Orchestration

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom Stych Tivé fell into a very uncomfortable position. She had been away from Dathomir far too long and her Apothecary started running scarce. Abeloth, the living power which yields all essence of magick necessary to be infused within her potions, she learned, is most partial only to Dathomir. Pom would not be going back there, because she suspected [member="Lord Depravious"] would be expecting she return there as she always has before. For the past few months she resided solely with him, and there learned of her true origin, that she was created on Dathomir as an incarnation of his Late wife. The Magick necessary to perform such a feat actually killed her birth mother within four months of her gestation; leaving Pom to be carried in the womb of, and birthed, unto a dead woman. Why would anyone share such information with her?! How does she put this horrible knowledge brought to light, out of her mind? Ever since meeting Shaidin, two distinct personalities battle for dominance within her, flooding her head with memories of both lifetimes. One, a young novice Sorceress. The other, a seasoned warrior of the blade and Force User, and Mother of her beloved son, not held by her in ages, today deceased in a forgotten battle. She could not swallow all the information fed to her as quickly as it had been. Pom is currently revolting, running away from her destiny, one she never freely chose. On the other hand, maybe subconsciously she wouldn’t mind if Shaidin took the initiative to find her, she did just leave his ship which she stole from him in the night, sitting out there in the open landing field...and she is not going to have it washed and waxed any time soon either, as he would habitually order!




She received a summons from the Confederacy, a request for an interview of sorts, for her interests in the Knights Obsidian. She had been instructed to meet [member="Darth Metus"] onboard the Dread Queen. All the other recruits arrived at the transport vessel obediently dressed in their issued uniform, armed with every weapon possible. Pom boarded the initial transport vessel in her regular attire. Neither did she take any part in hiding behind such crude weaponry. She felt more comfortable not blending in, as nothing about her ever blended in with others off of Dathomir. Her presence drew the unwanted but expected attention of other recruits onboard. It was far from pleasant and polite, also sometimes expected.

An exchange ensued which lead to...

Well...

As the shuttle docked and the hatch was opened by the Vicelord’s officers, Pom immediately noticed from inside the hull, the Vicelord standing and awaiting the presentation of his recruits. He would find Pom diligently stepping over the bodies of the others as they littered the floor of the ship. She sighed at hearing behind her, the pilot unlock the cockpit door and take one whiff of the air inside the transport and pass out just like the other recruits had only moments before. The tinkering sound of a glass vial rolled across the metallic floor of the transport.

She bet their first conversation, between herself and the Vicelord, is about to be progressive indeed.

Pom Stych Tivé walked down the short plank and stood before the Vicelord. She politely tipped one toe behind her heel and lightly curtsied with a subtle nod of her head. She tried to speak as her eyes locked on his, but only managed to swallow hard instead.

 

[Malok]

Location: The Dread Queen, CIS Space​

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

Necessity.

There was an admission that the Sith Lord would never utter aloud. One that he and the alabaster woman known as [member="Srina Talon"] knew to be true. Though there was an ocean's worth of difference between them in knowledge in the Force, each passing moment saw the Echani grow stronger. Grow surer of herself and her place in the world. She was a far cry from the scared, lost woman he had plucked from the streets of Coruscant one fateful evening. And, as a result, their time together focused less on the lessons of the Force and more on leading the nation they had uplifted together. The relationship that had erupted between the two far transcended the traditional roles of Master and Apprentice - especially where Sith culture was concerned. Srina did not look upon Darth Metus with avarice and envy in her eyes. Nor did Darth Metus slumber with an eye open, waiting for the moment when betrayal would rise.

No. The Master and Apprentice trusted one another completely. And, above all else. There was love there. Darth Metus...in truth, would never admit that he could not wait for the day when Srina Talon was his equal. For he wondered just which avenue their bond would take. He knew that they would always remain apart of one another's lives, as attached to one another's hips as their roles would allow. But he wondered...dreamed...about the day when he could step back and smile with pride to see the conclusion to her growth. She came to him broken and alone. She now had liberated her people and put to the sword those who would oppress them. She shouldered the Dark Side, yet found adoration in the arms of the Light. Darth Metus could not wait to see her become his equal...because only shortly thereafter she would surpass him in nearly every way.

