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.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi | Brandyn Sal-Soren​

The invitation found its way to the Core. Fate's comedic instinct for poor timing. But the pull registered immediately.. not as obligation. Closer to curiosity, which was perhaps more dangerous.

Late, as it happened. All black, which was either honest or lazy and possibly both. A fitted tunic that pulled across the shoulders, leggings, nothing that could be mistaken for Dathomiri custom. No emissarial intention had been packed for this. But feeling slightly out of place was still unavoidable. A passive glance was spared for passing Brothers and Sisters while moving deeper into the clearing. Then smoke threaded through the air with the scent of roasted meat. Drums revealed themselves to the Sith's ears. Heat brushed close when nearness to one of the fires was reached.

Some old instinct, court trained and stubborn, made a dutiful attempt to file the whole thing as a formal function.. to give it order.. but this was no court. No throne and all the practiced courtesies that came with it. Only fire and feasting and bodies moving to a rhythm that was also foreign to Lysander.

Naturally, perhaps inevitably, attention slid from spectacle to reflection. Instead of gawking at the swirl of Sisters, his gaze just found itself on the flames. Given everything that had happened lately, the flames probably held his thoughts a little longer than he would've liked. There was still too much to sort through, too much that had followed him back from the edge of one life and into another. On the upside, there was at least some sense of momentum again. A comeback of sorts. Not necessarily the healthiest kind, but a comeback all the same.. even if it happened to be in a much darker direction.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag Brandyn Sal-Soren , Lysander von Ascania​

Meya had felt the Jedi drawing closer and closer. Their connection had not faded. If anything, it had remained a constant pressure against the back of her mind. Now, she could sense him here. He had to be.

Her body stilled, and she stepped away from her Sisters, letting the rhythm of the dance continue without her. Her golden eyes swept across the gathering, moving from face to face, searching between the fires and bodies. She did not see him.

So she moved. And moved again. Still, nothing. What she did see, however, surprised her.

Lysander.

He didn’t look the way she expected him to look. His clothing… it screamed Sith, but he was living in Republic space?

Her feet carried her toward him before she had fully decided to move. She was not sure how he would react to her approach, but she needed his attention. Reaching out, she tried to catch him by the wrist. Even if he pulled away, she hoped the sudden contact would be enough to pull his focus from everything else and toward her.

“Lysander... why?” The words did not fully form at first. Her gaze briefly wandered past him, searching the gathering again before returning to his face.

“Being here, will it not put your status in the Republic at stake?” She knew enough about the Republic's attitude toward her people to understand the potential danger.

Meya’s eyes scanned her surroundings again, before returning to Lysander. “Listen, I release you from my claim.”

She had claimed him with less seriousness than the tradition perhaps demanded, but it was still a custom her people held sacred. She could not continue to hold him to it when there was no true connection between them. Perhaps, more importantly, she hoped it was a gift he would appreciate. Living within the Republic while bound to a Dathomiri witch was unlikely to be particularly helpful for his reputation.

“I’ll send the message to my clan when I get back to my ship.” She hesitated, her attention briefly drifting toward the darkness beyond the fires. “But I... need you to behave as my male for the next few hours, if you’re willing.”

Meya turned and began moving toward one of the tables, expecting him to follow.

“There is a Jedi here. Somewhere. A man named Brandyn. I can sense him. I feel his thoughts in tangles. There is something wrong.”

Lysander had mentioned before that he was not the sort to understand these... things. Meya spoke anyway. It was in her nature to explain what occupied her mind, even when she knew the explanation might mean little to someone else.

“I do not know why he has hidden himself from me, but he cannot know...” Her voice lowered slightly. “He cannot find out about my children.”

She finally looked back at him.

“If he does... I need someone to protect them from him, if I cannot do it myself.”

 

[T'zarna Khab]

Tags: <Open!>

T'zarna had left Ossus on a small mission. A peaceful one that would have her investigating near the fringes of Republic space. The hope was to find those who felt the pull of The Dark Side, or those who could fall to it.

It would be a lie to say there wouldn't be an indulgent glee in corrupting the Jedi souls clinging to The High Republic. That lead her into the woods of the planet. Two figures followed her, fallen knights who often accompanied her. They were strong enough in the force to mask their presence, as was she. For now they were simple party goers.

T'zarna and her Knights didn't dance, content to stay at the fringes of the feast for now. Meat was plentiful, wine flowed, and songs were sung. Songs of the woman who could not be tamed. T'zarna found it odd, the way mammalian species especially held themselves as individuals.

