Private A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The clatter of Gerra's treasures sweeping off the table and onto the floor was as nothing compared to the rushing of blood roaring in Vatrës' ears as her pulse pounded painfully in her temples and her throat and throbbed in the gash she had sustained in Vahl's possession. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt as he lifted her onto the table, arms flexed between pushing him away and pulling him closer, deeper -- an indecisiveness that played out across her entire being.

Vahl loomed large even in absentia, though her presence was vanishing then, replaced by the overwhelming presence of the Qhan. His broad, tall body was nearly all-consuming, warm and hard beneath her fingers even through the fabric of his clothing. There was something reassuring about his size and obvious strength. Something exhilarating about his power, palpable even in the absence of the Force. Something frightening about his disregard for the wishes of the goddess, and his devil-may-care attitude toward the consequences of this behavior.

Yet, in that moment the Avatara could not resist him and found that without the seething, hissing goddess in her mind, she didn't even feel the desire to do so. Still -- some token of resistance, in case Vahl could see despite being separated from her somehow, would be appropriate. She broke away from his kiss, turning her head slightly so that his mouth worked against her jaw. "You absolute -- " and here, the Avatara made a noise she could not, would not dignify with a description that began somewhere in her throat, " -- brute!"

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Teeth gnawed and worried at her jaw, raking skin in a manner utterly primal and animalistic as though he might suck the very marrow from her bones. Gerra cared not for the propriety of man, or even gods. Only the taste of her skin, the salt and bitter tang, consumed him in this moment.

Only for a breath did he pull away from her, his eyes hot as twin glowing brands, searing her with gaze alone. His hands rose, gripped the two halves of her tunic - already partially ripped.

“Yes,” he snarled, “I am.”

Then he tore the garment clean in half and tossed aside the shreds like so much useless debris. They fluttered briefly in the air, helpless and frayed, drifting toward the deck.

In an instant, his teeth returned to her neck, scraping and sucking as if to consume her blood and marrow.

Strong, calloused hands roved her form.

And Vahl, blinded by the necklace, knew not what happened next.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

In time, the appropriated vessel of the dead Chosen emerged from hyperspace near the rendezvous coordinates. At the helm, Gerra glowered at the sensor readings.

“The last Chosen will not suspect us in kindred ship. This is why I have not summoned my fleet. You and I together can finish what we started, in ash and blood.”

The hulking Vahlan, cramped in the pilots chair, grimaced, “We meet upon their ancestor ship,” one of the few vessels in the Vahlan nomads that had last through the millennia and carried many of their priests and gathered knowledge. “That habitation sphere before us is the Chosen’s own. We disembark and slay all before us until we reach the Chosen. With our powers combined, who can stand against us?”

The plan was absurd, reckless, and employed brute force.

In other words, it well suited the warlord. He turned his eyes, red and golden with the touch of the Dark Side, upon the white haired beauty, Vatrës.

“What think you?”

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The flight had left the Avatara slightly worse for wear by looking at her. She flinched at Gerra's deep, rumbling voice, and winced at some internal chastisement. She wanted to object; surely all of the people on the Chosen's habitation sphere did not deserve death. They were misled more than misleading, surely. Yet she could not muster the energy to be indignant, and Vahl did not whisper of mercy to her as she had in moments past. So she merely nodded listlessly.

"A sound plan," Vatrës conceded. Her voice was dull, as if reading from a reference text. "Viper or not, Inanna will not be expecting us, so we may yet have the upper hand. The goddess would have words with her before she meets her fate. She -- kindly requests -- that you not slay her before she has had the opportunity. Inanna will know the error of her ways before being invited to consider her sins for eternity."

The Avatara rose from her seat and left the warlord's company and the cockpit. She returned to the cabin, where she perused the clothes whichever unfortunate Chosen had owned this vessel prior to their untimely death. The robes she located drowned her slender frame. With her lightsaber she made short work of the hem. Not her best work, but the ragged, charred hemline were not unsuited to the task. And the flame motif of the golden embroidery that flanked her neckline and cuffs adorned fabric that was of much nicer quality than anything she had owned to date.

The riches of obedience, Vahl whispered within her mind. Yet more will be thine when you follow my commandments. And the Champion, too, as I hope he is beginning to understand.

"As you say, my Lady," Vatrës said, her voice flat.

Vahl chuckled indulgently within her. You may be as sullen as you please, little flame, as long as you remember the lesson. But for now, prepare.

In the mirror Vatrës looked like hell. The wound she had suffered when Vahl ceased to possess her had scabbed, but her pale face bore shadows that might have been smudges if they weren't faintly purple-blue. Her hair, at least, was clean and tidy, having benefited from a shower. She adjusted the neckline of the robes until they framed the shard of Vahl just so. Inanna might fear her, or else recognize her and mock, but in any event she would know the cause of her death.

She worked her boots back on and tucked her lightsaber into the belt of her new robes, then returned to the cockpit.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"Battle is not so clean a thing that I may choose with a mere thought who lives and who dies," rumbled Gerra in reply, annoyed.

His clean shaven jaw flexed, skin gray as fresh ash tightening. "But so be it. If this pleaseth Vahl, and you, I shall spare the wretch long enough to see the goddess will be wrought."

The image of the self-righteous fool being immolated on her knees by Vahl quickly brought back Gerra's good humor.

