A Standup Philosopher
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Crown of Slaves Chapter One
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 18:22:12 +0000 UTCCrown of Slaves
Chapter One
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I didn’t expect to die the way I did. Granted, I don’t exactly remember how I died, but I doubt that it was how I had expected to die. In fact, my first feeling when I awoke into my new existence was an overwhelming sensation of sheer, overpowering incredulity.
Then I felt pain. Pervasive, overwhelming, soul-deep pain. I screamed a scream beyond anything that had ever been torn from my throat in my old life. Allergic reaction to surgery anesthetic? A massage. Hand sanitizer to the eye? A gentle warmth. Hit by a car while walking home from the library? A lover’s sweet caress.
“Hmm, still alive? I was sure that I felt your life snuffed out like the pitiful, worthless spark that it is, but perhaps there is more to you than I thought, Forty-One.” A cold, cruel voice with an accent that I probably could have identified if I wasn’t in so much pain. I could hardly move, but I was able to look enough to the side to see who was speaking, and what little breath I had managed to gather in my lungs caught in my abused throat.
A Sith Pureblood, a clearly wealthy and aristocratic one, face pale and spotted from excessive use of the Dark Side, was cleaning blood from his hands and regarding me with something akin to aloof interest. The sort of interest that one might see from a particularly apathetic coroner examining a particularly brutalized corpse.
“W-who, wha…” I wheezed through bloody lips, wracking coughs shaking my body from even that paltry effort, and he raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.
“Memory loss due to trauma? Perhaps, perhaps. But your signature within the Force has changed as well, in between what I thought was your death and your revitalization. Remarkable. Perhaps you are worth keeping around a while longer after all. I do so enjoy it when my experiments bring about unexpected results and avenues of exploration.”
The agonized questions tumbling through my mind must have shown in my eyes, because he scoffed and sneered, even as he tossed the bloody cloth into a small incinerator. A flick of his fingers had the table I was strapped to moving with a quiet whine, shifting its position until I was entirely upright, and my head sagged along with the rest of my body as gravity did its work on my weakened body. A brief blast of force lightning pouring from his fingertips had me giving a short, choked-off scream as he ever-so-kindly ensured I couldn’t possibly let unconsciousness rescue me from my suffering.
“If you’re going to give me pathetic shaak-eyes, slave, I suppose I can answer your inane questions, even if you are too pathetic to actually manage voicing them. I can hardly forsake the opportunity to display my intellect, even to so worthless a creature as you.” He chastised me contemptuously, brushing my hair out of my eyes and gripping my chin tightly. “You are an experiment, like your mother before you. When your equally insignificant father impregnated your mother, doubtlessly by rutting on her like a beast on some dark night when the pair of them should have been giving thanks to the Emperor that they had lived another day in service to my House, I took her into my laboratory. As a Master of Sith Sorcery and Sith Alchemy, I could hardly let such an opportunity pass. I experimented on your mother for nine wonderful months, fully expecting for her body to reject you in a futile attempt to save itself, yet you persevered. Of course, there were some minor side-effects. I was quite intrigued when you popped out of her pathetic womb with male and female genitals both. I’ve been biding my time ever since, waiting for you to grow until I could experiment on the child of an experiment. A unique opportunity, well worth the wait. A pity your mother died when I tried to repeat the experiment, I would have liked the opportunity to try and recreate the base circumstance before proceeding. Alas.”
“M-mons…ter!” I wheezed as stridently as I could, determined to spit defiance if I was to die again, but it seemed only to amuse him. Indeed, he gave a chortle and patted my cheek mockingly as he smirked with a gleam of sadistic glee in his eyes.
“Oh, I can imagine it seems as such to you, but really, I’m a pioneer in pursuit of greater glory for the Sith. You have no value beyond that which your betters give you, you have no purpose beyond serving my goals. Experimenting on slaves, killing slaves? This is no more murder or cruelty than squashing a buzzing insect or dissecting a tree-frog.” He responded, before turning away, waving his hand again. This time, a pair of humans wearing plasteel armor painted light gray and tan appeared, blasters on their hips and vibroblades on their backs. Imperial soldiers wearing my interlocutor’s House colors, I was sure.
“How can we serve you, My Lord?” they asked in unison, bracing to attention and ignoring me completely, despite the fact that I was hanging there dripping blood and piss and tears all over the floor like the pseudo-murdered torture victim I was. Maybe they were just used to seeing that sort of thing.