But until that day came, there were some demands that the Master would concede to. His apprentice, in the wake of every disaster which befell her, would always look to her mentor with more concern. Though she was the one who literally ate an explosion on Kuat, for example, it was Srina who voiced concerns about her Master's personal safety. There was no doubt in her mind that the Sith could defend himself, mind. No doubt that the man who spat in the face of Death could stare down any attacker. But in the same vein, she was a full-fledged child of Eshan, but even she was accompanied by Magnaguards on occasion. The necessity was one that made sense - numbers always turned the tide. Thus, Darth Metus would succumb to the insistence which danced within her silver eyes and look to beef up his security detail. At first, this meant conscripting a number of Dauntless Commandos to serve as his honor guard.

But, while deadly, they were no match for him. And therefore, they were no match for others like him. No. He needed something…more. Thus, he set his eyes upon the Knights Obsidian. The organization had many promising members - but the Sith centered his attention on the newest generation of recruits. Just like his beloved Srina, he intended to pluck one or two from the batch and elevate them. To see them take their final shape - but to also stand at his side from then forward. On the appointed day, the transport vessel roared forth onto the executive hangar of the Dread Queen. And Darth Metus stood ready to receive them. He had expected a full cadre of Obsidian Cadets to disembark down the ramp...but instead, he found only a woman. She was not slashed in the typical attire of the Knighthood. Nor did she carry herself with that militant flair that graduates of the Malvern Academy had adopted. No. She was diff-

What the kriff was that smell?

The Sith blinked rapidly as the woman advanced, dispelling his watering eyes as she courtsied before him. To this gesture was rendered a polite nod of his head. "I take it the others...will not be joining us…" he began, only to watch the ramp retreat back into the vessel. Fair enough. She was it. The Sith did not take this as a sign of foul play, or anything of the sort. Rather, he interpreted this as a sign. Just as he had listened to the Whims of the Force when Srina arrived at his doorstep, so too would he hearken in the case of the strange woman. "Welcome to the Dread Queen." he began, motioning to the vessel around them. "Who are you? From where do you come?"

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

"I take it the others...will not be joining us…" he stated. She thought it rather obvious!

She had schooled them thusly, “Likely correct. I do apologize for how this played out, thwarting your intentions was not my objective. You see," she went on to explain the situation, "it was by unanimous vote that we settle a debate over the effectiveness of Potions over one’s willpower to resist it. Please do not hold it against them, as technically everyone came out a winner," she delivered in a tone of utmost seriousness. "They argued I could not knock them out with a potion, if they mentally resisted strongly enough. So I won, as you can see.” Pom turns and waves a hand towards the scene of unconscious recruits strewn about the transport vessel floor. “And, I was able to resist the effects of the potion, proving their point also correct.” A menacing smile brewed behind her eyes. “With how vehemently they supported their argument, they ought be quite happy to learn the outcome, I presume.”

The Vicelord, [member="Darth Metus"] welcomed her to The Dread Queen; the very name sounds like a superb residency to list on her resumé. It is like a city in space. She identified a very unusual sensational power emanating from deep within the heart of it, a darkness. She marveled at it, as it exuded a familiar addiction much like her goddess, Abeloth, which dwells upon Dathomir. She wondered if a presence exists here which could be harnessed to empower her potions as her apothecary is growing sparse.

He inquired about her.

"I am Pom Stych Tivé." This name interprets as Vengeful, a mood not many coax from her. She would not reveal her true name, as most certainly she is not immune to such ancient superstitions regarding the sanctity of it, and how a curse could be directed at her from across the galaxy.

She did not want to inform him that her Home is among the Nightsisters of Dathomir. She did not feel she could return any time soon since [member="Lord Depravious"] would have someone waiting for her to return there to brew new potions. Such personal information was not about to be given up freely.

She thought about where else she could tell him that she is from, since her ways are far from those of this Confederacy. Freedom is a lie, only an illusion; people are very well controlled by their reliance on credits. She has no other reason to even be in this system except that it stirred her curiosity, and that she wants to exist off the grid for a while.

