Private Doomed to repeat it

[Athanasios]

Tormented souls on Alderaan?

In other news; water, wet.

Athanasios was not the first psychopomp to pass through this area of space, she supposed, and neither would she be the last. The truth was painfully simple; practitioners of her arts were often branded as evil (a backwards concept held by ignorant fools incapable of functioning without a black-and-white perception of the Galaxy), and chased by self-righteous warriors of Light. With so much stigma, so much misconceptions, how could they ever guide so many souls to the beyond? Alderaan's population, by some estimations from contemporary accounts, was gauged to be around two billions when the planet was first destroyed. Many such voices were silenced forever, gone, thrown into the Shadowlands without much ado, but some lingered. Tens of thousands were but a trifle, compared to the original numbers of the dead, but all too numerous for the shepherds of the lost to tend to.

But the wandering scholar was not so easily deterred, and her sojourn in Alliance space would not be complete without stopping by the temple to folly that was Alderaan. From the moment her boots touched the earth beneath, she felt a certain disdain for the planet and its people. So much of it was fake. Preserving the culture of a dead civilisation was laudable, yes, and a significant part of her duties, but painstakingly recreating a facsimile of what had once been? Insanity! And the proud people of this New Alderaan, this falsity - they thought themselves a noble people, when the very world they called home was nothing but a lie. So little time, and yet she already found her calm compromised by mounting irritation...

Duty called, however, and so she walked past the locals, uncaring of the odd looks she caught on her way there, having opted to wear the full extent of her vestments. An atypical nun of sorts, they might take her to be, and such an assumption was not quite far from the truth. Scholarly pursuits were one thing, but many of her peers discarded theology a little too readily for her liking.

Under the cover of night, she delved within the mausoleum of an Alderaanian family of certain prestige, having stolen the keys during the afternoon. Calmly and meaningfully placing a few candles about the interior, she lit them one by one, not with use of the Force, but merely matches. Trivialization of one's powers was a surefire gateway to corruption of intent, corruption of self. Once the interior was sufficiently lit (and still casting but a gloomy illumination), she sat upon a sarcophagus, casual as can be, her face turning this way and that, looking beyond the veil of reality, beyond what everyone chose to perceive.

Long into the night, did she speak to the tormented souls of Alderaan's dead, roused from their torpor with news of a resurgent faction of Imperials, threatening Coruscant - threatening the Core. Desperately did they scream in anguish, desperate for their descendants to hear them, but they would not her. They were too wrapped up in their lives to do so, in the modernity of it all.

Captivated by the stories shared by such ancient dead and calm in her moderation of this debate, Athanasios failed to notice the presence of another...

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

Alicio watched her, for a few minutes.

He was cloaked in the Force, his presence as hard to perceive as a leaf was to catch in the wind, as he observed the woman in the House Organa Mausoleum. Her attention drifted to and fro, as if listening to voices unseen. He often looked that way when diving deeply into the Future, but this was different. The Force tasted sour. And never had he felt the need to speak back.

His rare visit to Alderaan was interrupted by that feeling. He was no stranger to sensing Time, and this didn't feel too dissimilar, but while Alicio was used to the taste of the Future, this felt more like... a remnant of the Past. Or, more accurately, the waning of the Present.

He was curious, yes. But more importantly, he had to make sure this mysterious woman wasn't a threat. So...

"My ancestors are buried here." Alicio appeared as if from thin air, his dark cloak flashing with multiple colors beneath. "Grandparents and their grandparents. Organas going back hundreds of years. Shrines to honor our kin, going back thousands."

Alicio appeared relax, but it wouldn't be difficult to spot the focus in his eyes as he studied her reaction, or the eerie stillness of the tresses of his cloak. "It is... a point of debate among us which Organas we are descended from. Whether we were Leia's kin who reclaimed the House, or hidden members scattered throughout the stars, or thieves who stole the name because there were none left to own it, we can't know for sure. Each has their merits. My mother always told me we had Leia Organa's grit in our line, so that's the version I like to believe."

