Dathomirian Holidays [Circe/Fabula] (COMPLETE)

[Onrai]

Circe was enjoying on Dathomir, to say the least. She smiled as she eyed a male being paraded past in chains, a reminder of feminism's distinct victory on this planet.

The natives' Force usage here was cruder, spells being not exactly refined Force powers. However, what they lacked in precision, they made up for in strength, and that was why she was here. Her thirst for knowledge(and other vices) needed to be filled.

With nothing else to do aside from enjoy the beauty of the landscape, she sat down on a woven vine bench, forming perfect illusions in her hands as Verim had taught her back when they first met. She quickly formed the small mass of dark Force energy into a rock, a Twi'lek dagger, and a thermal detonator, all in rapid succession. She liked it here, but it could be kinda boring with no friends. She was half-Zeltron after all. She needed contact.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

It was probably nothing new to hear the screams of rancors echoing through the air. The sheer proximity of rancor packs to any given Dathomiri settlement meant that any native was as accustomed to it as someone who lived near a starport was to hearing ships take off. Anyone who had spent considerable time around a rancor, however, could tell the difference between different screams. Each had a meaning, a specific tone with a precise amount of growl, break, or screech.

The ones that pierced the air today were those of frenzy.

Fabula Cavataio was possibly the most overtly suicidal creature on the surface of Dathomir. Nothing else so tiny would actively attack a rancor the size of One-Tusk, but there she was, lightsabers ignited and totally dead-set in her decision to fight one of the largest old mothers on the planet. The massive beast crouched down, prowling on all fours in a cirle, strafing to match Fabula's own footwork. In stark contrast, the little woman on the ground far, far below such a magnificent creature seemed dissonantly relaxed.

The silence broke with a unified scream, both females shouting their battle cries as they charged each other. One-Tusk, a creature spoken of in Morte Clan slave-legend and respected even by the Nightsisters, was as powerful as she was slow. It was a simple matter for Fabula to drop to a roll as she saw one massive claw rake down towards her. Coming out of her roll, she gave a quick backhand slice with her main-hand 'saber, giving a quick, glowing cut across the glorious monster's armored hide. This didn't sit well with the rancor, of course. One-Tusk cried again, this time in pain, and brought that same claw back again. Fabula was at too awkward an angle to affix a defense, and wound up with a full arm to her body, slinging her flying like she'd been struck with an oversized baseball bat.

Eventually finding her rest in a tree nearby, she cracked almost every single branch on her way down and hit the ground a scratched and bruised mess, groaning in pain. "Ngh! ...Ow? Lesson one: don't let the rancor hit you."

Whoever she had just disturbed from her rest, Fabs didn't seem to care much at the moment. She reached her hands back and called her lightsabers to them, reigniting them in mid-flight. "Sorry for the disruption, can't talk now, bye!" And just as quickly as she had come flying to the ground, Fabula uttered a Pacean command word and launched herself bodily back into the fight. Back towards One-Tusk, the legend.

 

[Onrai]

Circe suddenly perked up as a woman flew across the area, landing right in front of her. She turned and saw the enormous single-tusked rancor, clearly quite angry, rushing towards the woman who had just gotten back up.

Interesting...

Shrouding herself in a transluscent illusion, she slid behind the rancor, staying out of range as she watched the fight. Perhaps if this woman kept the distraction up, she could leap onto the rancor's back and jab a blade into its neck, severing its spinal cord and killing it instantly.

But for now, she would wait.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

In the two weeks or less she had been alive, Fabula had found that Rage was the one universal truth. Lies, deception, dominance, righteousness...all of these were simple fabrications to justify illogical actions. Rage alone was constant. The great One-Tusk was wise in her old age, brilliant in her power. She knew many things that Fabula didn't - she knew hunger, she knew cunning, she new sovereignty, and she knew frenzy. But the one thing that Fabula knew, the only thing she needed to know, was Rage. That was all she needed to win.

As she flew through the air, Force guiding her movements and pure Dark fury lending her strength, she twisted to allow herself more momentum to her slicing motions as she neared the rancor. One-Tusk knew the danger, but she didn't know the Rage. She couldn't defend so effortlessly against someone who felt the unadulterated euphoria of battle in her blood. Fabula's lightsabers caught two fingers on the massive claw that the mighty beast attempted to defend with. Both fell to the ground just before Fabs gently touched down, smoke searing the air behind above them from the still-baking cuts.