"I am in between homes at the moment." Her reasoning was far deeper than Depravious could ever have caused. She recently discovered she is the clone of a Sith, and now strange awakenings stir within her at random. She felt like she could have a nervous breakdown at any moment really. She remembers the recent benefits of meditation and how soothing it had been, and how deadly it was for another. "Where I come from is insignificant, as such a place in my history is no longer missed." It is how she feels just now, but likely it will not last long, as regardless of her current feelings, it is a lie. She is tied to Dathomir, like her goddess. How shall she brew potions unless she returns?

She cared not for whatever type of job the Vicelord is hoping to fill, she will do it for him, if it meant she could live here. "This flying city should suffice just fine," she affirmed.

 

[Malok]

Potions…

The mere mention of mingling the earth's natural boon in the form of tonics and salves was enough to raise the Sith's eyebrow. There were not many cultures that he was aware of that dabbled in those arts - especially not now in the era of modern medicines and bacta tanks. No. Those which practice those arts most notably were the people of his mother. The people of Dathomir; and by extension the newfound local sects of Witches on Ryloth. Darth Metus did not comment on this assumption, but rather quietly listened to the pride which colored every syllable. As far as first impressions went, Miss [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] seemed very proud of her capabilities...and the lack of ability on the part of her comrades as well.

"You saved me the effort of weeding out the weak." he observed. The baritone of his voice was but a temporary punctuation to the flow of her words as she continued. Her thoughts moved away from the abilities which had made her the sole candidate and focused upon answering the questions he had posed only a moment ago. It was what the woman said in response...that raised the first red flags. As a Sith, he understood the necessity of flexing one's might whenever there was an opportunity to ascend. After all, it was only through true ambition that wielders of the Dark Side made their mark upon the Galaxy. However. What Darth Metus would not stand for were secrets - large or small - when it came to those guarding his back.

He knew that it was an outlandish feat to cultivate followers he could trust completely. He acknowledged that the bond he shared with [member="Srina Talon"] came only once in a thousand years. But. He had an expectation for something simpler. That his questions would be answered to his satisfaction. And that, at the very least, that he could know who was tasked with his protection beyond the basics. [member="Kasca Fen"] made that much easy and complied fully with his wishes. This one would have to learn to do the same. And swiftly. "You will find that when I pose a question, I expect it answered in full and in truth. This will be the one and final time a repeat myself."

He turned, motioning to the Dread Queen around them. "All this can be your home. But as with all boons, there is an expectation that will be met." He did not ask if they he were clear, nor did he pose any threats if she failed to comply. "Now then, from where did you come?"

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

A quick hint of emotion made her pupils flash for a moment. She did not know this man from jack, but she certainly hopes to stay. He seemed the exact opposite of @Lord Depraviois who knew far too much about her. She knew what she could say, the simpler answer Dathomir would answer all and yet be false to a point. A more detailed answer of how she recently left Dathomir would only promote more questions. Neither would satiate him, she figured, so she went with something on the spur of the moment without hesitation and she dispelled the warnings of her minions who thought her rash decision foolish. She was truthful, and if [member="Darth Metus"] would refuse to see the depth from where it was coming, she would not mind turning on her heels and walking right back onto the ship she had just disembarked.

She looked the Sith dead in the eye and she told him, “My training was on Dathomir. I could stop there, but I won’t, because I come from a place where it was revealed to me in mere minutes that everything I had believed about my origins all my life is a lie upheld by everyone I know, to my face. My very existence was commissioned for credits like nothing more than a simple business deal. So you can understand there are places I don’t care to venture openly, because I am someone’s physical property. Learning any of this mere days ago has not been the highlight of my life, and actually has me messed up pretty badly. At this point, you know as much about me, as I know about myself. One, I brew Potions with a bite. Two, I am nothing like your legionnaires. I have never even held a gun. Three, you might now understand that I did not lie to you the first time.” It was unusual for anyone from Dathomir to not want to return, but it might be the only thing that keeps her from killing them for lying to her all of her life. They were her family, her coven, a sacred bond exists between them. How could she tell this man anything more, when she still finds it all so utterly shocking?! Pom Stych Tivé is a clone of a deceased Sith Warrior; the memories of her past lifetime and those Dark Force skills unlocking inside of her, she finds them absolutely terrifying! She could not even mutter that this is the first time she has ever said ANY of this aloud!!

