Drops of Blood (Mirus)

[Petra Cavataio]

Sitting down on the floor of her old mediation room, the air lightly blew into the room from the open arch way that led to the balcony that over looked the valley in the mountains. Petra took the air in through her nose. Cool air flowed smoothly into her lung. An exhale came only when another breath was needed. Deep breathes were being taken by the old witch. Centering, focusing more on the task she desired for the moment she existed in right there.

The focus and centering made the reaching through time and space easier. So long ago there was binding ceremony that Petra had done with each of her Optivus Res. Ancient Sith magic and Dathomirian were mixed in the ceremony as they were special people. Three of the five had same paternal source which bound them to each more so too. This reaching out was for one those three. It was the one that survived the killings that Petra did so long ago.

[member="Mirus Hi'ija"] was the one. The binding was there but it had not been called upon for almost six hundred years. So Petra kept it all short and sweet. A simple message, telepathic message to remind him that she could still reach him. More could have been done, yet the message mainly focused on only calling for him to return to Dathomir. Years have passed, time moved on but it was the moments that had to be called upon for action to happen. With now time, she simply went on with her day until Mirus would arrive.

 

[Mirus Hi'ija]

It was interesting when you had eight clone bodies, transferring essence each time. Binding rituals lost their strength and power; Dathomiri blood magic relied on blood and Mirus had fresh blood every time he changed bodies. By now, her bind had lost its power; it was old, not activated in a long time, on a mind that had been hardened and resistant to such things.

He could feel her, in the Force. She wanted him back - but he was also prepared for this. If it became a sorcerer's duel, then he would need to be ready for such an encounter. He could beat her in a straight fight, if he had to. He was excellent in the Force and a dab hand with his Sith sword, a weapon forged by his own hands many suns ago. And, she wouldn't want him enough to be ready to risk destroying the stronghold. If it came to a fight - and it potentially could - he'd be ready to fight as need be. The question was how much she wanted him in his servitude. Unfortunately for Petra, he was no longer weak. He was a Master in his own right, and a damn powerful one at that.

It wasn't happening.

Once again, Mirus landed on the pad of the Morte clan stronghold nestled in the mountains. A place he had not dared step foot in a very long time. No longer did he dress like his father, but like the casual businessman he was... except for the obsidian-hilted Sith Sword at his side.

The stronghold doors opened for trueborn Cavataio, and thorugh Mirus walked, ready for [member="Petra Cavataio"].