"Hm. Good. The Vahlans who fought beside me will not oppose me. I know their hearts. They would challenge me in any other matter, but none bear love for this Chosen. They may fear her, but they will fear us more. And when presented with the Avatar, who among them would deny you?"

Golden eyes slid sidelong to regard the white-haired priestess.

"Prepare thyself. We approach."

A tractor beam snared them and drew them toward a massive hangar bay of the ancestor ship. A half-dozen queries lit up the display, but Gerra made no move to answer them. He possessed guile, but none such as others might seek to employ with gilded words. His lay in action, or the lack of it.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës shut her eyes briefly, eyelids pressing so hard that after a few moments she heard her pulse thrumming in her ear and a kind of sound that reminded her of a rushing river. She probed the spot in her mind she came to identify with Vahl, the brooding, capricious, sometimes malevolent, sometimes amused hollow of darkness. She imagined Vahl there, enthroned, watching, always watching. Vatrës offered it her thought: should they attempt to spare any of the other Vahla?

No answer came; the goddess mandated neither slaughter nor mercy.

The Avatara took a breath and suppressed a sense of vertigo, opening her eyes. "I understand, Champion," she said. Not a snap, but certainly terse.

Vatrës descended the ramp, fully prepared to make speak peacefully with whoever greeted them, but when they saw someone who was not the Chosen to whom the ship had belonged, they responded with predictable violence. The Avatara frowned, canted her head to one side. "Well... I tried." She and the Champion carved a path of destruction through the worldship until they reached Inanna, secluded in a ritual chamber.

"Attend you, all. She comes," Inanna said, her deep voice pleased. "As the portents foretold." She gestured, vaguely, to the broad circular platform at whose center she sat cross-legged. Her hands and forearms were crimson with blood, and the hems of her robes, too, blood from the ritual sacrifice whose limbs and organs were now strewn around her. "The Avatara and the Champion. I am in rarified company indeed."

The flames int he candles flickered, then glowed brighter, drawing toward Vatrës as she moved closer. "You call me Avatara," she said bluntly. "But you sent the Champion to kill me."

"I did," Inanna said, no attempt at evasion. "I would do it again. But not for the same reasons as the other cravens. They are content to enrich themselves from Vahlan hordes they are not tenacious enough to plunder themselves, and to twiddle their thumbs while the homeworld remains a wound, making no effort to locate and secure it. Fools."

"And you?"

Inanna remained silent a moment. "I long for the homeworld. I have seen it, you know -- farseeing, the goddess has blessed me with glimpses -- and it is beautiful and terrible. You possess the power to open the way. To bring about the Joining. I have seen it."

Vatrës felt her pulse quicken as she drew closer. "Yet you would stop me?"

"Aye," said Inanna, her voice amused but frank. "Has the goddess shown you the future? It's -- Vatrës, isn't it?" Inanna's tongue worked beautifully around her name. Vahh-trrrrayce. "You do not know the rituals yet. You will learn them, child. But the goddess has given me that gift. The ritual is not always precise, and the future she shows often less so. But this?" Another broad gesture at the corpse broken apart around her. "Crystal clear. Unambiguous. I will die today, and by the goddess' hand."

The Avatara inclined her chin; within her Vahl chuckled throatily. "Why would you prevent me opening the way? You are Chosen -- your one sacred obligation is to facilitate our people's return to the homeworld. Speak true, Inanna, I will know."

Inanna rested her bloody hands in her lap, lacing fingers together. "Our people were torn asunder by a failed Joining once, child. I am not confident it could survive another. And for every glimpse of the future that shows you triumphant, reuniting our people with Vahl, there is a glimpse where your failure is total, and the homeworld is lost even more." Inanna paused, her gaze flicking from Vatrës to Hasuras Na-Gerra . "Perhaps I should be more precise. It is the failure of the Avatara but the cause is the willfulness of the Champion."

Vatrës followed Inanna's gaze to Gerra. "I don't believe you," she told Inanna without looking away. "The Champion and the goddess have come to an... understanding. I have no doubts as to his loyalty."

Inanna's chin tilted back to Vatrës, a sadness in her eyes. "Does he know what she will demand? Do you?"

The last thing Vatrës saw was the surge of the flames in the chamber, the golden glow growing and then guttering completely, then all went black as Vahl took her.

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The hulking warlord stood in the background as the Avatara spake with the last of the Chosen. His mien both disgusted and aloof, for his lips turned down at the corners as he surveyed the room littered with Inanna's sacrificial offerings. The air reeked of offal and copper, a thick and wretched stench beneath the wafting fumes of burning incense.

His gaze traversed behind the Chosen, wary of a trap sprung in secret for this all seemed far too easy. But Inanna had ever been the cleverest among the priesthood. And the most zealous. The muscles in Gerra's jaw rippled as he ground his teeth, waiting for their conversation to meet its inevitable terminus.

When Vatres looked to him along with the Chosen, Gerra did not look away, chest swollen with pride and eyes blazing like twin stars. He met their gazes and dared them to lay all their miserable prophecies at his feet. And so Inanna did, speaking of what she saw in the flames.

Derision twisted Gerra's features and he let out a snort.

"Some last desperate ploy," he spat, "an attempt to turn us upon each other in the hopes you will be spared."

Suddenly, the presences in the room shifted and Gerra took a step back as the Dark Side billowed forth from Vatres like smoke, announcing that Vahl had manifested in full.

"Kill her, goddess. End this farce."

Vatrës Dhalis