Private A Bid For Brosi

[Madrona A’Mia]

Outer Rim Territories
Brosi
A Short Time After the Imperial Invasion
Theme​

The proverbial dust had hardly settled along the frontlines of the Stygian Caldera theater, where Imperials had pushed an assault on Brosi and the Holy Worlds responded fiercely in turn. Where once not so long before a deadly virus threatened to become endemic and might even have spread through the rest of the Vassal Cloud, now thrived a planet reborn from the ashes of cleansing fire and fed through sorcery fueled by Death.

It was there, nestled within a bright new grove that A'Mia and one of her students now studied the Weave where it thrummed about Brosi.

Seated in repose like a living statue, the neti meditated in a glade both beautiful and macabre. With imperial armor scattered about the place, like so many insect carapaces emptied of their meat by some great spider or shellfish cracked open and divested of substance by some ravenous giant, remnants of the recent conflict were plain to see despite the rampant growth across the various battlefields.

This spotless carnage was thanks in part to the voracious and transformative power of the ritual wrought by Darth Caedes , Revna, and Srina. Not a single ounce of gore had been wasted in the aftermath, all of it went to serve a greater purpose.

What once was a warzone littered with biohazards, now flourished an ever expanding series of forests which originated from their center: Psilofyr.

Mycelial networks grew from the Reyno Valley to the Bay of Sypon, questing tendrils worked their way ever farther all while new trees and bushes seemed to appear every passing hour. The rampant growth cycle had started to slow, with no new decay to feed from yet, but A'Mia was just beginning to acquaint herself with the place she planned to call a second home.

We are well beyond the Shoengen Coast, we can sense the roots of the Talbot Ridges now— where soil meets bedrock, where the very stones will soon come alive.
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She spoke in the collective "we" and addressed Lysander von Ascania as well as any other that might be tapped into the Weave where they currently dreamed alongside the reborn planet.

Though her body was singular, at rest in the grove, her mind wandered freely along many pathways and she airily offered guidance to the Sith apprentice she'd borrowed from Revna Marr ’s tutelage for a time. So that he too might glean wisdom from the dark miracle the planet had undergone and even offer his own perspective on their findings.

Despite the incredible bloom of flora across the globe, Brosi still lacked significant populations of fauna. The zinsian and hfredium mines were operational again thanks to the united effort of many Sith and a workforce of droids, and there were a few hundred scattered Sithspawn that had survived the purification process. The planet was otherwise fairly barren, particularly of sentient life, and so the approach of two powerful life forms drew A'Mia from her reverie with interest.

Her form stirred, her mind began to withdraw from the dizzying and blissful vastness of such all encompassing awareness, and the neti's large blue-green eyes opened. Out of habit, she still spoke through the mental bond.

We have visitors.

Srina Talon | Taeli Raaf​

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Madrona A’Mia | Srina Talon | Taeli Raaf

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Lysander's black tunic caught the light of the grove. Approaching the Neti, there was reverence in his movements, deepening; he bowed his head, closing his eyes to attune himself. The teen's breath fell into rhythm with the hum of the forest, as if aligning with Brosi's heartbeat.

Laced through their shared link, a note of thanks emerged, floating like a whisper in the space between them. <Thank you, A’Mia, for showing me the intricacies of rebirth.> His hand traced the glowing root beneath him, the grooves pulsing with memories of life and death.

Echoes of mortality still rang in his ears, recalling the brutal Shoengen battle that had taken place only days ago, the taste of ash and blood lingering on his tongue. Another soft exhale followed. <It's kind of hard to believe how life surges now, amidst all the destruction.>

Curiosity flowed through him. A faint, brief smile curved Lysander's features as he reached inward, feeling strands of his own energy being woven into the glowing mycelium. <Help me understand how to honor this bond.>

For in this tangled connection between life and death, between flesh and fungus, he found an allure that was oddly impossible to resist. <What’s the next step.. toward hidden places or deeper into the Weave?>

He then moved beside her still form, his body settling into a meditative stance with legs crossed and hands resting on his knees, every muscle relaxed. This was a position he found himself in often, but this time it felt different, easier to sink into a state of calm. Slowly turning his head, a sheepish arch lifted his brow, absorbing the reality of seeing his own physical form again after being so deeply immersed in the metaphysical realm.

Glancing down, he gave her armored forearm a quick jab with his fingertip; it was meant more as a question than a challenge. A grin born of mischief caressed his lips. "My bad. Forgive me," he quipped warmly, "but I wanted to check and make sure you're not just another illusion."

