Private A Reunion of Serpents [Felurian Malvern]

[Naithair]

Armour: Robes of Djel
Equipment: Mördisen
Location: An Underground Temple, Melida/Daan
Voice: Masked: Voice Unmasked: Voice
Tag: Felurian Malvern

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Naithair stood in the temple that had, many centuries past, been built to worship him. It had been built by the powers of the Sean-Olc Craftsmen, an old breed of the species that had died out, giving way to the Era of the Inquisitor. Most of the murals depicted a variant of his mask, or some tentacled mass, some his regular facial features. It also depicted him in the very robes he wore as of that moment. His hands were clasped to the armrests of his Songsteel Throne, sensing the area around the temple. Every eye in every mural was an organ of sight in this temple, and through his Songsteel Throne, he saw through all of them. If he was ever to admit his inferiority, it was to the ancient Sean-Olc Craftsmen. Their manipulation of the Force in the most extreme ways surpassed even him, and their mastership of the hammer and anvil was some of the most extravagant he had ever seen. Their works were priceless, yet whatever he told them to craft, they crafted, with their own touches that made it extraordinary.

Though he supposed that happened when you were worshipped as the coming of the Chief Deity, and Ultimate Force in the Universe, by however few people. He now was known as Djel to some, an envoy that comprised of only a millionth of the Omnipotent Entity's power. He represented the tentacles of Chaos, that dragged the unwilling dead to their place in death. Though he hardly had the time to reminisce on his life's story. He had fathered a Son in his lifespan, a Son that had fathered a daughter. Both now laid dead The Son by the hand of Naithair, the daughter by natural causes. The Daughter however, had left a legacy. A half-breed Sean-Olc. a Sean-Olc he had watched for nineteen years, from the shadows. He had not taken care of her. The family that his Granddaughter had selected had taken care of his Great-Granddaughter.

Though it was long since past that she met with her heritage. She was the Heir Apparent to his legacy, his power, his possessions, and his titles, however many centuries more it would be before she possessed them. She had received a paper note, sealed in an envelope, sealed with a wax seal. The Seal was notable by itself, an intricate serpent circling around a skull. However, perhaps the more notable feature was the letter itself. It was written in a pitch black ink that seemed to peer into space itself. The ink seemed to form into a blob whenever her hand left the paper, then as soon as she held the letter, the ink began to write a message, giving exact coordinates on the planet of Melida/Daan with a simple message to proceed to the coordinates with whatever equipment or belongings she felt necessary to bring, but to bring guards or company only as far as the Forest Limits.

It was on this day that he felt her presence grow nearer. She had come to the planet. He mused in his head as to what she might have brought, or what she knew of her heritage. Or what she would think of him. He stood up from his throne, his body morphing slowly into a large, 14 foot long Venrap, slithering up the wall of his temple, out to the front, to greet his guest.

 

[Acantha Malvern]

The invitation flicked back and forth between her fingers, making a comforting click as it crossed over her nails. Thick black writing curled and curved in perfect cursive across the paper, fading each time it left her fingers. It wasn’t the content of the invitation that had seen her accept it, but the markings pressed into the wax on the front. A serpent. One extremely like the necklace that hung from her moonlight tinted neck. The only evidence that she had once upon a time belonged to someone that didn’t want to hurt her, the only evidence that she had a family. It was this and this alone that enticed her.

Felurian had been tracking the location of this supposed meeting on Melida for a good half hour, and with every step, she could feel the power that coursed through the underground temple. In flux like the passing wind, one minute so strong she could feel it in the air, the next barely a whisper.

The temple itself seemed to stretch for miles, she could feel it winding and curving underfoot like a snake, covered by a swathe of thick sprawling cities. At least the entrance was obvious. A crumbling structure of grey and greyer stone. It seemed to Felurian that it fit more in the setting of a horror novel or one of those hologram films she had seen. This was the part where the stupid blonde walked through the haunted house, despite all the obvious signs of danger and the general feeling of dread it exuded. It always ended in a heart-wrenching fright and inevitable death. Of course, Felurian had been party to worse, truer horrors than any ghost or ghoul could ever attempt to match, but at the moment, it was all terrifying.

It had been fear that had kept her alive all these years. It was the adrenaline that it came with that had kept her heart beating. She would have been a fool to ignore its warnings, but something about this invitation was too intriguing to pass up, so she pushed through the fear.

“Hello?” She called out into the dimly lit entrance. Inside was perhaps even more like a nightmare than the outside. Shadows seemed to dance in the corners and swallow what little light managed to breakthrough. Things hid in the shadows, things that didn’t want to be seen, things that were best left to the darkness. Perhaps even the very thing that had invited her here. Felurian stepped over the threshold, allowing the shadow to swallow her. It was a strange sensation, and the moment she disappeared into the inky pool, Felurian got the strange sensation that she belonged to the shadows?

