight day tended to draw the unscrupulous types out.
Darth Skhorrn sat in the corner of her section. She was shaded by the columns that joined together up above, keeping the arena in place over the chasm below. Who knew how far down the surface of the planet was? Part of her was tempted to cut the cables keeping the arena suspended just to see it fall. But she shook away those thoughts. She was here for a purpose. Needless violence would come later.
In the arena, a young Chagrian was grappling with an Anooba. Darth Skhorrn used the zoom feature on her mask lens to watch more closely. The Chagrian looked to be around twenty. He had many cuts over his body from fighting for most of the day. Before him, there had been a human male. He had looked strong, but his large muscles had done little to protect him from the acklay that had pinned him to the ground with its razor sharp legs.
After the human, there had been Twi'leks, Zabraks, even an Ithorian. All fell to their beasts in one manner or another. But the Chagrian, he had lasted. Not only had he defeated his first creature, a viper kinrath, but the others as well. He had used the kinrath's venomous limb as a weapon to poison the other creatures until it had lost its use. Now he faced a scarred Anooba, its hide rough and fur matted.
The Anooba circled the Chagrian, its legs taught, getting ready to strike. The Chagrian readied himself and planted his feet, his stance sure. The canine lept at him, maw opened wide and claws extended. But the horned humanoid sidestepped the creature, grabbing it by the tooth that jutted up from its lower jaw, and swung the beast around. The tooth ripped out of the jaw, and the gladiator had a new weapon.
The Chagrian closed the distance between him and the Anooba. Wasting no time, he plunged the tooth into its neck over and over, blood spraying him and pooling on the sandy floor of the arena. Satisfied it was dead, the blue warrior stood to his feet, shoulders heaving with every breath. Skhorrn zoomed in on his eyes: they were furrowed, focused, and hungry.
"This one may have potential," she said to herself.
"The final battle awaits!" Vath Amyui, the City Administrator, announced. He was in charge of this particular arena. Skhorrn would have to place her bid with him against the others who wanted to purchase the victor of today's festivities. Fortunately, she had had a feeling it would not be as stiff competition as in the arena.
"Let the final gladiator come forth!" Amyui said. From the other end of the arena, the doors began to slide open. From the darkness came a sound of metal scraping against metal. The sound dragged until a man walked out into the light. Darth Skhorrn felt a sharp intake of breath as she saw the final contestant: a Sith pureblood.
"All the way from Korriban, fabled home of the Sith, I give you: Krayot! Slayer of dragons and Jedi alike, the only gladiator in all of Cato Neimoidia who came to fight willingly! None who have ever faced him have lived to tell about it."
Darth Skhorrn actually leaned forward in her seat, fingers templed in front of her mask. The large claw on her artificial leg actually clacked once on the floor of the stone bleachers she sat in. The pureblood wore little in the way of armor. He was clad in a beige tunic and footwraps, with a dark hood covering his head and ending at his shoulders. He wielded twin vibroswords with serrated blades, which he twirled.
A quick zoom in on his face revealed claw scars that had removed the tendrils on the right side. Maybe he was the one she was looking for, after all. The Chagrian huffed out a breath and held the Anooba tooth in a reverse-grip. He took a defensive stance. Krayot charged. He kept one blade close to his chest, while the other swung for his prey's head. The Chagrian dodged and lunged for the Sith's chest.
Krayot simply shifted his hips, and the tooth got caught on the edge of the defensive sword. He flung it out of the Chagrian's hand and used the pommel of the attack sword to bash his face. The blue gladiator went down, blood gushing from his nose. But he didn't stay down. As Krayot stabbed down with both swords, the Chagrian rolled to the left and kicked up at the sith's stomach. His leg made contact, and Skhorrn's visor revealed that he had caused significant damage to Krayot's ribs. He pulled his leg back and kicked again, this time aiming straight at the ribs. Again, he made contact, and Krayot dropped the sword he used to defend his chest.
The Chagrian scrambled to pick it up before the pureblood could reclaim his fallen weapon. Both were equally armed. Now it was down to skill. Either way, Darth Skhorrn would leave with the superior warrior. Krayot yelled and swung for the Chagrian's head, but he leaned back. However, the dodge wasn't clean, and Krayot did catch one of his lethorns with the blade. It wasn't completely severed, yet it did hang like a broken tree branch. Krayot swung back around, hoping to catch his opponent with the serrated end of his sword. But the Chagrian met his sword with his own, flipping his blade backwards to catch the serrations together, like a predator's teeth.
