Faction Before the Emerald Flames || ME [Open to Witches]

[Aether Verd]

DATHOMIR
"Ashes remember what the living forget."​

The flames danced green beneath Dathomir’s twilight sky—impossibly tall, impossibly still. Aether Verd stood before them, visor lit dimly by emerald light, as if the fire had chosen to reflect in iron rather than consume it.

A welcome blaze. A ritual blaze. Ancient and unnatural, yet wholly expected.

Logs had been arranged in a wide circle, some already worn smooth by the weight of watchers past. Around them, the wind whispered through twisted boughs and crimson grass, carrying the smell of ash and earth and something older. The Mandalorians had landed an hour before, steel and thrusters disturbing the quiet only briefly. Now, the dropship slumbered behind them, and a small delegation of warriors—his chosen few—remained still at his flanks. They did not speak. This was not their moment.

It was his.

Dathomir had not changed. Not in the way cities did, or armies. It was still raw and powerful and strange—still beautiful in that way only danger could be. And yet he knew better than to think it untouched. The Galaxy shifted. Empires rose, fell, rose again. So too must have the Witches and Clans. So too, perhaps, had she.

But despite any changes, he had come to reignite kinship.

Aether took a step forward, the crunch of armored boots against deadwood the only protest. He could feel it in the ground beneath him—memory. A time when Protectors rode with Witches, when Sons of Mandalore bled and healed beside Daughters of Dathomir. When they were not conquerors or subjects, but kin. Equals. Bound not by need, but respect.

And now?

Now the Mandalorians were an Empire.

He let that truth settle on his shoulders. Not as a crown. As weight.

“Every Mand’alor carries a different name,” he said, more to the fire than to his companions. “Mine is Iron. But I did not come here to forge chains.”

He turned his head slightly, addressing those behind him.

“Let it be known—this is not a world we take. This is a world we remember.”

Soon, Vytal Noctura would arrive. The bondkeeper. The bridge. He had long considered her the Warden in all but name. Today, the name would become real. Today, Mandalore would speak plainly to Dathomir.

No shackles. No garrisons. Only the promise that had been made once before:

You are not alone. You are not forgotten. You are family.

He exhaled, the sound hissing softly through his helmet. The fire reached skyward. Somewhere in that flame, he imagined the past watching.

And he did not look away.

Vytal Noctura , Odessa Djazit , Melinda Dealla + Open to Nightsisters/Witches/Dathomiri

 

[Vytal Noctura]

"Live in this world consciously, powerfully, and unapologetically."​

Perched atop a weathered spire, Vytal sat and looked out over the wilds of Dathomir below beneath its crimson skies. It was not the first time she had come home since her wayward departure years ago, but it felt the most meaningful. Not for a lack of her Sister's efforts, a Queen under other banners, but because Vytal was no longer torn between two worlds -- where she'd been born, and where she'd acquired authority. The Coven of Ryloth had tended itself as she had delved into the Netherworld and its terrors, they had no need of her to reclaim a title worn by another in her absence. They were strong. Grown.

Dathomir, likewise, did not need her to return to claim dominion over all Nightsisters. The allure was there, of course. She'd grown up looking up to a Mother of her coven; hearing tales of a Nightmother that united all factions as one. What Nightsister did not dream of rising to such a title? She'd held it, yes, on Ryloth, but this was home. It was different here.

A shriek of an aerial beast echoed across the land below. Vytal smiled at just how unlike it was from most galactic worlds. No industrial complexes. No hovercars bloating out the sun. Ryloth had been similar, but there was flora and fauna only to be found here -- that thrived here.

Signs and portents. Her emerald eyes returned to the skies once more. They were coming. She'd felt it in the wind long hence and taken to approaching covens of the world. Seeking out those that ruled and held sway with Sisters and Brothers alike. They would not come to conquer and neither had she, but they would need someone to speak for them. Someone that could be a buffer between their world and the rest. There was room for more than one to see to the well-being of Dathomir and its people, but someone had to dedicate significant time to managing off-world activities, politics, and obligations. Loathsome as it might be to be torn away so often, Vytal could do this much for those she loved -- even those whose faces she'd never laid eyes on.
​

* * *​

The soft disturbance of fallen foliage rustled nearby. Vytal Noctura strode calmly along the path to where the green flames danced. Adorned by the crimson armor made for her during her time with the Confederacy, the pale woman made no effort to conceal her approach. The Mandalorians were warriors, and warriors rarely enjoyed being caught by surprise. It was for that reasons she hadn't appeared out of thin air to establish the dangers of setting foot on Dathomir as she might have for other guests. Not that she feared them or their reprisal, but because it was unnecessary. So long as the portents held.

"Someone remembers," the Witch of Dathomir intoned. "Old Ways are not always best, but tis purpose to tradition. Remembrance. Who we were. Who we are." She stopped alongside the fire, apart from Aether Verd , but not too far apart. A smile played across her impossibly dark lips. "As I remember you. Who you were." Vytal's head tilted a bit to the side. "Does that still hold sway over who you are?" She was mindful of the honor guard that accompanied Aether. Alluding to having seen him when he was younger might carry unintended social consequences. His helmet remain on, and Vytal knew certain Clans preferred it always remain that way. Perhaps, now that he had become Mand'alor, it held a particular purpose.
​

"Your vod are welcome to sit," Vytal gestured to the logs on the ground. "Twould be a shame to depart too soon, having come all this way, over all this time." The smile returned, not about to chase them off, but curious how many of them were wary of a Nightsister being so amicable. What could she say? Some covens did lure in fools being polite, but only to ensure their own survival. Vytal had far loftier expectations of this gathering here before the ritual flame Aether had started.

Aether Verd | Odessa Djazit | Melinda Dealla | Witches, Nightsisters, Nightbrothers, Dathomiri, et al​

 

[Domina Prime]

​

"We are, all of us, stardust. Held together by love for an instant~"

Aether Verd | Vytal Noctura | Odessa Djazit | Melinda Dealla​

The skies over Dathomir bled red with dying light, clouds thick with the cursed vapors that clung to the world like a second skin. The wind here did not howl—it whispered. Whispered in tongues older than most civilizations, in the voices of witches, ghosts, and gods long dead but never gone.

Above it all, Azura, the massive Dovahdrake of bone and ember, carved a path through the mist, her scaled wings slicing through the heavy air as thunder rippled in her wake. And upon her back rode the Mad Witch of Mandalore—Domina Prime, daughter of destruction, warborn zealot of Ha'rangir and inheritor of the eternal flame.