With a bodily twist, Fabula found herself in a defensive stance, twirling both orange blades into position to cut at whatever was coming close. She knew this creature now, and One-Tusk was starting to know her. It gave both of them pause.

One-Tusk, in her panic, found her frenzy. A lesser, weaker form of true Rage would not suffice, but it was all she had. She charged again, attempting to make something happen. It worked about as well as last time. When she came close enough, Fabula twisted her way out of the great monster's reach again, barely evading another lethal claw swipe. Taking her momentum, she kicked herself off the ground and quickly sliced at One-Tusk's breast, leaving burning lines in the creature's armor. As she fell backwards, Fabs shoved her hand out, throwing her violent emotions, her intent to kill behind it. The Force bullied the air in front of her into a quick pressure missile, sending the rancor flying backwards with a cracking sound.

Were she in a calmer state of mind, Fabula would have uttered a line or two of poetic respect for such a powerful creature in its final, dying moments. The Rage, however, had subsumed her philosophic inward glances. It demanded blood. When she hit the ground, she kicked off again, immediately, screaming in bloodthirsty need. Her tiny body impacted against the massive creature's gullet, both lightsabers poking directly into her neck. With a choking gasp, One-Tusk fell onto her back.

From her place atop the bloody neck of one of the mightiest creatures on the planet, Fabula heaved and rasped, the Rage so thick it hindered her breathing. She knew how to get it under control, at least. Wrenching both her lightsabers out of the corpse's neck, she threw her head back and screamed her battle cry to the sky. Wordless and powerful, it even made the other rancors nearby recoil, unobtrusively lumbering away to keep from crossing her. And there, panting, with blood-covered hands and two burning orange blades, Fabula had found her peace.

She smiled, a look of utter serenity.

 

[Onrai]

A tear of awe came to Circe's eye as she saw the slaughtering of the great rancor by this beautiful young woman. Once her rage had dissipated, she dashed over, smiling and applauding.

Do you have any idea how beautiful what you just did was?

She continued her sensual smile, unintentionally emitting the potent cocktail of irresistible Falleen and Zeltron pheromones.

I've never seen a more beautiful execution of a creature then what you just performed.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Fabs probably should've been expecting someone to come up against her. She wasn't, but she probably should've been. Jumping a bit in surprise, she quickly dropped both of her 'sabers, switching them off with the pressure grip and floating them both back onto her belt. As confident and serene as she had been in that fight, she was anything but now. Even the little bit of praise that the strange green woman had given her made her descend into blushing stampers. "It...it was a ritual. One of natural progression. One-Tusk had lived for over a century, and deserved an honorable and glorious death in battle."

She hugged her sides tight and stared at the ground. "I can only hope what I gave her was good enough. Dathomir is lessened by her passing." Even though she had needed to sate her battle-lust and One-Tusk was the greatest challenge around, Fabula had gone about the whole prospect with a heavy heart. Hundreds of years of personal evolution, adaptation, learning, and majesty, all crashing down in a matter of moments. Who was she to make that kind of judgement?

Her spine found shudders again, but she quickly brought herself physically under control. "Weep not at the death of an old god, whose strength brought a mighty fall. In deeds of life do men rejoice, and in strength find the greatest glories of all." She managed a smile afterwards, weak though it was. "The forest will remember her, and her legend will live on in the power of this place, her spirit in the Force."

 

[Onrai]

My last lover once said that true strength in the Force is only shown once you have overthrown the order of things. Considering the age and the like of this particular rancor, how it survived for so long, I'd say you did splendidly.

She was face to face with the woman, sizing her up pheromone-wise as well as looking over her features.

Circe Savan. Pleased to meet you.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Someone getting so close to her made Fabs a little on the uneasy side. She couldn't sense any hostility, and this woman didn't carry herself like a warrior. No immediate danger...which honestly was probably why she was so afraid. "F-...Fabula. I'm new."

There was something weird in the air. She could taste it, mostly due to the disparity she sensed in her own reactions. Fabula simply didn't experience arousal, especially not the conventional kind. It caught her attention that she was feeling anything similar to the little tingle she got after a particularly glorious fight, which made her a bit suspicious. Looking back up at Circe, she gave a curious look. "Whatever you're doing, stop it. It's unnatural to feel a thrill without overcoming adversity."

 

[Onrai]

Circe realized she was unintentionally emitting pheromones, and as such willed herself to stop doing so.

Sorry about that... One of the perks and downsides of being a hybrid of two of the most pheromonally active races in the galaxy is that my pheromones are extraordinarily potent.