“Take her, clean her up, drop her in a bacta tank until the medical staff deems her fit to leave it. Ensure that she suffers no further damage that might compromise her usefulness as a research subject, or you will take her place on my table.” The Sith ordered them airily, clearly already having lost interest in me for the moment, as he picked up a sheaf of datapads and headed towards the door. I glared with all the strength I could muster at his back, vowing to myself that I would kill him if ever given the opportunity, and he paused to glance back at me. Doubtless sensing the hostility, and when he saw my gaze he grinned sadistically. “Your eyes are full of hate, Forty-One. Good. Hate will keep you alive, will keep you strong. I look forward to seeing how much I can subject you to before your hate can no longer sustain you.”
Then he was gone, the doors hissing shut behind him, and the two soldiers were releasing my bonds. I collapsed against their hard forms the instant the restraints were no longer holding me in place, body trembling from the physical and emotional stress, and they slung my arms around their shoulders and hauled me through the corridors as I sobbed and whimpered. I could hear the whispers, mocking and pitying alike, from everyone we passed, could feel their eyes and attention grinding against me like stone on stone. Had I been in a better frame of mind, I might have grasped quicker that these sensations were coming to me through senses metaphysical, but as it was, I felt nothing but pain, humiliation, and fear.
By the time the soldiers carrying me reached the medical ward (easily identified by the smell of cleaning solvents and antiseptics), I was drifting in and out of awareness. Darkness encroaching inexorably on my vision, the edges of my sight fading away, I remembered only being surprised to see a dangling cock between my legs through the view afforded by the valley of my breasts as they stripped me down.
I didn’t wake up again until nearly a week had passed. I spent that week dreaming, dreaming of my body’s past. Dreaming of her life, of the suffering that she and her fellow hands suffered at the hands of House Luwian, dreaming of the slowly escalating experiments, and dreaming of an appearance I had never seen. Of course, who knew what I looked like now, but once I had been a pretty (under the dirt and grime and bruises of slave life) blue-eyed blonde of what back home would have been obvious Mesopotamian descent. Pre-Ottoman Mesopotamian from the Hittite region as opposed to the Babylonian, at any rate.
“Ah, you’re finally awake, hmm?” a cultured voice asked as my mind slowly emerged from oblivion, and my lips quirked in a silly little smile. Despite everything, despite knowing in an instant that everything had not been a horrible, nightmarish dream, despite the words not fitting perfectly, I couldn’t help but picture opening my eyes and seeing Ralof and Ulfric Stormcloak.
Skyrim probably would have been a better afterlife that Star Wars: The Old Republic.
“I don’t know what amuses you so much, Forty-One, but I suggest you get up immediately. You are to return to your daily labors immediately. I would not recommend dawdling.” The same cultured voice said, now carrying an edge of warning and censure, and my eyes flickered open. I tried to rise, but despite the healing bath from which I had just emerged my muscles were tired and sore, and a strong arm wrapped around my shoulders and pulled me upright.
The medical wing looked like any other medical wing from the game: stark durasteel, white-sheeted and barely-padded beds, bacta tanks, kolto tanks, and banks of medical monitors and shelves of equipment. The man who stood beside me, a dark-skinned human that looked like he was in his fifties, was watching me with professional concern, and I remembered my manners enough to give him a grateful bob of my head for his assistance.
“Thank you, Doctor…?” I rasped, voice rusty from lack of use, and he shook his head as he stepped away.
“Perhaps, if you live long enough, you’ll learn my name and I’ll learn yours. But not today, Forty-One. For now, get on your feet and get moving. There are two guards over by the door that will escort you to your post.” He told me, pointing towards a pair of soldiers, dressed in the same armor as those who had brought me here in the first place.
I stood, working my legs slightly to get the blood flowing, before carefully making my way over to the pair. It was harder than I expected, I wasn’t used to having breasts messing with my center of balance, and I certainly wasn’t used to having breasts and a cock at the same time. I was sure I would be thrilled about being the incarnation of one of my biggest fetishes later, but for now I had far more immediate concerns. Such as the fact that I was now going to be escorted someplace to perform slave labor, which wasn’t exactly encouraging when it came to any plans I might have for freedom or revenge. Slave revolts in the game hadn’t exactly ended well.