She crouched low in the saddle, armored limbs splayed in relaxation, yet every fiber of her body alert—her five alien eyes scanning the cursed horizon as her tail coiled and uncoiled, rattling like a war drum against the leather straps of her seat. Her visor gleamed like obsidian fire beneath her hood, reflecting the shimmer of dying light and unseen omens.

Beneath her, the sentient pulse of the Axe radiated a low hum—a call of remembrance, a whisper from the bound soul of Furyia Prime, the phantom shade sealed within the mythical weapon. Furyia's voice, always murmuring, always watching, had prodded Dima once again to return to this planet—to feel the power in the soil, to listen to the rituals that echoed in the black roots below.

"Sister...don't let the flame die out." the voice had said hours ago, coiling around her thoughts like flame around paper. "So close, Ha'rangirs will must be done, oh champions mine~"

She'd offered blood, bone, and breath at the altar of shadow near the ancient pools, fulfilling her ritual duties. And still, the silence of it all had left her restless. Even for a warwitch, the mysticism of the Force remained an untamed river—chaotic, maddening, alien in its own right. Yet after her years among the Dathomiri, it had begun to speak to her. The way thunder might speak to the plains. Slowly. Violently.

But boredom was a dangerous drug.

And then—it came.

A light, burning green and wild, pierced through the fog below. Flames crackled in unnatural colors, vomiting smoke into the sky like some ancient beast waking from its tomb. Dima's visor flared with reflected emerald as she jerked her head to the side, peering down through the thinning clouds. Her tail flicked with a grin.

"Mmn… fun stuff," she muttered, voice curling into a purr. With a flick of her heel, she gave Azura the signal."Let's take a closer gander, yeah?"

The drake folded her wings and dived.

The air screamed past them as they nose-dived through the layers of cloud and smoke. Azura shrieked with a thunderous cry, wings pulling taut just before they struck the ground, slamming into the ash-caked dirt with a crash that sent dust and ember bursting outward. Charred trees snapped. The mist parted like a curtain.

And there, before the flame,stood a figure. Alone. Armor polished yet scarred by time. His presence not boastful, but still commanding.

Mandalore the 'Iron' he called himself, voice firm.'I come not to take this world… but to remember it.' Aether Verd proclaimed.

Domina's helmet tilted curiously as she remained atop Azura, who now prowled forward with slow, heavy steps. Her five gleaming eyes watched the stranger with something between amusement and appraisal.

"Well that's nice of you, brother!" she chirped with sudden brightness, clapping her upper set of claws together with a loud, hollow clang. Her tail rattled behind her like an excited predator.

She leaned forward with a grin that curled just beneath her voice. "So! You're Mandalore too, huh? Lotta you guys poppin' up these days. Did the last one bite the bullet already?" she asked, scratching at the scales along her neck like someone half-distracted with a rash and wholly unconcerned with formalities.

Her words tumbled out in a strange cocktail of cheer and contempt—sincere, but deranged. A war maiden who had seen too much and bled too hard to trust easily.

"They don't forge 'em like they used to, amirite?" she added with a sigh, settling into the saddle as if chatting about the weather.

She gestured toward the flames with a lazy flick of a clawed hand.

"So… what's the word? Dima don't see too many brothers or sisters down here in the cursed soup. Does someone need that ass beat?" Her voice rose hopefully, hungry. "Cuz I swear—if this is some kind of battle-call and y'all didn't invite ME? I'll cry," she added, her claws twitching playfully toward the hilt of her axe.

But beneath the humor and madlight in her tone, there was something genuine.

She wanted to belong.

To understand why so many Mandalores rose, and yet none felt like the spark she remembered from the old songs.

And in this place of death and fire, she searched for something worth killing for… or dying beside.

Her eyes then focused from behind her mask on Vytal Noctura as Dima gestured with her claws to the woman who looked much more native to this land than the Mandalore. "Hmm, and who might you be?" She mused, squinting suspiciously behind her visor as that massive tail of hers rattled in alarm and her warmount exhaled smoke and embers from it's mighty maw. "Easy boy, lay down before ya hurt yourself!" She barked, giving Azura a hard scratch with her claws as the beast grumbled and lowered himself towards the ground near the logs as Dima remained seated in her saddle. "So what are you lot scheming up out here hmm? Something exciting i hope~"

 

[Kaila Irons]

Objective: Stay awhile and listen
Wearing: Outfit + Hat
Tag: Vytal Noctura Aether Verd Domina Prime Odessa Djazit Melinda Dealla

To be a stranger in a familiar land was not new to Kaila.

That is exactly who she was today. not Darth Anathemous, not the lord of Echnos or the princess' witchblade. Just a stranger. No one here would know her face, not unless Pom Stych Tivé and the Wanica Thirteen were to arrive, or perhaps the Jedi-witch, Dreidi Xeraic . Nor did she see Darth Moskvin on her way.

And yet she held a most peculiar connection to those present.

Dathomiri by blood, Mandalorian by adoption, Sith... by no choice of her own.

She'd hidden her signature in the force on her way to the encampment, though it strained her greatly. Better not to risk questions when she'd not come here to fight. Today was a historic occasion for Dathomir, perhaps a welcome break from the many slaughters it had endured in her brief lifetime alone.

Then again, Mandalorians had participated in many.

The half-witch appeared relatively peaceful as she walked into the gathering, heralded only by the rhythmic tapping of a gnarled branch which served as a staff for now.

And then she simply sat, one leg crossed over the other, golden eyes hidden beneath the brim of her hat.

Whether she would simply witness an historic occasion or be made to defend her fellow witches as she had done on Brendok, Kaila could not say. Perhaps the ghost of Mystra Midnight would join her, offer some insight.

For now she would wait, and watch, and listen.

​

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

"One Does Not Speak, Unless One Knows"
- Mandalorian Creed

​

Manti's eyes scanned the horizon as the Mandalorians waited. She hated it here. Too many unknowns surrounded them, too unfamiliar, too many threats. Chief among the reasons she found herself uncomfortable here was the exact reason they had come the witches. She had heard what they could do, of the magiks they controlled and the creatures they bent to their will. It was already a challenge to her beliefs that the Mand'alor would be so attuned to the magiks of the jetii, she had been raised to believe such things were blasphemous trickeries which Mandalorians of old had spurned, that her clan spurned. Yet Aether Verd sat on the throne of Mandalore and Manti did not, it was not she who decided what was proper for a Mandalorian to do, it was him.