It was clear to her insectoid mind, the hive was always stronger than the individual. However, something about the song was resonant with her. The message of never bowing, never yielding.

Yes, never again would her hive yield...

"Intiguing, these Dathomiri witches are steeped in tradition, much more refined than first expected," T'zarna muttered, her fork scraping over the remains of some charred meat. Compound eyes slowly scanned the scene. Suddenly, a scene came into focus of her numerous lenses.

There was a pair, talking where once there was dancing. Customs of humans were alien to the insectoid woman. She had only been taught enough to survive in social situations. Anything deeper than the bare minimum was considered a risk. She was very much the outsider looking in at this party.

Wine graced T'zarna's lips, a trickle of the sweet nectar tracing tongue. The singing continued, voice praising the mother and the daughter. Some of the words seemed to keep getting stuck in the mind of an interloper.

"In the dancing of fire, in the curve of old bones. Poetic, pretty, how curious. Such fragile beings create such powerful sound. For what reason?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi Brandyn Sal-Soren T'zarna Khab​

For a short time, staring into those flames continued uninterrupted, a captive audience to their chaotic flicker. Temporarily imprisoned inside the confines of his own mind once again, thoughts looped in a tight circle.. but there was never a clear exit. Upward came a glance just as Meya approached. When she reached for his wrist, fingers clenched tight, curling into fists. Tender still was the skin around the wrists, raw an discolored.. exactly where restraints had been secured the entire time spent in a cell.

Studying the lines of her face brought only more tension. "The Republic brands me an enemy. My allegiance lies with the Sith." Elaboration pulled at the edges of that statement. Meya deserved better than some declaration spat into firelight. But that required far more than the moment offered.

Surprise flickered openly across a previously guarded expression the instant 'releasing him' left the Sephi's lips. For a second the mouth hung open. In truth, the depths of that meaning had never been fully known. During the last visit to Dathomir, the claim to him, was akin to a milestone of sorts, like the potential of them being friends, considering arguing was their only consistent language.

An open palm lifted until her words continued and halted all motion. Just about to speak, voice already gathering in the throat, the name Brandyn silenced everything. Increasing confusion settled with every additional word she spoke.

"What children?" The question escaped. Bewilderment bled inward. Children? Since when? And what claim could a Jedi possibly hold? None of it aligned.

Glancing around the area came next, gaze sweeping over fires and dancing figures, then snapping back to Meya. "Of course I'll stand between them and anyone who means harm, Meya, but I don't know how to do that without turning this entire festival on its head."

The timing couldn't have been worse. Nothing about Brandyn had ever been simple. He stood for a road Lysander's life should have taken. But the Jedi only left Lysander pulling at a mess of conflicting emotions no other Jedi had ever drawn out of him.

Lysander exhaled slowly through his nose and threw both hands up, for words abandoned him entirely.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag Brandyn Sal-Soren , Lysander von Ascania , T'zarna Khab​

Meya's mind churned as she replayed Lysander's reaction. It seemed he was surprised and, possibly, disappointed by her releasing him from her claim. Even knowing now that he was not living in Republic space, she had expected a joke, or relief. Not... that.

They had gone long enough without speaking that she had also expected to feel little in his presence. Instead, she found herself unable to ignore his disappointment.

Her brow furrowed, the only reaction that slipped outwardly, and a few words came quietly shortly after. "Lysander... I have many questions. After this, you must not leave immediately."

She knew how he felt about commands, but Meya had her own way of communicating.

The table she had stopped beside smelled strongly of roasted meats. She paid it little attention as she continued. "My children, brought to life through an ancient blood magick ritual...though in reality their bodies and souls belong to Dathomir, just as mine do."

"But it is my sacred duty to see that they survive until they are old enough to be cared for by the clan as a whole." She was aware that human cultures did not always work the same way.

Consequently, it was not uncommon for a child to never know their biological parents. It was a detail Meya decided not to explain, given the limited time.

Meya reached into a pocket near the right side of her chest and withdrew a small communications device, holding it out toward Lysander.

"I've had many safety precautions put into place. If they are in trouble, you should be alerted and given their current location." That was, of course, a considerable should, but Meya was fairly confident in what she had arranged. Lysander was simply another layer of protection now.

"I may be able to force the Jedi out of hiding before anything escalates," Meya added. She knew she was being vague. Lysander was unaware of her Force connection to Brandyn, or the pull she constantly felt toward the Jedi despite everything.

It was entirely possible that what she planned would accomplish nothing if the alteration had fully healed too. Regardless, Meya lifted a hand to her face and pressed it firmly against the left side.