Why tell him? What does it matter anyway? There are other systems! She can still walk away and never see Darth Metus again, and he will forget all about what she told him, like it was nothing. Then still nobody will ever know about her kerfed up past...except those witches on Dathomir!!

Even if he did not want her for whatever position he was seeking to fill, she still thought how wonderful it would be to dwell on this remarkable vessel. He could at least point her to a bar before he kicks her off his ship. A drink is more welcome than that meditation garbage, where she felt better after her session, then immediately killed someone, and then felt even better!

It felt like time stopped, watching him, studying his expression after she was finished speaking all that god forsaken drama.

 

[Malok]

The weight of her anguish was palpable.

The Dark Side had a way of making the Sith Lord understand. Years ago, when a lost girl wandered into his life one stormy evening, the Force saw fit to shackle his soul to hers. Through this Bond, Darth Metus began to understand and value those who were not himself. And, in this moment, the midnight Will which directed the flow of his days reared its head. It was easy to be satisfied with the answer. It was elementary to simply accept the truths the woman brought to the table and to move on with introducing her to the future. However, the Darkness moved the Sith. It tugged at dormant corners of his soul, forcing him to remember the very same anguish he once bore. When he was but a young man struggling to understand who and what he was. He was a son of Mandalore - but at the same time knelt before the Dark Side. His people hated everything that defined him; and yet he still called Mandalore home.

It was only by accepting who he truly was and moving forward that Darth Metus felt whole. It was only by seizing his identity that the monumental successes of the present were made possible. Thus, when the wayward child of Dathomir finished bearing her soul to the Sith, she would not find fury burning within the depths of his eyes. The sulfuric gaze was alive with understanding. Compassion, even. And thus, wordlessly, his dominant hand rose and two digits extended. His fingertips pressed upon the center of her brow - as if to command the totality of her attention. "No." his tone was a low. A savage growl to drive home the purpose he bestowed upon the young woman.

"You are no slave, nor property. You have found freedom in the Dark Side. Now, you have the power to choose. Will you be everything that your makers desired you to be? Or will you seize the future that you desire? I offer the tools to claim whatever tomorrow exists in your wildest dreams - but it is up to you to wield them."

He lowered his hand and turned away from the woman, motioning with a move of his head for her to follow him. "And, from this day forth, you are now my Apprentice. From whence you came is now irrelevant. All that matters is tomorrow." With thus uttered, he would step within the turbolift which had been waiting to receive them. He would tarry there, unmoving, until she stood where she now belonged - at his side. From thence, the lift would shudder and ascend. And as the lift climbed, the wayward Witch would feel where they were headed. Every second would bring her closer to the madness of the Phobis Device which slumbered aboard. Every instant filling her with the faint presence of the Dark Side. From whence she came was irrelevant, for she had now found true power.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She had herself labeled a freak, a botched experiment. Now, and only after learning how she came into her life, she realizes that some of the whispers she heard all throughout her years, had been her own utterances during her past incarnation; were she not a proven Sorceress, she would also define herself as certifiably insane!

What he replied, how he spoke and emphasized his intent, the mere gaze he bestowed earned instant respect from her. She had not expected a stitch of understanding. She felt a connection that she had not planned on. It was what he said that sent her mind reeling in directions she had not even considered. She never intended truly cutting off ties to her kin on Dathomir, however orchestrated and false her relationship. She never even imagined life could branch out to explore new horizons, or how she is already trying to do just that to an extent; just, she never consciously committed to herself. The thought of totally cutting off her connections to Dathomir actually hurt. Here before her, stands a man for whom she already feels respect brewing, and who is offering her the opportunity for growth. Her features softened exposing her emotion regarding his gesture.