The green light of the fire danced against her black visor. Her helmet still on assured her that no smoke or pathogen had leaked into her mind and yet still her thoughts were not her own. She tasted meat, though it was as if a memory. The crunch of bone, flesh, and blood between thick carnivorous jaws in an ice cave far far from here which had never known the light of Domir. She would suffer in silence though, another trick from this cursed planet plagueing her mind.

She had come because she was called. Clan Wyrvhor needed to be in the Mand'alor's good graces and while she had never spoken to the man himself she believed that the work of Mandal Hypernautics had at least brought the clan to the Mand'alor's attention. This would, hopefully, further her connection to the man. A sign of support, even if she did not agree.

And almost without warning they were not alone. It took all of her self control and training to not jump when Vytal Noctura appeared. Certainly, she had not been trying to hide herself but Manti's own mind was filled with thoughts and fears of this cursed planet. She, however, remained silent. To speak would call too much ill-wanted attention to herself. Instead, on instinct, Manti's hand would rest on the pommel of the long combat knife stapped to her upper thigh. It was clear to Manti that this witch knew the Mand'alor. She felt like this should disturb her, but she had expected it. The Mand'alor had a connection to this world, one Manti could not understand and one she wouldn't question. The woman had earned more than just the Mand'alor's trust however. The armor she wore had Mandalorian touches, she could see the tell tale signs of an armorsmith's work. Perhaps that enough would be enough to put Manti's paranoia to rest-

When she first heard the cry overhead it instilled a terror unlike anything she could name. An echo of a deep fear and respect hidden deep within her very dna from the time before she was a Mandalorian. With the arrival of the dragon crashing through the sky Manti's knuckles would whiten on the pommel of her blade. The homeworld of her species had dragons, or so she had been told by her adopted father. She found the creature beautiful, entrapturing, but dangerous. She had long desired to fly, as if it were a part of her never to be realized. It was why she had spent so much time as a fighter pilot, the closest thing she could get to satisfying some need she never really knew she had.

With the approach of the dragon Manti drew the blade, though did not bring it into an offensive posture. A sign, a threat, a promise to protect her Mand'alor. When Domina Prime spoke it was with disrespect. In any other situation Manti might have called out, demanded the woman retract her words or face a steel blade. But for now she would watch. Her eyes, finally, would rest on the dragon. Hidden behind the emotionless stoic visor Manti would watch the creature's movements out of curiosity, out of appreciation for its beauty, but most of all out of caution

​

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

Location: Dathomir
Attire: Witch Outfit
Companion: Grisial
Equipment: Nightsister Energy Bow, Ichor Sword and Lightsaber.
Tag: Aether Verd | Vytal Noctura | Odessa Djazit | Melinda Dealla | Kaila Irons | Domina Prime

Dreidi had heard of another group of Mandalorians rising up from the ashes of the last ones. A phoenix in a manner of speaking, though the phoenix was dying a lot in recent years. Dreidi wondered what stamina and strength this new leader of his people would hold and how they would view Dathomir. Some saw the world as cursed due to the witches, in the past there had been attempts to attack and wipe out the witches. Failed attempts by invaders but still, it was something Dreidi was always cautious of since hearing of such incidents.

There was also the problem of her temple on the world. A place for training those connected to the Force and inspiring cross cultural exchange between the witches of Dathomir and the Jedi. Whether the Mandalorians with their Empire would be content with such a temple still operating as such under their rule, Dreidi could not say. So it was important for her to come. To visit and ensure that Dathomir was safe for the foreseeable future and to see who would be proclaimed as their ruler.

An idea that did not thrill this witch. She always saw Dathomir as too wild to be ruled by a single person. No one could tame her or those that lived here.

Her steps towards the meeting point were confident and she moved gracefully, almost silently. Allowing her presence to be felt in the Force and for the Mandalorian to hear her coming before she arrived. Wearing her Dathomiri attire, made by her clan when she finally reconnected her family to the clan it had lost a couple generations ago. The weapons she carried with her were not for combat, Dreidi just never left her temple on Dathomir without them. Too many wild beasts that would take advantage of her being unarmed for her liking.

As Dreidi gazed around the group, she caught the face of one Kaila Irons. It had been a while since she had last seen her friend, she was curious on how the Sith had been but her presence was not something Dreidi would highlight currently. Instead her attention focused on the witch elder and the man taking the mantle of Mandalore. Silently observing them for the moment as she thought upon what would happen. Her arms crossing against her chest as she let her golden gaze linger on the two.

 

[Aether Verd]

DATHOMIR
"What will the morrow bring? What will today?"​

Aether dipped his head toward Vytal, the emerald flames catching faintly across the T-shaped visor.

“You’ve done more than bridge worlds,” he said softly. “You’ve held space for kinship to survive between them. For that—my thanks.”

The Mand’alor turned toward the fire once more, shoulders relaxing ever so slightly beneath the iron. Her earlier question still lingered.

Does that still hold sway over who you are?

His gaze lingered on the green flame, then the sky beyond.

“It does,” he answered, quiet but certain. “But the weight of the past does not dictate my steps."[/color]

With that, Aether moved without fanfare and took his seat among his warriors, the fire casting flickering light across the plates of his armor. The silence around him was calm, measured—

—and then the ground shook.

Dust kicked. Branches snapped. Thunder screamed across the sky as Azura, a living monument of scale and flame, crashed down like a comet given wings. The flames bent under the wind of her descent, and for a moment, all was chaos. Embers scattered. Aether’s seated posture jolted from the impact. And then came the voice.

Bright. Biting. Wild as the wind.

""So! You're Mandalore too, huh?... Did the last one bite the bullet already?"

Aether looked up at the perched warwitch, Domina Prime, whose chaos matched the land itself. He let out a dry, genuine chuckle.

“I am Mand’alor,” he confirmed, spreading his arms slightly in a gesture of amused welcome. “The former claimant is crusading with our cousins on Dxun. No bad blood. Just a different road.”

He lifted a hand, motioning casually—not scolding, but reminding.

“We’re guests, Domina. Not invaders. Ease your hand, if you would. Let’s not spook the neighbors before supper.”

Another rumble drew his attention—not from the ground this time, but from his own. Manti. He could feel her tension even before he looked her way. Her posture was coiled, blade at the ready, eyes hidden but not unreadable. The green fire danced off her visor like a threat.