"But I don't often come here. Nobody has, for a while." His head tilted, the Future flashing in storm-grey eyes.

"So why have you?"

- Athanasios -

 

[Athanasios]

The voice of another. Male- no, masculine, she corrected herself. Irritation was her first reaction, to find a voice so clearly belonging to one of the living, of those who held on, whose mortality was yet to unfold in the fullness of its breadth. They were not her concern, but ever-sought to impose on her work. And now... now, the departed became nothing more than so much noise. A cacophony of voices, some lingering around Alicio, incapable of acknowledging the bitter, bitter truth of his inability to see or hear them at all- others begging her, wailing before her. Desperate to be heard. Too many people who sought... to be heard. To tell the latest among a proud line of the dangers, of their hopes, their warnings.

Seldom had she found so many of the restless dead within a single family. Perhaps some credence was to be given to the reputation of House Organa, or perhaps its members held on to their mortal lives even in death, convinced that there yet remained business to attend to, possessed with strength of will significant enough to resist the Beckoning. With a rare wince of discomfort, Athanasios brought a hand to rest against her forehead, eyes squinting in effort as she lifted her hand, index and middle fingers tracing a pattern, muttering under her breath- and finally escalating into an authoritative shout, her voice breaking in just the right way. For all of her erudition, her grim understanding of those beyond, she was a young woman. Young, indeed, to bear such a burden.

"I said enough!"​

The dead were unceremoniously silence, scattered, and she immediately regretted her action. Convincing them to come out of hiding and speak so civilly with her would be much more difficult now, and the task of guiding them to the Underworld, arduous and lengthy. The necromancer could ill-afford to linger on a world where her kind was not welcome.

"Bloodlines are pointless," came her curt answer, finally turning her eyes to Alicio, dark as onyx and filled with frustration, slowly cooling into dispassion worthy of something, or someone... far less human (or humane) than she seemed. "Greatness is not inherited. A scholar's son could very well just grow up into a brutish warrior; a great hero might sire a villain to shake the foundation of a hundred worlds. There is nothing inherent in blood, in names. House Organa is no greater or lesser than the Ascania, the Varanin, and a billion others whose name is unknown to the pages of history. Deeds endure; the deeds of individuals. Glory belongs to them, not some archaic notion of a greater whole. There is no greater whole! Individualism is the only true path."

Looking around, she sought to catch view of some ancestor or other, but found them all but a few wisps retreated now, and those could be banished or guided to the Shadowlands with ease. Nothing to it now, but to converse with this... interloper. That much was a stark change in her demeanor - before Alicio announced his presence, she had been all but lounging atop a tomb, looking almost - social, really. Comfortable and casual as she conversed with the dead, even smiled a few timed.

Now, however... her robes were slipped back on, her hood pulled up, and she looked far more sinister in the inhumanity of her gaze, of her demeanour. Ready to steal away into the night, to run, to escape. Such was her lot. Such was the fate of those who embraced darkness as she did. There was something in Alicio's eyes, in the way they flashed, whereas her own remained so still. Pools of onyx one could drown in. Eternal damnation, and still lacking in the cruelty so many attributed to her kind. To those who bore the moniker of Sith.

"Alderaan screams its anguish into the stars, even now, so many years later. I cannot stay in Alliance territory for long, but I can tend to what lingering spirits I can, in the short time I have to spend on this false world, this sickening facsimile of something dead and gone. What lessons those wraith can impart, I will gladly learn from as well. I am not a trespasser. A psychopomp's calling is among the dead."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

"I said enough!"

If Alicio didn't have forewarning from the future, he would've flinched. Perhaps even drew his blade to protect himself. But having a moment to analyze the shout gave him enough pause to simply frown instead. She wasn't talking to him.

So who was she talking to?

"Connection is important. The bonds we create for ourselves inform our selves." Perhaps that was too... esoteric. Then again, it seemed this one didn't shy away from mysticism. "Even if the connection is... superficial." And on that, they certainly agreed.

