Private Absolutely Swamped

[Wonderworker]

Dagobah

He had been complacent.

Years he had spent in a hundred ports across the Outer Rim, and in each one he had found at least some modicum of success. In some he had performed his miracles, gathering sycophants and gifts and amassing what had been a credit reserve which he had only recently begun to dig through. Where gifts and followers did not come, there came connections with various organizations; the legitimate and the illegitimate could all utilize his services, and he was a useful ally to those in dire need. Finally, in those ports where he had come away with nothing but wounds and weaknesses he had at least gained knowledge. Knowledge of procedures, knowledge of the Force, knowledge of how to do better next time.

Faramond had learned much in the absence of his old chaotic allies, but he had not learned the importance of retaining ambition until recently. He had grown bold, too bold, and the threat that he presented to the local power dynamic had proven reprehensible to those who held its reins. They'd come down on him and his cult with a fervor that he had not suspected, and which could not be quelled with promises of miraculous healing. When the smoke had cleared and the ash had fallen, he was alone, wounded, much of his treasure seized, and all of his followers dead.

A month had passed as he restored his health, reacquainted himself once again with what it was to be nomadic, and gradually collected the asset stashes he'd left throughout the dark places of the Rim.

And now - the choice: To return to the squalor of a planet no one cared about and hope to do it all again, or to finally make something of himself. He'd gained knowledge from the sudden purge, and he'd hate to see so vicious a lesson wasted.

Gathered funds bought him a ship, sleek and new and with its own droid pilot to ferry him to and fro. It had bought him tools and gadgets, useful adventurers hand-me-downs and a wardrobe of muted grey and black and a spare ceramic mask for when his own inevitably cracked and shattered. It had bought him whispers and secrets and rumors among the ne'er-do-wells of a galaxy at war, and consultations with sages and keepers on all he ought to know when dealing with wicked souls. It had bought him a Sleen, bred and raised from the stock of Dromund Kaas, though it had never once seen that horrid world and though its mouth had been stripped of teeth to keep it polite and tame. His funds had brought him much, the fruit of past labor.

But it was ambition that brought him to Dagobah. It was ambition that let him sneak through the monitoring satellites and stations, and to find himself disembarked along with the lizard beast and with a captive womp rat kept in a cage at his hip.

Somewhere on Dagobah, there was a Sith, a Lord of Korriban. One in possession of a strange relic, some manner of biological tool which had caught his attention. Faramond intended to find her wherever she had sequestered herself in the swampy mess, and to see if he could not gain access to the relic so that he might understand it. Beyond that though, it was apparent - it would not do any longer to make friends only with small-time gangsters and local politicians. If he was going to be something, it was time to make mighty acquaintances.

Even if he had to track them down himself.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Outer Rim Territories
Dagobah
Desolate Eastern Swamp
Tags: Wonderworker ​

In continuation of previous work wrought on the swampy and nexus rich planet, A'Mia toiled somewhere deep in the gloom. She needn't trudge through what would be chest high murk for the average human, nor was she much bothered by the cloying humidity. No, the botanical woman felt very much at home on Dagobah. Particularly given what awaited her in the remote quagmire and network of dark pools which she'd initially planted fell sorcery. The woman found her way back to the place on many long spidering limbs, clambering adeptly with uncanny movements well above the bog as she used the twisted canopy as leverage to propel herself. Just before reaching her destination though, she sensed another life-form. One more powerful in the Force than any mere spotlight sloth or swamp slug. The signature she sense was distinctly sentient. So the woman paused on her journey and thought to camouflage herself amonst the backdrop to see if perhaps she might spot the being she sensed.

 

[Wonderworker]

In thinking of the galactic conqueror, the black-boot of tyranny and imperialism always rose to the forefront. Throughout a thousand generations, boots such as the ones on the Wonderworker's feet had stamped down on rebellion, insurrection, and worthwhile conversation with an almost equal animosity. It wasn't hard to conjure the thought of a boot stamping down on virgin soil, the very image of dominion.

And so, with such a predisposition toward stomping and stepping and grinding underfoot, it seemed altogether unforgivable that no one had warned Faramond about how the dirt and muck had such a vulgar habit of fighting back.

An hour of walking had managed to fatigue him more than he had imagined. Every lurching step meant spending the energy of five as the swampy earth tried to drag him down, refusing to yield to a simple walking gait.

He'd had to slow down the Sleen. The beast had far less difficulty than he did, but he didn't particularly want to make his acquaintance on his back, and if he didn't restrain the lizard it would likely drag him along without regard for his well-being. He eyed the creature again, the reptilian features of its body, and wondered for the umpteenth time about the decision to sell such beasts as pets, or whether the teeth were removed at birth or carved when it was an adult.

