Private At The Roof Of The World

[Darth Carnifex]

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It had been months since their last encounter on Dathomir, much had changed since those heady days.​

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The Dark Lord of the Sith had withdrawn into his studies of the Dark Side of the Force, sequestering himself away on distant and forgotten worlds to unravel their mysteries. He was rarely seen by the other leaders of the Empire, appearing unannounced to further some grand galactic scheme that he kept close to his chest. He often had his will carried out through intermediaries, an army of holo-droids dispatched across the Empire to relay his commandments to those who were destined to play a role in the cabbalistic design. ​

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Now he had returned to the known galaxy, slipping unseen through the webbing of his Empire like a whisper. His shuttle touched down on the landing pad balanced precariously over the wide snow-laden valley that ran adjacent to the dizzying high mountain range which housed the clandestine facilities of the Dark Lord. Hydraulic steam wreathing his footsteps, the Dark Lord of the Sith moved with purpose and determination across the wind-swept bridge and into the sleek austere fortress. Inside the air was perfectly regulated to a comfortable degree, stale air recycled and purified back into each room by advanced filtration machinery. Few beings lived within the walls of the mountain fortress, save for a staff of decraniated servitors who maintained the internal systems without exhaustion.​

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Near the apex of the fortress was a circular audience chamber, resplendent with comfortable accommodations and affording a magnificent view of the surrounding landscape. It was here where the Dark Lord of the Sith situated himself, waiting patiently for his guest to arrive.​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

'Here is that favor,' Pom knew the day would come when she would be called to return some form of payment for her initial pack with the Dark Lord of the Sith which rendered free Dathomir for all Nightsisters and their estranged Daughters of Dathomir to return to their roots unhindered. It was not in her character to fear his type, she being fashioned from shadow herself, feels more comfortable walking among deeper shadow than among someone who would practically deserve her trust due to some alien innate goodness.

Long ago she perfected her methods of hiding her ammunitions. Such things as, her Potions were instilled inside her crystal buttons she wore, other crutches she donned openly, such as the bones she tied around her neck, taken from those she killed to enslave their spirits to do her bidding for eternity. She typically bore an arsenal of Potions and amulets, relics and totems…even within the privacy of her own domicile, that she did not require a moment to prepare for his meeting when her commlink resounded his summons. She only thought for a brief moment that perhaps it would represent her badly if she arrive as, well, her usual self. No. She could not remove a single crystal, nor bone relic from her person. It would so put off her whole aura. She would feel…mentally and spiritually lopsided. Darth Carnifex would simply have to accept she would not dare curse him, unless provided good reason. But, he isn't like everyone else; why would anyone the likes of him feel the need to give a Nightsister good reason?

A whisper from her servants revealed to her what they had discovered in regards to the overall necessity of her presence, and she halted her motions to Apparate straight away. She walked to her study and grabbed the handle of her storage box holding ingredient vials and also her satchel which held everything else without weight or bulkiness; she could bring along a rancor in there, if she so desired but she was uncertain if it would be able to breathe in there.

A simple prick of her finger upon a poisoned, fine splinter sewn into her shirt cuff, and she vanished into the Timelessness of the Nether. She focussed briefly upon the deepest darkened being the Force revealed, and witnessed as usual her glorious Fanged God sitting afar upon his hellish throne. How many fear him all because it is they who choose to be his enemy! The second blackened soul her eyes beheld, but not by far seemingly from her beloved deity, she figured her Emperor.

The Nightsister withstood the assault of the Nether to reappear before the Sith Emperor where he beckoned her. A lite curtsey as usual she rendered him. She searched his features for his expression, although she yet did not have him figured out, and she knew it full well. "I have come, I presume, to assist you in some task?" For that is what her spirits foretold her, yet those little bastards have been known to dupe her every now and again. They simply love to be tortured, and detest anything that does not spew chaos!

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor had but to wait a few minutes before the air crackled before him, sundered by the dark magic of the Witch-World. Out emerged the petite Gerent of Dathomir, dressed in the trappings of her people and of her devotion to the Fanged God of the Nightsisters. In comparison, the Dark Lord of the Sith wore black knee-length boots covered in metal plates and soles, a black uniform that covered his entire body bearing the red symbol of the Empire across his chest, and metallic vambraces which covered the entirety of both of his forearms and were adorned with vibrant red crystals. His head was uncovered and unadorned, his mane of dark black hair pulled back and bound by simple leather bands. ​

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"Ah, there you are." His voice was smooth and deep, seductive in the authority that it possessed with the veneer of nobility disguising the dark wellspring of cruelty that hid just below. "My dear lady Tivé, it is a blessing to once again turn my gaze upon your fair face after all of these long arduous months. I am pleased to see that many other clans have taken up my offer to return to Dathomir, the Dark Side grows stronger there with every witch that steps foot upon its soil." It was no surprise that the Emperor would have been keeping close tabs on what was happening after his agreement with Pom had been ratified, there was much to admire about the Nightsisters and the Emperor was more than eager to monitor them in their natural habitat.​