They didn’t even speak to me, instead indicating to the door with a silent sweep of the arm. I took a deep breath and made my way through the exit into a long, dark hallway. If I had to guess, judging by the relative quiet of the house through my ears and the Force both, it was the middle of the night. I didn’t even try to restrain the bitter quirk of my mouth. Wouldn’t do for the highborn and free to see me slinking out of the hospital wing after a week, would it? They might start to think my life had value, or that their Lord was a raving lunatic, and that simply wouldn’t do.
I saw little of the manor proper, I was being shuffled along too quickly for that, but what I could see did indicate that my owner was not a minor Lord, though he certainly wasn’t a Darth…that, or he wasn’t a very powerful one. Out the doors we went, and I inhaled sharply as I took in the relatively familiar environs around me. On the plus side, I knew exactly where I was. On the minus side, I was on Dromuund Kaas. There was no other world in the game that looked like this, and though it was dark and stormy, I could sense the vast cloud of Darkness beyond my sight that could only be the Dark Temple.
We made our way through the grounds, wending our way through hedgerows, fountained gardens, and well-disguised security chokepoints designed to resist sieges. Beauty hiding strength, a gleaming glamour over an iron fist. Appropriate, really, and I actually approved. Form and function could both be had if one was creative and careful enough.
The further we got from the house, the less ornate, the less decorative, everything became, until we reached what could only be the slave barracks. Dull, undecorated durasteel buildings arranged in regimented rows, with a handful of watchful guards roaming the area. There weren’t any fences, but then again what need could there be for fences when every slave has a shock collar around their necks, a collar that could range from a mild sting to instantly fatal with the push of a button? Never mind the fact that anyone who tried to flee would find themselves in a dense forest filled with all manner of horrible beasts, people driven insane by the Dark Side, roaming Mandalorians, malfunctioning battle droids, and a thousand other ways to die unpleasantly. Besides, what did the loss of slaves matter when one could simply acquire more with ease?
“Returning with Number Forty-One. Lord Luwian wants her kept alive for now, so keep her working but put some effort into keeping her alive. Doc says most of her memory is gone, so you’ll need to give her a rundown on everything.” One of my escorts told the patrolling guard that intercepted us, and the woman nodded her helmeted head and looked over at me as my escorts turned and marched away.
“Lucky you, Forty-One. We had bets on whether or not you were dead. You just made me five-hundred credits. You’re in Barracks Cresh, on the left. Find your bunk and get in, you’ve got four hours before your shift begins. We’ll go over your duties then.” She informed me bluntly, gesturing towards one of the buildings, which I saw had the Aurebesh letter for C painted on the side in white.
I nodded and scurried away, feeling her gaze on my back. The interior was dimly lit, enough to put one foot in front of another, and I could just barely see the rows of stacked bunks that filled the room, the gleam of a handful of toilets along the back wall. No privacy, but at least it was more than the latrine ditch that I had expected. I carefully made my way through the rows, listening to the whimpers, snores, and soft breathing of my fellow slaves as I searched for the bunk labeled Forty-One. I gave a sigh of relief as I saw that it was a bottom bunk, which meant I wouldn’t have to wake someone (or risk falling in the dark) by trying to climb a ladder.
Slipping beneath the thin, plain blankets, I curled up and closed my eyes, hoping that when I woke up, a path forward would present itself to me.
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Three Weeks Later
I tossed the large stone I was holding aside with a grunt and straightened with a groan, massaging my lower back for a moment and shaking my sweaty hair out of my eyes. For three weeks now, I had been working alongside countless other slaves to maintain and expand the useable area of House Luwian’s estate grounds, and for three weeks I had been slowly and carefully gathering information on my new existence.
It was a handful of years before the beginning of canon, as best I could figure based on what I had heard, three at the most. My owner was a part of the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge and, tangentially, the Sphere of Biotic Sciences, obsessed with rediscovering and improving upon ancient Sith Sorcery and Alchemical rituals lost over the centuries. On the one hand, that meant that there was an insane amount of knowledge to be found inside the estate. On the other, that meant the man worked (at least partially) for Thanaton, probably the least likeable character in the Sorcerer story line. I know it was the point of the story, but Thanaton was such a massive hypocrite that it was legitimately appalling.
I had also, thanks to the reflective walls of my barracks, discovered what my new body looked like, and it was one of the most reassuring things I could imagine, because I just so happened to look exactly like my main Sith Inquisitor character from the game. Barring character creation limitations, of course. Vestara Khai, Darth Inanna, was the name I had chosen for her, and she was intended to fit the concept of femme fatale to the hilt. From my memories, I had once had brown hair and soft green eyes, but given I now had silver-white hair and crimson eyes…well, the things that my owner had done to me had changed my body in many ways.
