Private A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

[Vatrës Dhalis]

the Champion stood unhidden, vast and sure
he knew his effect, of that all could be sure
she thought of women and of what he took
then felt a darker gaze behind her look​

"I -- " The Avatara stammered, heat rising in her throat.

There it was again: that queer, prickling sensation beneath her sternum, a sort of fierce sense of covetousness -- of ownership. It accompanied a throb of anger, but it took a moment for Vatrës to grasp why. Her black eyes were locked to the Champion -- partially in shock, partially in appreciation. She was aware of his body -- all of it -- with an iron-clad understanding that she was seeing what she ought not. That she was spying what she knew to belong to someone else. A subtle guilty thrill of prowling in someone else's private museum, ogling someone else's prized art, made her stomach twist.

And worse. Appreciating it. Hasuras Na-Gerra knew what he was to women, clearly. Perhaps he did not fully appreciate what he was to the goddess Vahl. Yet.

There was anger, too, Vahl's anger, unmistakable and raw and painful.

You presume to speak for Me? You use My name in jest? Vahl's voice was a poisoned whisper in her mind, and the Avatara could feel the goddess' presence expanding in her mind, with all the pain that came with Her approach.

"Forgive me, my lady," Vatrës gasped, and she took a half-step back, groping for the door frame. Gerra would feel the spike of fear -- no, not fear, terror -- as her vision narrowed and her fingers went slack on the doorstep. "Please -- I meant nothing by -- " She choked on the rest of the sentence.

Blackness enveloped her eyes and Vatrës went slack for a moment. When she spoke it was in that other voice, the voice of the goddess. "I demand nothing more than what I am owed," Vahl declared, lifting Vatrës' delicate chin with a defiance unsuited to the Avatara. "The faithful service of My Avatar without distraction. Discipline on the part of My Champion. I know thy heart, Hasuras Na-Gerra, I can see it as plainly as I can see thy breathing. A man of appetites indeed. But not all women belong on thy plate. Remember to whom belongest thou, and she, and know that retribution will fall on those who trespass."

for anger rose, raw, ancient, close to pain
envious pressure tightening round her brain
a whisper, poisoned, slid through thought like smoke
the veil grew thin and then suddenly broke​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

A brow lofted at Vatres' reaction and the way she spoke, seeming at once both embarrassed and frightened. Swiftly did he realize that the source of the fear didst not stem from his presence, but that of the Dark Side entity which too inhabited the woman's body. And as her fear grew and her body trembled, then grew slack... as the voice of Vahl took over and spake with ire and condescension... Gerra grew most wroth.

His brows drew down in a scowl most sharp and terrible.

"Do not mistake me, Spirit."

The words ground from his mouth with the force and weight of shifting tectonic plates biting upon one another. His lips curled into a sneer of defiance and his eyes flashed with the fury of a star's heart.

"I aid you, but I do not belong to you."

Nor did the woman Vahl possessed.

"She can choose as she wills. Or would you declare her a holy vessel to be untouched by the hands of mortals?"

He snorted in derision, for he had heard some of the Chosen take up such a stance of their own personages and priests.

"No matter. My hands shall remain free of her."

His mouth twitched. "I would not wish to scald myself."

The hulking Vahlan made to move past her and grabbed a towel.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

yet still She faced a thing She'd not weighed:
a Champion proud, refusing to be made
so wrath turned sharp, the goddess steered Her gaze
and drank in the sight of cord, flame, and blaze
then called it safety, named it virtues guard
to lock Vatrës far beneath, eyes unstarred​

There was no such thing as cold fury in the dark goddess; her rage burned like a furnace. Her avatara's flesh flushed painfully, as though magma had replaced blood within her veins. "Take pleasure and solace in thy defiance whilst thou can," Vahl rumbled from within the confines of her avatara. This vessel had been selected years ago for the prophesied qualities Vatrës would possess: sensitivity to the Force, the appropriate coloring of her hair and flesh and eyes, her proximity to where Vahl needed her to be.