She smiled at the young Witch. She had to be younger then herself.

Well, Fabula, it's nice to meet you.

As she held her hand out, a small rock formed in it from a blackish-red mist, her demonstrating her illusion skills to the initiate.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Well, if it was customary to exchange demonstrated skills, Fabula didn't have much to offer. Except for, y'know. The giant dead bloody reptile on the ground beneath her feat and the cowering rancors lurking in the treeline nearby. She shyly smiled back, letting her self-hug loosen a bit. "It's nice to meet you, too."

There were many ways to apply the ability to control the Force. It was one of the first things Fabula had learned during her mother's training. Traditions across the galaxy that could each manifest affinity to the energy of all things in a different way. In some parts of the galaxy, one's control of the Force was measured by how much fire they could conjure. On another planet, the light and sister dark were the barometer by which power was judged. Illusions weren't something Fabula could do. She accepted that and moved on.

Small talk. Make with the small talk, woman. "So. Rancors, huh?" She remembered them, or parts of them, from her "life" before waking. Five years of conditioning. Her mother had had a rancor. Destra, mightiest of all. She would have loved to see her in her prime. She might have even subjected One-Tusk. What a glorious fight that would be. "I see all the other initiates bonding with them. I think I'd have better luck if I didn't keep scrapping with their mothers."

 

[Onrai]

The rancor is an example of a powerful beast, one more sentient then most people give it credit for. Can't rancors read and write by now?

Circe remembered that a rancor had been taught to read and write many years ago. Perhaps it had taught its descendents the same thing. But that was something for another time. Right now, she could tell that the woman in front of her was as tense as a coiled spring.

I can feel how rigid you're feeling right now... Take it from a hybrid who had an isolationist dad: shyness can be dealt with if you let people help you.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Fabula had a bit of a strained look on her face as she tried to rant off the full tome of information that had been imprinted into her mind. "Destra, broodmother of rancors and Petra Cavataio's personal companion several centuries ago, showed proficiency in extremely rudimentary Paecean. She could read, but it wasn't ever clear whether or not she could write. No matter how impressive, the rest of her children didn't have the same talent."

Moody again. Fabs grabbed her sides and looked a little distant. "A freak, caught out of time. Incalculable abilities for her species. Completely alone without Petra." She and Destra had way too much in common. Still, it was rude not to respond. "I don't think shy is the right word. You don't need to help me. I'm functional."

Well, obviously functional. She'd just decapitated a damn century-old monster bred for combat. Fabula honestly would've winced at her own understatement if it wouldn't have forced her to admit that she hadn't screwed up. Change the subject, girl. "Anyway. They aren't advanced as a species that far yet. And I don't think they ever will be. They have no evolutionary need for language. They're already apex predators."

 

[Onrai]

Functional doesn't necessarily mean "not shy." I can tell you're not used to talking to people. You act like you've been isolated for some time now.

Circe could tell that something was... off with Fabula. She couldn't tell what it was, but it was there.

You know a lot about the local wildlife... How do you know so much about Rancors?

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Well, let's just get right to the most uncomfortable questions, why don't we? Fabula sighed and stared back at the ground. "I've been asleep for a while. Had some computer training while I was out. I've got a lot of textbook stuff running around up here." She tapped her head. "But I've been cut off. So I don't have a lot in here." And then her chest. "It's hard to interact with people when you're deficient in basically everything that they excel in."

She took a deep breath and moved to get down from the corpse. It was starting to get squishy. "Rancors were one of those things that I got imprints about. They're relevant to my interests, so it helps to know a lot about them." With a frown and a huff, she crossed her arms. "Wish they'd left some of that out anyway, and made room for more of the important stuff."

No, not important as in "I know how to fly starships." To Fabula, all that was important were memories...or maybe the entire Cin Drallig instruction archives from Shii-Cho to Juyo. She didn't have enough practical knowledge of her weapons yet. She needed to branch out, and she sure as hell wasn't going to get that on Dathomir.

 

[Onrai]

"You're a bladeswoman then, one who fights with the highest level of skill a lightsaber-equipped Force-user can master..."

Circe smiled. This girl was very similar to her, but in an opposite way. While she was a sensual, contact-craving, illusion-casting sorceress who easily made friends, Fabula was her mirror: A shy, detached, blade-wielding bringer of death who cared nothin for socializing.

"I think we're opposites, and as they say, opposites attract. We could make a good team... My blade skills are rather poor, after all."