Locked in, the Chagrian swept his sword down, taking Krayot's with it. Bringing both up in a full arc, he flung both swords out of their hands and away. Krayot shouted with rage and resorted to using his fists. Darth Skhorrn only caught the Chagrian's smirk thanks to the zoom function of her mask. He sidestepped Krayot's first punch, grabbed his attacker's wrist with his right hand while placing his left underneath Krayot's elbow. As the Chagrian pulled the Sith's wrist down, his fist shot straight up.
Krayot's arm bent at a ninety-degree angle the wrong way, a shard of bone breaking through the skin. The Sith cried out, not from rage now, but agony. But his cries didn't last long. The Chagrian grabbed the shard of bone and bent it away from Krayot's arm, snapping it off completely. He jammed it deep into the pureblood's neck. Then he reached up and took hold of his own broken lethorn, and ripped it completely off. He stabbed it into Krayot's chest, piercing his heart and causing the skin of his back to bulge. Krayot fell dead, his face contorted in a puzzled grimace.
The crowd erupted. Some were cheering, others furious. They had clearly lost good money betting on the Sith. Darth Skhorrn remained silent, however. Instead, she merely stood up and worked her way to the VIP section. It was time to bid on the winners of the day. Although anyone with enough credits and an auction ticket could bid on any of the champions from any of the arenas, it was customary (and polite) to begin with the champion from the arena you physically sat in.
Skhorrn could have gone to any one of a dozen arenas, but she had learned long ago to go where the Force called her, and it had led her to this particular arena. She looked around at her competition. There were pirates, Zygerrian slavers looking for new stock, some wealthy Muun from the Banking Clan, no doubt looking for a bodyguard; even a Hutt with a monocle. "Classy," she said to herself.
Vath Amyui took his place at the podium at the front of the room. "We are ready to begin the auction of today's first champion, Fislo Nomm. Bidding starts at one million credits."
Darth Skhorrn had no intention of waiting. "Three million credits." That drew eyes. She was not surprised when one of the Muun countered.
"Five million."
But the Zygerrians had no intention of letting them get away with strong slave stock. "Ten million credits!" The Nemoidians in the room giddily murmured amongst themselves. But still, there was more. The monocled Hutt had his wealth, after all.
"Fifty million," he gurgled in barely-perceptible Galactic Basic. The pirates, Muun, and Zygerrians backed off. They had wealth, but no single slave, champion or not, was worth that much. Now that Skhorrn knew who her real adversary was, it was time to strike.
"Two hundred million credits." The Hutt's eyes widened, causing his monocle to fall off. The shattering glass was all that could be heard in the still room. For a moment, no one moved. Then, seeing they weren't going to get a better offer, Vath Amyui banged his gavel and pointed it at Skhorrn.
"Sold! To the woman in the spectacular mask! Your name, good lady?"
"Names are for friends and associates, so instead I'll give you my money." She said curtly.
"Money is good enough for me!" Amyui said, indifferent to how he came by wealth. Darth Skhorrn made her way to the podium, where one of Amyui's compatriots handed her a datapad. She transferred the credits to the Neimoidian bank account provided. Amyui took the datapad to ensure the transfer was legitimate. Pleased that it was, he handed the datapad off to the Neimoidian who had given it to Skhorrn in the first place. "Wonderful! Please, follow me to your new acquisition!"
It sounded so informal when he put it that way, as though they were trading in spice or goods instead of beings' lives. Not that it really bothered Skhorrn all that much. The Sith Empire had long made its foundation on the backs of slaves. But she wasn't interested in a slave for slavery's sake. She was older now. And she had never taken an apprentice of her own. But rather than look to the academy on Korriban for a sycophant, the Force had led her here to find a warrior.
Amyui led her to the Nemoidians' private box. The room was decorated with lush furniture and decadent linens. Bowls of exotic fruit sat in the center of the tables. In the corner, a golden cage held a brightly-feathered bird of some kind that Skhorrn had never seen before.
"Please, make yourself at home while we wait for your new slave to be cleaned up. Feel free to take off your mask, you must be sweltering in our world's humidity."
"I do not relax and my mask does not come off for anyone." Skhorrn snapped. She had no intention of waiting. "My slave does not need to be cleaned up. I want to collect him and be gone as soon as possible."
