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Divine Intervention [Ithari]


Velaeri Mortaine
@[member="Darth Ithari"]

The days were beginning to stretch into one another here on Exocron and the longer they went the stranger things seem to become. Priestess Mae of the Divine Inari was one of many in the daylight hours. Though she had not been within the grounds of Moross for much longer than a few weeks she had already garnered the interest of at least one of the Gods. In a way this made things simpler - behind closed doors she could converse with her Great-Nephew at length of all the things needing done and the plans for expansion. She could learn her role without worry of faulting and ask as many questions as need be to ensure things were done right.

When it came time for show, however, it made things far more difficult.

The Temple was supposed to be a safe place for all followers of Moross, no matter their station or their devotion. Unfortunately it was also a breeding ground for sin as much as it was for righteousness.

Greed and envy were rampant amidst the more fervent of Priests. Amorella could recall several instances where her devotion to the Gods had been verbally tested by her fellow practitioners and it was becoming somewhat of a strain on her composure. Evidently having favor amongst the Gods was something of a curse amongst the clergy. Softspoken as she was, it made the woman an easy target for those more brash, more bold.

Amore left the courtyard following a midafternoon meal feeling melancholy, defeated, and sick.

Exceptionally sick.

Making her way down a side hall, she paused at the sensation of a shooting pain in her middle. She frowned but thought of it as nothing more than her nerves finally getting to her. By the time she made it to the end of the hall she came to the conclusion that it was not, in fact, her nerves, but something far more serious. Gripped with a terrible pain she grimaced, stumbled against a pillar and doubled over.

"Fire..." she stifled a cry, clutching her hands to her stomach.

Jacen Cavill

I Am Death
@[member="Amorella Mae"]


"Lord Ithari, that was an excellent demonstration you gave to the faithful earlier!" The scribe followed the powerful man as he strode through the streets of Exocron, silence was to be had save for the one man following the "God." Above them stalked Mar, the body-guard droid that faithfully followed the Sith wherever he went. Whatever face he was in, whatever role he was playing, that droid was always around. While masquerading as Cade Lee, the droid stood proudly, here on Exocron it wore heavy robes to appear a dark sentinel for the God of War. It worked, and the disguise was one most didn't dare tempt. If their gods could summon unholy powers and make miracles happen, what could the behemoth with the red eyes do? The truth was far from that, like most things, but those who followed Moross didn't need to know such things.

In fact, they never would.

Through the Force, Jacen Cavill could feel their belief in him. Their fear of his abilities, and of what he represented to them. Those feelings weren't anything foreign to him, and he was quite familiar with them. During the many conquests he had done as the Champion of the Shadow Emperor, he had seen this before. Most couldn't fathom his abilities, or what the Force allowed him to do. From their perspective he had been a demon, a creature of rage that they couldn't comprehend. Here on Exocron his powers could fill the role of the God of Battle, and he didn't mind spreading the religion. Any excuse to practice and kill was good enough for the man who lived quite the duplicitous life. If he wasn't being Jacen Cavill, Sith Lord, he was being Cade Lee, CEO, or Ithari The Bloody. It was confusing, and taxing, but he was pulling it off nicely for the time being.

"Why thank you, those fools should have known better to challenge me so publicly." The scribe nodded, and kept pace with the much taller, armored man. He hurriedly wrote on his pages, and Jacen could tell that this was going to be displayed somewhere. In fact, the morning had been quite eventful. It wasn't often so many assassins showed up to try and kill him, but he had used their attack to further the Moross Crusade. Belief in him was growing, and the forge was filling with volunteers as all went to work on the constructs of war.

The crusade would begin soon.

The scribe began to speak, but Ithari felt something off. He waved the man off with a simple gesture as Mar leapt across some more rooftops to get closer to his Master. That general feeling of unease radiated, and the two meter tall "God" soon found the source of the issue. A woman was doubled over in pain, and begrudgingly he called for the scribe he had just scared off. "Scribe, call for a healer. One of the faithful seems to be hurt." There was little worry in his voice, because he didn't care. It would just reflect poorly on Ithari if he didn't try and save a subject in need, so without thinking he scooped the woman up and whisked her away to see what could be done about her pain.

Some time later...

Ithari stood near, using the darkness to try and work on what was ailing her. The healer was frantically working, but the Sith was trying to isolate the poison at work. His powers didn't extend to this arena, but he could keep it from killing her. The next few hours for her wouldn't be the best for her, she would life though.


Velaeri Mortaine

Head spinning, blood boiling, Amorella felt a stinging sweat creep along her skin. She crumpled, feeling her resolve wither away, caught in a heated wind that swept her up within the boughs of a mighty tree. The skies swelled, careening like fervent waves against pale dunes, simmering hot.

