Public Come Join the Murder

[Sabrina Themao]

Tags: Ryn Starfall | Cord Starfall | Asaaj En Kelsani
Planet: Necropolis
Location: Somewhere
Ambience: dark ambience
Theme song: Narcos
Clothes: Monk style kind of robes
Weapons/Gear: Nothing
​

Sabrina remained quiet. For her, it was, for now the best thing to do. Nobody knew her, therefore everything she would do could lead to them attacking her. Maybe even killing her. So, still a little bit shaking, she remained where she was and only listened to all the people that were talking there. In her head she tried to find words, that would convince the witches to take her in(she's an easy target to read thoughts) as one of their own. At the same time, she tried to calm herself, from the shock she got from the sudden dagger that appeared in front of her.

Her eyes were wandering around, looking at everybody once, to see who was there. To her surprise, there were also men here. Were some of the rumors wrong? She heard, that only the women were in "charge" and that men, had almost no rights whatsoever. But here there were some men. And they didn't look like they were mistreated in any way. She was curious to see how things would continue.

(sry for the short post)
​

 

[Santeria Decuir]

Knowledge was power. Santeria was a gatekeeper of knowledge; a collection from various cultures that were kept in the vault of her mind, and locked away until it needed to be weaponized against others be them friend or foe. A brow larked - pitched in some signification of amusement though it couldn't be deciphered if the occultist was favourable to tale weaved for her, should she have found boredom, or if she simply were disinterested in all the words pouring from the pretty little mouth of the other individual. Wayward and lost: words that teased the back of the Nightmother's mind while this one proclaimed she was going to be both Jedi and Nightsister. A heavy audible sigh crept passed blood-red lips while Santeria shook her head full of raven tresses that were adorned with feathers and pearls, sparkly trinkets that denoted her station amongst the Dark Coven.

"No- one simply cannot be a Jedi and Nightsister. You speak of training as though you are going to be inducted into an academy of other Witches like Jedi and Sith. That is not the way of the Witches. Not Nightsisters - not Allyans." Heavy had felt the heart of the High Priestess; how could her Listener allow such confusion, such monstrous beliefs to be permitted. "Culture is the difference. Ours is one seeped in blood both literally and figuratively." Santeria would slaughter any who defied her without so much as batting an eyelash, and not because she was inherently evil. It was those who disrespected the culture, ravaged Dathomir, that felt her wrath the most. And one thing she truly despise - ignorance. "Do you know what an Allyan is?" The question was harmless and whether Dreidi knew or not would only make the difference of Santeria explaining to her and drawing the conversation back to the differences between the Witches and how Nightsisters were not, and could not, be a Jedi.

Pyromancy: she would remember that. "In my day, Nightsister clans were united and they did not quarrel or war. That was reserved for the Allyan clans or those who threatened the Dathomiri way of life." The thought of Nightsister clans being at odds set her teeth on edge. "Claim to be? Oh, sweet young girl. I am." Clack clack clack went the spiked-heels of the Unholy Matron as she advanced, stormy-eyes narrowed upon the Witchling. "If you ever make that statement again, you're going to know why." Santeria did not deal in threats - she made promises. Unlike many. especially Sith from her experience, she did not need to recant all the reasons and ways she was the Nightmother, the High Priestess of this Coven. Actions always speak louder than words. "And those that encroach upon my right will be made an example of to the fullest extent of my power. Oh, you may not know me now as I am certain historical documents have gravely missed that chapter, but you will."

A hand motioned to Mirus to a pedestal that was located about the other side of the room. Upon it had been a tome that was created from flesh and the pages inked in blood - blood from her enemies of years gone by. Within the center of the cover had been a mouth sewn shut. Not many were permitted to touch the book, and only a few actually had. Santeria gave permission to the High Witch Council, her incarnation Invidia and daughter Krishna, there may have been a few of the past though there were probably deceased by now. "Mirus, my pet, bring me that book. It's time for a history lesson."

---

Mirus Hi'ija | Dreidi Xeraic

 

[Darth Metus]

Sith, Mandalorian, Witch...

One bearing blades spoke. She knew shards of his history. Which, after decades in the "limelight", wasn't a surprise. Isley simply nodded in her direction.

"By all means, take me to your leader."

Cord Starfall​

 

[Mirus Hi'ija]

Oh, the colour commentary he could have added. However, Mirus took everything in his power to bite his tongue, instead glancing down at the floor and doing his absolute best to suppress a giggle. Santeria was right, of course. However, very few alive-- including those who claimed to be her followers-- had actually experienced what she had done, what she was capable of, and what she was about to do. This poor little Jedi witchling... yeah, okay, even that sounded odd. She'd have to learn what it was she was actually getting herself into, for it was no simple thing that had cropped up. This was a way of life, and a lot of people took it seriously. Himself included, whether he liked it or not. He wanted to give the kid some tips. He really did. However, that was not his place and he was not foolish enough to anger Santeria when she was already incredibly on edge. He knew that he was going to be the one responsible for calming her inner beast later on, of course, no matter what form that took. Good thing he was a sucker for punishment.

