OOC: @[member="Satara Hawk"] @[member="TiCira D'Arr Hawk"] @[member="Viho Hawk"]. ALL DE HAWKS. Basically, if your last name is Hawk and you're a dathomiri, join in.
Dathomir. A planet of dangerous forests, rancors, misandrists, and unpredictable spellcasters. Mikhail Shorn's favorite. The dark haired Sith scratched the back of his head and turned to look longingly back at his ship. The planet looked red from space. Not the most friendly color. Of course, the Sith seemed to be overly fond of red. All the more reason for Mikhail to be uncomfortable.
Mikhail squinted up at the sky. Four moons hung listless in the sky. Below them, reaching into the clouds like finger tips, were mountains. Mikhail would have traded the temperate weather and moons for Korriban's too-close sun and blistering dry heat right about now. Better than dealing with Witches. Better the devaronian you knew and all that. Ashin, or Empress Varanin as she went nowadays, put Mikhail, newly promoted Knight - not that he cared about titles, on a diplomatic mission. Ironic. Mikhail the emissary to the Dathomiri Witches. The one Sith who hated Sith sent to advance the Sith's interests. Also, possibly the least tactful among the Sith. Then again, Mikhail's sarcasm was less likely to start a fight than some mindless, saber waving egomaniac like Reyven or Daxton. At least Shorn didn't feel the urge to display power by attempting to subjugate indigenous populations.
The meeting spot was just outside one of the Dathomiri villages. Mikhail thought he could see the smoke rising above treetops. He sat in a glade, surrounded by forest. He could be surrounded. In fact, he probably was. Mikhail's hand strayed to the dragon-mouthed hilt at his side, but he avoided the touch. He had quickly learned that holding the blade made him... less diplomatic. At any rate, anyone who got within ten meters of Mikhail would be able to feel the uncomfortable effects of the blade he called Abomination. Also known in ancient Sith as derriphanivvele. Devourer of souls. Having Abomination with him made Mikhail much more comfortable should things turn to more... agressive negotiations. Not that Mikhail was here to negotiate.
The Witches were an unknown factor. Powerful in the Force, rumor had it, but the Empress liked having rumors confirmed. Mikhail preferred not to look into this sort of thing, especially where rancors were involved. He'd had... bad experiences with them in the past. Memories flashed through his mind. Insane frogpeople attackign with lightning. A breathless race across the sand, pursued by the ravenous monsters. Damn hypo-whatevers.
Mikhail was really on the planet to simply bring a greetings from the Empress, stay for a little while to observe the Witches, their power, and their customs, then leave. It was a sort of mutual intelligence gathering, as the Witches would be learning from him about Sith customs. He snorted. He was not the average Sith, nor a good representation of their customs. Wearing a leather jacket, black pants, grey shirt, and a pair of simple boots, Mikhail did not look the typical Sith in dark-evil-overlord-robes. He hated that cliche.
He would be spying, more or less. But the sort of spying where everyone knew exactly what was happening. In military terms, he was an attaché. Now, Mikhail just had to wait for the locals to show up.
Dathomir. A planet of dangerous forests, rancors, misandrists, and unpredictable spellcasters. Mikhail Shorn's favorite. The dark haired Sith scratched the back of his head and turned to look longingly back at his ship. The planet looked red from space. Not the most friendly color. Of course, the Sith seemed to be overly fond of red. All the more reason for Mikhail to be uncomfortable.
Mikhail squinted up at the sky. Four moons hung listless in the sky. Below them, reaching into the clouds like finger tips, were mountains. Mikhail would have traded the temperate weather and moons for Korriban's too-close sun and blistering dry heat right about now. Better than dealing with Witches. Better the devaronian you knew and all that. Ashin, or Empress Varanin as she went nowadays, put Mikhail, newly promoted Knight - not that he cared about titles, on a diplomatic mission. Ironic. Mikhail the emissary to the Dathomiri Witches. The one Sith who hated Sith sent to advance the Sith's interests. Also, possibly the least tactful among the Sith. Then again, Mikhail's sarcasm was less likely to start a fight than some mindless, saber waving egomaniac like Reyven or Daxton. At least Shorn didn't feel the urge to display power by attempting to subjugate indigenous populations.
The meeting spot was just outside one of the Dathomiri villages. Mikhail thought he could see the smoke rising above treetops. He sat in a glade, surrounded by forest. He could be surrounded. In fact, he probably was. Mikhail's hand strayed to the dragon-mouthed hilt at his side, but he avoided the touch. He had quickly learned that holding the blade made him... less diplomatic. At any rate, anyone who got within ten meters of Mikhail would be able to feel the uncomfortable effects of the blade he called Abomination. Also known in ancient Sith as derriphanivvele. Devourer of souls. Having Abomination with him made Mikhail much more comfortable should things turn to more... agressive negotiations. Not that Mikhail was here to negotiate.
The Witches were an unknown factor. Powerful in the Force, rumor had it, but the Empress liked having rumors confirmed. Mikhail preferred not to look into this sort of thing, especially where rancors were involved. He'd had... bad experiences with them in the past. Memories flashed through his mind. Insane frogpeople attackign with lightning. A breathless race across the sand, pursued by the ravenous monsters. Damn hypo-whatevers.
Mikhail was really on the planet to simply bring a greetings from the Empress, stay for a little while to observe the Witches, their power, and their customs, then leave. It was a sort of mutual intelligence gathering, as the Witches would be learning from him about Sith customs. He snorted. He was not the average Sith, nor a good representation of their customs. Wearing a leather jacket, black pants, grey shirt, and a pair of simple boots, Mikhail did not look the typical Sith in dark-evil-overlord-robes. He hated that cliche.
He would be spying, more or less. But the sort of spying where everyone knew exactly what was happening. In military terms, he was an attaché. Now, Mikhail just had to wait for the locals to show up.