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"But we did not come here to simply reminisce, I indeed have a task for you." With a lazy wave of his hand, a panel on the floor off to the side of them opened and elevated a large metal container into view. The side facing them popped off with a hiss of pressurized air to reveal a suit of armor, decorated in the ancient runic language of the Sith, and pulsating with latent Dark Side energy. "I have been working to craft for myself new armor, and the work is nearly complete. It needs but only a few enchantments to reach its full potential, and I have concluded that the magic of a Nightsister would be the only solution."​

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"Do this and I will consider your debt fulfilled."​

Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

The beauty of the mountain range that surrounded them did not escape her notice from his outlook tower, as either of them could be said to exist in stark contrast to such nature. There is nothing natural about either of them. "Magnificent," she uttered. Her eyes washed over him, preferring to study his stature to what lay beyond. While his land might shudder at the chaos which spews from the Emperor of the Sith, the Nightsister felt drawn to the source.

Pom started when she heard his request. "You desire fortification?"

'Me?' she marveled in disbelief. She thought he must have people to do this sort of thing for him. People whom he trusts completely; does he not? He mentioned the offer of her debt being paid in full, caused thankful disbelief to spark in her eyes. She met his eyes as she nodded, a subtle smile formed on her lips, "Okay." The implications however perplexed her.

'Wow!' she thought.

But he is watching her… "I would be ungrateful if I did not admit your ongoing study of the Warlock's Gate does provide some benefit to certain rituals which coincide with the witching hours."

His request of her would require nearly a week to complete, and many fortification tinctures to keep her from collapsing before her efforts can be fully achieved.

"A life for a life." Not her declaration, only she stated the true price which the Elementals behind the fortification of such magick declared long ago. Unsure how to proceed, whether or not he could understand, as his magick is far different than her own, she made an attempt to explain her position. "Believe me, I am incredibly grateful to you for the recognition you have bestowed upon my people, when you had no prior connection to us directly but jurisdiction and your protection cast over Dathomir. The spell you request however, to fortify your armor shall come at a great physical cost to me. I freely offer my services as I am indebted to you, Emperor." She reached into her stash box without even looking, withdrawing a potions vial with a distinct topper between her delicate fingers which she twirled with ease, stirring its contents. "To be blunt, the magick itself needs to witness and be able to differentiate between death…and life, to lose and gain touch with the essence you deem to be the Force."

'Is that blunt?' She studied his gaze, suspecting she missed the mark but only due to, as usual, cultural differences. Most feared the unknown. Or is Pom Stych Tivé too bold to assume Darth Carnifex could not know more about her magic than he lets on? She wondered just how comfortable he would feel being involved in her spell by absolute necessity. She would explain more about its cost to them both in a moment.

Conflict shadowed her expression. "I do have one question. What is your reasoning behind trusting me?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"A life for a life," the Dark Lord of the Sith mused as he considered her words greatly, for there was much to ruminate in regards to what she asked of him in return. His many years in service to Imperial Intelligence had lent him a great eye for studying the bodies of other beings. He could see the slightest movements and discern much about their intentions, their thoughts, and their past actions with clarity. They were separated by the vast gulf between their cultures, but the Dark Lord of the Sith could see something in her eyes that he had seen many times before.​

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Anticipation.​

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"My reason," the Emperor spoke after a moment, "Is that you are knowledgable in the arts of your birthright, perhaps the most powerful witch living. I would trust only the best to carry out what I intend, I would not entrust such importance to an amateur." He turned away from his armor then, tall and powerful, and approached the Gerent of Dathomir with great meaningful strides. The difference between them was even starker as he stood before the Nightsister on equal ground, she was barely half of his size and nearly six times lighter than he.​

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Reaching out to cusp her chin, the Dark Lord intoned in a subdued yet nevertheless intense voice, "I have watched you closely since our first meeting, I have seen your dreams. Your devotion to your Fanged God is great and mighty, a worthy trait that is sorely lacking from most of the faithless galaxy." Each word reverberated through their physical connection, his gaze utterly hypnotic as each iris danced in molten flame. "Such devotion must be cultivated, strengthened, for there will come a time where new generations will arise to replace the dying. I would see them strong and resolute, empowered by the Dark Side of the Force, and utterly devoted to a singular desire."​

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He rubbed his thumb against her blackened lips, "Is that not what you desire as well?"​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She watched a sudden change wash over him, and she already felt the pheromones shift the aura of the moment towards a carnal engagement. How quickly it exchanged to become practically palpable between them. She could not resist his effect. Fate screamed at its onset. Dathomir’s Winged Goddess wept at what the deity was being commanded to ordain. How many ever stood at the receiving end of the Emperor's gaze and found him pleasant, even desirable, wishing to know what could stir through the acceptance of his touch? Pomstychtivé would be such a rarity. Death is the typical result for most beholding him, for sure most unwillingly, and here she finds her senses drooling over the mere idea of a far different encounter than most would dare imagine. The Darkness oozing from his caress caused her eyes to close, brow to furrow, and she purred with acceptance.

