Generally speaking, Daleks do not have names in the sense that many other lifeforms do; upon gestation and placement in a casing, they are assigned an alphanumerical designation and that is it. There had been some exceptions: Those deviants corrupted with the human factor by the Doctor; also that cadre which called themselves the Cult of Skaro. The two Daleks on guard duty outside the castle had been average drones before their ship was caught in the war-caused time storm, flung to this distant part of the universe and left to drift until Stepmother found them and adopted them. To show her love, she had given them proper names. These two were Lucian and Ulfus. Daleks can never love, but they can be loyal, and Lucian and Ulfus were loyal to Stepmother.
The two of them were presently stationed just yards from the entrance to the castle, built into the side of the mountain. All around were walls of grey rock and white snow, but their mechanical outer eyes transmitted it to them in sickly shades of green. The slimy mass that was Ulfus' organic core throbbed obscenely in its metal nest as it monitored the image of the narrow, rocky ravine ahead of it. Then it zeroed in on the helmeted biped figure that suddenly appeared from around the corner, their arms held up, palms forward, and over its audio receptors, Ulfus heard Lucian screech "HALT!" The two of them fixed their gunsticks onto the stranger, who merely stretched one arm forward...And then, totally against their will, the two Daleks pivoted to face each other. "What is happening?" they both croaked in alarm. "Malfunction, malfunction...!" Their guns fired, Ulfus and Lucian shrieked briefly as their casings ruptured and their flesh burst into flame. As smoke billowed from the burning wrecks into the frosty air, Tarre Vizsla approached calmly. Behind him were the Doctor, Ian and Gareth, the last two struggling not to vomit at the sight and smell of the meaty lumps cooking.
"Mum, the smell," Ian gasped, "It's...it's like...HATE..."
"Like a stench from the Pit," Gareth added.
The Doctor looked at both of them in concern. "Do you want to go back tothe TARDIS?" Ian and Gareth shook their heads.
"It may be for the best," Vizsla told them.
"I'm not leaving my Mum!" Ian shot at him. Vizsla looked at his expression, and Gareth's, saw the determination there, despite their fear. He had to admire their faith in this Doctor. A lot like his own faith in the Force and the Jedi Order. And he had seen they were too mentally strong for his mind tricks. So he walked on past the slain Daleks, his new friends with him every step...And he was glad of their company. On their way here through the snow, Ian had asked him "These Jedi you belong to...do they all dress like you, with those helmets?"
Who are these people? Vizsla wondered. How can they not know these things? But he answered: "My helmet and armour are traditional Mandalorian. As a Jedi, I may not adhere to all of Mandalore's customs, but I respect one, and that is that once I don this helmet, I may not remove it, save when I am alone or with very close friends or family. It is...the Way."
The Doctor seemed to ponder this, and then commented simply "Interesting." Vizsla sensed she and her companions had more questions, but they kept quiet, probably knowing he had to focus in such a hazardous situation. All of them did. Now, as the four of them crossed the threshold into the castle of Darth Kranna, the tension mounted. "Hold my hand, Ian," the Doctor murmured. "Don't let go." Gareth whispered another hasty prayer.
And somewhere deep inside the innermost recesses of the castle, a circle of icy blue glowed above two yellow and black eyes. And a voice, human and female, yet neither, hissed "I feel you, Tarre...And you, Doctor..."