First Reply Amidst bones; yours, most regal

[Athanasios]

Ample robes and a cowl made for an easy way to identify a ne'er do well, as far as the idiotic, self-assumed "heroes" would have it. The very choice of apparel had entered cultural consciousness as a stark signifier of ill intention - a misconception made all the more frustrating to clear up by the insistence of Athanasios' "peers" (a title she could only consider with disdain and disgust in equal measure, lost as they were to their own hedonism) to dress up in a similar garb. Whoever had first taught the Sith to dress up in such a manner, she hoped, had been cast down into the most agonizing depths of the Acheron river.

But needs must, and the dead of Ukatis were yet to be properly tended to. Death in war hardly made for the more... interesting, sort of lingering spirits. Warrior-philosophers were not unheard of, but mere soldiers counted far more numerous in these nights, and theirs was not a particularly interesting purview. They certainly held loved ones, vengeance, or some other reason for fighting, and she treated them as she did most other of the wraiths in need of passage to the lands beyond. Most, but not all. Scholars held a certain position as equals within her mind, and more than one had found some measure of solace in a long conversation with her on the finer points of their chosen field of academia.

The poor were simply buried in graveyards, or otherwise incinerated; she suspected more than one mass grave would need her attention before she was through with that feudal society with delusions of grandeur. Today, however, her steps took her through the family crypt of one House Seiros, its leadership gutted after its patriarch was slain, having sided with the crown loyalists. Finding the new additions was not, to a practitioner of the necromantic arts such as herself, a particularly difficult endeavor. Restless spirits, souls, conscious things... with sufficient concentration, they could all but be heard, and felt. And few places were more silent and peaceful than catacombs.

"I am not a messenger," spoke the Sith to the empty air, as if engaging in a conversation with a presence few could see, indeed. "Nor am I your jailor. You are here - still here, I should say, because whatever remains of you is lost in these halls, in the confines of your own making. Transcendence, I can grant you; but only through resolving what keeps you bound to our plane."

The candle, sitting a top a small copper recipient, was set down soon after, and her head turned in a new direction.

"I will be your guide, but not before I deal with whatever interloper stalks these halls, or seeks me so foolishly."

A challenge, so casually disperse into the dimly-lit crypt... for she knew another was close.

 

[Delsin Shaw]

The vestige of many long past. Death was a way to be modified, and manipulated. Many did it in so many ways. With the breaking of the fabric of a veil between the Netherworld, and the Real Space, it was not so difficult to do such things. Even transversing to other aspects and even dimensions. It was with this death, I walked through these halls. For a purpose of procuring... people. Subjects. As always. to be studied and identified for such projects I had my grasp upon.

I kept myself hidden. As to be here without any formal invitation of a member would have been considered sacrilegious. I cared not if only to not be caught. As such, I did my best. Yet, a voice could be heard. The soft echoes of a tomb and what was held within. Unfamiliar and new to my senses. Their scent was different. Deathly and hallow. Broken but reformed. They had been changed or modified themselves. Yet, the voice called directly out to me. Proclaiming to deal with whatever this "interloper" would be. A soft smile formed upon my face. Holding what charm I could gather.

"You got me."

A simple reply, but one directed at them. I walked out of the shadows of the crypt. Coming closer to the individual. Their face reminiscent of a Skull, but not legitimately so. Hands raising up but for a moment with a gentle chuckle escaping my throat.

"I do not seek you O'delver of crypts. I seek something else."

Athanasios

 

[Athanasios]

The living were, on most occasions, a source of great frustration... and emotional disconnect. Athanasios could not bring herself to care for them, not truly. Not without great effort, bringing her to a simple, logical conclusion; why exhaust herself with the affairs of the living? They had no need of her, and she had but very little need of them. Hardly did they ever understand the intricacies of her calling, nor respect it. One could only stand a boorish spacer's mockery of her choice of accoutrement or facepaint before she simply grew tired of them and sent them to the shores of the river beyond far sooner than they would have thought.

Not all souls lingered, after all.