Take.
Also give.

"Magnificent," she repeated. Opening her eyes again to behold his gaze, the iris of her eyes now turned black as onyx. "Anything you wish is my desire," she freely offered up.

Pom’s heart longed to behold a spark of life within her pit of emptiness left behind in the terrible ordeal surrounding the magick which stole the youth of her son. For so very long she suffered in silent torment, her arms stripped empty. She often felt off kilter and unable to fulfill her purpose in the wake of the wreckage Ren left behind. She needed Darth Carnifex .

"Grant me my daughter whom I have foreseen?" she beckoned. "I offer you freedom to request anything of me as an additional price for all you have graciously bestowed. I hope to fortify your trust."

A shudder stole her from her thoughts and her god redirected her direction. "But death is the first offering," she said, as her magick sifted through his enticing spell. She reached out into nothing with her hand and a crack of thunder cut through the air while the Nether sliced open and Pom Stych Tivé's Doppelgänger Spasa fell from the air onto the floor before them. The newcomer shrieked, shivering from the cold feel of the Emperor's most purest Darkness, bound immobile by the Spirit of Ichor of the Fanged God of Darkness.

Pom leaned close to her Emperor and revealed, her words dripped with her disgust in the matter. "I keep setting out to kill it, but it infects me in return." She dropped her gaze, how shameful it felt to be stuck with such a horrid ailment! "A few years back, the…Em-pyrean," she struggled to form the name of the apostasy, "took me into it, to transform me to it. Luckily my god brought me back to him. In the struggle, I was divided in two."

Spasa exists fully within Ashla. She is Pom redeemed. "I cannot stand it or what it represents," she hissed. "It attacks me with Force Light and instills into me its—its emotions, and even the Fanged God practically holds its mere existence against me, an echo of past sins," she added regretfully. "Please help me purge it from existence. I guarantee such a feat would be highly profitable in forging your armor. I shall remain indebted to you."

The Nightsister already began to focus on her spell casting, entailing her assault upon Spasa and charge the Emperor's armor with the shattering of her doppelgänger's life-force, which would then need to be fashioned to serve a particular reinforcement.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

His intense smoldering eyes bore into hers, unwavering.​

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Gently, the edge of his thumb pulled down her lip ever so slightly before letting it bounce back into place as he removed his hand from her face. ​

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"Anything I wish?"​

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Such a dangerous proposition to be levied against one so malevolent as the Dark Lord of the Sith, though her intentions were as clear to him as broad daylight. She wanted him, needed him, hungered for him. He was the flame that enticed the moth, a source of power so brilliant that it was hypnotic in its allure.​

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The stench of desire rolled off of the Nightsister in palpable waves, voracious for succor. ​

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"So be it, my dear, your wish shall be granted."​

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Power broiled between the veil of life and death, and in an instant, another being joined them against their volition. Restrained by dark magic and dominated by fear and confusion, the poor wretch proved to be an interesting morsel for the Dark Lord of the Sith to investigate. Reaching out with his own power, he levitated the doppelgänger's body up into the air so that he could better look her over. As was stated, she was an exact copy of the Gerent of Dathomir albeit stripped of the Dark Side of the Force. A foul perversion indeed, the Emperor agreed.​

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Without a word, the Emperor wrapped one hand around the smaller woman's petit neck and gradually clamped down on her windpipe. Squeezing his fingers together, the Emperor watched as the doppelgänger struggled for breath, her eyes bulging out in fear, blood flushing to her skin as they popped under the pressure. Then, with a sickening snap, the Emperor shattered the vertebrae of her neck with a twist of his wrist. Limp and lifeless, he tossed the corpse aside to the floor, a small trickle of blood oozing out from past her plump lips.​

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"Life itself is only a vision, a dream," the Emperor casually remarked, "Nothing exists save empty space and you." He looked down at the corpse which lay broken at his feet, "And you are but a thought."​

Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Had Pom just succeed at causing her Emperor to salivate? She peered back into him as deeply as he would permit. Of course he is correct about her!

Regardless, Pom said what she had, and she meant it. To be trusted is a great honor for the Nightsister, especially that most among the galaxy would not dare so much as approach a Nightsister. The Emperor could yet have no idea how much weight went into her proposal, but soon he would! He claimed to have seen her dreams, but has he awareness of her NIGHTMARES?

Perhaps…
Yes, just perhaps.

Seeing the Emperor's willingness to entertain her proposition quickly became pushed to the back of her mind when her good twin was brought forth out of Ashla, had been trapped and discarded. While its mind was able to contemplate its position, the doppelgänger barraged its host soul with Force Light as it always had. Pom cringed, resisting its tug to experience its own sensations linking to the very reality Pom experienced in the Light.