Aether rose slowly, deliberately.

He walked the short distance to Manti and placed a hand—firm, warm, steady—on her shoulder.

“Sister,” he said, low enough for her alone. “Come. Sit by the fire with me.”

There was no command in the words. Only invitation. Reassurance. A silent vow that as long as he drew breath, no Mandalorian would face these witches alone or afraid.

Not while Mand’alor the Iron yet lived.

Aether stepped back toward the flame, his hand falling to his side as he reclaimed his seat. A subtle ripple in the Force brushed his senses, foreign and familiar all at once. He turned his head slightly, visor catching the shape of a stranger—Dreidi, cloaked in poise and presence.

He offered a small nod in her direction. Not as a challenge. As recognition.

Then, with the fire burning steady and the circle growing wider, Aether spoke:

“For generations, Mandalore and Dathomir have been neighbors. Sometimes allies. Sometimes family.”

His voice carried now—measured and calm.

“I would see us become that again.”

He looked to the gathered—witch and warrior alike.

“I am not the same Mand’alor who wore the crown before. This is not the same nation. And if we are to walk forward together, you deserve to know who stands before you. So ask.”

He gestured to the fire, to the seats.

“Ask about the Empire. Ask about me. Ask what future I hope to build—for Dathomir, for Mandalore, for the Galaxy. I will answer each question with truth. Whether you trust that truth is your own to decide.”

He leaned back slightly, one gauntleted hand resting on his knee.

“I offer transparency as the first step. And I hope, in turn, to know you. While we wait for more of your kin to join us, let us speak plainly.”

He looked around the circle, the green flames casting stories on every face.

“And let us begin again.”

Vytal Noctura , Domina Prime , Manti Wyrvhor , Dreidi Xeraic , Kaila Irons

 

[Mystra Midnight]

​

Theme: Paint It, Black
Tags: Kaila Irons

---

Unseen and unheard just a simple feeling in the back of Kaila's head that she was even there. She watched through her jailer's eyes at all the fools that had gathered witches so willing to her out an outsider that want to bind them in some sort of Familia. She had heard it a thousand times before and the pleas of her sisters saying it would be different this time, but it never was.

The long history of dathomir and outsiders, the witches always the one with the knife sticking out there back in the end. Sith, Jedi, Empires, and Republics had all betrayed them at one time or another. Mandalorian themselves always claiming a kinship in the fact that they both traveled in clans.

Even though Mystra had some respect for the Mandalorians ancient culture their new breed were weak and pathetic in her eyes. She also saw no tie between Dathomir and Mandalore this self-proclaimed Mand'alor spoke of alliances and family, but he left out the part they had also been enemies too.

She watched through Kaila's eyes at all the those who had gathered and she wondered if her sisters had learned yet. She also wondered if the sister of the maker would make an appearance. Though, that might stir up some trouble as she was a strong proponent of free independent Dathomir. She spoke to Kaila in her head. "Dealing with outsiders has seldom ever went well for the Dathomir people. They always ask us to sell our souls and kneel to their kings, if we rebel they try to slaughter us all. Mandalorians are conquering empire, and we are a dominating matriarchy for an alliance one will have to give something up."


(OOC: Mystra is just a voice in Kaila Irons head.)

 

[Vytal Noctura]

"Live in this world consciously, powerfully, and unapologetically."​

The confident, dark smile of a Nightsister seemed to soften at Aether's words. From the onset she'd already been cordial, but in that moment she was pleasantly surprised and grateful. Time had passed and few may remember her time in this world still. Who wouldn't feel relieved to be acknowledged. No doubt the mantle of Mand'alor must weigh heavily on his shoulders, and she hoped those around him would do for him what he'd done for her.

"Dictate, never. Influence, unavoidable. I have faith in your will to see your future realized." Some things you had to overcome lest they keep you from what you desired. Others you embraced because they made everything possible. It was on Aether to decide which foundational elements were which, and how best to use them. A Mandalorian was always good at making use of what was available. To say nothing of the stock he came from.

Vytal took a seat as well before the same fire. It was good to see they were in no hurry to depart. Good to meet with familiar and new faces and learn why they were truly there, what they truly wanted. If neither side communicated with the other hardship and suffering would inevitably follow.

They had only just gotten comfortable, as it were, when the thunder came. Emerald eyes shifted to the side as whispers spoke of the one that approached. They were never quiet when it came to Domina/Dima. Nor was Dathomir itself as the dragon pounded the ground. Vytal did her best to school her expression, but there was a pinching about the eyes and flattening of the lips from the physical impact.

She listened as Aether sought to calm the energetic and unfiltered Warwitch. Dima desired to belong to both groups, but she wore their helmet and came addressing him by title; she was his to address first and with authority.

Low laughtered seemed to radiate from the bramble of forest that surrounded them as Domina conjured the specter of conquest. Aether's word had not gone unnoticed, but Dathomir's humor would not be contained; especially with the man asking his people not to 'spook' the neighbors. Vytal's lips curled upward. "One does not spook those that do the spooking."

When Aether rose from his seat, Vytal did the same, but she turned to face Domina as the woman acknowledged her presence. "The one that spooks," she replied before Domina's dragon expressed its restlessness. "Vytal Noctura, daughter of Dathomir. And you, Domina Prime, tis a pleasure to finally meet you; I have heard many stories." Her eyes then shifted slightly in the directon of the ax.

After a moment her emerald eyes slid aside and gave Kaila a nod, grateful for her presence. She had come in silence, and so Vytal addressed her in silence. Though her eyes lingered for a time longer on her then was necessary for such a simple exchange. Mystra's invisible presence to most was not so easily overlooked by someone that'd spent quite a bit of time in the Nether, and been touched by it most of her life -- certainly all of her adult one.

In only a few moments her attention swung then to Dreidi, whom was also given a nod for their coming to this gathering.

"All are welcome by the fire. Much can be seen staring into the crucible of thought and emotion. Still your mind and hear the world speak true." Vytal's gaze swept over the Sisters and the Mandalorians in attendence. Both hands extended out for the group to gather close. No male Witches or Warlocks yet, but then this was Dathomir, not Ryloth.

In turn, the Mand'alor addressed the gathering and Vytal joined them in hearing his words.

"Your words speak wisdom," Vytal began, "but there is one question every coven seeks to ask, Mand'alor. What does it mean for Dathomir to be part of the Mandalorian Empire? Many still abide the Matriarchial ways, and while we both may have changed over the years, I still believe to know the man beneath that armor." Even a Nightsister could show a sense of humor. "How can my Sisters -- and their Brothers -- know the caliber of your word? Family means much on a world where a single, wrong step spells certain death."