I glanced down at my arms, seeing the faint glow through the rough cloth that represented the scarlet scars that had been carved into my flesh. Yet more visible representations of the atrocities that Luwian had visited upon my soul and my body in his pursuit of knowledge, atrocities I fully intend to revisit upon him. And I knew exactly how I would do so, as well.
From the rumors amongst the rest of the slaves, Asmu-Nikal, the daughter and middle child of House Luwian, would soon be returning home from Korriban. In fact, most seemed to agree that she would be arriving sometime in the next day or so, at least according to the network of scuttlebutt that flowed between the slaves responsible for the estate grounds and the manor itself. If I could get her attention, somehow, and become a member of the household staff, I could try to gather more information and knowledge of the Force. Enough to break my chains.
I felt my presence in the Force, my not-insignificant aura within it’s fabric, writhe and swirl with agitation as I scoffed at myself and hefted another stone. Such a vague and nebulous plan was hardly going to do me any good, was it? No, I had to resign myself to the fact that I could be here for years before I managed to put anything into place. This wasn’t a video game anymore, it was real life, and convenient plot twists wouldn’t just…
“Put that aside, Forty-One. Your presence is required immediately.” One of the camp guardswomen, a Brentaali named Kiana, instructed coldly from behind me, voice modulated by her helmet, her presence in the Force radiating resignation.
That was…not encouraging.
“Of course, guardswoman. I live to serve the House of Luwian.” I promptly obeyed, tossing the stone aside and dusting my hands off as she back-faced and began marching back the way she had come. I didn’t have a choice but to obey, of course. Certainly, I could be on my way to my death, if Luwian had finally tired of my existence, but I had to hope it was more than that. Without hope, I was doomed anyway.
We made our way to the gardens, and I raised an eyebrow as I witnessed several servants and slaves gathering the boxes and bags that surrounded a female Pureblood dressed in basic, but well-made armor. The kind of armor a Sith Apprentice would wear. They turned to face us, and I felt my breath catch slightly at the sight of her. She was beautiful, her skin a deep wine shade, her eyes a soft golden gleam, her hair a long and lustrous black. That alone would have made me happy, but she was one of those Purebloods whose facial spines accentuated the curves and angles of their face rather than jutting out in ways that would be distinctly dangerous for any close encounters of the romantic kind.
“My Lady Asmu-Nikal, daughter of Lord Luwian. Slave Number Forty-One, retrieved from her work camp in accordance with your orders.” Kiana reported with a salute, and the Pureblood arched an eyebrow before tilting her head slightly, indicating for the armored woman to step aside. She obeyed, and the Pureblood slowly strolled over to me, every movement as fluid and graceful as any dancer could have hoped for.
“Hmm. She is as you described her, which I confess is surprising. Exotic and attractive slaves are not typically used for hard labor, especially not ones that radiate such a presence in The Force. A foolish and baffling waste of so fine a specimen.” Asmu-Nikal mused, looking me up and down before circling me like a predator, eyes raking my form with an interest that was palpable. “So, you’re the presence I sensed upon my arrival on the grounds? The second-generation experiment of my father’s? The one that he failed to kill despite his best efforts?”
“I am Vestara Khai, and I was too strong for your father to kill, yes.” I responded, standing straight and proud as I let slip a trickle of Force energy in her direction, coiling it around her own presence in the Force, tiny strands latching onto her like the gossamer threads of a spider’s web. An appropriate metaphor, on many levels. Also a dangerous move, given her trained nature, but one that I could risk given my inexperience. It would be all to easy to pass it off as accidental or beyond my control if it was noticed.
Not the only dangerous move I had just made, of course, and I could feel the violent intent radiating off of Kiana as she prepared to remind me of my place for speaking with such impertinence. Fortunately for me, Asmu-Nikal lifted a hand towards the guardswoman, halting her imminent harm to my person.
“You are bold, brash, and brave. Foolishly so. However, your strength is undeniable, despite its profoundly unhoned nature. As is your exoticism and your beauty, despite the scars and callouses and filth that cover your body.” She remarked, sounding distinctly amused, folding her hands behind her back and regarding me for a moment longer before continuing. “You are wasted in your current tasks, and from now on you will serve as one of my personal slaves.”
The female pureblood’s tone was thoughtful, lacking the cruel edge of command from her father and brothers, and I blinked as she turned and started walking towards the manor. I stared at her back, immobile for a heartbeat, before a light shove at between my shoulder blades snapped me out of my surprise.
