Epitome of Malcontent

[Pom Stych Tivé]

To Legion, someone had toasted and her ears caught it; at least she thought that is what she heard. But who would say such a thing as that on Coruscant? Legion to the Nightsister means a very different thing most likely, an entourage of demons and spirits of the departed, victims all of one grand scheme, to sustain her passions in this life. Legion is the last thing that she needed to hear to forget her troubles. Legion is the current enemy.

Pomsty sat alone at the darkened corner of the bar, the overhead light she broke as she entered. The other patrons avoided her presence, unsure of her intentions, as her black patent leather vest fell to her sides unbuttoned, exposing a bandolier filled with long toiled over vials of Potions upon her person, the signature specialty of the Potions' Mistress of the Confederacy…of well, honestly nowhere at the moment. Everything is destroyed in the wake of her exit, where trust never existed in the first place; and to plummet from a bad position in the first place, well, the result is by far worse!

At the moment there is a turning point on the cusp of her existence, of which she has had numerous over these past two years, but this one perplexed her beyond seeking council or consolence. In her turbulent mind, in all her abilities, she finds no answers surfacing, only the manifestations supporting her very worst of suspicions. Her very own sister is to be the focus of a very grueling and dangerous coven ritual, to bring her entire being under the possession of all manner of ethereal entities to cultivate her existence to the exaltation of Nightmother. Pom shall, once this horrid event be completed, no longer have a sister in her life, but become kindred to some unknown Legion, in possession of her sister's body and taking her physical place in this incarnation, unrecognizable in any form but by her mere appearance. Pomsty knows what look shall be rendered from behind her eyes, that of no one she ever even met before. Superiority, intolerance, coldness, and all individuality when in her presence shall exist no more; not a thought kept secret, or emotion unexplored, when in the presence of such continually commanding power. She shall never sleep again, but her body altered to support this alternate existence. All memory of their upbringing, their special bond, and love abolished to serve a duty bestowed upon her head…all like the expected loss means absolutely nothing. A Nightsister does not give in to the spirits, they command them, but Nightmother is the epitome of selflessness, surrender to succumb for the good of all others. And the absolute most despicable fact surrounding the whole elevation of her sister to this great wondrous honor, is the military general asked for it to be done. The military general called the vote like he was one of the coven…like he was ordering his damn lunch. But the most tasking question still is, he spoke for who, or what? Who or what picked her sister? Who or what is stealing her away?

"It's an apostasy," she seethed not very loud as to attract attention, which she already has; and it cannot be declared unwittingly, for she knows full well where she is. She held her nose in her glass and drank the worst concoction the bartender could render, like he has been to a few questionable bars himself in his day. She ingested some potions on her journey over…a snippet while traversing into and through the netherrealm, to escape being followed by those who only moments before were beloved family. She came here, from out of nowhere, specifically to be as entirely undetectable as possible, where she is actually able to hide from her coven, her dark force signature muddled in this vast hodgepodge of nature absolutely opposite her existence. How she must look a fright in the midst of them so very vastly different from herself. Argis Volmir she had known briefly, before he died a hero. He had touched her, becoming the first and only Jedi to ever utter so much as a single word to her. They had long and engaging conversation. Even the military swine among the CIS never speak to her, or so much as acknowledge her presence when among them. She shall never again have to put up with their blatant bigotry, the only thing she ever looked forward to for so long; but doesn't want even that accomplished this way, a hollow victory at a terrible cost.

The Sorceress quickly became so far gone, that the Light of the Force which permeated throughout the little dive bar, did not scorch her flesh. Or is it just the Jedi who are present upon this world, not that of an actual existence of a nexus?

Is her presence a death wish? Why the hell not? She had to threaten the bartender to serve her from the start. Why not cash it all in? Figuratively she is dead. Her sister, Vytal, is already condemned to die.





[member="Cedric Grayson"]

 

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Dark winds sputtered across the surface of the Great Ocean. They were light and subtle, but Cedric could smell their sickly scent as well as he could anything else. His brow furrowed at the sensation, his meditations temporarily interrupted. His eyes opened, revealing the spartan chamber he'd chosen for his time alone. A deep breath was drawn in, then expelled. Once again, he delved into the depths of the Great Ocean.

And once again, he felt those dark winds scour his flesh like an icy dirge. Annoyed, the Jedi Master sought to follow them, envisioning his ego flying over the surface of the waters in the winds' wake. He drew closer, but could make out no discernible shape to them, no face or form. This one was trying to hide, and it had succeeded in doing so to just about every being on Coruscant. All of them, save one.

Curious, Cedric lifted from his meditations and made his way toward the speeder bay. From there, he simply followed the trail the winds left in their wake, taking him to a recreational area near the planet's upper levels.