They had progressed beyond two, familiar people and entered the realm of symbols and authority. Each represented a body that might be averse to becoming closer to any number of reasons. It would not be a simple divide to cross, but it was far from impossible. All it took was a little openness no matter how terse. She hoped those present took advantage of the opportunity.
​

Aether Verd | Domina Prime | Manti Wyrvhor | Dreidi Xeraic | Kaila Irons | Mystra Midnight | OPEN​

 

[Aileni Ifor Xeraic]

Location: Dathomir
Attire: Large brown hoodie, grey shirt
Equipment: Dathomiri Energy Bow
Tag: Aether Verd | Vytal Noctura | Domina Prime | Kaila Irons | Manti Wyrvhor | Mystra Midnight

Aileni had travelled with his mother to the meeting, he argued that since this was a matter on the future of Dathomir and it was open to all who were born and called Dathomir home, he had as much right to voice his concerns as she did. Dreidi warned him about being too outspoken but conceded that Aileni did have a right to be there at the meeting to at least listen and observe how peaceful interactions with other factions went. The young Dathomiri did not like the idea of foreigners being in charge of his home. They had not bled for Dathomir, they had not sacrificed anything to stake a claim on the world from what he knew but he also knew nothing of these people, of their backgrounds and it would be foolish to declare them unworthy without more information.

Being at the meeting, surrounded by Mandalorians, Aileni also figured it was a chance to test his linguistic skills with Mando'a since he studied it a lot due to the fact he enjoyed learning a variety of different languages. So, he was curious if he could understand them as fluently as he would like to believe himself being able to do so. Curious if they would try to sneakily make comments in their language in the hopes that the Dathomiri people would not understand them.

Aileni had many questions on the tip of his tongue. Why were they here? What did Mandalorians want with Dathomir? Why should they trust the word of a stranger? Anyone could claim to speak the truth and then betray when the back is turned. However, Aileni remained quiet for now. He had to be patient, allow cooler heads, wiser elders speak and discuss things before he butted in. It was what his mother demanded from him to be able to attend the meeting and he was smart enough to know to keep that word.

Instead, his piercing green eyes scanned around and watched the others, wondering what they were going to say and do with this new leader before them.

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Outfit + Hat
Tag: Vytal Noctura Mystra Midnight Dreidi Xeraic Aether Verd Domina Prime Manti Wyrvhor

Kaila listened studiously.

The staff was laid in her lap as she leaned forward, disecting the implications of what the Mand'alor and the Witch spoke. To speak of their peoples as family was a fascinating thing. It could be symbolic speech or perhaps it meant there were more like her, warriors with blood ties to both worlds.

Mystra however had opinions of her own.

Kaila in her head. "Dealing with outsiders has seldom ever went well for the Dathomir people. They always ask us to sell our souls and kneel to their kings, if we rebel they try to slaughter us all. Mandalorians are conquering empire, and we are a dominating matriarchy for an alliance one will have to give something up."

<<...I know...>> she whispered worriedly, and silently, into Mystra's thoughts.

<<...but the last Mand'alor left the witches in peace, perhaps there is hope yet for simple coexistence...?>>

Despite Kaila's choice to believe in peace, her thoughts carried with them an appreciativeness for the spirit's counsel. In some ways, she felt as though the old woman were a mentor more than prisoner, and an ally more than foe defeated in battle. Whether she could trust one she'd wronged so remained to be seen, but she stubbornly hoped that their shared struggle would one day bear such fruit.

One calling herself Vytal Noctura spoke next, identifying herself and the mighty dragon rider both. When that emerald gaze fell upon her however, the tone of her visit shifted irrevocably.

She returned the nod, having caught the motion in that thin sliver of gold she allowed to peek from beneath her hat.

And the two locked eyes longer than she wished to admit.

Lips pursed as though to speak, then were silenced as she turned quickly away.

<<...she's looking at me...>>

<<...why is she still looking at me...?>>

Outwardly there was no sign to her panic but the averting of her gaze. Internally, she felt strangely small under the witch's attention. Darth Anathemous had not felt small in some time.

Then there was Dreidi Xeraic 's arrival, which had gone unnoticed to her old friend and assailant both until now.

Guilt for vanishing without a word, unease at having so many eyes upon her when subtlety was her mission, and dread that she'd likely been recognized, all played havoc on the half-witch's mind.

Her glowing gaze shifted back at Vytal as she began to speak once more, the talk of family causing the young woman rub at her arm anxiously.

She would remain quiet for now, waiting to see if the Mandalorians would answer the question.

​

 

[Aether Verd]

DATHOMIR
"What does family truly mean?"​

Aether was still.

The fire cracked, the wind whispered, and for a long breath he gave no reply to Vytal’s question.

What does it mean for Dathomir to be part of the Mandalorian Empire?

He stared into the green blaze—not with the wary reverence of a foreigner, but the contemplative calm of a man weighing stone with stone. His visor dipped slightly. Then, with a soft hiss of servos, he reached for his crushgaunt.

The iron clatter of the armored fingers unlatching echoed just loud enough to hush the background murmurs. Aether tugged the gauntlet free from his dominant hand and let it rest in his lap. Without a word, he leaned forward—then plunged his bare hand into the emerald fire.

Gasps might have followed. A few warriors tensed. But Aether did not flinch.

The green flames licked at his skin with purpose. Not hunger. Recognition. Whisps of ethereal ichor danced along his arm, spiraling up his wrist like threads drawn to a loom. For a heartbeat or two, it was as though the fire knew him.

He withdrew slowly.

The whisps clung for a moment longer before evaporating into the night. His hand bore no wounds. Only warmth. Only memory.

He looked to Vytal then, and to the gathering beyond her.

“Family,” he said at last, “is not a word I use lightly.”

He set the gauntlet aside, fingers flexing freely now.

“Dathomir matters to me—not just as Mand’alor, but as a man. The blood of Mandalore flows mightily through my veins. House Verd traces its line through warriors without number—my father, and his father before him, to the times when we were more iron than flesh.”

A faint smile touched his lips beneath the helmet.

“But I was shaped just as much by a woman of this world. Petra Cavataio was my grandmother. Born of Dathomir. A coven leader in her time. Fierce. Uncompromising. Alive in ways that made the stars feel dull by comparison.”