“Move it, Forty-One. You don’t get to stand around and stare just because you’re a household slave now.” Kiana ordered briskly, and I nodded choppily as I obeyed, hurrying after Asmu-Nikal as she crossed the intervening distance to the entrance stairs and began to ascend. I fell into place behind her right shoulder as she waved her hands, opening the doors with a pulse of the Force, and swept through into her home.
“Sister, welcome back.” Tudhaliya, the elder of the sons, was waiting for us in the entrance hall, greeting his sister with a nod before narrowing his pale-yellow eyes at me. He was impressive, even by pureblood standards, tall and broad and possessing strong facial spikes. A veritable crimson wall that breathed and moved, I had pegged him as a Juggernaut the first time I had seen him. “What is this mutated freak doing here instead of the grounds?”
“That ‘mutated freak’ is my personal slave, now. You two and father were wasting her on physical labor, she is far too pleasing to the eye to use for nothing more than lugging rocks about.” Asmu-Nikal responded, raising her eyebrow and giving her brother a slight frown. She visibly paused as a thought occurred to her, and she tilted her head thoughtfully. “You know, brother, I would have expected you to try and get your perverse hands all over a specimen this fine. You’re not normally known for your restraint when it comes to pretty females, willing or otherwise.”
“If the freak had a nothing but tits and a cunt like it ought to, it wouldn’t be allowed out of my rooms.” Her brother bit back with a scowl, folding his arms across his chest as he glowered at his sister, Force presence bleeding irritation. “Instead, it’s got tits, a cunt, and a cock, thanks to Father’s experiments on its mother while it was in the womb.”
“Oh?” Asmu-Nikal responded, glancing back at me with a curious gaze, and I blushed slightly at her regard. She hummed lowly, looking me up and down once again, eyes lingering on my crotch and chest, before looking back at her brother. “Fascinating. I had thought her something simply due to her survival and her presence in the Force, but a human chimera…truly, she is unique.”
“A chimera? Hardly, daughter, do not disgrace those noble paragons of our race by applying their label to this twisted creature.” The regal and refined voice of the Lady Luwian, Nikal-Mati, chastised coolly as the lady herself descended the stairs like a queen with her younger son, Asmi-Sarruma, at her side. “Chimera are gifts from the Emperor to the greatest of Dynasties, intended to spread the power of their blood wider and richer than any regular man could manage. This slave is the result of your father’s sorcery, nothing more.”
“Mother, little brother, it’s good to see you both again.” Asmu-Nikal responded, inclining her head respectfully, though she didn’t budge besides that, and her tone was unyielding as she continued. “Experiment or not, natural or not, she is wasted on her previous tasks. The majority of the slaves I had before I left for my trials were nothing compared to her, and if I am to attend balls and banquets and roam the city markets with a slave to serve me, it will be one that is unique and memorable.”
She grinned, eyes alight with wicked, mischievous delight as a thought occurred.
“Ah, for the jealousy of my peers, when their handmaidens are compared to mine. All of the other girls in my age group have twi’leks or togrutas or battered, mousy little human girls. Bland, uninteresting, generic things that might as well be clones for all the difference between them…”
“You, meanwhile, will stand apart with this one?” Nikal-Mati finished the thought dryly, shaking her head in what I could have sworn was fond exasperation. “You and your competitiveness with those girls, it truly is something else. It is one of the reasons why your father and I knew that you would do well on Korriban, you know.” She paused, the slightest amounts of mirth and affection that had reached her expression and tone vanishing. “I trust you did well?”
It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t a statement. It was a veiled warning, delivered by a fully trained, adult Sith matriarch protecting the reputation of her House. Daughter or no daughter, Asmu-Nikal was clearly in danger if her answer was unsatisfactory.
“Of course I did, mother. The trials barely challenged me, and I have been taken as an apprentice by Lord Acharon here on Dromuund Kaas.” Asmu-Nikal assured her proudly, and I felt my eyebrows rise. Had I been less used to my new life, I might have blurted out something foolish, but the knowledge that my new, personal mistress was the apprentice to the future Dark Councilor for Biotic Science was quite interesting indeed. Unsurprising as well, given her father’s interests and talents. Acharon was doubtless hoping to gain access to the knowledge of House Luwian and it’s ruling Lord.
