Mother, Sweet Mother [CIS]

[Jenmae Ophiro]

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Much ado about nothing, really.​

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The title of Nightmother was something that required some thought, certainly... But the White Witch could recall her time on Dathomir, and she remembered what it amounted to the night she'd snuffed out the life of one who had used the title. So many tribes, so many sisters, and all scrambling for the power that would allow them to claim that title and that right. This was different.

She could sense in nearly all those who gathered a hesitancy to claim what had been presented to them by this man who was so obviously not of their world. There was an opportunity to lead, and all seemed reluctant to seize it. Several were far more concerned with the man who'd brought them together, and other spoke of the importance of the role... Any sister here who did not know the weight of what was asked was either no daughter of Dathomir, or they were naive. Why they felt the need to fall over one another to try and insinuate that they were a good choice without being forthright was evidence enough to the White Witch that perhaps she had an easier road ahead of her than the pair had first assumed.

As Seren stepped forward, addressing the one who had spoken most resolutely, before turning to confer his opinion with her, the wraith began to stand. Carefully planting fingers along the edge of the table, she moved dark eyes from one member assembled to the next, settling finally on [member="Vytal Noctura"]. "It is obvious to me, as it is to [member="Seren"] here, that you are the one to take on the mantel, Sister."

Carefully she stepped around from the seat she'd taken and placed a hand on the shoulder of brother of the former Nightmother.
"Even without an expert on the matter, it's easy to see that the Son has made his preference perfectly clear..." Footfalls carried her back from the table, headed towards the door of the chamber from which they'd entered.

"Congratulations, Nightmother."

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom watched the drama unfold from up close, but it happened so quickly. Her sister invited in a legion of spirits whom she had no idea from whence they came. A terribly dangerous and rather reckless thing to do. By the look on Jorah's face, he too understood fear. But before Pom could speak to warn [member="Vytal Noctura"] to cease, something else, some other magnanimous energy was already peering out through her precious sister's eyes. Pom knew not the essence, nor the origin of it.

Had Vytal honestly just freely partaken of this on her own accord? Pom could not know for certain, only that Vytal would not ever lose control such as this.

Pom gazed intently for a brief moment, into what was only seconds before her beloved blood, and Vytal has gone, consumed entirely in the wake of granting the squib his desires, permitting herself the sacrifice. The Mistress Malcontent's realization fortified as the body of her sister threatened those around the table, those whom Vytal loved deeply as family. This is not her!

This cannot be happening!

The male spoke first, then the white witch. They seemed experienced in such a grand possession, which Pom had never been involved in, and she is certain neither had her sister been witness to such proceedings before. How can any witch be ok with allowing the spirits to control a witch, and not for the witch herself to be in control of them?

Her mouth fell agape in the sudden realization of the magnitude of the suffering of her sister, and Pom rose to assist. She flung up both of her arms from across the table where she stood, in preparation to immediately help her sister regain her self control, if even Vytal exists still in possession of some sense of consciousness within the shell of who she had been. Pom's black onyx talisman fought against her vehemently as their Fanged God had decreed his will completed.

Her god had spoken, and Pom lowered her arms for she suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion at the finality of her loss of her sister. This morning all had been well, and now Vytal is gone because a man asked for a sacrifice, bringing along his alien spirits to possess someone around the table?

Can this truly be real? For what reason must it?

Her face contorted in disbelief before revealing her sudden overwhelming passion amidst her loss. Her eyes filled with tears now, immediately shot like daggers towards the cruel beast who had his way without warning, without the witches being granted full prior knowledge of what was meant to arise here this day. He just goes and makes someone else possessed like he is? Caring naught for the Mandragora, as does this coven for one another!

"You stole my family from me," she seethed, and words of ancient curses formed inside her thoughts to unleash upon the evil culprit, when all of a sudden her talisman vibrantly ignited forth with its inherent power, and the glow of the Spirit of Ichor engulfed this Nightsister fully where she stood. The magick of her god, -or had it honestly been a god of a different name, Ashla?- drew the young woman away into the netherrealm. She would be followed not, for the Force led her to the last place any would dare think to look for her. Her own fate unfolding elsewhere, another turning point.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

One of the males that joined the council spoke first. The fires that burned in Vytal's sockets turned to regard him as he did. Seren. Yes, they knew him. Not as well as his material-sister, but enough.

His lips that addressed another. A woman. Now they regarded this one. Similar to the body they possessed presently, but different. A woman of her own path. One that had laid low another that claimed the title of 'Nightmother.' Her words were of a kind with Seren.

Then she turned to depart as the torrent of spirits and spiritual energy buffeted the Nightsister on another plane. A door thrown open with a power eager to slip through. Her fingers held on to precious little as a perch; yet in this moment a reckoning of the material began to surface. A thought passed between the cries of the Beyond that surrounded her. A desire.

Pom too took action, but only so far before another force stopped her. Discontent and anger flared and churned about her Sister. Vytal's spirit pushed back against the tide not content to remain locked in a spiritual doorway as a silent bridge between worlds. A bead of sweet rolled down her physical self's cheek.

"Wait."

With a blink of Vytal's eyes the flames that poured from her eyes vanished, and was drawn back into the rings of her eyes. It possessed the vibrancy of ichor, yet sight and sound of the material returned. Her fingers had curled into a hand against the table as the Dathomiri woman returned from the brink; her own self not lost to the endless tempest of voices, desires, dreams, and nightmares.

Yet, by then, Pom had already gone. Vytal was left with only one more that sought to depart, and so she turned to look back at Jenmae as she went. "We are stronger together than apart. United toward a common vision for all like us that understand the majesty of this realm and the next. It is not by title or power, but how we live that proves our worth." Vytal's shimmering gaze danced to Seren and then to Rience. "The Mandragora is more than any one person or any one belief. It is an ideal, and we will commit ourselves to making it manifest in this world."

The pale woman's brow was drawn low over her eyes with the muscles of her jaw tensed with the weight of what what had happened and what was before her. Her thoughts focused on that, and the voices of the Many that surrounded them. Later, in private, she would lament the loss of her Sister into the wide galaxy that surrounded them. They had found one another again once. Was it too much to ask they would again? Had this been all but a plot by their god? Yes, these things would wait. For now, it seemed, there were fractures abound that needed mending and swiftly.

Tag: [member="Rience"] | [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Jorah zos Darnus"] | [member="Jenmae Ophiro"] | [member="Seren"]​