 

[Fabula Caromed]

There were many ways to approach an offer like that. Fabs didn't exactly want a friend, but she wouldn't deny one if the opportunity presented itself. Thinking for a moment, she gave a soft smile back to the big green woman. "A life is imperfect, a soul incomplete. We're not designed to do everything flawlessly. There are no gods walking the worlds, relentlessly outpacing all before them in every endeavor."

The little witchling reached up and brushed her hair back over her shoulder. "I can teach you how to fight. And, failing that, I can be your sword. I'd offer the same to any Nightsister. But don't try to look at your abilities in the manner of positive and negative." Holding out her right hand, she called a lightsaber to it, the orange blade searing the air as it manifested. She held it in front of her face, staring past the glow and into Circe's eyes. "The Book of Shadows teaches us to pursue power in our passions. Not perfection of form, but strength derived from that which we feel most deeply."

She offered her other hand, pointing to Circe's illusion. "That's something I'll never be able to do. I wouldn't want to, either. I wouldn't try. My talents lie elsewhere. My heart lies on the battlefield, with blood spraying across my skin and the Force coursing through my veins in a fit of Rage." Her eyes flashed a distinct Dark Side yellow for a half-second, but quickly faded back to normal. "If yours lie elsewhere, don't ignore them in favor of shoring up your weaknesses."

 

[Onrai]

At the word "passions," Circe's interest perked up. These passions you refer to... Does it matter which kind of passions they are? I have passions that are a tad, how do you say, carnal, to say the least. Does this mean I should pursue power from them?

She smiled, looking at the illusion that had formed in her hand. My heart lies in control and manipulation. Convincing someone to follow my every whim, locking them under my eternal control with a bewitching usage of the Dark Side. I'm the kind of person you'd find in bed with a senator, stealing every last state secret from his mind before leaving him as another one of my puppets. Her own eyes glowed the color of the Dark Side for a moment before returning to normal.

You said you would be willing to be my sword. The blade to my knowledge of the Dark Side. And as such, I'll respond in kind. You are willing to be my sword? I'm willing to be your sorcery.

She held a hand out, a friendly gesture towards the young witchling. Can we shake on that?

 

[Fabula Caromed]

It took everything Fabs had in her not to sigh. Another woman obsessed with dominance. She probably should've guessed it. There was scarce reason otherwise to throw in your lot with the Nightsisters unless you wanted to subjugate everyone around you. Still, it would have been nice to find someone who she could actually agree with. If only rancors could talk.

Fabula let her lightsaber go, the pressure switch deactivating it as it flew back to her belt clip. At the least, she'd found someone who had attempted to understand her, even if she would be incapable of it. "There's no need to shake," she replied with a smile. "My word is my bond. And really, I don't require much in return. All I need from you is to continue training, continue improving yourself in the name of the Nightsisters."

In retrospect, Fabula wasn't sure if that was her conditioning talking or not. Her mother had done a bang-up job of ensuring that Fabula saw things her way. But then, their views seemed to align so perfectly. Why question it? "Follow your path, and when the time comes, remember where your allies are. This is much more important than any tiny alliance you can form with another Initiate. In addition to making your own power, find it where it already lies." Smirking, she turned her head in the direction of the Morte Clan stronghold. "And power on this planet shines like a beacon. It would be hard to miss."

 

[Onrai]

Circe could tell that Fabula's interest immediately turned off the moment she talked about what she liked to do. Fabula, do you think that just because I want to gain knowledge and control in the galaxy that I don't want to go out with friends and have a new time?

She paused, staring in the same direction as Fabula herself. You'd be surprised what a "tiny alliance with another initiate" can do. It set me on this path after all.

She motioned for Fabula to sit down with her on the bench. I know you may not have time, slaughtering great beasts and all, but I want to tell you a story of how a single choice can change a person forever.

 

[Fabula Caromed]

Knowledge, fine. She could get behind that. Control...seemed pointless. Fabula shrugged again, still finding her interest fading. This one would attempt to exploit her for power just like the others. Maybe she should have just gotten used to it, let them play their power games all they wanted. Her power was spoken for. Her strength belonged to the Nightsisters...and more accurately their leader.

But then the strange little green woman mentioned a story. Fabs loved stories. She liked to tell them, she liked to hear them, and most importantly she loved to make them. Turning, she took a seat on the dead rancor's face, propping herself up with her legs against its nose-ridges. "I'm always in the mood for a good story." Interest gained. Like a kid at Life Day.