“Good. Your belongings have been sent to your rooms. Take your new slave and show her the duties you expect her to perform. Remember that she belongs to your father first, so if he decides to make use of her once again, you must obey.” The Lady waved her hand in dismissal, gesturing for her sons to follow her as she started from the room. “The evening meal is at the usual time. Your father and I look forward to you regaling us with your feats on the homeworld.”
“Of course, mother.” The daughter murmured with a slight bow, watching her mother until the older woman was out of sight, before huffing out a soft sigh and heading for the stairs whence her mother had come. I padded after her, eyeing her hips through her form-fitting equipment as subtly as I could. It wouldn’t do my plans any good to get shot for oogling my owner, after all, even if it was obvious that she actually had the superior breeding that Purebloods liked to constantly gloat about.
As we made our way through the manor, I eyed the artifacts lining the hallways. Some were purely ornamental, some (like the warblades that probably dated back the likes of Karnass Muur and Ajuunta Pall) were as functional as they were beautiful. The vast majority, however, were ancient. Either my owners were an ancient family, or had destroyed one and looted their corpses. Even getting lucky in the field of Archaeology couldn’t explain all of this, otherwise.
“In awe of my family’s wealth, Vestara?” Asmu-Nikal asked coolly from ahead of me, and I refocused my attention on her to see that she had not even turned to look at me. Well, that was unsurprising. She could probably sense through the Force that my attention had not been on her and that I was impressed, so guessing the cause would have been easy for her.
“I am impressed by the history, milady, that I see in the artifacts.” I responded honestly, and she hummed in agreement and curiosity.
“And how do you, a slave, know anything that there is to know about the history behind any of these items, Vestara Khai?” she asked, and the words were not nearly as sarcastic as they might have been coming from someone else. Provided that said ‘someone else’ didn’t just beat me or kill me for my ‘insolence’ in daring to think at all. I was silent for a moment, trying to figure out a response to a question I hadn’t expected to receive, before opting for a safe answer, and a generic one.
“No one notices slaves, milady, and will speak of many things in front of them that they would not speak of in front of those they consider their equals.”
She hummed again, looking and feeling thoughtful, as we arrived at the threshold of her wing. It was emptier, less decorated, than that of her parents, a subtle reminder from them to her that she was both a child and not the heiress. A display of the disparity between their wealth and her own, to ensure she didn’t forget her place.
“Welcome home, mistress. I’m glad to see that you passed your trials and earned your rightful place as the apprentice of a powerful lord.” Another slave, a cute and petite little thing with soft brown eyes and raven’s-wing black hair, dressed only in strips of sheer clothe arranged in a V that ‘covered’ nothing more than her nipples and her crotch, greeted us.
“Vestara, this is Kela. She has been a maid of mine since I was a child. She will show you the bunk rooms and give you a brief overview of the rest of the slave quarters. When I return from the evening meal, the two of you will be waiting for me here to perform your duties.” Asmu-Nikal told me, waving a hand at the girl, who glanced at me and gave an imperceptible nod of acknowledgement before returning her attention to our mutual mistress. “For now, Kela will assist me in preparing for my meal. You will wait in the corner of the room and observe, silently.”
“Of course, milady.” I murmured with a slight bow, eyeing Kela with a great deal of interest. Her nipples were visibly aroused, peaking behind their essentially irrelevant coverage, and I could see that her pubes were well groomed and taken care of. The way she was dressed as well as Asmu-Nikal’s earlier comments also had me wondering about the pureblood’s tastes when it came to companionship. As I followed the pair down the hall, I found myself looking forward to my tasks for my new mistress, whatever they might be. I had a path forward now, and if I had my way both my ‘mistress’ and her cute little human pet would be mine.
After all, the way of the Sith was the way of Passion.
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So, new story, yay? I’ve been intending to do a SWTOR story for…a very, very long time. Finally decided to do it now, mostly thanks to reading Surviving in a Galaxy Far, Far Away by SelfAwareDegenerate over on A03. Also thanks to the fact that I’m burning out on all the Worm content I’m writing. Three of my six stories currently are Worm, and it used to be four of seven before I put Because of the War on hiatus.
Now, I did start much like his story did, but I did talk to him about it. I presented two different starting scenarios, this being one and one taking place a couple of in-universe years earlier, and he suggested that starting with the game content and going over the MC’s backstory in bits and pieces through her interactions with those around her was probably a better idea.
I agreed at first, but after two or three chapters I felt I was stepping too much into the way that his story started, and decided to go this way instead.
As always, read and review and consider supporting me on Patreon!