She had not in her wildest dreams imagined she would show up here, obliterate her competition and end up with the offer he proposed. Apprenticeship, she only heard talk among Sith visiting Dathomir, regarding the utmost honor such a title bestowed. It had to be on a whim that [member="Darth Metus"] offered it, she suspects. She is a Nightsister, and she could not fathom to what exactly he is offering her an apprenticeship. Could it be to his political work, or maybe some tactical position in his militia? She has no experience in either aspect. Regardless of the title, she thought it a fascinating opportunity for learning, which would be a grand mistake for a naive young witch from the backwoods of Dathomir to reject!

“I could not know greater honor.”

In the turbolift she stood next to the Vicelord, nearly half his stature. Were it not for her attire, especially her relics, perhaps most would overlook her as one possessing any noteworthy abilities. As they progressed to their destination she felt that deeply dark presence progressively growing stronger. She thought of Abeloth and how enraged her goddess would be if Pomsty were to ever return to Dathomir after having learned to harness the lifeforce of a new goddess. She knew of only The Ones in existence. Those murdered, and whose Souls fuel the Power of the Light and the Dark forces on Dathomir. Dathomir is the only planet where this Dark Entity is known to dwell, the entity worshipped as a goddess named Abeloth, and through whom Pomsty and the Nightsisters empower Potions and relics, amulets, charms and incantations. And here on this grand vessel, she suspects exists another power to harness, absolutely alien to Pomsty until now.

“Forgive me, Vicelord,” she said breaking the silence, and unfamiliar with any customary protocol or formal address typically employed by an apprentice, “but I find myself in conflict.” A tremor lightly tainted her voice, as she is most serious in her conviction. “All my life I have worshipped only one goddess. I now walk unfamiliar ground, that I am about to meet your‘s. It’s a complicated position you place me in.” Not an accusation, but her observance. “I have no idea what retaliation might befall me, based on Abeloth’s envy...” A look of worry cast over her brow, “or you,” should he too someday discover himself the object of her goddess’s wrath. Would it benefit the protection concerning either of them, then certainly she would not ever return to Dathomir, lest her fears become reality!

 

[Malok]

Was it not the role of a Master to restore?

The thought wormed itself into the mind of the Vicelord as he bore witness to the woman's response to his words. Though, he imagined, she might have made attempts to dull the reaction - emotion spread across her visage for the briefest of moments. The prospect of self-determination might have been novel to her, especially given the full extent of her circumstances. Nonetheless, underneath the tutelage of the Sith Lord, the Nightsister would learn a great many things. He would show her how to harness the Dark Side in dizzying ways - but most importantly, he would show her what it meant to choose. He was but the quartermaster to her masterpieces. He would provide the tools. Provide the means for her to build, sculpt, and create. But it would ultimately be up to her to be the author of her story.

And as was the case with each of his pupils, Darth Metus afforded himself a moment of exhilaration. For what better pleasure was there to seeing the finished result? When the woman accepted his offer, only then would she find a change in his previously severe expression. His lips curved, ever so slightly, as the beginnings of a smile began to take root. The moment was fleeting and evaporated as quickly as it came into place, for their Lift awaited. And, as they began their ascension closer to the Phobis Device, a question began to form in the mind of his newfound apprentice. She carefully selected her words, but approached her Master with honesty. A concern was laid at his feet - that communing with this "god" would offend whatever power Pom knelt before.

In but the span of a few seconds, the Nightsister had been responsible for cracking the severity of his expression...not once, but twice. First by accepting his offer. Now, by the notion she laid before him. The deep baritone of his voice bubbled forth as a thunderous laugh, one which claimed the Lift in its entirety. "Fret not, oh Apprentice mine." he began, finally settling from his bemusement. "All the power that you will ever witness under my tutelage has been cultivated by my hands alone. You will not pray to a new god alongside me. You will kneel before no new altar. You will sacrifice not a thing. For I will elevate the power that is within you."

"And then, you will make the ultimate decision - will you remain a plaything of the gods or revel in your own power." With his own worldview now thoroughly on display, the Sith lead the way out of the lift. The hiss of doors sliding wide heralded their arrival to the appointed level, where a monumental device laid dormant before them. Yet, even in its slumbering state, the Dark Side was mighty within the room. So mighty that Pom would feel a weight upon her shoulders - as if the oxygen within her lungs had grown thick. Darth Metus simply raised a hand...and by his whim, the Phobis Device stirred.