The sound of her boots hitting the solid stone floor echoed through the cavernous temple, as far back as Felurian had the ears to hear. “Helllloooo…” She called out again, taking comfort in the endless reverberations of her voice that called back as they bounced from wall to wall. There was no answer, so Felurian pressed on.

Naithair

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[Naithair]

Armour: Robes of Djel
Equipment: Mördisen
Location: An Underground Temple, Melida/Daan
Voice: Masked: Voice Unmasked: Voice
Tag: Felurian Malvern

Naithair's snake form slithered, scales moving him down the dank, crumbling passage of stone that signified the entry hall to the temple devoted to him. It was nothing that he could not repair with a focused mind. Yet the state of his temple was a matter of another day though. He soon dropped from the ceiling, landing five feet infront of his Great-Granddaughter. He then began to transform again, his scales melting back into his pale skin, and he stood to his full height of 13'6, a roughly average height for a pure-blooded Sean-Olc. He looked down at the one he had been looking up at a moment ago. His eyes, still snake-like, flicked over her, observing every detail.

He had only watched over her for the first ten years of her life, never interfering. She was almost a perfect image of her mother, an interesting result considering human males seemed to be more genetically dominant. Perhaps it was more proof to the Sean-Olc's superiority over the common species of the galaxy. They had only found rivals in the Rakata, and brethren with the Celestials who had coexisted with the Sean-Olc since time immemorial, though their purpose differing.

His hand reached up slightly to cup her cheek, as he muttered his Granddaughter's, her mother's, name, though barely audible. His hand dropped faster than it had risen. He cursed himself for allowing his emotions to betray him. This was not the Granddaughter who he had adored, even though she had bred with a human, and betrayed the pure-blood of the Sean-Olc. Though, he could not blame her, it was something he could expect from a child of his son, the bastard. He also had to note that the two ruling families of the Sean-Olc had to receive their Serpentine blood somehow.

He turned away, saying a singular word in his metallic voice.

"Come."

He began walking deeper into the ruins, the entry hall only seemed to get quieter, the silence only getting quieter. They reached a large set of stone doors. The doors were a foot taller than Naithair, and 20 feet wide. A blessing of the Sean-Olc who had built the temple, the doors would only open to one who had his blood. With a sweep of his hand, the doors opened, banging noiselessly against the walls behind them. The weak Force Push was only a fraction of what he knew, and could do, and what his Great-Granddaughter would know, within time.

He stepped into the temple, the inner temple looked as if it had been constructed only yesterday. The walls were adorned with carved murals of all notable events in Galactic History, including the Yuuzhan Vong War, the Prophecy of the Chosen One, the Cold War between the Old Sith Empire, and the Old Republic. The crushing of both Sith and Jedi by the Eternal Empire, the final death of Emperor Tenebrae, one of the very few mortal humans who could hope to compete with a Sean-Olc in single combat. The murals depicted millions more events, all had happened, and it was impossible to tell if they were predictions, or made after the event had occurred. The most notable was on a wall. Depicting the mask of the man that stood before Felurian, and a perfect carving of her face to the right, and what could only be the perfect carving of the man that had called her here to the left.

 

[Acantha Malvern]

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When one was thrust into darkness, it was a safe bet to assume you are not alone.

While Felurian had assumed exactly that, the presence in the force that slithered closer by the second had undoubtedly taken her by surprise. The invitation gave hint to the notion that someone was living in these hallowed walls, and if she were truthful it wasn’t the presence of someone else that had surprised her. What had surprised her was how powerful they were. How powerful, and how open. At least their readiness to be detected by other force users was a good indication that whoever or whatever it was hadn’t any intention to kill her. Felurian dared to venture forward, weary that her steps were exceedingly loud as they echoed off the grey rock structure.

That, however, was a mistake. The minute the heel of her boot hit the debris-covered floor, something fell not five feet in front of her. Felurian recoiled, drawing her hand instinctively to the waist where the hilt of her sabre rested. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out a shape that didn’t register with any other shape she’d seen before. A long coil that, when unravelled, Felurian could have assumed it was at least eight feet long. It was covered tip to tail in slick scales that glinted in what little light managed to seep in through the temple entrance. She had never seen anything like it in her life, and though she was poised and ready for battle, she made no move to release her sabre to actually ignite it. Instead, she watched and waited, and it was a damn good thing she did.

The thing began to transform, first sprouting two pairs of oddly human-like legs. A torso followed as the scales dissolved into the same pale coloured skin that covered her own bones. When the figure had finally stretched itself to its full height, even Felurian had to crane her neck to view him fully. She’d always assumed she was tall for her age, tall for her gender even, but this man… He towered over everything. It was a wonder he could even fit in the temple at all. When Felurian finally drew her gaze up to meet his, there was a glint in his eyes that felt vaguely familiar.

Something about the way he looked at her made her both nervous and relaxed. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what his expression was. Confusion? Endearment? Disappointment? Longing? Nothing seemed to fit. He reached his hand out, and Felurian flinched, but that was all she did. There was no motion made for her to step back away from the moonlight hand that stretched out to meet her cheek. She didn’t even cower as it came to cup the milky flesh on her face. The Mistress had to admit it felt a little awkward standing in the silence of the temple, with the strange man’s hand caressing her face, but she didn’t leave. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was compelling her to stay.