However, instructed as he was to get the book-- with the one pet name he could not stand, of course, but he bit that down and let her have her way, thank you mother for ruining that, too-- he did precisely that. There were going to be a few moments where he knew already that he was going to be outside Dreidi's line of direct sight, which would buy him the moment that he needed to do what he was here to do. It wasn't going to be much, but the fact remained that the Nightmother was a few steps short of enraged, meaning that she was going to need some serious care. We talk about dark side followers being all emotional and stuff, sure, but what about the moments where they needed to be composed? Succumbing to feelings all the time did not help that.

So, he stood up from his position on the floor with a grunt-- young in body, ancient in spirit-- and walked over to the flesh-tome. Oh, yeah, he'd seen these plenty. He'd made one, once. However, he knew how important this was to Santeria, and treated it with all due respect. A lore-keeper's fingers wrapped around the skin of the cover and, wordlessly, brought it to her. But he did not hand her that book properly without offering her a glance, wrapped twofold with intent pushed to her mind with the Force - one, not to kill this kidjust yet because converting a useful tool was far more strategically important than just killing it outright and that she'd need her composure when the rest of the kidlets turned up, and two, that he was here to support her no matter what she needed.

Welcome back to the coven, Mirus. Admit it, you missed it.

Santeria Decuir Dreidi Xeraic

 

[Jorus Q. Merrill]

Way in the back of the drama, an old guy watched with huge enjoyment and an open pack of Mirai Cookies.

A good thirty, forty years back (alright, closer to forty) he'd been a different man with a close business relationship to Mirai Cookies. He'd done mutually profitable deals with Mirus Hi'ija once upon a time. Lucky bastard looked basically ageless. Jorus waved hello and brushed crumbs out of his beard.

Let's see, who else did he recognize. He was fairly sure he'd strafed the absolute shavvit out of a couple of these witches like fifty years ago. An A-Wing on Kashyyyk maybe? Something like that.

Though Jorus Q. Merrill had never been a Nightsister, thank feth itself, his little sister had been one. He still had automatic gadgets keep tabs on her old accounts, and the transmission had implicitly promised a hecking good time on Necropolis.

He and his cookies settled back to keep watching. If this witch fit escalated, he owed Joza Perl money.

 

[Dreidi Xeraic]

Outfit: Training leathers, long thin long sleeve shirt and hand wraps
Equipment: Lightsaber
Tags: Santeria Decuir | Mirus Hi'ija

It was fairly easy for Dreidi to read that the Nightmother was not accepting of her stance, that there was too much hatred for Jedi in general for Dreidi to be accepted as both. It was hard to see such hatred being put on her when she had never harmed a Sister of Dathomir and neither had any of her family but yet there was hatred towards the whole Jedi way for the actions of a few. She knew the conflict, she knew there was justification in hating some Jedi for their actions but surely Dreidi should be allowed to proved that she can be both that she understands the cost and the price it takes in adopting two very different cultures as well as the skills in the Force. "I understand the difference. Being a Jedi isn't just training in a temple either. There is history, a way of life and culture. I was raised by Jedi, but I was brought up around many different people with very different ideologies and lives. I know you can be a Jedi and a Witch. Just as much as you can be Mandalorian and a Jedi, two different cultures, you can be a Witch and a Jedi. There are people out there in the galaxy being both." Dreidi wasn't basing her decision purely on self-belief, she knew the historic evidence that supported her decision, "Jedi are not bloodless, and the Jedi are just as much my family as the sisters here will be. If you accept me."

"Allyan? I read mixed information on it. It is said that there was a rogue Jedi called Allya that taught the daughters of Dathomir Magick. Allyans believe that they follow the original teachings of Allya. While it isn't the "Lightside" of Magick, it is the opposite side of the coin to the Nightsisters." Dreidi had done extensive readings but finding books written by Nightsisters or Nightmothers was next to impossible so all her information was vague and third party for the most part. When the Nightmother came in close and the aura was threatening and terrifying, however, Dreidi felt the part of her that was defiant, rebellious. "My point was that I have your word, anyone could have approached me and tell me that they were the Nightmother, I would have no way to know who was right. Sure, you could kill me, destroy me with your skills in Magick and power. But that just proves you can defeat a barely trained teenager." Dreidi was being bold but in the face of something that terrified her, instinct took over and she was going to retort and stand her ground.

It was then the Nightmother sent the man to fetch a book. From the look of the book it was made from flesh, it was unnecessary and obscene in Dreidi's opinion. There were subtler ways to state you are dark, evil and powerful than making a book of flesh and blood. However, that was her opinion and views. Hearing that she was about to receive a history lesson, Dreidi looked curious, interested in learning and eager to gleam information from this encounter.

 

[Jorus Q. Merrill]

"My point was that I have your word, anyone could have approached me and tell me that they were the Nightmother, I would have no way to know who was right. Sure, you could kill me, destroy me with your skills in Magick and power. But that just proves you can defeat a barely trained teenager."

That old guy in the back jolted upright.

"The Nightmother?" He looked around frantically. "Petra Cavataio's here? Ah shavvit."

Despite not actually seeing the Nightmother, he hastened out the nearest exit, leaving a vapor of cheap lum in his wake. Better to adjourn than run the risk of encountering the genuine article.