Everything burned, it was unbearable.

Shivers set in first at her fingertips and slowly followed the holocaust searing her veins. The Priestess' body quaked in the arms of the God as his long strides carried them through halls. His booming voice and commanding presence that harnessed the devotion of millions barely registered in the mind of the ailing woman. She did not feel the cold of the healer's table beneath her nor the hands of the Healer in question. It wasn't until those dark energies, willed by Ithari himself, sought out the poison that she felt anything at all over the pain.
The tremors slowed, quelled by the presence of Darkside powers that slowly besieged the poison within her veins, but the shivers did not leave entirely. Amorella drew a shuddering breath,

"She's stabilizing," spoke the Healer who frantically continued looking over charts, "heart rate has slowed, temperature is dropping-" the woman shook her head, "I do not recognize this poison. I will need to run more tests. Whatever you have done to help her, Lord Ithari, it is keeping her alive for now."

"What hands are burnt," Amore spoke though her eyes had not yet opened.

"I believe you have been poisoned, but I do not know with what. Lord Ithari has very well saved your life, consider yourself honored and blessed by the God of Blood," replied the Healer.

Amore swallowed, expression pained as she took the words in. She considered them for a moment before suddenly asking something quite unusual, "What time is it?"

The Healer's mouth dropped and her eyes shifted warily towards Ithari, "Forgive her, Your Eminence, delirium is a common symptom of many strong poisons. I am sure once she is right of mind she will-"

"No-" the Priestess' hand came up just slightly, visibly trembling as she stiffly pulled her fingers into a fist, "the time, what time is it?"

"Past three-quarters day, Lady Priestess."

"Oh no, the Peace Talk on Aaris III, I was supposed to be on my way there mid-day-" she rolled to her side and painfully attempted to sit up.

"Priestess you must'nt!" exclaimed the Healer, "You're very ill. I have to run tests, find out what this poison is. You're in no state to leave."

"My Lord," Amore turned eyes of blue that had significantly paled to a sickly gray, "I was to lead the Peace Talks on Aaris III. I was tasked by Lord Neth. I've never been late to a meeting in my life. I must go..."

@[member="Jacen Cavill"]

Jacen Cavill

I Am Death
@[member="Amorella Mae"]

Hours had ticked by at a steady pace, yet for some reason the God of Blood sat there. Mar had entered the room long ago and stood on the other side, the scribe that had been there had long left to attend to his duties. Thankfully, Ithari hadn't been needed elsewhere on this day, so he had stuck around. Had it been some run of the mill poison he would have left long ago, but something in it resonated in the Force. The woman he had carried over to the healers had been inherently good, that much he could detect without the Force. He had met her once before, and her kindness had been something that he couldn't forget, nor her face. The man he had been had found something desirable in her, but the darkside kept him where he belonged.

Not by her beside trying to help, but on the other end of the room studying the darkness that was inside her suddenly.

His own meditations had held him in place, and his burly arms stayed cross across the broad expanse of his chest. Everyone who entered the room gave him plenty of space, and they all knew who he was. Their fear and awe could be felt through the Force, and he couldn't help but smile knowing he could end them all. Well, that was the darkside in him talking. The part of him that wanted destruction, death, and murder. That was the voice that had saved his life many a time when he had been less sure of himself, when he had been powered by the fear of what he was to become. It had been the driving force for his power when he had first entered the ranks of the Sith, and would have stayed that way had he not broken through the wall that had held him back.

Now his rage powered him, and he had become what he had feared...and he loved it.

Amorella stirred, and the worry in her voice made the man behind the monster slightly stir. Standing to his full height, he crossed the room and stood there in his form fitting Iron Skin underlay. His armor was waiting for him on the Sion, and the ship had been prepped to leave for the Republic later in the day. Her plea didn't go unnoticed, and he sat silent for a moment. Sharp features reflected the light off of them as he turned to regard the healers for a moment, before finally speaking.

"If this is for Moross, then you may leave. I can manage what ails you myself, and if the healers object. We can bring one of them with us to manage your condition?" The indifferent look on his face didn't mask the intensity in his azure pupils, and all knew better than to question the will of a living God. "Do you find this agreeable?" All the healers in the room nodded, he merely waited to see what the woman laying there said.


Velaeri Mortaine
Pallid eyes widened as the God approached and Amorella quickly took measure of her previous boldness. She should have spoken more gently, more subserviently in front of the Healers, and for a moment she wondered if perhaps she might've angered him. A frown drooped across pale lips and the Priestess sank further back against the table, waiting judgement.

