Public Ashblood Feast

[Meya Liefi]

Open to all
Ashblood Feast​

A traditional Dathomiri celebration of survival, abundance, and community. The feast brings Dathomiri together to eat, drink, dance and celebrate their continued strength, with traditional Nightbrother fighting forming part of the festivities.

This particular Ashblood Feast is being held off-world for Dathomiri travelling or living away from Dathomir. While primarily intended for Dathomiri, the celebration is not secret, and others may attend if they learn of it.

Be warned that some Dathomiri may look down on outsiders who choose to attend.

Spoiler: Music

What had been an ordinary clearing in the forest only hours earlier was now almost unrecognisable. Fires burned throughout the clearing, their glow reaching between the trees as more Dathomiri arrived. Lanterns hung from the branches overhead, swaying whenever the wind stirred them.

The smell of cooking meat carried through the forest.

Roasted game turned slowly over spits beside the largest fires. Nearby, iron pots simmered over smaller flames. Tables had been dragged into the clearing and covered with food. Fruit, bread, roasted vegetables, smoked meats, and various Dathomiri dishes were piled across them.

Tonight was the Ashblood Feast. It was a celebration carried with them from Dathomir.

The pounding rhythm of drums and rattles guided the movements of the Sisters dancing around large bonfires.. Some wore dark leathers and strips of cloth, others little more than jewellery, paint, feathers, and whatever decorations they had brought with them. Gold and bone caught the firelight as they moved.

Meya had dressed for the occasion too. Black fabric wrapped around her in both tight and loose layers. Gold chains were woven through her hair as usual, though tonight several were accompanied by small pieces of bone and dark metal.

Near a fire, Meya’s weight shifted onto one foot, her hips following the beat with a slow, rolling motion. One hand lifted, wrist bending loosely as her fingers curled toward the flames, while the other remained low at her side. She began to move with the dancers, initially only a subtle sway, her bare feet finding the rhythm against the packed earth.

She turned, letting her body follow the motion rather than forcing it. Her hips twisted first, followed by her waist and shoulders, the loose black fabric around her legs trailing a moment behind her. Gold chains slipped across her skin with every movement, chiming softly against one another.

 

[Brandyn Sal-Soren]

Tag: Meya Liefi @Open, but hidden
Attire: Link​

The decision to follow the tether on his mind had not been made lightly. Instead, it had come from an increasing frustration at how the line between the touch of the Force and the presence of her had begun to blur. Even at a distance, the connection had niggled.

And so he tugged. Just enough to find her.

Now that he was here, he understood his folly. The scene around him ground against his inherited, noble-born self-righteousness. This display of pagan practice was unlike anything he had witnessed, and it...would not entice him.

The scene was nearly feral. And yet, he found himself forcefully pushing down a drumbeat within his own chest — one that threatened to synchronise with the rhythm of the dance.

It was wrong of him to come here. He had put himself in danger. Only the unique bending of light and Force-presence kept him hidden as he pushed off from a gnarled, time-worn tree and began to stalk the perimeter of the festivities.

A few dancers caught his eye, but he quickly averted his gaze upon fully registering their attire. It was wrong. He should leave. He should return to Naboo, to the embrace of his wife. He could hide the connection to this witch, if he just tried harder.

It was a lie. Cybelle would know. And he would be ashamed. Ashamed at his weakness. Ashamed that he felt this — whatever this was — and that he did not know how to stop it. There was only one person who could help, and as he looked up again, she came into view.

Brandyn stopped dead in his tracks.

Even from this far away, he could still hear the incessant chink, chink, chink of her chains. It wasn't that he actually heard them over the thudding drums. No. Not at all. He felt them. Tinkling in his mind. It was her sound — the one that haunted his waking hours.

If only he had picked an easier place to kill her.