"You say that your mind is strong...just how strong?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

She did not understand his cause for boisterous laughter. She looked him over with intensive scrutiny, until he spoke his reasoning. That he further defined exactly what he would be teaching her, sent her mind into a whirlwind of questions. She had dreams about the amazing feats she had been able to perform in her past life, but like all nightsisters, Pomsty does not believe she can manipulate any power within merely her thoughts. She commands demons to do her bidding! Every feat however, requires its specific crutch. For a Nightsister, there is absolutely no means by which to forego this. It is not in her!

He voiced aloud his thoughts regarding Pomsty, and his assumption that she harbors some power equal to, and even beyond that of her goddess Abeloth! Pomsty quickly turned her face away from him, not wanting to imagine whatever blasphemy he spoke!

She thought a queer look shrouded over his countenance as he spoke of her requiring a strong mind, when suddenly fear erupted within her core most unexpectedly.

'What potion do I require to assuage this?' She stood peering him dead in the eye. Her hand slowly cascades over her vest wherein her potion vials are stored, just in case…

Her pupils dilated abruptly, as her gaze firmly fixated on his every subconscious muscle twitch. Fear you? she wondered if this is his intention. Fear you? No. If she would be killed, she would go out fighting regardless. The panic ensued, but she merely stood frozen, studying the Vicelord. [member="Darth Metus"] did not make any motion towards her. So what else could be causing this?

Utter panic is a familiarity of Cylaeria. Her past life memories unlock every night while she dreams of her own death, caused by her own naivety towards man's compassion. Her only escape rests in her ability of astral projection.

How do you quell the delusions which surface? Panic attack perhaps? Still she stared into him.

Is this all some scheme against me? My minions were correct? Look at what a fine predicament I have put myself in now! Heck, maybe the Vicelord knows Lord Depravious! And this is the punishment I get for leaving his side without his permission! That is it; isn't it?

Nothing could quiet the chattering of her own etherial servants, her own minions. How they did swarm and attempt to bring her back to reality!

Why honestly, it's none of the above!
This fear is his generation. It must be!

Breathe…
Slower…
Focus…through the background deterrent of this imposed sensation, intent to unravel.

Pomsty has made relics and amulets before. She thought how these voices seem...not comprised of the souls of man. Although never so dynamic a force has she seen gathered. So many voices. Maybe phenomenal, but you are no Abeloth, no goddess!

Looking at the Vicelord, that gaze. There is pride in him. She understood for certain that this is his power made manifest. And yet, he is sharing it with her so freely. He doesn't even know her well.

Her gaze lowers to fall upon the mysterious perpetual motion oscillator. Pomsty extends one hand towards the phobis device.

Don’t touch, EVER.

Close your eyes.
Breathe! Yes, still!
Analyze.

Autonomously her tongue rolled with her native language of Paecian. "Kiktopawige Ik'tomi," Mischievous spirits, by the thousands.

She spoke to this legion. "This is who you are. You are servants to the living, not anything for me to feel sorry for."

Still entranced with her discovery, Pomsty announced, "If they ever escape, they would collect their ten fold price from their Master’s soul."

A sinister chuckle rumbled from her chest as she casts him a cunning leer. "You use this. My, but we do have alot in common, I see. This is sorcery, not some unseen force generated by your level of midichlorians. Yet you know this already. What then is this Force you speak of, force master, if not merely the manifestations of demons under control?"

She could not fathom he would teach her anything so unique which might open her mind to a new understanding of the source of great power of the Sith. What does it matter afterall, from whence the magick originates? Those of Dathomiri do, as only Dathomiri can do. Sith came in the past, to beseech the Dathomiri for their unique skillset.

 

[Malok]

The Dark One waited.

In silence, his burning gaze witnessed the changes which claimed the pallid woman beside him. At first, she was surprised at the boisterous laughter which erupted forth from his lips. A modicum of confusion colored her expression. Uncertainty as to why he laughed...followed immediately by an unspoken conflict of faith. This young woman beside the Sith Lord had been reared in a culture which bowed before the unseen. They praised the divine and used boons from beyond as the crux of their magicks. Not so Darth Metus. This device which he had created was the perfect reflection of this.