He was clad in simple robes the color of midnight, his Jedi attire rather obvious. A cowl was drawn over his face, and without his royal armor, he looked to be any of the many Jedi that wandered Coruscant in service to the Imperium.

The violent atmosphere of the bar hung heavy in the air as he stepped through the doors. He made a conscious effort to reduce himself within the force. He passed in the shadows, a fleeting silhouette on the edge of one's vision, unnoticed and uncared for.

The Jedi wasted little time in wandering right up to the dark haired woman's table. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravely. "I had thought there were no more Sith on Coruscant," he mused as he helped himself to a seat across from her. "Or perhaps you're not a Sith, but something else. Nonetheless, the shadows have been cast from this world. Why do you come here now?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She recently became known as the Mistress Malcontent, unhappy with the loss of the ritualistic ways as they are employed upon the old world of Dathomir. But what woman can remain satisfied, living among the ways of the elders for their entire lives, while there is a calling felt to learn so much more, of which the rest of the galaxy beholds ample teachers, and about which those dwelling upon Dathomir know absolutely nothing about?

She had to leave her home behind long ago, and yet longs so much to return, if only just to ritualistically taste the lips of the Nightbrothers. Her thoughts lingered with memories of them, and a healthy history between herself and them it has been.

A male voice resounded a strange declaration of history, and identified facts. The sour face stole a seat opposite her as if to declare immobility from expulsion. Shadow he had called her. Shadow? "Why, yes. I happen to be born from shadow," the Nightsister agreed. "Sometimes Shadow just wants a good stiff drink apart from judgement," and to be extensively exceedingly expressly defiled...

"You ought to try it; unwind a little." He had appeared abruptly, as if he had been hunting her. But what would he gain if he chased her off, but the use of her chair, or her drink glass nearly emptied? For the Jedi already possesses a chair for himself across from her, yet his drink hand does happen to be useless at the moment. She raised her arm in the air and snapped her fingers before holding up two fingers towards the especially attentive waitstaff. "You feel like Jedi. I knew one once, a great mountain he was. To Argis Volmir," she slurred, raising her glass in his honor, "who rests beyond realms of engagement."

'Would Sith take the time to chat?' she wondered, knowing none personally herself. Hearing of the Sith and about their carnal ways through those she knew in her past faction, for it had been full of those who practiced their same skills but did not exhibit liken abrasive personality as true Sith. In fact Pomsty recently came into studying the Darkside of the Force herself, and even manifesting some Light abilities, regardless of how it burns her flesh to be engulfed in such power. 'If the light is so very Good, then why does the Winged Goddess just instinctively hurt me for beseeching her power?' she often wondered. 'Why can we not just all agree, that we are merely fashioned from a different cloth and accept it?'

"Are all shades of shadows the same to you?" she asked of [member="Cedric Grayson"] as the drink tray arrived before her like magick, for she did not visually perceive it on its approach. She delighted in the sight of more mind numbing potion, and gestured to her adamant guest to join her.

"Pomsty," she introduced herself, "if it makes a difference to your type." For in her experience, not many men, with exception to those born unto the Nightbrothers, exhibit simple manners merely as suave as Flesh Raiders!

 

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Music​

This was not what he'd been expecting.

The cantina music droned in the background, but Cedric didn't pay it all that much mind. He'd grown rather used to working in these sorts of places during his time as head of the Rebel Alliance. He tuned it all out, his gaze narrowing as the woman spoke of shades of darkness and stiff drinks.

Not what he'd expected at all.

"Truthfully, I thought you might have been a Sith spy," Cedric leaned forward a bit, his voice lower so that no eavesdropper might hear. The buzzing music certainly helped with that, but Cedric was ever the paranoid one. "I sensed your arrival in the empyrean. It's not a particularly large signature, but it's there. You may want to work on that," he eyed the drink like it was a bomb. The last time he'd allowed himself to imbibe, Cedric had told far too much of his history to a near stranger. Given his current situation, doing so was even more unwise.

"To Argis Volmor," he agreed, waving an imaginary drink about as he leaned back in his chair.

He paused, lips pressing into a thin smile. "I needed to see if you were a threat to my people, Pomsty. The Sith hate me more than most," he waved a hand, "But yes, it makes a difference to my type. You may call me Cyr."

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Being from Dathomir, Pomsty knew exactly how persistent the Sith can be when anyone is in possession of something they just so happen to want to covet, and anything at all can be on the table for non-negotiation! She couldn't help but render a subtle smirk at her experience of Sith passions; obviously the exact opposite of the experiences the Jedi had in his mind, but equally as devastating!