She had not counted on the potential need to bring her Champion to heel. Whatever Vatrës' gifts, whatever promises of the prophecy she fulfilled, she was in no position to enforce Vahl's will any more than Vahl, in her ethereal form, was. This could be trouble.

As the warlord shifted to move past, Vahl directed the avatara to turn to allow him berth, directing the avatara's eyes to Gerra's muscular arm, his back, the yoke of his shoulders, his flamelike hair. Safe, this time, because Vatrës was locked away, beyond temptation -- because of course, the goddess would frame her own covetousness as protection of the avatara's virtue. "One day thou may rue the time spent fighting the discipline I offer, Hasuras Na-Gerra ," Vahl murmured to his retreating back. "If you would only deign to submit, our combined efforts might yet shake the foundations of this galaxy."

And when Gerra had gone far enough that his footsteps were no longer audible, so did Vahl. Not merely to abandon and punish the avatara for her lack of judgment, her disobedience, her weakness -- but because the heat of the goddess' fury was harming the girl's vapid, weak mortal form. Before the smoke began to rise -- before the fever boiled the girl's brain, the goddess ascended to wherever goddesses resided and Vatrës slumped into a heap on the floor, without a care, like a doll discarded by a bored child.

Again, Vatrës knew not how long she had been out. The pain in her head was greater, more widespread -- tender tension along her neck and shoulders, down her back. Her legs ached for where she had collapsed to her knees before slumping backwards, pinning her lower legs behind and beneath her. One arm had an ugly and painful wound where, in her collapse, she had slammed hard enough against the edge of the wardrobe to tear the skin. She had been out long enough to stop bleeding, at least.

The avatara gingerly unfolded herself, stood. Her mind was frustratingly blank, except for the vivid pain that came with breath and light. Her throat burned as if she'd breathed smoke for hours. She remembered -- fleetingly, like a half-remembered nightmare -- the feeling of fury and scorn that filled her, the fear that came with the goddess' presence this time, before -- blackness. Vahl had come.

And now Vahl had gone.

She had made it to her knees, high enough to look around the room over the top of the bed. Gerra was not there. She sensed him, nearby, his disposition somewhere between amused and pleased, she thought. Vatrës dragged herself to her feet, allowing one concession to the overwhelming pain and confusion she felt with a pained whimper. Then she was leaving, pushing through the doorway back into the corridor. The lighting had changed in the corridor, signifying some passage of time. Was it now early evening by the ship's clock? The gentle amber of the running lights was much easier on the avatara's throbbing headache than the brash, bright white would have been.

Small miracles. The idea was almost funny to a woman who knew without reservation that divinity was all too real.

She found Gerra sitting in the dining room, chair tilted back, his gargantuan legs up with his feet on the table. He had what appeared to be several treasure chests out on the table, open, rummaged, some items of interest placed out. A metallic sphere of some extraction, glowing faintly, pulsing in the Force, hovered before him. She did not announce herself, not yet, merely stood in the half-open doorway and studied him. There was nothing in her gaze that would have troubled Vahl; her gaze was appraising.

Finally she stepped inside, making a soft sighing grunt of pain and immediately regretting it. Vatrës prayed he had not noticed. "Hasuras Na-Gerra," she murmured quietly, rounding the table to stand opposite him. "Did she hurt you?" It didn't look like it, from here. But there was much she did not see.

she paused to measure him with sober sight
no longing there, no lust, just right
still she approached, spake his name as low
willing her own weakness not to show
and asked for him in pride's dim glare
if Vahl had struck him or if he'd been spared​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The eyes of the Warlord of the Vahla looked up as she approached, ever searing with the heat and intensity of his presence, his will in the Force. Like the ever churning fires of a volcano. Not always erupting in anger and rage, but ever burning. When he heard the question on the lips of this white-haired Vahlan he snorted in amusement.