His gritty baritone voice filled her ears and rattled her ribcage. He spoke out a single word. A command. Felurian wasn’t ordinarily one for following commands, especially those that came from 13-foot snake monster men, but she did as she was told. She followed.

By the time they walked the halls of the temple, Felurian had completely adjusted to her dark surroundings and her intrigue rested on the depictions carved deeply in the stone walls. More snakes, more men, more half-men half-snakes. Some battles she recognized, some she didn’t. As her eyes trailed across the walls they finally came to rest on the intricately crafted masks. One of the man who stood beside her and another of… her own face. Felurian squinted, as though it would make an ounce of difference. As though it would offer clarity to the confusion before her. It couldn’t be, she had never set foot in this blasted temple before today. What in the kriff was going on?

“What-…” She paused and decided a different question would perhaps benefit her better. “Who are you?”

Naithair ​

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[Naithair]

Armour: Robes of Djel
Equipment: Mördisen
Location: An Underground Temple, Melida/Daan
Voice: Masked: Voice Unmasked: Voice
Tag: Felurian Malvern

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Naithair stood, his hands clasped behind his back. Then he raised one gauntleted hand up, and snap his fingers, sending a loud, somewhat metallic snap, echoing throughout the temple, and with that snap, the large doors that he had opened with such ease shut with equal force, yet none of the crash that should have come, as if silenced by an invisible barrier. As the snap resounded throughout the temple, it began to light itself up, a subtle light with no apparent source.

He had taken note of his visitor sensing his presence, and he had corrected it, though was it truly correcting if it was not a mistake? He had fully intended her to know of his presence. It had served his purpose, for he had also sensed surprise, yet a confidence that he was not unfamiliar with. Perhaps a hint of the indifference the Sean-Olc were so often adorned with. Now he had completely withdrawn all traces of his presence in the force, save for the notion of the robes he wore, that seemed to radiate as a miniature Force Nexus of their own, though rather lacking in a side. More of a lack of presence.

His hands clasped behind his back again. He heard the start of her first question, yet filed it away in the infinite storage that was his mind, the mind that had manipulated the greatest manipulators of the Galaxy. He raised a hand, a metallic and rough chuckle piercing the silence that he had let fill the chamber in the wake of her question. He gestured to the carving next to that of hers.

"That is who I am. Though if you did not make a remark to my mask, then I doubt you would recognise the carving. Which I would guess means you know very little of your heritage."

He gave his great-granddaughter pause, to interject with a question, perhaps. The more information she unwittingly presented, the better. He took a portion of that moment to sense, feeling for the presence of Felurian in the force, to gauge what she hid, and what she expressed, and what she was capable of. He then resumed speech.

"My true name is almost unpronounceable in the many, many languages of the Galaxy. Though you may call me Naithair, it roughly translates into Snake in Galactic Basic, not inappropriate, considering my predicament that you saw earlier, a curse by Dathomiri Nightsisters long forgotten. What you have sensed is not the full extent of my power, thought I would call it closer to half. I am a Sean-Olc, your mother was a Sean-Olc, and your grandfather a Sean-Olc. We naturally stand at 4 Meters, though the trait seems to have been mostly lost. If you wonder how I relate to you, then I am your Great-Grand Father, your last living relative, direct family only. In truth, there is another in your Confederacy, though I will not tell his name unless you simply must ask."

He allowed her another moment, several. He had, as humans liked to say, just dropped a bomb on her life. It was not easy for most to be told they were a species they had never heard of, and that they had a living Great-Grandfather who had only decided to contact her once she had become an adult, in order to bring her to a strange temple.

"Now, I do suppose I could answer quite a great many questions you have, if not all of them. Though I will preface, that I am, in your terms, Ancient. tens of thousands of years old, one tens to lose count. You are the sole heir to my blood line, and the immense power and resources it carries. I also warn you, that you will be the last to inherit the benefits of being one of my kin if the blood line breeds outside of the species once more. It has been tainted enough by your grandfather and mother, and while I do not blame your mother for her choice, I despise my son, your Grandfather. So you would be most gracious as to not inquire too much into him."

His disgust became more evident than his voice had shown, as he reached up to his head, removing the gold mask that had protected his identity. Holding the mask in his hands, down from his face, he turned to look at her. His pitch black irises flicked over her, examining her in the detail the mask would never allow. He, however, was notably young for his implied age. He looked no older than 40. His hair was pitch black, and his skin pale, wrinkles were barely evident, and his face was pale. If they were to stand face-by-face in a mirror, it would be almost impossible not to notice the similarities, they had many similar features. If the skin tone was not exact, and the hair not of the same quality, then most could point out the seemingly thousands of other similarities, ranging from the way their eyelids were held, to the way they smiled, or the way their mouths moved as the spoke.