All Shipped Out (Ti'Cira)

[Lord Ghoul]

The ship screamed through Dathomir's atmosphere, white-hot and streaming debris. This was the third time in Mikhail Shorn's life that he had improperly put coordinates into his ship. He was the worst pilot. How the hell his brother had the genetic capabilities to fly starfighters was beyond him, because judging by Shorn's performance one would think the entire line to be completely inept.

The Sith Lord himself sat at the control panel, hitting a series of buttons on the dashboard amidst the wail of alarm sirens and the incessant flashing of lights. Too much noise. Too many colored buttons. When was the last time he'd actually taken a pilot's test? He couldn't remember. Mikhail began swearing incessantly as his ship rocketed through atmosphere, tearing up on the way down.

Dathomir. It had to be kriffing Dathomir. Last time he'd been on the planet one of the witches had tried to 'claim' him. A nightsister, from what he remembered. He'd gotten out of there as fast as he could. But now, due to a stupid mistake, he was back. To stay. Permanently. As in, making-the-planet-his-grave permanent if he didn't do anything about it.

When he had put in the coordinates he had accidentally put his ship too close to Dathomir's gravity. The planet had ripped him out of hyperspace and caused some pretty catastrophic damage to his engines. Hopefully he could manage to control his crash and then repair what was left over. But first he had to survive the crash.

Mikhail pulled back on the yoke as far as he could. The cockpit's viewport was a blur of white flame that suddenly dissipated as the re-entry stabilized. Ish. His engines were still torn up. The ground was quickly approaching. All he saw were trees and mountains and some sort of sinuous body of water that looked like a blue snake. Big river. He grunted, straining as he attempted to level out of the nose dive.

He managed to do so right as the ground came hurtling up to meet him.

"Feth," was all he managed, wrapping a bubble of telekinesis around him right before impact.

CRASH.

Blackness. Fire. Mikhail's eyes blinked open, blurry. He lay on his stomach. Pain. Flames. He saw the wreckage of his ship in front of him, burning up. He'd managed to survive being thrown through the viewport, though half his body felt numb and he could feel a wet, stick pool growing beneath him. He stretched out a hand toward the ship. No. No.

He passed out

@[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

 

[TiCira D'Arr Hawk]

The thunder rolled over the tops of cathedral like trees across the vast jungle. Wet earth saturated the ground as rain pelted the ground. The cry of birds would squak in the distance, their feathers ruffling as they sought shelter from the storm. seemingly the only observers of the quickly dwindling fire and lingering smoke of the crashed vessel.

Until two tanned moccasined feet sank into the damp jungle ground beside the prone form of one [member="Mikhail Shorn"]. Off to the right, thick trunk like feet made the ground shudder under the razor sharp claws of the fully grown Rancor, it’s bone plated face and flat snout arching to the sky before she gave a loud exhale, sending twin clouds of mist in her apparent uneasiness.

Careful feet drew the humanoid nearer, the tip of a decorated spear pointed towards the unconscious male, the tiny lapis lazuli, bone, and hematite beads giving only the faintest of jingles. Blood had long since been washed away from the Sith Lord’s face, his hair matted from where a large gash had struck his temple.

From behind the heavily decorated feathered helm, dark auburn tresses fell over iridescent blue lizard skin armor, while a dark grayish Terentatek cloak kept her dry from the rain.

The angles of her face were shadowed under the turbulent stormy clouds over head, only the flicker of lightning giving a brief revelation of a tanned visage holding no artifice.

A jab of the spear tip would poke but not break the flesh of the meaty shoulder of the maleling, as an uneasy tension grew in the air. No response prompted another small jab. Then one more.

Still, the man did not move.

Finally, an expert flick of her wrist sent the spear in a half twirl in her hands, only to stab the blunt end of it into the soft mud. A bending of knees, and then bare hands fell over toned shoulders, a small grunt falling from under the helm as a push of weight sent the man rolling onto his back.

Only to make the native slide her hind leg behind her in a low crouch in a jerk of realization. Familiarity in those rugged features. Pale skin. Dark hair. Chiseled lips that were normally curling in contempt and snark.

Yes, he was familiar to the witch.

An equal snarl grew over her mouth, the thought of leaving the Dark Sider behind heavy in her thoughts. It would be Fate. Something he would no less deserve. His lot had caused many a strife and woe to her kind and many others, the Thornebreaker himself.

Oh, she knew who he was --- and she knew what it meant for him to be here. Danger. For the Clans and for her kind.

He should die. He would die, if left alone to his own devices here in the heart of Dathomir, where nature had long sinced reclaimed what had once been lost long ago.

Her jaw grew tight, and eyes as gold as the twin Tatooine suns bore their stern and judgemental gaze upon him. She should let him die….

But the law of the Clan Healer demanded she didnt.

It was one thing to leave a conscious man to the beasts for his compupence. Another to leave one so gravely wounded. Not to mention… Her eyes shot over to the wrecked remains of the starfighter.