There had to be some moral debate about the topic, but in the miracle maker's mind, it was a far greater crime to let your pet eat you than to take out its teeth.

It had caught a scent a while back which he had hoped was their target. He was aware that the Sith was something floral in nature, so it couldn't have been easy for the Sleen to track amidst so much vegetation. Nevertheless, foliage did not often move, which must have helped at least a bit - and perhaps there was some olfactory giveaway that just couldn't be perceived by humanoids.

He reached out gingerly into the Force, feeling the air around him, the corruption that permeated Dagobah and which prevented his meek senses from scanning at a great distance doing their best to combat his attempts. Nevertheless, he felt that he was on the right track and that they would soon find his quarry.

The Wonderworker didn't bother to conceal himself in the Force. If he couldn't sense her, he presumed that she might also be unable to sense him. Besides, there was no reason for her to be alert to being followed, was there? Comforting thoughts regardless of their reality, Faramond picked up his feet and continued his march, not bothering to conceal himself overmuch with the mighty Sleen beside him breaking every tenth branch regardless.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

A traveler, perhaps two. Slogging and squelching through muck, accompanied by telltale sounds of a larger less humanoid creature. A beast perhaps, or a Sithspawn the likes of which served A'Mia herself. Those were the only real details she could pick up from afar and well in hiding. Though the arboreal woman surely could allude a few trackers, why would she? It would be far more satisfying to know what they sought and to sate her own curiosity in turn. So she made the decision to set a trap with herself as the bait and her loyal snares well disguised in their favored terrain.

As Wonderworker approached, A'Mia lowered herself to the side of one murky pool and tucked herself to provide partial coverage beside a large tree in case her pursuers were the kind to shoot first and ask questions later. With a silent command, two of her largest spawn were released from their farrus spheres and they each slipped into murk with barely a ripple upon the surface of the water. There she waited, looking with rather genuine curiosity at one particularly impressive bundle of moss near the base of the tree- as if she were merely there to study plant life.

 

[Wonderworker]

It was always a bit strange to stumble upon someone amid their work. You could seek them out, but it never felt quite like you were really getting close until they were finally right there in front of you. The Sleen slowed to a crawl as the Miracle Maker outstretched his hand, stroking its flank in slow rhythmic brushes as he calmed it from its hunt.

The Sith appeared completely invested in something, but from his angle, he could see little more than the occasional frond of vegetation. Perhaps there was an artifact here that he had failed to sense? Perhaps it was an experiment? The Force tickled his nervous system, and a hint of pressure in the skull oriented his senses to another alternative: that she was lying in ambush.

He felt the presence of an unnatural entity, a creature of flora compressed into locomotive life. He felt as it crept around at the outskirts of this most fortuitous meeting place. It was likely a servitor of hers, bound to her will, perhaps a guardian of her person or a vicious hunter of the Light. It was impossible to tell without more information, and the Wonderworker had little reason to seek trouble.

"Greetings, exalted Lord." He hoped the address was correct. There was nothing quite so dangerous as misremembering honorifics with Sith.

"I am the Wonderworker. I have come to seek your wisdom." He patted the Sleen once more, seeing as it slowly lay on its belly in anticipation of their conversation's outcome; and more likely in anticipation of being rewarded for its tracking work.

Unarmed, undefended by anything but a toothless lizard, Faramond hoped that his bold gambit would pay off.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Wide, eerie eyes turned upon Wonderworker as he spoke- a bit too quickly for her to fully sell the notion she didn't have some forewarning of his arrival. Her body moved strangely as she partially faced him. Behind the tree she took some shelter behind, many limbs pulled her impressive frame upward a bit. creeping like a spider as she considered him. Despite the uncanny way she moved, A'Mia took no outwardly aggressive actions. If anything, her body language might almost convey coy timidness were it not for the fact that her face remained serene and placid.

"Oh?" Came the inquiry in a deceivingly bright, feminine voice.

"Does my reputation so far precede me that I'm sought out in swamps?"

Her head tilted on an overlong neck as she stared down at him with unblinking eyes, the Lord Seer's unusual ability honing in on the stranger.

"Which wonders do you work then, Stranger? And regarding which matters do you seek my wisdom?"

 

[Wonderworker]

He hadn't been devoured by the plant beasts yet, and that was as good a sign as any that perhaps he would manage to make something of this encounter other than his own demise. The way that the Sith moved seemed uncanny, too natural for it to come from a supposedly civilized entity, though he tried his utmost not to allow his distaste for the locomotion to come through his mannerisms or voice.