"As you wish, my lady." Amyui bowed slightly and spoke into a comlink. "Send the champion to my private box at once. His new master is anxious to leave." Whoever he was speaking to affirmed and closed the channel. While she waited, Darth Skhorrn closed her eyes and meditated, though to those watching, it appeared as though she merely sat still. Skhorrn stretched out with the Force, searching the hearts and minds of those around her to root out any deception or treachery. If anyone attempted to double-cross her, she would have to fight her way out. Who knows? Maybe slaughtering Nemoidians, slavers, and bankers would be a good bonding experience for master and apprentice.
But she found no betrayal lurking in the minds of her hosts. All they truly cared about was money. Soon, she felt the Chagrian, Fislo Nomm, approaching. She opened her eyes and stood to her feet as he was escorted into the box. His wrists were shackled with binders. Amyui snapped his fingers and the guard escorting Nomm held forth a key to Skhorrn, but she merely waved her fingers and the binders came undone, falling to the floor.
"Ah, no mere slaver, I see," Amyui said, slightly in awe. "But no Jedi, I think, huh? So you must be Sith."
"You're smarter than you look, Amyui," Darth Skhorrn said. "Try not to be too smart. My anonymity is more for your safety than mine." Her metallic claw curled up, scratching the floor. Amyui took the hint.
"Yes, of course. No matter to me who I sell to, as long as their money's good. And your money is very very good. But on to the matter at hand. Your slave is here, as you requested."
Nomm looked from Amyui to Skhorrn. She walked up to the Chagrian and regarded him carefully. She studied him with the Force. He was indeed strong with it as she was. Skhorrn wondered if he knew the power he wielded.
"It takes considerable force to break a sith pureblood's bone, as you did. Even more so to break it off. Tell me how you accomplished that."
For a moment, Nomm was unsure of what to say. "I don't know. I was in pain from breaking my lethorn. I wanted to break his arm for that. And when he struck at me, it was as if time slowed down. And when I went to actually strike at his elbow, it was like I was twice as strong as normal. His bone felt like glass. Breaking it off was easy."
"Did you know that pureblood sith bones have three times the density of human bones? Breaking them is nearly impossible with bare hands."
Nomm looked somewhat surprised. "No, I didn't know that."
Darth Skhorrn began to circle around him. "And yet, you were able to break his bones like glass. Most interesting. Tell me, did the Anooba tooth feel the same way to you?"
"Actually, it did." Nomm's eyebrow arched in an unasked question.
"I thought so. One last question: do you know what the Force is?" She came to a stop behind Nomm, hands clasped behind her back.
"It's something that Jedi and Sith say gives them strength. But it didn't seem to do Krayot much good. What does this have to do with me?" Nomm turned to face Skhorrn.
"I believe you are able to feel the Force as I am. Able to call upon it when you are in great need. But you lack training and discipline, as I did long ago. I can offer you guidance, build your power."
"What's the catch? I swear undying fealty to you?" Nomm asked, suspicious.
"To me, and to the Dark Side of the Force."
Around them, the Nemoidians were growing uncomfortable. Darth Skhorrn could sense their growing unease. They knew this was a conversation that should be had in private. But even though Skhorrn had sensed no plot to betray her, she had already made up her mind to kill all of them in the room, and any who got in their way on the journey back to her ship.
"I offer you the ability to strike at your enemies with the same strength you had today. Only you will be able to control it. Give yourself to the Dark Side, and I will make you into a weapon of strife." From within her cloak, Skhorrn held forth her lightsaber, the relic she had taken from Malachor all those years ago, and activated it. The Nemoidians' unease gave way to full-blown panic, and they began to run for the door.
But Darth Skhorrn used the Force to push all of them back, except for Amyui. She brought him to within arm's reach and spun on her organic heel, bringing the claw of her inorganic leg up to slash his throat. Green blood sprayed the bowl of fruit and colorful bird. Holding the lightsaber aloft to Nomm, Skhorrn said, "The Dark Side is vengeance. Take yours."
The Chagrian took one look at Anyui's twitching body and made up his mind. He took the lightsaber from Skhorrn's outstretched hand and turned on the Nemoidians, hacking and slashing. He was surprised by the lightsaber's weight. It seemed to all be in the hilt. Though he could feel the power rippling in his arm, the blade seemed to have no weight of its own. It would be all too easy to sever one's own limb or head if not properly trained. He wondered why his new master had handed this one to him if such a risk existed.
Darth Skhorrn let Nomm work his aggression out on his captors. She stepped outside to watch for guards or unfortunate passersby. None came by the time Nomm exited the box, reeking of death and ozone. She held out her hand, and he reluctantly placed the lightsaber in it.
"Very good. You passed your first lesson," she said as she placed the saber on her belt.