The Nightsister liked very much the idea that she would gain a better insight into how Darth Carnifex operates soon enough. She would witness and harness the passion required for the success of her spell from the power he generates. His effortless display just now, only seemed to exhibit a small inkling of passion while the Emperor eloquently regarded death. She was not surprised to find him delightfully spiritually inclined.

Spasa does not actually exist in the physical world any longer as initially introduced. The white witch was caught in-between existence for an extended amount of time, that she eventually became one among the ethereal realm. She could come and go between realms as she willed, and every time Pom killed her, the Nightsister was the one who truly suffered, for Spasa held a notion that she willfully sacrificed herself in order to redeem the rest of her soul that is Pom.

Pom began walking across the floor, past the Emperor and over the body which began to vanish. She pondered in her mind just exactly how discomforting this whole ordeal is going to be to her, but deemed it all worth it in the end.

The Emperor's residence began to transform around them, until it was no longer seen. Without conjecture regarding exactly what it will take, Pom walked on opening up the Nether around them. The two were left in the mists.

"Spasa is constantly attempting to accost the Nether with hope," she said. "Her existence seems unrestricted by timelessness. She may currently be in a hundred places at once." The Nightsister had no idea how to actually lure her Doppelgänger completely into the open, not just lure Spasa away from existing in one moment, but truly lure her away from every coinciding instance at once, and finally destroy her in every place where she can be found.

Pom still held the single potion vial in her hand. She sensed the exact location of the armor from the physical realm, as she would need to reach out to fortify it.

"How do you draw all Light forth from darkness?" she asked. Even the lesser of her demons would not touch it.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Darkness surrounded them, but the Emperor was unconcerned.​

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Darkness was his ally, he had been molded in the umbral depths of the Force's recesses, had learned to harness the power of the darkness for his own ends, and he was intimately familiar with the shadows which bled into existence just like ink spilled over a white paper. He simply brought his hands together at his waist, fingers clasping with one another, and sucked in a deep lungful of breath before slowly breathing out in a cone of visible moisture. As Pom talked, the Dark Lord of the Sith gathered the ruinous powers of hate and cruelty onto himself, cloaking himself in the cold unforgiving energy of the Dark Side of the Force. The air around him visibly crackled and shimmered with power.​

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With one hand, he reached out as if grasping an object that could not be seen. In a flash of inverse light, a sword began to materialize in his grip. It was larger than most swords, being over half the Emperor's length and inscribed with the blasphemous runes of the ancient Sith.​

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It was Derriphan, the Light-Cleaver, the Eater of Souls, the Herald of Woe. ​

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Without a word, the Dark Lord grasped the weapon with his other hand and angled the blade's tip down towards the ground. With a single thrust, he stabbed the weapon into the ground, dark energy crackling along its length as power radiated outward in tangible waves. From the shadows around them came small pinpricks of light, morsels that were swept up by the unleashed power and siphoned into the blade itself, dematerializing once they came into contact with the wicked weapon. Soon, greater and greater swaths of light were drawn forth from the darkness like poison from a wound, absorbed into the weapon the Dark Lord held in his grasp.​

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"I will draw her out from the Netherworld, into the blade I wield. She will not be able to escape."​

Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

A force within Pom's eyes glimmered at the marvelous display. It rationalized much of the history between their cultures. The Sith and the Nightsisters lead very different lives, and yet how they could compliment one another in abilities. But without proper education regarding the skills one another possess, much is left uncultivated, for they often know not when to call upon the other for aid. Truly saddening. Pom had little knowledge of such useful enchanted tools beyond her own fashioning, what she did have served few of the same purposes as the Sith boast, but her's moreso by primitive means preserving her ancient and proud culture. It was only over the past few years she began expanding her mind to study about the magick which sustains the Sith. Her understanding of power had expanded so much, but all she had touched upon was a drop in the well of what could be her's to master. So much historical discoveries had she left to even consider! Every instance opens her eyes!

Her mind set to reeling at the potential he proposed, that being success at what she longed to accomplish. She adored the darkness emanating before her.

In the distance she sensed the taunt of her twin soul, Spasa, it beheld no true contemplation regarding what heights such darkness could impede. The Light drew from all around them, seemingly forth from the farthest reaches of the Nether. It's luminance defined the features of the Nightsister and the Sith Master, setting them aglow, until snuffed out by the magick of Darth Carnifex 's splendid enchanted sword.

The Nightsister felt the metaphysical tug of the sword and she watched in silence respectfully taking it all in. It felt alive, and growing in forcefulness the longer the Emperor held it. In time, and much to her delight, the source of Pom's distain appeared on approach as he had promised. Entranced Pom stepped forward to behold the ordeal.

'Spasa shall die this moment!'