The revelation that she called herself a psychopomp gave him pause. It was... mythology, but she was clearly flesh and blood. Flavored by the Dark, no less.

"The original Alderaan is gone, yes." The King and Chancellor found a grim sort of smile. "But it's people remain. So... I don't think it ever truly died."

"'Tend to.'" Alicio tested a step closer, equal parts cautious and curious. He'd met many Dark-siders in his time. He could imagine what that meant. Rituals of sacrifice, to gain power. "What happens to the spirits you tend to?"

- Athanasios -

 

[Athanasios]

"No matter how beautiful," answered the psychopomp with scorn in her voice, even as her expression remained so blank, so dead, "a lie, will always remain a lie. Should I steal a name from the dead, then, to pretend at their greatness?" Frustration rising as their conversation went on, for she was not necessarily the most patient of psychopomps. Not with the living, at the very least, and the dead sometimes tried her patience, particularly those who insisted on lying when such a course of action could serve no other end than to keep them trapped where they were.

"Alderaan did die, and so many of its people besides. What you have here is not Alderaan. A recreation, a facsimile, something you made in the shape of a dead thing. Your kind cling to a past long gone, and in so doing, you stagnate. Wither, in time. The past is my domain, the dead are my domain, and even I could tell you that you are doomed for failure for it."

Alicio took a step forward, then, although Athanasios did not particularly acknowledge such a tentative motion. Still, she looked upon him with the same dispassionate expression as before. A seer was still a by-product of this world of meat and bones - that the fallen had all crowded around him, called him by so many titles, mattered but little to the Sith. She saw but the man.

"I thought I had made that obvious by describing myself as a psychopomp," answered the necromancer cooly. "I guide the lingering dead, the fallen, the lost, to the Shadowlands. Some have business to resolve, others must learn to let go of their fetters, but in time, I see them pass on to whatever awaits us all. We are not meant to linger. Death comes for all; those who try to deny it must be dragged to the Ferryman."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

"I steal my name to honor my mother and father. And their families. And their's." Alicio frowned a little. He didn't mind following along the line of thought, but kept his eyes open. Was she trying to distract him? "Though that's the past. And I suppose the past isn't worth honoring, is it?"

He smirked.

Whoever this was, she had a... fatalist view of the past. Alicio felt himself relaxing, falling into philosophical debate, and had to remind himself to keep on his toes. "Now who's the one ascribing importance to legacy?" He shook his head, just a little.

"You call it withering, I see us... living our lives. Farming the land. Buying. Selling. Making enough for our families. That would be happening, whether they were on Old Alderaan, or our facsimile. The rocks may have changed, but the people still live."

"I don't see how any of that could be a lie. It's more tangible than a last name, at any rate."

There were two possibilities before him. Either this woman truly believed she was a guide to the dead, or she was attempting to deceive him in some way. But if it was a trick... then why be here? Of all places?

"You grant them peace?" Alicio narrowed his eyes. It was as direct a question as he could manage. An honest Sith would never let his word choice go, and he bet on her being honest.

- Athanasios -

 

[Athanasios]

Athanasios waved her hand, then, to chase off a spirit bold enough, if far too discorporated to truly make itself a nuisance. She would tend to it in time, not now. So, the lingering soul was forced back within its casket, to contemplate the reach of her power as her gaze turned back to Alicio, listened to him speak of the past, of legacy. "My duty is to the dead, and to things gone. I collect them. Those fragments of the past. Of cultures now gone. I honor what once was, and I guide the fallen to the Shadowlands - yes, my work is solely rooted in the past. I see those among the living who look back for too long all the more easily. They merely turn to the past. I have spent my life facing it."

Where she was, as the royal and Chancellor pointed out, a fatalist, she found in him the light of a romantic, refusing to be a cynic. A man of life, and light. But how weary his eyes were... would his soul linger? Would she need to escort him? A part of her wished it so, that they may speak more once the time came. Few ever did satisfy her high expectations the way he did. A good conversationalist, at any rate, no matter how wrong and naive he was in her eyes.