He commented that he had picked up on her Force Signature. She was actually surprised that everything around her was not sufficient to drown her's out completely; at that thought she raised a brow in wonder of the fact. She had not much experience attempting whatever it is that would stifle her presence from being detected. Had something akin to fate been in play at giving her away? It couldn't be good, regardless, for nothing up until now since the dawn of the day had been working out for the betterment of her. She realized that all she has done up to this point, is going to make her wake up tomorrow, -Fanged God knows where she shall rest her head tonight,- and regret every last action she had taken over these past few hours since that dreadful meeting earlier on with the insolent squib who ruined her life henceforth! Her eyes lingered upon her glass for what seemed far too long in contemplation, even for her limited sense of awareness to take notice, until she sat back in her chair for the first time and gazed upon him as he sat across from her.

His eyes were not cruel in appearance, just as she noted of many Jedi, and she could even detect a sense of happiness perhaps innate to his overall personality, maybe a sense of satisfaction possibly pertaining to his sense of belonging, which she personally experienced for most of her lifetime and shall obviously long for again not too far in her future.

"Well Cyr…I come…in peace," she stated quite matter-of-factly and mildly comically, but a hint of her profound depression quickly stole her smile from her face, and rendered a fleeting display of distress take its place as she quickly glanced away until recovered. No matter what regrets are due, the potions still hold the best option for emotional relief. Obviously [member="Cedric Grayson"] had not determined the better route, to kill her, and take her out of her misery; so the only means of endurance must suffice. She raised her glass yet again, there is someone else to toast, but she cannot fathom the name.

The people around the room, she could detect, all at once reverberated in a shared sense of relief at this man's intervention. Pomsty may be moody, but even in her state she meant no real harm, just wanted avid respect, which she isn't accustomed to receiving amidst strangers. She hasn't much taste for flashy display either, and on the most part determines her verdict amidst the silence of her own thoughts. But certainly, she is sick and tired of the bigotry, and yet unwilling to comply to local customs. Perhaps she was a tad strong, but in all honesty, harmed no one in her presence…just an overhead pendant lamp.

She remembers Argis one for excellent conversation, something the Jedi among the CIS were too snotty to employ. Argis always showed himself a great visionary, and his ideals were so vastly different from her own, she could almost see what it meant to be born to this Light and not be harmed by it. She sat silent for a moment, trying to think up the correct way to begin such conversation with this stranger. And why not with him? She has no other takers, and nothing else beneficial to do with her time…nor her entire life, at the moment. And it may be as long a night as is the day progressing!!

"So…if I may, I always wondered what is life like as a youngling for those born amidst the weave of the Light? I have heard rumors that many thrive among parents who have no inkling to their own child's awakening nature. I imagine it must be very difficult to endure the isolation, as a child having no teacher who can guide them through such often frightening realizations about their existence in their world."

 

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Whatever inklings of threat Cedric might have felt from the tiny woman were lost when she spoke again. She was clearly intoxicated - Cedric could smell the alcohol on her breath just as he could sense it running through her veins. Were it another time and another place, he might have forgone his hesitations and partaken as well. Especially when the subject of conversation was brought to light. Curous, Cedric lofted a brow and leaned forward.

"Well," he reached up to scratch at his chin, satisfied that there was no threat here. "I am a special case. I was born into a monarchy, but I can say that the Ashla has been with me as long as I can remember. I spent the majority of my childhood in the company of private tutors and scholars. Didn't have much by way of friends or family around, but the Light was always there." He furrowed his brow as he fought for the right words.

"It is like...like a constant companion. A friend whom is always there when you need to talk. A mother to provide comfort in your darkest times. It's helped me keep my sanity, and many times my life." He shrugged, "I don't know what it's like for Jedi that grow up in the clans or anything akin to that, but the Light has always been with me, and that is why I still serve her."

He paused, blue eyes narrowing into flints of sapphire as he appraised the woman. "If you're not Sith, then what are you exactly Miss Pomsty?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

"Monarchy?" the thought coaxed a small smile, "From where?" as if it might matter to her, for she had not much education about this vast galaxy, save whatever tales had been brought onto the soil of Dathomir herself by the Sith who came to father offspring among the Nightsister women.

As the mere word Ashla rolled off his tongue, she felt a twinge of power in it surge through her being. As [member="Cedric Grayson"] kept talking, she deemed it the name of his goddess by the way he spoke of her, her tenderness and guidance as his Mother. She only personally knew of the Winged Goddess originally of Dathomir, as a goddess of the Light, and a few demigods that the CIS government tried to push upon her to entrust; but she never really found them as powerful as the Fanged God. AND SHE IS NOT SORRY FOR THEIR INADEQUACIES, AND WILL NEVER BOW BEFORE THEM EVER!! But that is a side note to her direction here. The Nightsisters gods are superior to any, and it is well known, as ever it has been, canon knowledge!! Just something about the name Ashla felt like everything he had ascribed to her; like someone she needs most right about now. For the Fanged God is no lover, he is a taker. One's relationship with him is likened to a dysfunctional father. With the added cruelty of an abusive spouse, she bows before him, someone who makes the weakness of women crave his masochistic affections.