The abhorrent life-force could not resist the command of the sword without the Ashla to back her up.

'Ashla is NOT here!'

Spasa was ushered in with Hell's Demons blockading her retreat. As the white witch had promised herself to do all that she could do to become redeemed, she latched onto Pom and forced her memories into the mind of the Nightsister. Pom clutched at her heart and doubled over, shrieking at the mental intrusion, and the burn inflicted upon her physical body by the Light of the Force from Spasa’s assault.

The spirit of Spasa fought the onslaught in a furious final stand. The witch was eventually drawn into the Darkness over which the Emperor had absolute control. Pom turned towards his sword, and reaching up in a quick single motion, she pricked her finger upon its razor sharp edge and held it fast. Reaching out with her free hand Pom thrust the energy of her spell towards the Emperor's armor back in the physical realm, charging it with fury to forge it into creation. Pom's incantation seethed in the words of ancient. She physically endured the ramifications impounding upon her being by her contact with the sword for as long as she possibly could withstand. Maybe it was truly only a moment till her Emperor desisted utilizing the magick of his sword. But to Pom it honesty seemed to take an eternity to utter her spell.

The last subtle streaks of Spasa's Light completely levitated out of the body of the Nightsister, into the Darkness which wholly claimed it. At that instance, Pom finally slunk unconscious into the darkness of the abyss.

Miraculously, from her fingers the potions vial did as it was charmed to do. The stopper flung from the glass rim, and its contents sought out the Nightsister who set their purpose into action.

First death.
Then life…

 

[Darth Carnifex]

It was done.​

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The Light had been purged, scoured clean from their surroundings. Spasa had been dealt with, rent asunder, and used to empower the armor he had labored for many moons over. Now all that remained around them was darkness and silence, pillowy plumes of breath exuding from the Emperor's mouth as he exhaled slowly. Then he turned to face the fallen Nightsister, holding his sword in one hand while the other reached down to grasp the small woman around the waist and gingerly raise her up to his broad chest. Without a word, the pair then transitioned back into the material plane of the galaxy.​

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Setting his sword down on the nearest surface, the Emperor walked with Pom's unconscious body and placed it down on the soft cushions of the many couches which lined the area. Having done that, the Emperor turned away from her to face the armor, now humming with the power instilled in it by their murderous ritual.​

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The words of Pom resonated inside of the Emperor's mind; First death, then life.​

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He turned back towards Pom, who laid unconscious in his presence. Kneeling down at her side, he reached out with his hand to rest it upon her chest. Face stoic, he distributed power from himself and into the fallen Nightsister, energy streaking from his fingertips, past her clothing, and suffusing into her skin. ​

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"Rise."​

Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Charged Spirit of Ichor from the potion vial crept into the body of the Nightsister as she lay depleted. It preserved her spirit pure in its darkness, shielded against any possible light. It awaited the moment for activation. Now is not that moment.

Those memories of Spasa had been her last attempt to redeem herself. Yet she and Pom had been polar opposites, torn apart by the Fanged God and Winged Goddess, like two divorcing parents divvying up their children. Each aspect of her existence had been perfectly happy with who they were as individuals. Each strove to achieve great heights in their disposition. But one had a serious superiority complex.

The memories Spasa infused into Pom's consciousness did not suit her at all. They were much like many people of the core worlds lived. Filled with love, and compassion, forgiveness and hope. Such circumstance turned the Nightsister's stomach. Were she not plagued with losing consciousness at the moment, she would be praying to suffer to! In fact, she detested the infliction so wholeheartedly that she welcomed her death; and so here she is.

Pomstychtivé is however, far too vain to die. The intent of her potion is precisely to cheat death.

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A wondrous intrusion crept into her body, relinking her torn out soul,— which walked back to its host, through Carnifex, after having been caught up in the forging of his armor,— to her physical consciousness, and suddenly casting her bones into a most familiar painfully frigid state. She gasped sharply for her first breath. She could not see the exact moment she opened her eyes. After a moment and her vision returned, it took her a second or two to identify the spatial relationship of her body to the rest of the surrounding room. She quickly realized that she lies so very close to her god.

'No. He is not god,' she thought as she peered up at Darth Carnifex . 'Oh, but he does feel so very much like him.' She would not be brazen enough to openly admit that a terrible thing, for her god is known to be a real bastard from time to time.

All traces of Spasa's memories had been drawn from her by that wonderful sword. For the first time in many months, Pom felt finally healed from Spasa's intruding affects.