Dark eyes regarded the newcomer, twin pools of black reminiscent of onyx. A gaze made all the more impactful by the black pigments the psychompomp had used all around her eyes, surrounded by so much chalk-white; one had to truly focus, to squint, perhaps, to truly glimpse within her eyes... and realize just how little she seemed to care, to feel. Inscrutable, intense - perhaps vaguely morose, at times, but not now. Silence stretched between the pair, the light of candles rendering the sight of her all the more befitting of a crypt, half-sunken in the gloom.

"You do not look Ukatian. If you are not here for me, then... maybe you fashion yourself a defiler of crypts, a raider of tombs, or even a sordid tormentor of restless spirits? I would advise against doing any of these things, in case you were wondering where I am going with those speculations. They tend to be bad for your health, and I think we both know just how little we have to gain in fighting here."

Delsin Shaw

 

[Delsin Shaw]

"No I am not."

Lowering my hands, I noticed distinctly that the individual in front of me spoke very well. A turn of phrasing and how the spoke showed a higher level of education. Showed to me that this was someone who was learned and likely had a better understanding of the world around them than some other people. The soft flash of a Princess's face ( Quinn Varanin ) shone in my mental image for a mere minute. A soft smile as it left me and then returned to the visage of the person. Proclaiming me to be some "tormentor of restless spirits."

"I do not defile the spirits. However, their bodies can still be of use."

It was clear, this person tended to those who no longer walked among the living. Their presence in the force was deeply rooted, and had an aura of twisted life. Not pervasive, but enough to be noticeable by anyone who knew how to look, and sense another. I took a mere second to collect my thoughts and continued. Parsing out what it was. As if defending my thoughts to a stranger.

"I study those who have passed. Determine death, and find ways to extend life, or end it prematurely depending on the circumstances. These people lived their life already, and this act is not of despoiling their integrity. More so, attempting to respect them and allow their children to carry a legacy stronger than when it was passed to the children."

I had told the truth. I did do that which I stated. However, it was more so that I wanted to extend the legacy of specific people. Specific groups. One so that they could be of use to me and those who I called allies, friends, and used against any enemies to the Absolution of the Galaxy. I took a step towards this individual.

"I am Delsin, An Echani Alchemist, and Biologist. Should these be your kindred, I do not seek to disgrace you or them."

Athanasios

 

[Athanasios]

"A trespasser, then," concluded the hooded woman firmly, dark eyes peering as dispassionately as before. There was a certain curtness to her, as if she found the interaction to be naught but a waste of time, as most interactions with the living tended to be. And oh, were she privy to the thoughts occupying the stranger's mind... then she might just correct their thoughts on her demeanor. Academia and learning suited her well enough, and boorish ignoramuses offended her sensibilities - but just as readily did she loathe the notion of nobility. Right of blood, some called it, and she was all too glad to disprove such, to show such pompous sorts how similar their skeletons were to those of the common folk. Not particularly out of any sympathy for said commoners, of course, but merely pragmatism. Blood and legacy did not make one great, but the pursuit of knowledge... that much was a different story altogether.

"Extending one's life? A droll notion, and the most common stepping stone for those dabbling in the mortuary arts," answered the young woman sternly, as if rendering sentence. "Frankly, more than one would-be eternal ruler has tried to attain their goal through the souls of others, stolen and used as so much fuel, so much pillars to prop up their own life - so, you'll just have to accept my wariness. Death cannot be denied, not even by the Sith... but, so long as you allow me to guide the lingering wraiths to the beyond, what you do with their bodies is no concern of mine."

Thin, perhaps thankless, but an accord all the same. When the stranger stepped forward, she remained standing in place, still so very dispassionate. Lacking in much of an emotional response.

"Those who feel the need to introduce themselves by way of species have always bewildered me. I am Athanasios, psychopomp and necromancer. I guide lost souls to what lies after, and seek out lost lore. And these people are no kin of mine; their pointed opinions on the place of women have me questioning my mission to safeguard all cultures I come across for posterity. Maybe I'll consign them to the dustbin of history, when my cousins finally reach this deep in the Alliance's territory and reap a bloody harvest. Food for thought..."

Delsin Shaw