"My family during my childhood had been huge," the whole village coven to be exact, "and yet we were taught among one another by any who held knowledge of all manner of particular things." Pomsty quickly became the Potions' Mistress, excelling beyond everyone else in thoroughness and success.

She wanted to better feel this Ashla and she held out her hand to Cyr, if he would permit her this indulgence to sense his goddess through his touch, regardless of its seeming far too intimate for just having met. She was about to voice her desires to him specifically regarding what captivates her curiosity, but the Onyx gemstone amulet she wore around her neck suddenly glowed brightly at her brazen approach towards his Light, causing her to withdraw prematurely to contact. She sat back in her chair again far enough from him that she could only hope he cannot hear the vibrating hum of her Amulet.

And there it is, his final question for this moment. She knew exactly how it shall end. Too soon. And she was enjoying his company. He will rise up from his chair and storm away from her…but she will not lie to him about her alignment.

She looked down at her own hands for a moment before looking back to him and answering him about her origins. "I am a Nightsister from Dathomir, Sir," she said, and boldly so, regardless of how she expected him to respond to her; for even Argis Volmir's first words to her were confrontational until he got to know her; but, likely that only happened because he wanted to keep his eye on her when nobody else was brave enough to even approach her.

 

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Cedric had specifically foregone his true name to keep his station as the ruler of this world a secret. This one had not been on Coruscant long - there was a wildness to her presence within the empyrean that was usually lost rather quickly on Coruscant. It was like a caged beast, stalking about within its confines. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.

Even still, he felt no danger, and her intoxicated state made lying all the more difficult.

"I come from a planet called Ession." Cedric began. "We were out in old Sith space, though we never bowed to them. When the Republic fell, we were left alone to face the rising Sith war machine." He explained, gaze flickering to her drink and back to her several times. The topic was one that Cedric had discussed at length several times now, but he always felt the bitterness boiling up when he spoke of it. He did well to cast such anger aside - it would serve him no purpose, save for self-destruction.

"Needless to say we lost. The Sith stripped my world of life, and committed genocide unto my race. Now we've come to Coruscant as its lords. We'll rebuild, it will just take time." There was conviction in his words. Conviction that disappeared as she spoke of her family; it drew forth his suspicions.

A hand was offered. Cedric just stared at it. He wasn't one for touching anyone, let alone a relative stranger.

Then she spoke the words, and those suspicions were confirmed. Cedric had met several nightsisters in his time. Some encounters had been productive, others less so, but he had an idea as to how to deal with them.

"You're a long way from Dathomir," there was a hint of light amusement to his tone. "And what, pray tell, has brought you to the one world that could be said to be Dathomir's polar opposite?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She felt moved by [member="Cedric Grayson"]'s story. Remourseful. Something she likely would not have, if she had never spent time within CIS space. But some good things rubbed off on her psyche that she shall carry with her always. "I am sorry that happened to you," she said after he had finished.

"You mentioned beginnings. I honestly just came here specifically on a whim, for a drink….to avoid being discovered in the least likely place someone like me would be sought after. I find that I too am in the need for a new beginning." She did not want to show her emotion, but the hint of tears formed in her eyes regardless of her attempt to escape her feelings. "This morning I woke up and I was whole. In the matter of hours…everything changed. It all just fell apart. Everything I had is tied into one place, and I have to let it all go. I cannot watch happen what is about to happen there. They want it, while I want something different. Maybe I have longed for something different for a long time now, only I have no idea where I shall find it. It was never there though; they forced me to stay there as my sentence." She stopped abruptly. She would not get into that. "Where I had been, the people there, our own military attacked us. Shot up the citadel with their ships in orbit. They cared not for warning the citizens or the children. Then they learned that the order had been falsified, and we were supposed to simply shrug it off, like it's alright! They never apologized, people I was expected to walk next to everyday. People whose names I know, for having worked with them before. They are ok with snuffing out lives, and call us family in the same breath? This is not a way I want anything to do with. Their's is not my way." She bet he never met a Nightsister with a conviction before…well frankly, neither had she.