“No. The houndmaster raised her hand to a dog and found him a wolf.”

The Qhan suspected that the true depths of his own power and abilities might frighten the Dark Side spirit dwelling within Vatres, if she thought he might ever use them against her. If she could even envision such a thing.

Across the table lay scattered the plunder of a dozen worlds, their most precious artifacts tossed about like mere baubles. Gerra recognized a paltry few, but others were new finds even to him. He pushed away a Sith holocron and held up the thin links of golden chain which formed an intricate necklace inlaid with rubies. Power seeped from the necklace and Gerra could feel the Dark Side upon it, though he knew not the form it took.

“Come here,” he beckoned her forward, holding up the links of the chain.

“This would suit you. Take it,” his brow furrowed as he saw a smear of red on her arm.

“Hm. You ask me if I had been hurt by your goddess when it is you who seem to bear her marks. Come here,” he beckoned again, still seated though even seated his head was practically level with her own. “To mar such beauty,” Gerra’s lips curled in disgust, “Does she punish you?”

Shaking his head, Gerra motioned for her to turn around before him. “Then let me reward you instead. Without the Chosen, I alone will be supreme among the Vahla. Surely your actions deserve some recompense.”

Gerra moved to lace the necklace of golden chain about her neck should she deign to follow his directions, the links swiftly warming against skin as they settled on pale flesh.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Normally Vatrës would have chastised the man for his casual reference to Vahl as her goddess. She was his goddess as well, whether he recognized it or not. But she was feeling less inclined to be defend Vahl's honor, not when was clearly able to go to bat for herself. Even if she was only capable of doing so against the underfed, underpowered avatar she had selected for that very purpose.

Let her take the reigns over the Qhan of Khans -- if indeed he had reigns to take.

"I doubt sincerely whether she would approve of being called a houndmaster," the woman said, pushing the silken strands of ash-white hair falling across her forehead back behind one ear. "Luckily for you, she is not here. And I am in no rush to summon her."

She stepped forward as he bid, without thinking. When she allowed herself the time to consider it, she complied anyway. She could feel the power pulsing within the links of metal, the corrosive, cloying, seductive call of the dark side that seemed to soak invisibly into her flesh the moment his warm fingers laid it against her collar.

"I do not know my sin," Vatrës said. Even to her, the evasiveness almost felt like the truth. "But I do not question her wisdom. She is eternal, after all. Speaking of -- forgive me. I don't wish to look a gift ronto in the mouth, but -- " The Avatara's breath caught when she felt his fingers shifting on the delicate clasp at the back of her neck; it was hard to imagine fingers so brutish and schooled in killing could work something so fine.

Momentarily, she found her voice again. "I feel that you tempt her wrath too freely. How can you be the supreme among the Vahla while Vahl herself is here? Or -- there? Wherever she is." Vatrës hesitated, falling silent. It was perhaps easy for the Qhan to blaspheme when it was she who bore the brunt of the goddess' displeasure from it. She turned, leaning against the table. "Our task is not yet complete, anyway." She lifted a hand to let her fingers skim along the links and rubies of the necklace. The metal was warm.

"There is power in this," she observed. "Is it dangerous?"

A stupid question. All power was dangerous.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Gerra barked a laugh, the sound like a thunderclap.

"I thought you enjoyed danger."

The clasp clicked together and he let the links fall on her neck. Gerra moved to face her and lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

"There is power," he agreed, "But I do not know what form it takes. You have not been melted like wax. Perhaps it is like a raquor'daan with raised stinger. Waiting to strike," the Vahlan warlord chuckled again, mirth ruthless.

"Perhaps the spirit possessing you would take more notice if I was such a beast, or possessed a rattling tail. She calls herself Vahl and I will serve her ends, but she mistakes me if she thinks me a lapdog to her whims. The Sith Lords of the Core made a similar mistake after my warriors took Coruscant for them. I bow to none."