He looked to the fire again.

“She used to say that family isn’t earned by blood alone. It’s proven—by what you’re willing to give.”

Aether turned back to the gathering.

“To me, Dathomir is not a conquest. It is not a colony. It is home. Different than Mandalore, yes—but no less sacred. And so long as I bear this title, it will be treated as such.”

His voice grew stronger now. Not louder, but resolute. Anchored.

“All who dwell on Dathomir—Nightsisters, Nightbrothers, and every soul in between—shall be citizens of the Mandalorian Empire. Your covens, your traditions, your gods and ghosts and ways… they are your own. The Empire will not interrupt them.”

He spread both hands slightly, palms open to the fire.

“We protect. We provide. If Dathomir calls, we will answer.”

He allowed a pause before continuing.

“What we ask in return is simple: loyalty. Not submission. Not chains. But the loyalty of one family member to another. No knives in the back. No betrayal. We bleed together. We grow together.”

He turned to Vytal once more.

“A Warden will be chosen to speak for Dathomir. One of your own. Someone who walks your soil, who knows your songs. That Warden will have my ear directly, and carry your voice into every chamber where decisions are made.”

He gestured subtly toward her.

“Based on her work thus far… I have Vytal Noctura in mind.”

Aether’s gaze swept the circle now—Domina, Kaila, Dreidi, the boy beside her, Manti, the quiet ones behind them.

“Does that answer your question?” he asked, not as a challenge—but as an invitation. “Or has it raised additional?”

He let the silence take root again, and waited.

Vytal Noctura , Kaila Irons , Mystra Midnight , Dreidi Xeraic , Domina Prime , Manti Wyrvhor , Aileni Ifor Xeraic

 

[Manti Wyrvhor]

​

Crunch... Crunch... Crunch... she tasted the blood, the bone, the hot iron-tinged breath of an alien creature leaving her nostrils. She could hear the grinding of thick teeth from powerful jaws grinding bone and sinew into palatable paste. Her fingers tighten on the knife in a vain attempt to regain control, to master herself as cold invisible winds within her mind prickled her skin into a tapestry of bumps. She hated this world. Her ancestors had been right in spurning the magik of the jetii. Her fingers tighten farther, the knife beginning to tremble as she glares at the draconic creature in front of her. Were these memories? Memories of-

Her thoughts now beginning to race are suddenly interrupted. A weight, familiar and non-confrontational, presses down on her pauldron. She turns to look at the Mand'alor, her visor hiding the fear and confusion in her eyes. 'Sister' he calls her. She hangs on his words, using them to stabilize herself as her commander returns to his seat by the fire. Was it that obvious? Was she such an amature as to look so offput by this world as to warrant special attention? At first her mind returns to her earliest years in Clan Wyrvhor, the brutal discipline enforced on her. She knew what her teachers would have done if they had caught her so easily disarmed. Though as Aether Verd continued to speak to the inhabitants of this world Manti knew he would not treat her the same.

'Let us begin again' he says as Manti settles on a log near the strange green flames which illuminate the shine of her knife sliding back into the sheath on her thigh. She did not thank him, that may come later. No, for now Manti stares into the flames. The dancing light which at first seemed so alien, so hostile, filled with witchcraft bringing about hallucinations and doom now seemed so welcoming. A promise of warmth in community. Manti would listen to Vytal Noctura 's words. It was difficult to push past her initial worries and trained skepticisms, but she listened. Her helmet's gaze visibly focusing on the woman as she spoke.

It was with a hiss that the woman lost Manti's attention, the helmet swiveling in curiosity to observe the Mand'alor. It took only a second for Manti to recognize what was about to be done and second too long of her to trying to find some word of warning or complaint she might use to stop him. His hand was plunged into the flames and Manti watched in silent terror as she expected his hand to disintegrate at the least and for the man himself to burst into flames by some foul witchcraft which had obviously been used against him. Yet he did not move, did not cry out, did not grit his teeth in pain. And the ash never came. His hand, untouched by the viridian flame, retracted from the embrace of the fire.

The Mand'alor spoke with such passion of his lineage... it was strange to hear. Manti knew not her parents, as neither did her adopted father. Such trivialities such as bloodline were unimportant when compared to one's skill honed over decades of training and practiced dogma. She knew her customs were not the norm in the galaxy, and not even widely practiced within Mandalorian society at large. Yet to experience such reverence first hand unnerved Manti yet drew her curiosity farther out of its shell.

As Aether spoke of unity between their peoples, a kinship brought about by loyalty and respect Manti listened intently. 'If Dathomir calls, we will answer.', it was true then, how badly the Mand'alor wanted this unity between peoples. While the pause hung heavy in the air Manti would slowly, unsurely at first but then resolutely, undo the clasps of her own gauntlet. Slowly the gauntlet would come undone, before resting on her lap to reveal the pale white flesh underneath. Clearly her fingers had been broken multiple times, though had healed well in the time given them. Burns marked her inner palm and a large gash runs across the back of each finger as if having almost once been taken off by a blade. She felt so vulnerable, so naked. She recognized that many assembled, even her own kin, would not recognize the gesture outside of mimicking the gesture of the Mand'alor. Yet as she looked down at her own callous and scarred hands she at least hoped they would recognize her attempt. She was trying. She knew not the Dathomiri as siblings, but perhaps they could adopt one another. A new bond. Manti was willing to try, to follow Aether's words.

Kaila Irons Mystra Midnight Dreidi Xeraic Domina Prime Aileni Ifor Xeraic​

 

[Mystra Midnight]

​

Theme: Paint It, Black
Tags: Kaila Irons

---

The little witch in the makers image realized as those who spoke this Vytal and Mand'alor exactly why the mother of wolves did not appear. The platitudes spoken, between the two gave it away Dathomir had already been sold before this meeting was ever called. The warmth of the fire and the pleasantries all a game being played. The Mand'alor spoke of his blood ties ones Mystra and her maker were well aware of in fact a long time ago they even had had alliance of sorts with one of Petra's relatives Dharma.

Well up until the maker declared one of Dharma's children her slave. The thought of how that had come about made Mystra chuckle a bit in Kaila's head. "Dominance over an unknown factor, you are Dathomiri and Mandalorian but also a sith. Both a bridge between both worlds and a possible threat that is why she looks at you."

Though this whole thing was just a practiced ploy to Mystra as she watched the theatrics before her, she knew of anyone gathered Kaila should be the one to lead if this was the path Dathomir was forced to walk. Inexperienced but she knew a bit of both worlds as she was a part of them both.