"It does precede you, and very highly too. You were regarded as someone of knowledge by my informants." Not that he had an informant network or secretive agents hiding around the place, but there was no need to make that known. Let her think for a moment that he was someone with any powerbase at all, and that he hadn't relied on odd mystics and whispered rumors from outlanders and outliers alike.

"I am a healer. I steal the wounds of the worthy, and give them to the unworthy. It is a transference and my calling." No way to demonstrate it, but he supposed that was as good an explanation as any. He left out the agonies it inflicted on the self, but she ought to know as well as any that power always came at a price.

"As for what wisdom I seek; I have come to learn how you manipulate plant life, to see how you can bend it to your whims. I wish to expand my knowledge of living things in this way." Because if he could do what he did to plants, then he would be quite the formidable being indeed. He wondered what she would require as a cost from him - whether she would make a demand first or request an offer... or if she would do neither.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Generally immune to flattery, the neti's ears still perked up at the discovery that her reputation had perhaps traveled beyond her rather tight knit bubble of the Holy Worlds. As she eyed him, she noted no sign of weapon nor any mark or insignia to denote political affiliation.

So much the better, she thought, if he's unaffiliated we'll either be able to speak more freely or I can dispose of him quickly in the event he bores me.

A'Mia was also exceedingly interested in the healing technique he described. For it to be bound inexorably with wounding? Fascinating indeed. She could see the dark side draped over him like a favorite blanket, the Weave where he walked was thick with it too- eddies and wisps of turbulence that went unseen by all but those who saw the world as she did. She was silent, considering him for a long moment before finally answering.

"Perhaps your informants have told you already," she said the emphasized word as if deeply interested to know who'd been gathering data on her, "But I am a healer as well, though my techniques are different from yours."

The woman crept back down the tree and around its base, appearing suddenly bipedal- though Wonderworker now knew the truth that such limitations as four limbs was merely a ploy on A'Mia's part. She closed the distance between them but left ample room between, not wishing to crowd or spook him.

"Would you trade knowledge for knowledge then? If you impart your wisdom, I will do so in turn. That wound transference you describe sounds most intriguing and I just know I would put it to such ample use."

She was tempted to reach out and probe his mind psychically, but that might be considered rude or even aggressive, and she could tell just by looking that his mind was more a fortress than many others she'd encountered.

 

[Wonderworker]

He was a little caught off-guard by the admission that the Darksider was a healer as well. In Faramond's mind, his particular gift was fairly unique in that it blended both the act of healing and the driving hunger of the Dark, but evidently that was not entirely the case.

Many of the Darksiders that he had encountered throughout his travels were far more intent on the spreading of calamity and death than healthcare, but if what the Sith had said was true, then he could enjoy expanding his techniques in the process.

"They failed to mention that detail to me. I was not aware you were also a healer. I would be fascinated and honored to learn more." He said, eager to hear what techniques she utilized.

The way that she had made herself bipedal was fascinating. The control over her form was something that might be mimicked in a number of natural entities across the galaxy, certainly, but to be both sapient and capable of such talents was very curious. The Wonderworker briefly wondered whether it was related exclusively to her species, or if it was something that might be learned - the sudden growing and dismissal of limbs could be an interesting experiment.

Her offer was everything that he had hoped for.

"That would be most pleasing to me. Do you prefer for the education to be here, or should we reconvene elsewhere? I know you are very busy." Sith didn't often wander through swamps without purpose, though he hadn't a clue what she was doing here.

Whatever she preferred, he would acquiesce and either join her at a new location or else remain present. If she wanted him to learn first, he'd happily do that - and if she preferred that he begin with his lesson first, he would do that too. To be malleable in this situation was only to his benefit.

Madrona A’Mia

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Gazing down at him with calm observation, the woman watched as emotion animated the energies about him. She was, as of yet, still quite unpracticed with interpreting or empathizing with displays of feeling from other beings. This experience might yet offer her additional practice.

"Gooood," the elongated word rustled as if formed by so many snaking vines.

Suddenly she was moving, making her way deeper into the thick of the bog. Her many limbed and arboreal locomotion meant that she needn't be slowed by the difficult terrain. In fact, A'Mia thought to extend such a support to her new companion should he wish to avoid the muck altogether. Her as of yet unseen servants began to shape themselves just beneath the murky surface, then broke through to create a kind of living pathway along the route that A'Mia took. Because there were two of them, they were able to keep up alongside their master.

To Wonderworker it might appear as if A'Mia was controlling the foliage around them to make his path easier. Or, if he was astute in the skill of observation, he might sense that these beings were separate from her. Sithspawn crafted from her flesh and therefor strikngly similar energetically, but individuals nonetheless.

"You will be busy with me then, Wonderworker. Call me A'Mia- I find titles tiresome when field work is the focus."