Others would be sure to be looking for him.

Her jaw set. She had a choice. As soon as the crackle of lightning went over the remaining homing beacon of the starfighter, damaging any chance of any of his kind from finding the Sith, she had made her choice.

But she would not risk her clan, she thought as bare fingers went dripping droplets of water over his pallid face, coming to a stop just over his temples. And perhaps, just as she had once long ago, he too would come to find a peace that had long been sought.

The low murmurs of an ancient spell soon joined the crack of lightning and thunder rolling in a growing tempest overhead, time ceasing to exist as all memories belonging to one Sith Lord Mikhail Shorn were erased.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

A man awoke inside a tent. At least, he thought it was a tent. How did he know that? In fact, how did he know anything? He sat up and winced. Strange. He'd felt as though his body had been cut open, but when he looked down he was completely whole. Except... except for one arm. His right arm was missing a hand and ended a little after the elbow. He stared at it curiously. How had he gotten that? Whenever it happened it must have been a long time ago. The wound had healed over ages ago.

The man glanced down. He wore animal skin pants and moccasins, but no shirt. Shirt. Hmm. How did he know that word?

He blinked rapidly and stood up, swaying slightly, before moving over to the sink? What? There was no sink here. What was a sink? He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs away. With one hand he swept away the tent flap. Bright sunlight burst forth and seared across his skin. The raven haired man loosed a cry of agony as lesions suddenly appeared on his body. He stumbled away and collapsed on the bedrolls. What was that?! Even as he stared at his arm where the lesions had appeared they began to fade. His eyes widened.

"I'm going insane," he muttered to himself.

With a start, he realized something. He didn't know his name. How could someone not remember their name? He stared wide-eyed at the ground, mind whirling so frantic with confusion that it was enough to make him want to go back beneath the fur skin cover and return to sleep. He stayed in that trance like state for a while. Minutes, maybe hours. He didn't know. What was time?

[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

 

[Kytarra Hawk]

“ Dhat depends on dha perspective o who be seein’” came the thick accented voice of an older woman slowly cackling from the depths of the hut [member="Mikhail Shorn"] had awoken in.

“Ah fine specimen of flesh you be, Jai.. but no sense in yer head no? But dhat wound in your ‘ead likely to blame fer yer loss of wits...maybe more.” the cackling grew louder as the elder watched the barechested man scrambling across the ground, hints of smoke still steaming from the now reddened segments of flesh the Dathomir sun’s rays had scorned.

There came a throaty chant from the witch and suddenly arrows of fires burst into flames at the far right corner of the mud and hide hut, casting its glow throughout the inner chamber and revealing an older woman with milky white eyes reminicent of a dead fish, her long snow white hair in highly decorated dreadlocks with bits of bone and rough cut gems. She wore long crimson leather robe that hung off her thin frame, with Varka seeds woven along as decoration, making a slight rattling sound with every movement she made.

Still cackling, the witch rose to her feet, taking a long staff in hand with the horn skull of a catlike creature at the end of it. Feathers would rustle as the click click tap of the end of her staff would resonate across the dirt floor, only to smack the man against his good shoulder “You done be a fool ta try ahn break into dhah light like so, maleling.” there came another slightly manic cackle, but as the light reflected against the completely white orbs that were her eyes, not a single bit of black between them, it was clear there was keen intelligence there. Wisdom.

As any Shaman in her right would have.

She hobbled a bit over towards what would be a shelf of sorts, setting to rest her staff where she took a gourd in hand, the liquid within sloshing as she made her way back to the prone maleling. Crouching down, that tattooed visage of the Shaman of Singing Mountain Clan broke into a wide grin, revealing blackened teeth. Not due to decay, but dyed so by a berry on purpose, a visual representation of her status.

“Be a right shame ta ruin dhat pretty face of yours” more cackling came, and one would wonder if she meant harm or good. Long gnarled fingers with nails dipped in the same dye as that of her teeth would lift the lid of the gourd, only to pour thick milky liquid into her palm. She would show a deftness and quickness beyond her seemingly elder years if the maleling were to try and scurry from her, for that hand filled with the liquid would soon reach over to slather the red welts of flesh scorched by the sun, a cooling sensation would follow as soon as it made contact with his skin.

“For dha one dhat claim ya shall be ‘ere soon enough.”

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Mr. I-Don't-Know-My-Name stared with wide eyes at the witch who he hadn't even seen inside the tent. "Wow," he thought, "something must have really hit me on the head. Wait, what's a witch? Oh, I remember now."

NoName felt an urgent need to be somewhere else, anywhere else. But he couldn't really remember anywhere else. This was so weird. Also, the sun apparently burnt him alive. How was that fair? And what the heck was this witch lady's accent? So strange. For some reason, it sounded familiar. He'd heard it before. Her smile sent shivers down his spine. He was pretty sure people's teeth weren't supposed to be black.