She winced as the booming of his voice filled the small chamber but with each word felt a hint of relief spread over her. Amore carefully glanced to the attending Healers before looking up at Ithari. She could not help the hint of surprise in her expression - she'd not expected Ithari the Bloody to be so understanding.

"Thank you," the words were firm albeit weak.

Some time later found the Priestess of Inari boarding The Sion, Ithari's personal ship. The woman moved slowly and, much to her dismay, gracelessly. Her joints felt stiff and her muscles sang with a dull, throbbing pain. Were it not for the flowing cloth of her robes, she might've drawn more attention than that of the Healers. It was not so terrible as it had been hours ago, but Amorella felt heavy with a sickness she could not describe. Not a sickness so much of body but one of the soul - like the regret one felt after saying something terrible out of anger that should never be said at all.

"How do you feel, Priestess?" asked one of the Healers as they helped Amore to a seat.

"Tired," she breathed, barely managing a smile, "but grateful for your presence."

"Perhaps we should keep you in the infirmary for the trip. A blood transfusion may help keep you stronger."

"No blood," the Priestess returned, "just let me rest."

The Healer nodded, "Very well. I'll inform His Eminence Ithari that we are ready for departure."

Amore nodded after her and watched the other woman go, releasing a heavy breath and closing her eyes. Being ill was one thing, being ill on a ship quite another.

She really didn't like flying.

Jacen Cavill

I Am Death
Some Time Later...

Standing on the bridge of the Sion, he toyed with the armored gaultlet he had just locked into place of the Iron Skin armorweave body suit he had been wearing. All the durasteel plates he now wore over the body suit were light weight, but very much menacing in appearance. The fact that all of it in it's entirety formed a menacing suit didn't help, his tattered red cloak he that was hanging around the sealed in collar of his body suit. Everyone on the bridge was awaiting orders from the man they knew as a "God," and a few had even served with him during his time with the Empire. The secret was well kept, and they knew better than to mention word of a man named Jacen Cavill who had clawed, killed, and done terrible things to reach the level that he had achieved. Only one had seen him from the beginning, when he had first acquired this Monitor-Class Corvette that had become his home. The captain of the ship stood next to Mar, and neither said a word.

Mar was around Jacen constantly, and knew the sides of the man it protected. The captain, named James Eram had seen him when he had first made Knight after being abandoned on Korriban. The fact that Eram had stuck with him through a few factions spoke of his true loyalties, and how he'd prefer to work with a man he trusted. Ithari was a monster on the battlefield, but in space he always deferred to his Captain unless the Force dictated otherwise. If not, he simply let the man run the Sion. It was an easy system, and as they awaited takeoff, neither spoke to the other.

"Your Grace, the priestess is ready and would like to speak to you." The officers voice came shakily over the comm, and Jacen rolled his eyes at the way the boy spoke. "Yes, I'll be there in a moment." Mar still had his hands on the helmet that Ithari wore into battle, and it was the symbol his followers knew. "I won't need my helmet, head towards the system she instructed of you. I will be down there to speak to her. Mar, stay up here."

Without a word he was heading towards the room where the priestess was. Not immersed in the darkside, his noble features stood out from his attire considerably. Without so much as asking he pulled up a chair across from the sick woman he had helped earlier. The clang of his armor against the table echoed in the small room, and blue eyes searched the woman before him for an answer before speaking in a much quieter tone. "So why Karideph? What is so special about this world that we must try and have a priestess go there to talk?" Indifference was in his words as he looked at her general sickly condition. "Whatever you were poisoned with, you better hope you find the answer for it. If there is a small chance that it an infect other people and bring down this grand illusion we have..." Cavill leaned in further, his words dropping further as he let himself immerse in the darkside. His eyes followed suit and turned yellow as the corruption spread.

"...I will kill you, make no mistake."

@[member="Amorella Mae"]


Velaeri Mortaine
The Priestess startled from her rest at the sound of the chair scraping across the floor and blinked her eyes open just in time to see the face of Ithari settle before her. The man was not unlike what she imagined a younger version of her Uncle Vascious to be. Amore had never seen pictures of the retired Mandolorian Sith Lord in his youth, but something about the sharpness of Ithari's gaze and the armor which he wore so proudly grew in her a strange sense of fondness.