She hadn't felt whole, for the whole time she had been among the CIS, just the last few months actually, after she discovered how to channel the essence of the Fanged God, while dwelling herself, off of Dathomir. She would be the very first to ever successfully do so, and collect the Spirit of Ichor to use to generate her magick. At least she is the first, as far as she has ever heard tell. Dathomiri Nightsisters have always been told by their elders, that nobody can channel their malevolent god beyond Dathomir herself; but frankly, maybe nobody ever left to try, or they never returned to tell about their success. She only shared the process with her sister once before, and Vytal never tried to see him through Force Sight as Pomsty had tried to teach her to do so. Pomsty wondered if this is why Vytal may have turned towards the estranged goddesses of the Mandragora coven. What a shame, Pomsty did not try harder to make Vytal learn!

 

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Drunks tended to be on the more emotional side, and this one was definitely up there. Cedric gave her a thankful nod when she spoke of her regrets for his homeworld. They were words he'd heard dozens of times before from just as many people. They felt like platitudes, truly, but he welcomed them nonetheless. At the very least, they indicated that Pomsty at least had a heart; more so than the Sith he'd expected her to be, anyway.

"Well, Coruscant is a good place to disappear," Cedric agreed. He'd spent more than his fair share of time delving through the undercity during his time as the leader of the Rebel Alliance. It had always felt like the end of the world: a place where people came to die.

"That sounds very similar to what I experienced when Ession fell. Perfect stability, everything is normal, and suddenly your world is over." He replied, hint of empathy obvious in his tone. "It sounds like whomever you were with didn't have your best intentions at heart. Most governments fail in that."

That's why I formed my own.

"If you are looking for new beginnings...well, I can't say how well you would fit in here, but I am always happy to help those stemmed in the Bogan to see revelation. Coruscant is now under the control of the Grayson Imperium, and I am its Imperator. We stand for the people, and for the living Ashla, blessed be her." Cedric was uncertain whether a glorified recruitment slogan was what she needed right now, but it was all he could offer. "I forged my Imperium to stop the very atrocities you speak of from ever happening again."

"Were you with the Sith, or the Confederacy?" He added, easily narrowing it down to the two dark side worshiping groups he knew of. Others might have committed such atrocities, but they were the most likely on his personal list of malcontents.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She had stayed with the CIS with the personal intention to hide. She hopes she is not only tempting a repeat of events. If [member="Cedric Grayson"] is expecting her to work for him, as the Vice Lord had her himself, then she shall rise up and run away from this place directly! And here, he defined himself as the Emperor of the planet she simply waltzed onto not more than an hour before.

"I am familiar with your uniformed wave of Force power, and have orchestrated it from chaos and utilized it to some degree that it did unanimously counter Dark Forces. But I assure you, in your theory, you are mistaken about me. I am not stemmed in Bogan, Sir, but I am born forth from it, and it is my makeup. My life energy is chaotic, and that I find to be a perfectly calming and natural state for my essence to dwell. All in all, you do term my opposition correctly, yet I am compelled to confess that I am truly sorry I broke your lamp," she said, and she broke out in a full smile and laughed.

He had openly asked her where she came from, and she simply stared at him and wraggled a brow momentarily to reveal that she shall not, cannot not, go into specifics, and it is unlikely she ever shall with anyone. Even with her head clouded by her potions, she understood the gravity of her situation. There is a moral code, unspoken and understood, and the innate will to not end up on someone's poodoo list, where her holo-image would be plastered on every datapad held by every bounty hunter within the entire galaxy. She was the Vice Lord's own…let's just call her his personal business assistant. She was once told her presence often made others uneasy, for she carried a certain creep factor just for being who she was, but that honor the Vice Lord bestowed on her, well it got her out of a lot of sticky situations on its own. This Nightsister still does not understand many customs which most rational minded civilizations govern themselves by. Dathomiri are ruled by carnal freedoms, for one to be able to portray themselves true to their nature without obstacles, without recourse. So much she would do without a second thought upon her homeward, is certainly not acceptable anywhere else. And nobody ever dared hand the Nightsisters a handbook on how to live like some other people. But death she saw, death she rendered, and she knows the risks. She slightly shook her head in opposition to his inquiry, her lips sealed.

"Please don't hold it against me." But honestly what would it gain him should she tell him anything? Surely everything which she could face that is detrimental to her very continued existence over time!

But something still perplexed her about everything he was speaking. "You would introduce me to your Ashla? Please?" she asked quite curiously. "She does sound like someone I might very much benefit to know, especially during this turning point in my life." The Nightsister's eyes practically melted like that of a does, most serious about her request.

How ever should she repay him if he agrees? He won't even trust her enough to have a drink with her in public at the moment? Hopefully Cyr would get over his fears of her Race in time, and not continue in his practice of segregation as the CIS had treated her even after Pomsty had been with them for so long. Inside it does hurt regardless of how vehemently she rebells against such treatment. It makes her feel as if people fear she might carry the plague, that she is an untouchable or the likes. All she can do is wait and see.