He crossed his arms as he looked down at Vatres.

"And you? Do you live only to serve the wishes of your goddess, devoid of inner passion?

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës was quiet for several long moments, leaning against the table. She didn't move, scarcely looked to be breathing, but the subtle shift in the light reflected from the necklace now rising and falling minutely with her chest gave lie to the illusion. When she moved, her chin turned a little away from him, her white hair coming down like a curtain between them.

"I have found that there is no inner passion in the life of most people," she answered in a murmur. "Certainly it is devoid of the kind of excitement that comes with being a warlord. There was nothing remarkable about me or my life before Vahl indwelt within me." She glanced toward him, not quite meeting his eyes with her own, and then tucked her hair behind her ear.

"You value your independence," the Avatara observed. "For you, Vahl's influence and existence are boons only. You use her name when it suits you, and disregard it when it does not. For me, she has given me a purpose and a meaning and the power to accomplish important things in her name."

There was a pause and she turned and began to survey the other bits and baubles he had spread across the table, examining the treasure that they had liberated from the Chosen they had dispatched. "What are all these things?" she asked him, to move the spotlight from her complicated relationship with the goddess as much as to indulge her own curiosity.

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

Gerra shook his head in open disappointment at her self-disparaging words. A bald faced lie she told, for Vahl would not have chosen her without reason unless Vahl simply had no other choice. Since Gerra had never heard of Vahl manifesting in the centuries past, he suspected the right vessel had not come along for the Dark Side spirit to decide to possess her… until now.

Moving with her, looming just over her shoulder, he reached past Vatrës to touch a pyramid shaped object - one of several.

“This and the others like it are holcorons. Wells of knowledge, if one can get past their guardians. Though sometimes the knowledge is not worth the time,” his nostrils flared in a snort of derision at some past memory while his fingers moved to point out new objects.

“There is the dagger of a Massassi king, over five thousand years old and still sharp,” he rumbled with approval, “and that is an armband that seeks to copy the gauntlet of Kressh. There are many such bands in the galaxy from aspiring alchemists, all seeking to achieve what he did.”

Gerra shrugged.

“But still. Each are unique.”

He leaned down until his breath came hot on the back of her neck.

“As are you. You speak harsh words of yourself. Do not believe them. I see a woman forged in heat and pressure of the galaxy’s cruelties. Do you know what these things make in the crust of a planet?”

His finger traced the back of the necklace he’d just placed around her neck, calloused forefinger sliding over the links one by one.

She knew.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës followed his tour of the contents of the table.

It seemed obscene to her that one person, one faithless Chosen, laid claim to all manner of these treasures. When do many of the dark goddess' followers and faithful went without, doomed to wander the stars in search of a home they had lost.

"It is no wonder they forsook the goddess," she said bitterly. "When doing it allows them to gain unspeakable riches. While those they should be shepherding wander in the wilderness." She spat a curse with such conviction it resonated in her gut.

She turned her head slightly when his voice lingered low, breath hot at her neck. Something almost irresistible pulled at her insides. Vatrës shifted her weight, felt her hip graze him. It could have been beautiful, she thought, to sweep these ungodly, ill-gotten treasures onto the floor and pull the Qhan down with her into its surface in some measure of passion. She could almost sense his want (hasn't her always said he was a man of appetites?) and she could scarcely deceive herself of her own thoughts on the matter.

But even then, without the presence of the goddess obvious and looming, she remembered her warning. So Vatrës turned, living her dark eyes to his smoldering ones. "Vahl has intentions for you, Champion. It is more than my life is worth to gainsay her. She has made it clear to me that I ought not think of you as a maid thinks of a man. However much -- "

No, she forced herself to cease. No good could come from acknowledging what was there.

Hasuras Na-Gerra

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

“Speak,” he rumbled in reply, voice a low and husky growl that came from his core and reverberated about the room.