She listened to him, faded grey eyes locked onto his own vibrant blue, pale lips unsmiling in her weakened state. Why Aaris III? he asked, what use would a Priestess of Inari be there? The curiosity in his words uncovered the doubt she'd held for herself since the day her mother sent her off. It made her long for the security of her position and her responsibilities on Kuat, where even the overwhelming list of duties was far easier to follow than the wilds of this space she now called home. Amore didn't have someone here to tell her what to do or what things she needed to mind. Here she struggled to find her niche - where did she belong in the grand scheme of the Moross Faith and Crusade? It was something she'd been searching for and she had hoped that by volunteering to help, even if she wasn't certain of her usefulness, that she might stumble upon her place along the way.

His last words struck her thoughts bare, drawing the gaze that had drifted to her hands back to his face. The woman's brow knitted upwards in a sudden expression of worry. Contagious? She'd never thought of that. What if it wasn't poison, but a disease? What if she infected everyone - causing sickness, pain.... death to hundreds? Thousands? Amore felt her heart begin to race and it ached terribly, pumping a fresh surge of painfully hot blood to her body. Never in any situation, ever would she wish this upon anyone.

Ithari would feel her hand on his arm, though perhaps only barely through his armor, "Promise me you will," she urged, frown deepening, "if there is no cure, if others could get sick...could die..." Amore's stare grew intense. Soliael wouldn't do that, of this she felt sure - whether it was due to his love for family or his fear of her mother made little difference. But Ithari ... held none of these reservations, and knowing he would stop a plague before it began was as much relief as she could ask for.

@Jacen Cavill

Jacen Cavill

I Am Death
@[member="Amorella Mae"]

Whatever world burning rage he felt, whatever it was that powered him could be best described as a monster. It had been given many names by Jacen in quiet moments, that was until he realized that HE was the monster. It had been the most freeing/damning moment of his life. To realize that the thing that had spoke to him, egged him on to greatness and terrible things was himself had liberated him. On the flip-side, it hadn't been easy to realize that Jacen Cavill had been the construct he had built to survive and appear normal. What he was now was a raging machine of battle, and he needed to kill. It wasn't that there was an off switch like he had always assume, or that the darkside was simply something that would come to him when he called for it. No, HE was Ithari. He may not be the "God" of war, but it was all he truly wanted in his very human heart.

If he even had one.

Amorella's answers threw that monster back, not in a straight assault. But it spoke to something he didn't like to recognize, that he didn't understand selflessness. There had been a time when he had thought he did, but he was wrong. He had only saved Spencer Jacobs because he needed her to live, he didn't want her gone. There was nothing selfless in him murdering another, or so he thought he had. Rumors had spoken of how that particular Sith could transfer his essence, but he hoped they were wrong. Whatever path his thoughts wanted to go on, he backed off from his hard-line stance of murdering the priestess if need be.

"So, you would willfully accept death? Why? Is there no fight in you?" He leaned back as the darkness rolled away, and he released himself from full immersion. His aura shifted as he returned to resembling more of a man in armor than the "God" he played for the masses.

"Where are we going, and why must a priestess for the Crusade go despite your health?"


Velaeri Mortaine
A dour frown overcame the woman's expression and she eased back into her seat feeling weaker than before. The promise she had hoped for never came, and so her relief wilted. With it a sense of doubt settled in like a cold morning frost in the beginning stages of winter. A wondering of her own true aspirations. Was selflessness really so wrong? Everything in her life had centered around the idea of taking care of others. Her very right to the throne dictated a life of servitude to her people in that every choice made would render change for the millions under her rule. Thinking about herself came second to the prosperity of others.

Was this such a terrible thing?

The Priestess gave a heavy sigh and looked off to a distant viewport that granted her a view of nothing more than the inky black of space.

He hardly knows me and already I am a terrible disappointment to him, the thought made her feel sick. Being a disappointment to anyone simply wasn't something she was accustomed to. Amore was an over-achiever and she wasn't used to feeling hapless or in the way.

"There's-" she gently cleared her throat and mentally collected herself as she remembered she still needed to address him properly while in the company of other Morossians, "there is a settlement of immigrated Dathomiri Witches on Aaris III that must be placated before we can hope to peacefully maintain ordinance over the planet. The native species will be easily enough swayed by any show of power, but the Witches ... they will require convincing." With a second deep breath the Priestess willed herself to look back to Ithari and was slightly taken-aback as she found his eyes not the heated, angry red from before but the cool, fathomless blue she found to be so handsome. Truly, she wasn't sure which gaze she preferred; both were equally unnerving.

"Neth chose me because my family has history with the Witches. Good history that I can use to our advantage. I am also fluent in Pacean, so I will be able to communicate with them and express the desires of the Crusade without fear of misrepresentation. Poor health or not, there is no one else as prepared as I to spread the word of Moross to the people of Aaris III."