Lysander's vision danced with a myriad of hues, each tree pulsing with vibrant light. Pupils were dilated, eyes half lidded, though it could have simply been the effects of being properly dosed by his professor once more.

 

[Srina Talon]

Tag: Madrona A’Mia | Lysander von Ascania | Taeli Raaf
Location: Brosi [The Grove]
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Everything was so old…And yet very, very new.

The blooming greenery had given birth to bright colors that artfully disguised the fact that Brosi had once been scarred and full of malevolent corruption. There had been much to do. Even…As Psilofyr stretched toward the sky and their people began to chase Imperial remnants out of their space, Srina felt as if she hadn't slept properly in weeks. There was too much on her mind, and rest did not come easily for one who often felt like the entirety of a nation was nestled for better or worse against her chest.

It was suffocating…But even as it stole the air from her lungs—It gave ger purpose. The Sith Empress wore not a crown but, as always, remained wreathed and set apart from others, in the invisible certainty of her own strength. There was grace to it, an eloquence that bore the prowess of both warrior and the fiercest mother. It was…Her way. To be simple, but never plain. Delicate, but never weak.

"I do not mistake this victory for peace."

It would be unclear to whom she was speaking, though she was clearly alone. Her dulcet tones were a little hoarse from breathing in so much smoke and ash. The air of Brosi was much cleaner than it had been. Enough that she could go without her rebreather…But the damage was already done. It would take time to heal fully. Hawkish eyes slid over the battlefield-turned-garden, loose ivory hair catching faintly on newly sprouted branches, as if they were little fingers running through it. The kiss of primrose lips twitched, the corner of her mouth lifting in faint amusement…"Yes…Yes. You are very impressive. Brosi…It remembers death, too well."

"You shouldn't forget what fed you. Neither should we."

She could still feel the phantom heartbeat of the mycelial network in the back of her mind, but beyond that was the creation that she had bestowed blood to. Srina was speaking to Psilofyr rather candidly, even though it didn't really respond with words. She could sense the shape of it and see colors that gave way to a perfect bubble of thought and mood. Something about the way she had woven together the pieces of the ritual made her hyper-aware of this world. The pale woman was not connected in the way the Hordemother was…Nothing so intricate.

But there was something.

It was the same something that had allowed her to guide the tendril-like vines to save her children from a distance and pull them into the earth for protection. Her steps were silent, yet her force signature had been left unclouded. There was nothing here she needed to hide from. No Imperials…No ego. Just the sensation of a planet forever changing, terraforming, into something most Jedi could only dream of. A world full of brilliance…It was ironic. That Sith, in this war, in a dark hour of brutality…

…Stood on the side of life. Not destruction. Creation.

It was her penance for ordering its sterilization.

"Do I interrupt?"

The words that left her for Madrona A’Mia and Lysander von Ascania were barely a whisper, but none in the grove should have any difficulty hearing her. It was curious to watch them. The stillness was filled to the brim with both beauty and sin, but both remained wrapped in the throes of a bond she could subtly sense but was not part of. Srina stepped neatly around a piece of armor that was overgrown with vines and bright purple flowers. It was worn, dirty, with a hole punched through…

Where life had found a way.

The layered black silk of her clothing shimmered faintly with threads of silver, cutting close to her frame, before flowing outward in trailing hems that brushed the ground like curling smoke. Over her waist and ribs rest an armored corset of unknown metal, silvery, and molded to her shape with understated engravings in ur-Kittât. It was functional. Brosi was relatively…Safe.

Where she had come from was not.

It lent a quiet severity to an otherwise ethereal appearance. It was a reminder that, despite her mortality, she was still a force to be reckoned with. Srina had not the might of her husband, nor the temperament, but she had been raised in steel and flame. She would not bend. She would not break—And certainly, would not be undone by the threat of Imperial aggression.

"I can return another time–"

A vine curled slowly up from the ground and wrapped around her wrist, twining slowly around her arm. Curious. Did Psilofyr wish that she stay? It was hard to tell what belonged to the seed that she had helped nurture and what was part of this new Brosi simply being…Hungry. She supposed she had familiar energy and very likely did feel like some sort of flesh-based snack.

"–If the Hordemother and her student are occupied?"

There was another tug at her wrist. More insistent. Almost, petulant.

Interesting.