"There is far more honesty, to forge into the future boldly. Respect the past, but do not become chained by it. The same customs, the same limitations... on and on and on." Then again, her perception was skewed, and she knew it so. Home held a different meaning to her, as too did family and legacy. It made her fit to pursue her work, but inherently disconnected from her charges.

But then, this... august figure, asked that question of his, prompting her to regard him in cold, calculating silence for a moment. Weighing her lies, or gauging him instead? That would be for him to tell. Alicio could project himself into the future, but could he read people like an open book, particularly a mind as closely guarded as her own?

"Peace is not what I grant them, no. I grant them a resolution to whatever fetters keep them trapped here, then guide them into the Shadowlands - into the realm beyond. It is there I leave them, to face whatever lies next for us all on their own. I am not dead, and cannot cross the river with them. I am a psychopomp. Nothing more, and nothing less. If you wish to strike me down, so be it; but do not waste my time with the self-righteous drivel so commonly found in those who fear the Dark."

Alicio Organa

 

[Alicio Organa]

"There is far more honesty, to forge into the future boldly. Respect the past, but do not become chained by it. The same customs, the same limitations... on and on and on."

"I can see the wisdom in that." Alicio felt the corner of his face tug up. As if he counted his own concession as some success in their social sparring.

Expectedly, the Darksider danced around the idea of peace. An impartial judge, to shepherd them where they need to be. She went so far as to tempt him to attack, resigned to his aggression. It was... curious. Very curious.

He didn't engage right away, letting the silence hang, finding the right words.

"...I would argue resolution is peace, no? Helping the departed find their proper place? Even if it isn't the one they prefer, there is a finality to it." He crossed his arms, thoughtful. "The Dark I fear doesn't concern itself with resolution, or proper places. It twists the galaxy to it's whims, using all around it to create chains of it's own."

"If what you say is true... you eschew power for order. It may not be kind, but I don't see ferrying souls as stab-worthy. Not yet, in any rate." A flush of humor.

"I'm a seer. I meddle with the natural order of things far more than you do. Who's to say I'm not the darker soul, between us?"

- Athanasios -

 

[Athanasios]

"Can you?" asked the psychopomp, now clearly intrigued. The living hardly ever recognized her work - fewer, still, could stomach it. In their eyes, it looked... unholy. Dark rituals, something to fear and to shun, too ignorant to see that she called upon sacred things to guide the spirits forth; alas, the Jedi were to blame for that, she surmised, with their obsession for the Light, and Life. Not all things holy were necessarily... wholesome.

"I can see why you would reach that conclusion, yes. I, for one, ascribe no morality to my duties. Kindness and cruelty are beneath me both. In this, I imagine I am rather different from my cousins, if you have fought against them before." Cousins she held little ill will towards, at least until they began to meddle with death. Although she eschewed the pursuit of power in the traditional Sith sense, she hardly found much of a reason to begrudge those who followed the path of Darkness their aspirations. Not that she intended to elucidate such a point when she found herself in such a precarious situation.

"I have no use for power - not in the sense you mean, at any rate. Let my less spiritual peers fight for territory, resources and slaves; that is their right, as it is that of the Jedi to stand against them. So long as I can go about my duties in peace, and collect whatever lore the dead see fit to impart upon me on their way to the great beyond, I have little reason to resort to violence. Therein lies power; in knowledge, and occultism."

Athanasios marked a pause, then, the slightest shadow of a smile crossing her otherwise indifferent features, alike a skull in their own right. Mere facepaint, of course, but there was power in symbolism, in trappings. Her choice of apparel was proof of that. "You are a rare soul, to let me go about my work amidst the crypt of your family without ire. Most would already be telling me to clear off, or start raising blasters. I wonder - is that because of your nature? Have you seen the future and already known me and my designs? Or are you simple taking a chance? You'll have to forgive my curiosity, I don't exactly run into seers all too often. Charlatans pretending at the title, sure, but someone who can see into the future, clear as blood on sheepskin?"

Alicio Organa