 

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"Yes, I have somewhat of an understanding as to the culture and lifestyle of the Nightsister. I've known several of your kinds in the past, both friend and foe." He explained as he cast a quick look over his shoulder. The cantina's activity had continued to thrum on, uninterrupted by the growing lateness of the evening. He supposed that was the nature of Coruscant: the heart of the galaxy would forever beat. It was part of why he enjoyed it here so much - all the life colored the empyrean in a canvas of simply interesting things.

"It wasn't a very good one anyway," Cedric shrugged, a brow lofting as she asked of the Ashla.

It was an interesting subject, one that Cedric had dedicated his entire life toward understanding. A seedy bar was not the most suitable place for such holy conversation, but then the Light was not exclusive to the calm places of the galaxy. The Jedi leaned forward, his voice dropping as it had before lest there be eavesdroppers.

"I'm not certain a bar is the best place for it, but now is better than never," there was amusement in his words, "Close your eyes. Empty yourself of all conscious thought. Let it simply come to you. You know how to use the Force - you need only reach out. Look beyond the baser thoughts and desires of the ego, to the radiance above. People see the Light as many things: I imagine it as a stream of energy pouring freely through my body, almost akin to a cleansing fire."

He paused, fighting for the right words. "You just have to want it. Really want it, and it will come to you."

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

A Nightsister’s innate desire is born and bred to use the spirits and the gods and goddesses of the universe for setting action into motion, and then there are some times when she just needs a little TLC for herself. The white witches of Dathomir call upon the Winged Goddess for their source power. No true Nightsister yet has ever found a power to exist greater than her own god of Dathomir. There are sects which do worship other members of the family of The Ones from whom each god had been born into one incarnation. History has it written, or fable for non-believers, that the Fanged God and the Winged Goddess became the Darkside and the Lightside of this power which everyone else terms the Force. In this sense the Jedi may very well be correct to proclaim that the Force is Living. How could it not be, when she can see those who have lived continue on and continue effecting the realm of the living? Being born as a Nightsister and accustomed to the wavelength of the Bogan through every second of her existence, Pom can no sooner evolve to exist away from her chaotic wavelength than can Iron become Hydrogen, or steel become water, or ICE as [member="Cedric Grayson"] feels Pomsty to emit and the FIRE which she in turn senses emitting off of him and Coruscant in general.

There is another factor, unspoken but true. Her god is a jealous entity, and his mood is volatile. Because of Pom’s unique gift to find him from afar, he too is able to follow her actions. His contact through her is enforced through the Onyx Talisman she wears around her neck. His power reverberates forth from it. It is theory that perhaps should she be stricken from it by means of some yet unexplored magick, -for it cannot be removed for any length of time longer than a few minutes,- then she shall be severed from him, for he is bound to exist upon Dathomir alone. When she left Dathomir, prior to her discovering the knowledge of her unique skill, she had been near powerless to infuse adequate power into Potions, her main love. Thankfully now, regardless, she has been a student of the Darkside of the Force for some months, and is assured that never again will she feel powerless. But the whole situation of today has her rethinking the many aspects of what she is able to control. She is content in knowing her god is with her should she ever truly need him, but he is not a god of emotional support or wellbeing. He is a god of action and defense. Pom is quite curious to learn if this Ashla described by Cyr may very well be one and the same as the one she knows to be the Winged Goddess.

She has seen the two opposing powers spread out over the galaxy, intertwined with one another through her gift of Force Sight. Here and there are entities co-existing within them, and shades of gray. She has never seen a greater power for the Light than that which exists within a Force Nexus.

Everything upon her being, relics, potions, amulets, Talismans, including the endless number of ceremonial rites memorized within her mind, are mere tools to her skills. But as she gazed upon him she realized there can be no doubt that likely everything about her is in extreme contrast to Cyr, and yet he invites her to remain on Coruscant. She had not expected this. It is by far a better option than spending too much time within the Netherrealm, alone.

What Cyr did was take a step closer to her feeling an acceptance than she could have imagined; he offered her to meet his goddess right there and right now. How he described his experience seemed quite similar to how Argis Volmir showed her Moorwood through Shatter Point; he surprised himself that he actually took the vision back to the system's creation. She felt awestruck by his ability, so much she instinctively kissed the gentle giant on his nose in thanks.