"Which was?" Nomm asked as they began to walk steadily to the landing platforms.
"I am not going to spoon feed you. If you are not astute enough to figure out the lesson's meaning, you will not last as my apprentice. When I started on this path, I didn't have anyone teaching me. I had to learn as I went. It was do or die." This wasn't technically true, as before she became Darth Skhorrn, Alek-Kith Irimore had trained on Dathomir for two years under the Nightsister clan. But they had taught her to fight, and only given her marginal understanding of the Force. Learning the ways of the Dark Side, forging the mask that identified her as Darth Skhorrn, that had been all her and the Force. "So tell me, what was the lesson?"
Fislo Nomm pondered as they walked. "I noticed immediately that the blade had no weight. The balance was all in the hilt, unlike conventional weapons, which require both hilt and blade to achieve perfect stability. Only a master can wield it effectively without causing harm to oneself. My targets were prone, unmoving. Killing them wasn't a test of my skill, you saw that in the arena. So it must have been a test of my self-control."
"Not bad, Nomm. You're on the right track." They found the landing platforms and made straight for Skhorrn's ship.
"I still don't understand why you would want to train me," Nomm said as the ramp lowered. "I don't even know your name."
Turning on the ramp to face him, she said, "I am Darth Skhorrn. I have been the scourge of the Jedi ever since I was nineteen. But I am growing old. I need a successor. Someone to carry on my work after I'm gone. The Jedi order is growing. The Mandalorian Wars and Jedi Civil War nearly ended them, but they are returning. I have done what I can to stem that growth, but I am just one woman. One old woman.
"My time is coming to an end. But the galaxy needs Darth Skhorrn to keep the Jedi in check. I asked the Force to give me an heir. Someone worthy of bearing my mantle. It led me here, to you."
"But what makes me worthy? I'm no Sith. I fought for survival, not anyone's ideals."
"You think I fought for the Sith's ideals when I began? No. I fought for survival, same as you. I grew up on a Republic prison barge. The Jedi are supposed to be guardians of peace and justice, but there is no justice in this life. Not when you're forced to eat ration bars made from the bodies of your own parents for sustenance.
"I found my strength in the Force defending myself from Republic prison guards who wanted to rape me. The Jedi offered no such protection. It wasn't peace that kept me alive, it was anger and hatred. They are the tools of the Dark Side, and they alone offered me protection and revenge." They ventured into the ship, settling in the cockpit.
"I went to Malachor because that was where I had heard the Sith made their home. But when I got there, everything and everyone who had once called it home were dead and frozen in place. Some sort of cataclysm had claimed them all long ago. But that was where I found this," she patted her side, indicating her lightsaber. "And where I lost this," Skhorrn held up her inorganic leg, claws curling in the air.
"I found a Sith temple. It requires a master and an apprentice to open, but I got in alone. However, it came at a cost. I overestimated myself, or underestimated my task, but it cost me my leg. It ended up for the best though." Darth Skhorrn could practically hear Nomm's eyebrow raise. She chuckled as she took the ship into an exit trajectory from Cato Nemoidia's atmosphere.
"Inside the temple was a Sith armor forge. The Dark Side of the Force showed me how to operate it. But it required a blood sacrifice. I gave it my leg. It gave me this." Skhorrn pulled her hood down and unsnapped the mask she wore. Pulling it off, Nomm saw she was an aging Togruta. She held the mask in front of her, regarding it with what seemed like awe or reverence. Perhaps it was both.
"This mask was forged from my flesh and blood, but also my anger, hatred, and pain. Only someone who has sacrificed as much can be worthy of bearing it."
"What would happen to someone who wasn't worthy?" Nomm asked, somewhat nervously.
"I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps they'd be driven mad. Care to find out?" She held the mask towards Nomm. But he elected not to wear it for now. Chuckling, Skhorrn took it back.
"But why me?" Nomm asked.
"As I told you, the Force led me here. I believe that with proper training, you will one day be worthy of my mantle. It's not just about your ability to fight, or your potential strength in the Force. It's the fact that you sacrificed part of your own body to gain victory. Something I learned from a young age: life is only meant for the strong. If you are strong enough to give up part of your body to achieve victory, you are strong enough to carry the mantle of Darth Skhorrn."
Fislo Nomm pondered over this for some time as they entered hyperspace. Darth Skhorrn never interrupted his thoughts. She had given him the opportunity, but he needed to choose to take it. Or she would have to begin her search anew. After a considerable amount of time had passed, he finally spoke up.
"I will do it, Master. I will become Darth Skhorrn."