Noname stood absolutely still as the witch approached him and lathered his arm in a strange smelling substance. He shifted unsteadily on his feet as she applied the stuff. Had she just called him a maleling? He blinked.

"Uh..."

The liquid on his arm felt like some sort of gelatin. Coolness seeped through the burns on his arm, soothing the pain away. The hair all over his body stood on end, but the effect was calming. NoName relaxed a little. Then she said something about someone claiming him.

"Woah, time out. Claim? What do you mean claim? And who are you And can someone tell me what in chaos my name is?"

[member="Kytarra Hawk"] [member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

 

[Kytarra Hawk]

Another cackle broke the din, as if the maleling’s words were all too comical for her. Blackened teeth flashed in a wider grin.

“Soon, Jai. You shall know.” there was a glow that came to her white eyes, a glaze that seemed to swirl like clouds before disappearing.

It was then that the soft thud of approaching footsteps could be heard, only for the flap of the hut to be flipped abruptly open. A feminine figure stood silhouetted against the light, dressed in iridescent blue lizard skin armor.

The hand that held the hide flap open fell, shutting out the bright light of the afternoon and revealing the face of the newest occupant.

Her hair was drawn back in a high ponytail, dark auburn curls that would fall down to mid-back, with stray tendrils flanking her face, decorated feathers and beads jingling slightly with her movement.

There was a dark streak of coal black paint like a band across her eyes and temples, making the gold of her eyes a striking against her angular heart-shaped face.

There was a cool stoic look about her, as her attention fell before [member="Mikhail Shorn"]. From beside him, Kytarra, the Shaman of Singing Mountain Clan gave another cackle.

“You have dhone caught yourself one without wits, my niece.” she clucked out in paecean, for the spell of communication that she had sung earlier would have provided the maleling the knowledge of their tongue.

A language that they’d been speaking all along.

“I pity dha daughters he will beget upon you.” there came another cackle, and a slap to Mikhail’s good shoulder.

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Jai? Was that his name or some epitaph? No-Name's brows drew together and up in a rather amusing expression of utter confusion. The witch's eyes were terrifyingly creepy. The accent didn't help things at all.

Suddenly, the tent flap rustled open and a gold-eyed woman strode inside. No-Name's gaze ran over dour features etched into a sharply serene face of smooth marble that clearly still bore chisel marks. The black paint's contrast against olive skin brought out those dangerous amber eyes, so similar to a she-wolf's golden stare. Alluring curves were not quite hidden by the tanned hide of some animal. Toned muscles in her calves and arms gave no hint of fat on her lean form.

No-Name's raven eyebrows rose. He couldn't discern her veiled expression, but the hard cast to her features and her dangerously relaxed stance didn't seem to deter him.

He took a step or three toward her, eyebrows sinking back down. "So..."

Well... he supposed he could deal with-

"Hey!" He spun toward the older witch, forehead scrunching. "What do you mean daughters?" No-Name glanced between the two of them. "Can someone please explain what's going on?"

[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]

 

[Kytarra Hawk]

Kytarra gave another cackle, and as [member="Mikhail Shorn"] turned back towards her demanding an explanation, the sound of a resounding smack across his left cheek cracked through the air.

"Firm too!" enter another cackle as she shifted away, milky white eyes wide as the fine lines of her face wrinkled in her devilry. She went scooting over to the fire, to where she added, "You dhone have to bring him to heel. He know not our ways. Mark him soon."

White dreadlocks went dancing across her bony shoulders as she pointed a long dirty finger over at Ti'Cira. "Lest another take him from you."

The glower upon the auburn witch's face grew deeper, her attention flicking from the half naked male towards her aunt. "Sni waŋná " << not now.>> came her lightly accented voice, returning to the maleling.

But Kytarra was not one to be quieted down by her great niece. No, that bony finger soon went to poke at Shorn's thigh. "She has claimed you, Jai. Brought before me as witness. Rightfully so. You dhone now belong to her." her brows then waggled, blackened teeth bearing into a wide grin.

"Lest you desire for another witch to beget daughters from you."

 

[Lord Ghoul]

Smack! Shorn frowned in consternation. He'd just been slapped.... in the butt. He wasn't sure if it should bother him or not. After a half-second of contemplation, he decided he wasn't really bothered by the slap. He just wished it had come from someone other than Granny. Anyone, really.

Granny looked at him. Lest another claim? Uhhh. Oh no. A sudden sense of tribulation sent his stomach dropping. He glanced over at amber-eyes and found he couldn't look away. Granny's words fell on deaf ears. Right up until "belong" and "beget daughters" brought him back from daydreaming land.

"I'll pass, thanks," Jai replied lightly, only a little distracted by the lithe huntress. He didn't really want to belong to anyone. The idea of being a slave struck a cord of dissonance deep within Shorn. For now, the beast within rested. Woe to that which awakened it.

[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"]