"I wonder which of Mandalorian husband or lovers Petra she had him with?" She wasn't exactly sure how many she had but she knew there were more than one though as he didn't look like one of Xander's children. The only mate of Petra's she actually knew but only because how many women the man slept with the galaxy and bragged about it.

"Yes, left them in peace, did not ask anything in return. Look at what is in front of you, this is a bid for power not a peace treaty."



(OOC: Mystra is just a voice in Kaila Irons head.)

 

[Brooke Waters]

There was always someone coming to Dathomir. And as a result, Farseeker Brooke Waters was always called back to the world by her Clan Mother. She’d been around to see so many of the Mandalorians come to the world. What Brooke didn’t want, was to trust the other clans, not all of them. What she needed to do was make sure that they weren’t selling the world off.

Blue and white robes, a hunting spear in one hand. She stood off tot he side, listening to the Nightsister speak, and the discussion that was returning from Mand’alor. Another one.

There was always another one.

The Beskar Warriors never harmed Dathomir when they came calling. And Brooke couldn’t fault them. Her blonde hair was adorned by shells and blue coral. “The Mand’alor speaks true. Mandalorians and Witches have a rich history in this era of the galaxy.

“Witches know that we are not always the most worldly in the galaxy. And the Mandalorians typically are, starships, blasters, more than most of us carry.”

 

[Darth Moskvin]

Before the Emeralds Flames

"Horrors, I believe, should be original--the use of common myths and legends being a weakening influence."
- H.P. Lovecraft -​

Location: Dathomir
Gear: In Sig
Familiar: Archimedes​

O'Death

Even in their solitude, away from the other Clans and Covens that inhabited their home world of Dathomir, word spread through the M'un'rior Bog like raging flash fires, reaching the ears of the dreaded
Nardithi Nightsister Coven. Hated for eons by the other Nightsister Witches, the Nardithi held a reputation that riveled the Jedi and Sith; having hunted one during the Imperial Times and sending Sisters to booster the ranks of the other. Most importantly, they hated interlopers. It was heresy for a non-Sister to step foot upon the soil of Mother Dathomir, by their darkened philosophies.

And as such, that word carried only one word: Mandalorians; those boys and girls that hid their cowardice encased inside beskar armored suits. And it was here, that I had took notice most hauntingly having fought one of their failed tribes recently. I didn't fight against them because I supported their enemy, I fought them because I hate them more than Jedi, not as much as the Sith; but it's close. And so, it came once again, like a menstruating cycle that these cladded insects would dare usurp Dathomir from us. Though they would use the term protectors. Strange that one would think that Dathomir would need protection from pests in armor suits, when in fact, those same armored suited pests should require protection from Dathomir's children, beasts, and those things that go bump in the night.

As champion, as guardian, as protector, and as the voice of reason for the Nardithi Nightsisters, I was dispatched with little convincing to find a reason these Mandos were here, and if their reasons held no solid form; eradicate the entire lot. Jedi fight Mandos as equals, or so I have been told. I am Sith as well as a Nightsister; I fight to murder what stands before me. And I am known as Lady Death for reasons associated with my gross convictions toward the living. So, taking my young Apprentice, Odessa Djazit , who already had dealings with them beforehand; I sought to teach her a punishing lesson why we do not trust outsiders. Thier words and promises are as flawed as the lips that speak them.

And as such, we two undead beings bound together in unbreakable Sisterhood set out from our hidden 'city' of Siuracha Laochra to pry open the metal suits and drag forth the flesh inside to at least entertain the lies before the living joined the ranks of those buried deep beneath the sacred soil of Dathomir.

"Do understand, Odessa," I began as we moved through the bogs and swamps, "That I am not upset with your failure. I am not upset that you did not tell me about your association with the Mandos. I am, however, upset that you will be forced to be in the presence of both the Mandos and the other Covens and Clans, to hear banter befitting for drunkards and spacers. You need no reminding of our history with the other Sisters. You and I are the only allies we will have."

I stopped briefly, placing my hand on her shoulder, adding before we continued our march, "Everyone is our enemy. It is the Nardithi way."

Kaila Irons / Brooke Waters
​

 

[Odessa Djazit]

Location:
Wearing: Staff / Necklace / Ring I / Ring II / Bracelet I / Bracelet II
Mount / Pet: Echo
Tag: Darth Moskvin / Anyone
Theme: Smoke and Mirrors - Puscifer

Odessa gingerly walked in stride with her Master, the two women tethered together through a bond of Sisterhood. She listened intently to the words spoken by her elder, and frightfully so. Her Master had rescued her from the cold clutches of death, giving her a second chance at life; but at a horrific cost. She knew, even though her Master was not angered with her failure and other mistake, the tone resonating from the Vampire's lips spoke volumes to Odessa to the contrary. It was forbidden for a Nardithi to take the life of another Nardithi, and Odessa was grateful for such a law. She knew her Master's reputation, and from her teachings, a bit about how Sith treat their progenies.

"I assumed the other Clans will not be pleased by our presence, Master. But we can't blame them. We will only muddle any proceedings already taking place."

Reaching down into the rancid swampy water, she plucked from it a wriggling fish and proceeded to eat it without remorse. With entrails dripping from her lips, and a icky color resembling something crimson painting her teeth, Odessa spoke further. "Is it wise to poke the nests of the other Sisters? Surely, they can deal with the Mandalorians leaving us to our solitude."
Immediately Odessa cursed her words the moment they slipped from the boundary of her mouth. Her insolence would not go unnoticed by her Master, and the results from such an oversight on her part will come with a form of punishment.

"Forgive me Master," Odessa said backtracking on her previous blunder, "I was merely suggesting why not let them take the lead whilst we offer counsel. We are strong, stronger than any Clan on Dathomir, why allow ourselves to take the blunt of any Mandalorian retribution."​

​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Outfit + Hat
Tag: Mystra Midnight Vytal Noctura Brooke Waters Aether Verd Odessa Djazit Darth Moskvin Domina Prime Manti Wyrvhor Dreidi Xeraic Aileni Ifor Xeraic

Kaila dragged nails over her lip.

The Mandalorian's display should have fascinated her, should have made her feel less alone in the galaxy.

But she was trained to see through the politics, and that was all this was.

<<...perhaps you are right...>> she whispered to Mystra.