It did not take long for the Nightsister to realize what the Emperor had done for her, nor to recognize how she felt because of his presence. In all honesty she did not know how to respond to his gesture. She merely set her hand upon his and closed her eyes, simply breathing again, intently studying the sensation caused by the touch of his distinct power. She returned to him the sensation that she is most grateful.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Her hand clutched his own, in both gratitude and in reverence to the power that he controlled. His hand utterly dwarfed hers, encapsulating it many times over as he closed his fingers around it. He then drew it close to his lips and placed a singular kiss upon her knuckles, slipping his other hand underneath her head to bring her towards him just to draw her lips to meet his own. He held the embrace for several seconds, the connection flowing openly between them as the dark powers of the Sith and the Nightsisters intermingled. ​

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When he broke apart, he was already shrugging off the fabric which clung to his body. Alone in the sanctuary of the Dark Lord, the stars whirred about overhead as the moon of Khar Shian passed into view. Shadows lengthened across the land, the only illumination for thousands of kilometers the brazen lights which adorned the Emperor's mountain keep. When the Dark Lord of the Sith broke away again, he walked over on bare soles to stand before the armor which had been blessed and enchanted by the tribulations of their ritual.​

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He reached out to touch the armor, bolts of electricity snaking out from his fingertips to briefly strike the armor as his hand neared. Drawing upon the dark powers in his heart, the Sith Emperor conjured for himself a tunic and a pair of trousers around his naked flesh, clothing himself as each individual piece of the armor floated up into the air and began to affix themselves to his person. By the time he was done, he was clothed in the armor he had forged on Remnicore, enchanted with Nightsister magic.​

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Admiring himself in the reflection of the glass windows, the Emperor clenched his fist in triumph.​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

When Darkness is engulfed by its own likeness, into how much deeper comfort of shadow can it slip?

No greater depths had she witnessed among men. An unfair measure to weigh all others against across the galaxy forevermore. Enveloped in sheer lust, not wanton for the things of little goodness which shed into his mystical sword. The Nightsister indulged wholeheartedly upon her Emperor’s generous engagement.

A woman is fashioned such a fool concerning men. Perhaps it is the same for them? She could not know, but every touch lingered upon her physically that her head shall surely replay each motion he made and relive what overflowed from the depth not many ever relinquished control enough to experience. She is a huntress, seldom bested to become man’s prey. Seldom delighted to dare even consider surrender.

In complete ecstasy and the weight of darkness unraveled, the potion which scourged through her veins activated by his intentions to give her the rights to the very life she requested of him. Spent, Pom slumped into the soft furs on his plush mattress and from her fingers cast the combination of their energy to further the enchantment of his armor.

She watched his every muscle clench. 'Yes, it is wonderful, all of it, not just your armor.' Her eyes follow Darth Carnifex as he studied the sensations of her enchantments. She finally gave into exhaustion knowing she requires more time here to cast the final rituals necessary for longevity. She slept, and while in her dreamscape Astrally explored the secret depths she longed to understand about the Darkside of the Force.

Thanks for having me over, tijas mekn.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Days had passed since that fateful evening, and the Emperor of the Sith had treated Pom to all of the hospitality he had to offer. He bade her watch him as he trained in the castle's dojo, pushing the limits of his physical capabilities and honing his skill to keep himself sharp and able. His scar-laden skin glistening with beads of sweat as he danced across the cushioned floor of his training facility, his fists snapping out to crush the duranium plating covering his sparring droids. They swung electrified batons at his exposed body, but he effortlessly weaved between their programmed swings to deliver bone-crunching jabs to their joints and midsection which left them sparking heaps upon the floor.​

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By the time the session had ended, only the Emperor remained standing. A dozen servants moved from the margins of the arena to clear the detritus from the floor, allowing the Emperor a moment to walk over and begin cleaning the sweat from his skin with a simple cloth. He was bare from his neck to his waist, a simple sash tightening just as simple trousers around his groin and legs. His feet were bare as well. His hair had been tied back into a simple but effective ponytail, which ran down past the nape of his neck to the center of his broad back. ​

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Adjacent to the arena was a small viewing area with polished wood benches, along with several servant droids that could cater to the needs of anyone resting. Walking up to where Pom was sitting, the Emperor tossed aside the cloth he was wiping himself off with and sat down next to her.​

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"How are you feeling?"​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Be treated as Queen for a week, or return to the swamplands of Dathomir? No respectable woman would reject that offer. The Nightsister has been all around the galaxy, through to wild space, but there was not another person nor place she could compare to him, or his own. Could she get used to it? She wasn't invited to, so the thought doesn't matter. She is always open to new experiences, although extended absence leaves her longing for home. She had once been off-planet for four years straight.

Pom upheld her more ancestral culture. She never yet touched any weapon she could not fashion herself. Once she had come across battle droids, and she won against them by mind over matter, literally. She disturbed their atomic structure, basically folded the space which they occupied, collapsing the droid into a heap of molten metals. She bled out her eyes and nose, but she survived them.

Men always fought within their arena like it was an art, and she supposes it truly is. She can see a repetition and precision to the moves, and knows these arts are something taught through the years, handed down from fathers to sons. Yet for her, her ritualistic motion to spell casting is extremely minute, she could utilize magick far quicker than she can strike out at another. There are some things she has evolved to believe in and to cast, without all the ritualistic display as she had performed in her youth. But on the most part, so much that the Nightsisters can do, has never yet been replicated by Force practitioners. She respects the arts of the men, but also is innately proud of the evolution of Magicks by her people. How they do survive.