How could she force all of her worries to just slip away as Cyr had guided her to do? She did close her eyes however, and took a deep breath. The feel of the potions surging through her veins did seem more calming and numbing now, dragging her random thoughts into oblivion, exactly as she had hoped to accomplish, were she to have drank alone, and not found anyone of interest approach. But he had come to speak with her, and she did not allow the potion concoction's magick to run its course. If she can actually become nothing, she would have preferred to have been this state all along. But she found him far more interesting a gentleman, above the tug of her worries. She allowed him to become a welcome distraction, for time is approaching when he shall leave her alone to again find herself caught up in her own thoughts. The quieting of her mind felt so relieving, such a sensation she longed for, like being wrapped up securely in a heavy blanket and lulled to sleep. The sensation began like reaching out with Force Sight only a deeper connection to her surrounding gripped hold of her essence; something profound rose above the many presences which inhabited the seedy bar, something protective of this system. Then…

Absolute silence…

A strong sense of self…

Security…

"The greatest achievement is self acceptance. How can you love anyone else, if you do not accept your own uniqueness? How can you expect others to accept you, if you set yourself apart emotionally?" Ashla shared with her Daughter of the Night.

Cyr's spirit is born out of the Light, and his signature is cast out of its fire.

Pomsty however, felt the cold falling of snow swirl around her flesh, and she became buried within its drift.

When she opened her eyes again, she knew something had introduced itself, something she had never before met directly.

She is one driven by learning about magick, and about this Force, Light, and it's Darkness. What would she learn here on Coruscant? Whatever it is, his Ashla feels welcoming and offers her a means for emotional healing.

 

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The empyrean surged with energy. Cedric had come to recognize this particular shift in its ethereal currents. It was that of an awakening mind, one that had long since been steeped in the subtle heresies of the Bogan. The Ashla called out to any that spoke to her, and it seemed Pomsty had never attempted such before. A pleased smile found its way onto the Jedi MAster's features as he closed his eyes, reaching out into the depths of the Great Ocean.

Where once there was chaos, now there was calm. Where once a hurricane of untempered power whirled about the woman within the Force, now there was serenity. He understood this revelation to be a brief one, but even the barest glimpse of the Ashla's glory was often enough to change the mind of even the most ardent of zealots.

"My real name is Cedric," he spoke, his voice quiet so that he might not disturb her momentary meditations. "Cedric Grayson. I gave you a moniker in case I could not trust you, but now I feel that is not the case."

His eyes opened, pools of cerulean narrowed into slits as he eyed the woman.

"Did you feel the Ashla?" He asked, knowing full well that she had.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

If this Sorceress, after a few little drinks, cannot uncover the existence of a goddess amidst the seedy bar, then she has bigger problems than ever!

Her Potions nearly hid the sensation of dizziness which the presence of the intense Light caused her. She would not have realized it effected her so strongly had she not felt her equilibrium shift off kilter while she sat in the chair with her eyes closed. Her head bobbed before she caught herself. It was akin to the sensation Malachia had caused her, when she took the chaos and calmed the waves of the energy and emitted the skill around herself. It had been an interesting experiment. One whose meaning she often contemplates. Now, the effects turned her stomach against finishing her drink.

Cyr mentioned his true name, and she opened her eyes and smiled. She nodded before sharing, "I am only known by my alias. I can honestly say, I do not even remember my given name exactly; it is so very alien to me and I never use it." She is quite superstitious, and there is much power in a name, magick that can transcend the galaxy, power which she is certainly against granting anyone.

Pom wondered if this Ashla is like the Winged Goddess?

Cyr had asked if she felt Ashla. Pom knew by the look in his eyes, that he knew she had. "She spoke to me. Tell me more if you don't mind," she said. A goddess who offers a psyche evaluation and doesn't make demands of servitude, is one worth learning at least a little bit about!


[member="Cedric Grayson"]

 

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Cedric met her with silence for a moment, his gaze hooded as he stared down at the table. There was a shifting in the Force. The empyrean coiled around him, as if it were preparing to receive some kind of an assault. He focused upon it, and when he did so it gifted him with a vision. The images were brief flashing things that flitted across his consciousness just long enough for him to gather the basis of the image. It was a ruined world, and upon it stood two figures, each diametrically opposed with one another.

The images faded a Pomsty spoke again. Cedric blinked back to reality.

"Yes, of course," he replied, somewhat distracted by the empyrean's newest gifts. Was that a portent of something to come, or something that had already occurred. Only time would tell. "The Ashla..." he rubbed at his temples. "Well, there's a number of aspects to her. She is life in its balance. The flourishing of plants, animals, and sentient beings are all her gifts to us, and by extension, the gifts given by our forefathers. We are all one in her Light, no matter what world we hail."

He paused, taking a breath to center himself. "One controls the Bogan by demanding its power. It must be twisted and forced to follow the will of the user. The Ashla is more akin to a partner. You call upon her aid, and she is more than happy to help. There is no chaos in it, only a natural connection. Using the Dark Side abuses that connection, and in turn abuses the very Ashla itself."