On they went, covering ground as quickly as possible, as she led them to a deep quagmire sunken low among ancient roots.

"Here I have a project buried, one of my very first alchemical creations. I've left it here to mutate and grow, to see what might become of them without my influence."

She stopped in the center of a large, dark pool of water as she explained. Their surroundings looked even more ominous and twisted than the rest of the swamp. Darkness pervaded the area and choked out any Light energy that might once have been present naturally. A'Mia bent, plunging her hands into to thick of the murky bog to work by feel. She was up to the elbows in the goopy, muddy water as she turned her head to appraise her guest scientist.

"Would you like to describe the processes you use to heal? Or shall I start?"

 

[Wonderworker]

The Sith was far faster in the swampy ground than he might have expected. Even though she was comprised of flora herself, and therefore fit in well with the high foliage content of the area, he had suspected that her relatively humanoid shape might have prevented her from particularly rapid bouts of speed.

He had clearly been quite wrong. It was a good lesson to learn early on the importance of not underestimating a Sith Lord, even on something as trivial as footing.

He was not particularly swift on his own, though he utilized his own attachment to the Force in order to steady his steps, keeping him on level ground and allowing him to deftly avoid the deeper pits of sucking mud. In a footrace, he would have taken last place compared with the agility of the Sith Lord, but at the least he might've taken silver for his foot placement.

A moment of racing after the Sith Lord brought him to a path of steadying ground, and he felt a sensation of life beneath it; he was clearly walking upon the backs of some similar creature to the one that he had sensed earlier. These thralls and servitors of A'mia - he had not expected her to be so informal, but it was a good change of pace - seemed to be quite reactive to her commands and desires. He wondered if they were being directly controlled, or if she were something of a houndmaster to them - directing them, but letting them run the gambit at their own desire.

Finally, a destination was reached. The Wonderworker did his utmost to keep his breathing quiet so as not to huff and puff in the presence of the Lord, but there was at least a touch of strain from the run. He had clearly let himself go to a greater extent than he had expected, though the burning in his lungs subsided swiftly, and his attention was never distracted by something as inconsequential as chest pains.

As she spoke, his eyes fixated on the dark pool before them, attempting to sense both through his vision and the Force whatever might be located underneath, but the place was permeated with such Darkness that he could get nothing more than an ominous sensation from it.

"I would be happy to start." He began, watching as her hands went into the muck and wondering what she could possibly be doing with the 'alchemical creation' that she had left behind. What was even its purpose? Curiosity gnawed at his mind, incessant in its demands.

"I find it is easiest to think of the afflicted and oneself as a collection of miniature pieces. Usually, I fixate on the various pieces of musculature, ligaments, etc. Sometimes its better to think of the cells, especially if one is looking to cure a disease or a poison, or if the injury is particularly egregious."

He closed his eyes, thinking on the pieces of his own body as he did.

"Then, I reach out and make physical skin-to-skin contact. It is best to do this, because the more layers between you and your target, the more you have to separate them. You are you, and they are them, but a boot or a glove is neither. It adds unneeded complexity and makes the process harder - besides that it greatly interferes with the transference."

He paused, casting another glance at her work.

"Once I've made contact, I let my mind drift along to the point of affliction. I also think of the same area in my own body. I compare the spots. They do not need to be exact, but many beings are similar enough to understand without too much difficulty. Its more the function than the form that's important, but obviously too great a difference does make things harder to understand and to focus on."

"After that, I start to pull on the cells in my own body and to move them through the point of connection until they reach the afflicted spot. I try to mimic a pattern similar to my own healthy form there. If there is a cut, it is sealed - but in the process I am cut, because those same parts that I've donated must be given away."

He outstretched his hand, flexing it, looking to his fingers as though imagining the shifting of bodily pieces.

"If it is a disease, then its a little different. I need to actually take those pieces into myself. The process is the same, but in reverse. If I leave them, then the target body will have too much in it, and that causes its own troubles... besides the disease can just spread through them anew. In the same way, you can use the act to afflict your own injuries on others. The transference is the same regardless - you take or you give or you do both."

He smiled.

"As a word of warning: it does hurt. A great deal. You can't eat away your own arms and legs and feel nothing from it. The pain can be almost unbearable. You can go from healthy to leprous, from hardy to cancer-ridden. Even the healing is not always painless. You know the Dark Side, though - you can chew on the agony to help empower you, but you have to be careful not to make you sloppy. This is surgery and art, and you can't fix it with a hammer, no matter how strong."

He paused a few moments, hoping the metaphor had provided some helpful learning.

"Do you have any questions on the basic concept?"

Madrona A’Mia