She had turned to look at him, but the Vahlan giant did not move or avert his eyes. Such actions were anathema to he who would lay waste to the worlds of civilization and rejoice with joy at the conquest. He was a warlord who blazed with a yearning to fight, to love, and to laugh in the exultation of the moment. As a flame dances higher and higher seeking only to burn, knowing not when its end may come.

Her hip had grazed him, an ember of want seeking warmth and air. Gerra blew upon those coals with his words, even while his hand found the offending hip and squeezed to feel the firmness of flesh beneath fabric.

“Vahl looks to the future, as do her seers. But not I. What matters it I what fate be my end? Let me live and burn bright as sunfire while I live. Let me know the rich feasts of a thousand worlds and a thousand droughts upon my tongue, the sweaty embrace of arms, and the madness in exultation of war when the ships blaze in the blackness of the void. So…” his eyes crackled with a nova’s intensity.

“Speak. Say as you will. Do as you will. For you and I, who are but motes of fire, there is only now.”

Gerra loomed closer, broad and scarred lips so very near the warmth of her palest skin.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

Vatrës' black eyes dropped to his enormous hand, curled over her waist and over a hip.

Vahl was there and not there; was it her memory, or was it the goddess herself hissing a curse for he who would handle the goddess' property so casually. As if she was another bauble that he had looted from the treasures on this ship and could appraise. And yet, Vatrës did not speak. No, that mischaracterized her; she could not speak. None of the words that she knew came to her mind. Her jaw went slack momentarily, and her eyes climbed him once more to look into his face.

One hand came up, slightly trembling as if the Avatara knew she was reaching into a furnace, and pushed strands of fiery redgold hair off his forehead, fingertips tracing his brow into the hair at his temples, where she tucked the offending strands behind his ear, but lingered.

So close then that she could taste his breath, the heat on it.

"Would that I might taste the kind of bravery that makes a man foolhardy," Vatrës mused, her voice soft, amused, almost musical. "Had I an army, a khanate, the strength of ten men, who can say what I might Say. What I might..." Her eyes went to her hand, still gently touching near Gerra's temple, as if startled to see it there. "...do. Alas. I am as the dark goddess made me: Hers to obey."

Her hand lowered, grazing Gerra's jaw once.

Yet, the curious silence from where Vahl once sat, enthroned in her mind was troubling. She held her hand between herself and Gerra, willed flame to appear in her palm, and yet none did. Curiosity turned to fear, then. Had the goddess forsaken her? Her pulse began to pound, throbbing painfully at her throat and temples.

"My goddess," Vatrës whispered, her voice an elixir of confusion and hurt. "No, no, no."

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

"What?" growled Gerra.

Her hesitation he understood, her mind seemed made, no matter their desire to ignite this pyre of threaded want which wound between them.

But this new fear in her did not seem to come from her proximity to him, not when she stared into her palm and looked afeared. The hulking warlord's eyes winnowed to slits as he reached out in the Force to see with sight unclouded. Vatres pulled at the fabric of reality, but the surging power of the Dark Side - though it swirled all around them like a great hurricane - rebuffed her.

"Peculiar," he muttered, "what new devilry is this from your possessor?"

First Vahl made the woman catatonic and now... she stripped the Force itself from her? Or was he misunderstanding the wiles of the ancient Dark Side spirit. He should not underestimate her power. For all his doubts about her status as a goddess she was still an ancient and powerful wielder of the Dark Side.

Then he saw it, the necklace. It separated Vatres from the Dark Side. Not a gulf, but the thinnest of rifts. So it could not quite touch her.

"Hmm..."

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

"She has -- gone from me," Vatrës said, her voice forlorn.

Of course, it was foolish. It was stupid. It was, frankly, not possible.

But Vatrës was learning the rules of her gift, her curse, her burden, her power as she went along. She stared at her hand, fingers flexing, curling with exertion, as if she could force flame to erupt there from sheer will. Yet, nothing. She lifted her other hand, turned them over before her, scouring them with her eyes for any clue as to what had befallen her.