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom thought in silence for a moment and she pondered Cyr's beliefs which he had shared with her. She had never ever heard anyone say such a strange thing about utilizing magick or the Force before. She never contemplated herself being amidst the utilization of more powers on the opposing end of the spectrum. Malachia had been the only one she ever attempted, and its result was quite remarkable. As she sees the Force, it is a complex and vast sea of waves which alter to the uniform ripples of the light and the chaotic assault among the Darkness. She never imagined it as one great energy that she can conform and move within.

Her eyes fixed upon him. He spoke of gifts? Extensions? Unity? Would this Ashla surely offer the use of her power without all the hard work Pom instills into guaranteeing the outcome? She felt a sense of disbelief really. If magick were easy, it would not have taken decades of her life dedicated to developing her power! Right? She never did bother to learn what the Daughters of Dathomir, the white witches had learned. She never bothered to learn about their Winged Goddess.

"No…" 'He cannot be serious, certainly!' She studied him for his sense of severity. There is a stoic conviction about him, which she cannot refute. 'He is?!' Cry seemed most intently serious about what he had proclaimed; she could feel it all around him. It is as if the atmosphere of the spirits surrounding them here, also beckoned her understanding. All in all the Nightsister determined she could not refute his description of what she does. He is not mistaken. "I certainly require to actually see this open relationship in action," she said.

 

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"I would happy to show it to you, when you're a bit less drunk," Cedric snickered, good humor lacing his words. He was always keen to show others the path of the Ashla. It was a Jedi's greatest mission, or so he believed. The only way to defeat the Dark Side was to defeat ignorance, and the Jedi Master felt that he understood the path to enlightenment. It was one that he had walked since his earliest days, and perhaps Pomsty might have a talent for it as well, should she choose to walk it.

"I leave for Tython tomorrow. It is the home of the Jedi Order," he explained as he set his glass aside, "Several of my apprentices will be joining me. If you wish, you can come along. I would ask that you refrain from practicing your more powerful magicks there however. Tython is a sensitive world, and your magick is steeped in the Bogan. It may have consequences best left undone." A simple request. he hoped she would acquiesce.

"You can meet me at the senate hall tomorrow to get on the shuttle," he paused as he rose from his chair, "Or arrive in your own way. I'll send you the location." A comm code was slid across the table. "I need to take my leave now. I hope I'll see you there, Pomsty."

With that, the Jedi Master turned and made his way out of the cantina.

The empyrean worked in mysterious ways.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

A soft smile formed yet again. "A true honor, for which I am grateful," she stated, valuing absolutely nothing higher than the opportunity to learn new skills. Family only comes close! What is family if not made stronger by learning one from another? The endurance of family lies in its strength. For the Nightsisters, Magick is their self worth, and Pomsty is not about to turn down any lesson offered, especially while she is in the prime of expanding her knowledge with skills of this Force.

But as she understood it, for herself, family no longer exists. The essence of her sister, Vytal, became totally lost during her recent possession by unknown spirits just this morning. Spirits she willing invited, but which were also pushed upon her. Something stole Pomsty out from her presence, and landed her here. She half expected the Fanged God to smite her; but just maybe, he cannot manifest himself here but is restricted until she initiates contact, a pondering yet left to be realized.

Pom watched [member="Cedric Grayson"] leave, as her potions mixed with those of the bar left her cognitively compromised. She would not even remember his invitation, tomorrow, until reminded by Ashla, herself.

* * *​

She left the dive bar in the height of evening darkness, within its most vibrant state of livelihood when the gambling had begun. The Force was not finished ushering her towards a direction, her path illuminated by Coruscant's moons. She soon found herself heading down into the lower levels and walked for more than an hour just following her whim, unsure if she even truly beheld one at all. For the Potions made her numb in all aspects of her being, all except her own will to satisfy her intuition. A strange hand lead her, the one she felt earlier in the day that drew her away from her sister and deposited her here, the same as Cyr had called the Ashla. She is here for the night and she is invited to remain, she has yet to secure lodging.

The most unusual event unfolded and it all began to make sense to her even in her state that she laughed aloud in satisfaction to witness it. She could feel the neutrality of this area. It had actually seemed long left untouched by anyone regardless of its prime location, which for Coruscant is every inch built into a city, levels and levels of city. Pom walked right up to the most unusual sight, an array of colorful flowers growing within a plaster pot. How they thrive here in lieu of direct sunlight, she wondered by whose magick they bloomed. She felt the bulbs for their vibration before plucking one at the stem. As she did this and she walked under an arch stretched over the concrete sidewalk, she immediately stepping into a different realm, one of Coruscant's past, and which could house her.

Pomsty made her way past the magically hidden garden grounds towards the abandoned chateau, the look of amazement upon her expression. Time here shall reveal its many wondrous secrets, but for now, rest is in store.