Darth Carnifex sat next to Pom and asked how she is feeling. It is not often anyone ever asks her that. She realized she might have committed a cultural faux pas. "Delighted," she was quick to return. "And yourself, Emperor?" She respectfully added, "Do you feel you are properly connecting to the enchantment of your armor?"

It took only a moment since his first mating that she recognized a beneficial difference to how she feels. The difference from how she felt when she first arrived in the Emperor's presence to now, she deems quite dramatic. Does he truly wish to know of such things as this? In her mind, she cannot remember when she last felt this way, pure, uncontaminated by the Light of Ashla. While the Light effected her on an unconscious level, she sadly hadn't realized its lingering sway. However, she was wholly aware that she had developed a conscience the moment it began. In turn, she only this moment realized truly how much of her true nature suffered alteration at the orchestration by this Ashla. Also, since her horrid experience, so much had entered her life in one form or another, which in turn would have concluded totally differently had she not been inflicted. She considered herself victimized, diseased, and she vowed to never allow such a farce to recur!

Surely he could tell there is a difference in her than all the times he had seen her before. "Also, I feel healed. I have you to thank for that. It had been two years I struggled with the Ashla's pursuit. I wish that I had sought out external relief sooner."

Far…far sooner.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"The enchantments are most excellent, my dear."​

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It was not often that the Emperor referred to another so affectionately, despite the rumbling monotone of his voice which would otherwise belay a casual disinterest. Indeed, the Nightsister Mistress Pom Stych Tivé had been elevated to a position of prestige among the household of the mountain fortress. Her every need was tended to by the vast assembly of servants and other officials, and the Emperor often pulled her aside to satiate a basic primal urging which still hungered in his masculine heart even after all other emotions had been torn from it.​

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By the manner in which he reached out and squeezed Pom's shoulder, perhaps another one of those urges was bubbling up from deep within him. Though he did not follow up this time, instead he rose and stretched out to his full height with an accompanying crackle as his joints popped in sequence. His time in the dojo had come to an end for today, and now he was to retire to his sanctum to study the ancient scriptures of the Dark Side.​

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"Come with me, my dear, we shall again go over our histories."​

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The Emperor's sanctum was comprised of one-third athenaeum, mostly situated away from the entry hall and ancillary quarters. A few chairs were strategically placed around the athenaeum, all of them large enough to accommodate the Emperor no matter where he decided to sit. For the smaller Nightsister, the chairs were enough to engulf her. The tablets and tomes they had previously studied were still where they had laid, everything left precisely as it had been when they last retired. The Emperor took up his habitual place near the large oaken table, drawing the nearest tablet close to him as he scanned its contents.​

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"Tell me, my dear, what do you know of a man named Sheev Palpatine?"​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She wanted nothing more than to hear he is pleased with her handiwork, yet she also expected he might be. She is a stickler for perfection in all things in her charge. Her Astral spirit stood before his beautiful armor and studied it while she laid passed out from sheer exhaustion after her intense work on it. She always remembered what needed tweaking, when she awoke. She did not quit until the job was finished, lest she suffer herself for shoddy magick! Not going to happen.

The ghosts of his world spoke to her soul nonstop since he raised her to life in his spirit. She felt connected to him, to this place and to the nostalgia revealed through the whispers of her minions, the demons she knew, and those which belonged specifically to him. She had not counted on that at all. Oh how terrible. The misandrist is at war with her inner voice yet again, like always. But there was nothing not to like. He wasn't smothering. He wasn't boring. He wasn't distracted. She doesn't really mind the opportunity to hate herself for showing up and staying…

So many answers to the questions coming in now where before she knew of no one she could ask about regarding the Force as the Sith see it to be. There were books, but nothing ancient like these, nothing as personal, as detailed. She would meditate for the answers, and now how quickly ideas flooded her mind. The information needed context to make sense. She dwelled only partly present at his side, her thoughts actively involved within two existences, possibly three. Her concentration divided, coinciding in simultaneous conversation with those presented of the ethereal plane, with her prize first and foremost, she did not miss the turning of his gaze. On any given day her concentration is so divided, only not so erratically involved in the reception of information from the spirit world.

She thought him tender as he delved in the flip side of wildness, as submissive to her taking the reigns as much as he was forceful to draw them away, playful and then commanding all rolled into one. He left no moment flow to her expectation. Instead she found him exciting, and she found out of it all honest trust had indeed formed, his Dark Transfer was only the beginning. He's an enigma.