Nothing. She saw nothing.

Her fingers went to her throat, clawed at her tunic, and tore it open from the neck. Buttons popped and flew and she looked down at the spot beneath her sternum that represented the presence of Vahl within her Avatara. It still pulsed and glowed and burned there, visible as a brand. "Vahl," she whispered.

Then the Qhan's voice rumbled thoughtfully. The Avatara looked up at him, eyes piercing. "What, Hasuras Na-Gerra? You know something?"

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

The woman’s wailing fell on deaf ears for a moment as the Vahlan fixated on what he saw in the Force through True Sight. The thinnest veneer of Dark Side energy emanated from the necklace and, like a force field, split the waters of Vahl’s consciousness from that of Vatrës.

No longer were the two intertwined, bleeding into one another. Gerra pursed his lips, mulling over the uses of such a device and its implications on the Dark Side spirit within Vatrës.

Then the white haired Vahlan ripped her tunic open and Gerra suddenly found his attention diverted.

“Hmm,” rumbled the hulking figure, openly staring like an akk wolf on a blood scent.

“Yes,” he answered her, lifting a calloused finger as he did so to trace the bare skin of her sternum and just below.

“The necklace has disrupted your connection, like an energy shield. Your minds are separated. It may not be permanent, yet for the moment Vahl appears constrained to her own thoughts… and you are without a goddess’ eyes watching your every move. For now.”

He tilted his head, causing his long locks of auburn hair to sway.

“What will you do with such reprieve?” He asked, rough finger still upon her chest.

Vatrës Dhalis

 

[Vatrës Dhalis]

The Avatarra gaped at the Qhan of Khans, her black eyes widening with horror. It was unnatural that such a device should exist at all, let alone to have it on her body.

Vahl was going to be furious. Tears stung at her eyes at the apprehension of the penalty that was sure to follow. Vahl will think I was trying to escape her. She will -- she will -- Vatrës could not bring herself to contemplate what an already-antagonized Vahl would inflict on her. Her head still felt tender from the previous ordeal, her wound still wept blood slowly. It would be worse, worse, worse --

She registered the warmth of his finger against her skin momentarily, but the sensation was a drop of rain in the ocean of her fear and despair.

"It is an abomination," she hissed, reaching up to run her fingers along the fine lattice of chains and rubies. Her slender fingers pushed beyond the collar, behind her neck, and groped for the clasp, but she could not find it. "Get it -- get it -- get it off me," she demanded with the fervor of a woman who was burning burned, turning to present the back of her neck to the warlord. She pulled her ash-white hair over one shoulder, baring the nape of her neck. "You must, you must," Vatrës shouted, the terror apparent in her voice. She had not been wailing before, but she very nearly was now.

And yet, upon inspection Gerra would find that the clasp of the necklace eluded him, too. It was as if the necklace had been a trap which had sprung the moment he had placed it around her delicate throat. Of course, Vatrës was not seeing what he was seeing, so she merely goaded him: "Now, Hasuras Na-Gerra!"

Hasuras Na-Gerra​

 

[Hasuras Na-Gerra]

“It holds fast,” Gerra replied, perplexed as he strained the might of his fingers against the necklace and yet it resisted.

He might be able to shatter point the necklace, but that would destroy it. And he was loathe to ruin such an interesting amulet. So he said nothing of that option. Instead, he turned her back around to face him.

“It is no use. Panic not,” he scowled at the fear in her eyes. The source of which stemmed from fear of what Vahl might do to her, he suspected.

“It is only temporary. When we figure out how to release it I will explain to Vahl what occurred. Think you that she would disbelieve her champion?” He chuckled darkly.

“For now, quake not. Settle thy breath. I am here,” he held a hand on either of her shoulders, steadying her.

Vatrës Dhalis