Conflict boiled beneath her skin, a battle between her better judgement to remain silent and her instinct to speak up, impassioned by her love for the world upon which she had finally discovered her family.

In the end, passion had always been her weapon.


"I... find this concerning." the young woman finally blurted.

Her tone was as incensed as it was disappointed, the voice of a girl who had witnessed an injustice she was powerless to stop.

"History or not, Dathomir cannot be ruled by bloodline alone."

"You speak of citizenship, of loyalty as though we have no choice in the matter! All while choosing a voice for us—as if an alliance senator—without going out of your way to summon the Clan and Coven Mothers to vote? Without having sent news far and wide that there was to even be a vote."

"This is no election." she finally said, anger beginning to bleed into her tone.

She had hoped better of her adoptive people.

"This was decided long before today, and we are but witness to it."

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

DATHOMIR

The fire reflected in his visor as Brooke spoke.

He nodded to her—grateful.

“Long before I was born,” Aether said, his voice carrying, “Mandalore and Dathomir stood side by side. Through war. Through peace. Through blood and spirit alike. And I would see that bond honored again.”

His tone was resolute, but there was something warmer beneath it. A softness earned, not gifted. The kind carried by someone who had known the sting of isolation and the balm of belonging.

Then came the voice of the young one.

Aether’s head turned toward Kaila as she stood, passion crackling in her words like flint to steel.

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t flinch.

But when she finished—when her words had settled like ash in the air—he stood.

The slow rise of armored limbs and servo-assisted joints drew little noise, but there was weight in it. Not dominance. Not challenge. Weight.

He walked across the fire circle. Calm. Unhurried. And when he reached her, he stopped at a respectful distance. Close enough for his voice to carry in low tones. Far enough not to crowd her.

Then, he looked her in the eye from behind the visor.

And he said, earnestly—

“…I’m confused.”

There was no sarcasm. No venom. Just quiet, genuine confusion.

“I appreciate you sharing your thoughts. I do. But I want to be clear about something.”

He glanced once to the fire, then back to Kaila.

“Dathomir is not being ruled. Not by me. Not by anyone but Dathomir.”

He raised a hand slightly—not in defense, but emphasis.

“When I spoke of citizenship… it wasn’t to take something from you. It was to offer something to you. If someone from this world—your world—ever left its soil and found trouble out there in the stars… I would see the full weight of Mandalore come to their defense. Not because of taxes or fealty or conquest—but because that’s what family does.”

His voice never rose.

“It means nothing about your lives, your ways, your gods, your traditions will change. You are Dathomir. You will remain so. No one is here to unmake that.”

He paused.

“As for the Warden… I didn’t choose a voice for you. I mentioned Vytal because she organized this gathering. Because she met with other clans. Because she reached out to the Mandalorians and told us we would be welcome on this world.”

His helm tilted slightly, head cocking.

“I didn’t send summons to your leaders because that would imply I had the right to. I don’t. The role of Warden is not a crown. It’s a ferry. A bridge. Someone who carries the concerns of Dathomir to me and mine. If your clans wish to choose someone else—to vote, to confer, to deliberate—I’ll step back. My brothers and I will depart and wait for your choice.”

Aether looked past Kaila now, his voice broadening to address all those present.

“And if Dathomir has walked a new path—if a new generation sees no kinship in us, if history has worn thin and you wish to stand alone—then so be it. Though your world and system may fall within the Empire's map… I am more than willing to declare Dathomir and its stars an autonomous zone.”

He let the words hang, solid and unshaken.

“No Mandalorian patrols. No interference. No demands. Just silence, until you call for more.”

His visor turned from one witch to the next—taking in Mystra, Brooke, Vytal, Manti, and even the shadows where others lingered.

“I do not want conflict. I want kinship. But I will not force it.”

He stepped back slightly, hands now at his sides.

“Speak, then. Let Dathomir’s will be known.”

And he waited—not as a conqueror, but as a man ready to walk away if asked.​

Mystra Midnight , Vytal Noctura , Brooke Waters , Odessa Djazit , Darth Moskvin , Domina Prime , Manti Wyrvhor , Dreidi Xeraic , Aileni Ifor Xeraic , Kaila Irons

 

[Vytal Noctura]

"Live in this world consciously, powerfully, and unapologetically."​

Brooke was the first to break the silence. Vytal's emerald eyes turned to regard the Witch; it was pleasing to find another that knew of potential beneficial relations that were possible with outsiders. She knew not all Sisters felt that way.

Kaila's voice was heard next, and expressed her concern for recent events. Shadow stretched across the pale woman bathed in the green light of the flame. Aether moved before the sharper edge of Vytal's tongue could fly; she watched and then listened at first, curious how he'd taken the remarks. It quickly became apparent Aether had the demeanor of a negotiator, which was not typical of Mandalorians. Brusque was how most would describe the inextinguishable warriors. What he said was true, and sounded good, but she wondered if Witches would be receptive of it.

"Has Dathormir become a democracy in my absence, Sister?" she asked almost the second Aether finished speaking. "Have the Clans championed one of their own without my knowledge eager to go to the stars? To be far from home. Surrounded by aliens that do not know our ways. Cannot fathom our ways."

The Nightmother of Ryloth swept those assembled with her bright, emerald gaze. "I left Dathomir when I was still a whelp. I struggled with the Sisters at my side to survive until we found a home on Ryloth with other Witches. Among the Confederacy. It was a government ruled by a man educated in Dark Arts. Someone that did not interfere in our ways, but provided resources for us to build our own settlement. They demanded nothing. We provided potions, salves, and came to the defense of the world we called home because we are not so weak as to accept handouts."

She spread her hands out to either side, "Can any of you say such a Man is an enemy? That an entire people whose worth is weighed by their Word -- that has pledged not to conquer Dathomir -- is an enemy? Do any of you wish to be torn from your homes, for your study of magick and the Nether, to make sure the galaxy does not trouble our Sisters? Our Brothers? I can ensure our ways remain our own, and leave the Clans to choose their Mothers, Great Mothers, and even a Nightmother or Queen as they see fit. I did not come home to rule; I sought this pact with those that claim nearby space for our people. Our ways to forever remain ours."

"And that is the extent justifying my actions I will do. Challenge me, if you must."
​

Aether Verd | Mystra Midnight | Brooke Waters | Odessa Djazit | Darth Moskvin | Domina Prime | Manti Wyrvhor | Dreidi Xeraic | Aileni Ifor Xeraic | Kaila Irons​