Nestled within such a pure state of the Darkside, Pom felt no insanity beyond one's control but a security she hadn’t even imagined. She came here to help him at his request and instead found herself accepted by him, a woman from Dathomir who saw herself as no different than the rest. Her beauty is not one faulted widely by foreign cultures, but her presentation certainly happens to be one of particular taste. She is keen to cause a fright for sport. Knowing her galactic shortcomings, in turn, she marveled at the freedom Darth Carnifex granted her into existence, even if he did clearly and most equally benefit from what havoc he generated. Perhaps all it comes down to is that she highly available to be at the right place at the right time to fulfill his requests. And oh how she vowed to ever be available in the future as well! She would go so far as to curse herself that she should not miss his call.

Of all the people across the vast galaxy who could have reached out and spoke to her one on one about the galactic situation, it is the Sith Emperor who reached out to befriended her people! With individual pacts across the galaxy, he is her utmost favorite. Pom could not understand how any one of the Nightsisters feared this Sith who fantastically fashioned himself within raw darkness. Her own world feels so similar. But if it got them to honor the terms of his treaty, then she figured it for the best. Fear makes people fall in line.

She glided after him in his long strides, eager to do anything he wished. There was always so much to take in and he took time to incorporate many things into his day. How different he lived than the witch toiling over the cauldron, counting the seconds and every pinch of her ingredients lest she fail miserably at her task, or suffer an explosion.

When he entered the library she stood at his table. The pages turned automatically as a few books levitated simultaneously. He asked her his question and she momentarily cocked her head, deciphering the whispers she received. She smiled broadly, not knowing whether or not what was just revealed to her by the spirit world is what her Emperor wishes to discuss, but she sure finds it fascinating. "He is the amazing one who cheated death. Possibly the first…at cloning?" she wondered. Such things never passed over her desk on Dathomir. The Books of the Sith too sacred to be snatched away to ghostly libraries across the galaxy.

She practically stood on her tiptoes waiting to hear what else he intends to teach her!

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Sheev Palpatine was a Dark Lord of the Sith so powerful and so cunning that he orchestrated a galactic war, overthrew the Jedi Order, and remade the galaxy in his image. His pursuit of power and knowledge was the greatest of any Sith before and after, and he wielded more power than any in the galaxy have. And yes, he discovered how to transfer his consciousness into other bodies, living from host to host." With so many centuries between Palpatine's death and today, his legacy has become twisted by mythology and idolization by those who carried it forward into the modern era. Often his flaws were overlooked, his person elevated to almost divinity in some cases, but the Sith would never forget what had brought Palpatine to his end. His arrogance, his overconfidence, and his damnable obsession with the Skywalker bloodline. ​

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Such weakness that Carnifex was eager to avoid.​

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"His teachings have helped the Sith advance their understanding of the Force and of science, though many of his writings are incomplete. We do, however, have copies of some of his seminal works, chiefly the Book of Anger, the Weakness of Inferiors, and the Creation of Monsters." At his command, these three writings were transported to their location by levitation through the Force. He sat the writings down in front of Pom, opening the Book of Anger to its first chapter, which mediated on the origin and power of anger.​

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"What do you understand of anger?"​

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Pom Stych Tivé ​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

The Dark Lord spoke of his predecessor in such a manner which she understood for reverence but it coaxed the most curious of expressions from his Nightsister that he would be sure to understand to read not to sell himself short, that he too is revered for his relentless pursuit of power and knowledge and is the greatest of any Sith after Palpatine, to wield more power than any in the galaxy since. Unless of course… Darth Carnifex 's spirit is the continuance of Palpatine himself…then that would make sense that he would speak in this manner. She marveled over the thought but dared not delve into such secrets he would not freely offer. She showed him the respect he deserves, quite honored he would teach her anything sacred at all.

He spoke of anger and she had heard of the way of the Sith and she knew how the Sith men thought. But these were mere men, not learned to the level of Lords such as he. There was much to say in that regard. "To the Nightsister, her head is collected, but her power itself which she wields is very turbulent in constant motion. In visual perspective much like the Darkside chaos." She paused for a moment as the information contained in the book reached her conscious understanding. "We do not surrender to our power. Even our god is our tool. I will not lie to you, but Nightsisters are truly far too vain. It works for you…" Pom tilted her head in curiosity. She didn't even know how to put to words what she began thinking. "Unless I do not quite comprehend it correctly, what 'to surrender to the dark side' means, we are very different. If it means knowing I have a sickening aversion to Force Light then I am there! I think I would have known if I could have aspired to this type of greatness since I was a child. I have seen the younglings at play on the grounds. My people have done many things very differently from the start. I don't know if I have that ability in me, not in the way it is described here."

Nightsisters are capable of creative powers, more and more abilities as she continued her studies. She learns however, accompanied by intense concentration and incantation of expression of will. To manifest their will requires one of a few different types of focussed efforts. But Pom understood something more in it all. She found it interesting to learn straight from the father of her unborn, what their daughter would need Pom to understand regarding her developmental needs, and she took it all in.