And as the Phobis stirred, the young woman's mind was subject to raw terror. The mere tremor of the device saw her eyes widen and her form recoil against its touch. Her hand dipped within the confines of her clothing, attempting to discern how she might defend herself against the black created by the Device. But, as the seconds rolled ever forward, the expression of utmost panic was replaced with one of inquisitiveness. Darth Metus remained still as she inspected the device and communed with the essences used to give the great machine its terrifying power. She made a judgment based upon what she witnessed - based upon the legion of smoke demons which had been sacrificed for this cause.

And thus, she made the assumption that there was no difference between the worship of her people and the power wielded by her newfound Master. He shook his head simply. "Yes, my creation does use this legion of demons as fuel for its might. But riddle me this, from whence did the demons come? Do you believe that the ancestors gave birth to them? That your goddess spewed them into being?" His lips curved into a smile. "It was my blood - the might of my midichlorians if you'd like to put it that way - which gave birth to the demons in the first place. My power alone saw each of the ten thousand enter into existence. And by my power, they fulfill this perpetual purpose."

He stretched forth his hand - and by his silent command the Phobis went silent. The fear was gone. The legion within, unresponsive. "Are you beginning to understand now, Pom?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

There must be tales of someone claiming such an accomplishment on Dathomir which simply evades her memory at the moment. There simply must be. How could a feat as grandiose as this not be know to Dathomiri?!

She shook her head subtly. "Vicelord," a light chuckle escaped her lips as she smiled only momentarily, "people don't just create entities bound to the afterworld." She searched his visage for some kind of explanation to his claim. He must either think her truly gullible, or he is absolutely insane. Either way his assumption is entirely mistaken!

Her fingertips met her lips as she truly tried to fathom what he had said. "No. I do not understand." How could she? She was born and raised among people who did not see life itself as does the rest of the galaxy. Dathomiri always considered themselves blessed for possessing the unique knowledge which they do, for keeping their magick and beliefs unadulterated since their beginning. His profound declaration is not unlike attempting to convince a zealot that 'Let there be light,' and the Big Bang are one in the same beliefs, especially since the Big Bang made a heck of alot of light, and birthed the natural Elements which govern all Physics of the Universe.

What he claimed for a power all his own, took every learned skill she knew herself capable of, and placed it into a finite box. For Pomstychtivé the possibility that there may be more to learn which can save her life someday, is actually frightening. She suddenly felt minuscule, vulnerable. She never felt this way before; her feelings did not come to light because of any touch by the dormant device.

'What else is there I need to learn about?' Is she even capable of learning these things? [member="Darth Metus"] doesn't use magical items to obtain any means!

She shook her head again. "What makes you think I can learn any of this?" There isn't one person born to Dathomir that cannot raise magick! She isn't special in any sense!

"I must know!" Pom never anticipated that meeting any man would topple her whole understanding of life and cast her into such hysterics as she feels right now. She reached out once again to hold her hand out over the device. How else shall she uncover the proof she seeks?

"Again," she insists. He must prove his claim!

 

[Malok]

Location: Aboard the Dread Queen​

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

Theme: xxxx​

Disbelief.

There were those who held the belief that the divine walked alongside mankind each and every day. Yet, when the eyes of mortality witness the otherworldly majesty of the ethereal, a reflex intervenes. Rather than accept the unfathomable as existing, the mind shuts down the image in its entirety. A mask of ignorance is layered over the eyes, preventing the mortal from descending into madness - despite the fact that eternity is only mere inches away. Such was the reality of the young Witch as the Sith Lord bore the truth. For too long, she had been conditioned to kneel before the deities of Dathomir. Made to beg for mere smatherings of might from the spirits or the ancestors. Her power was always, therefore, conditional. So long as she pleased those above her, she could survive. Thrive even.

Yet that was not the way of Darth Metus. No. In the present, he valued only the strength which he could cultivate by his own two hands. The strength of the Phobis Device. The strength to never again be the plaything of the gods. Therefore, when the young woman uttered her light chuckle, a decision was made to bury the doubt wormed within her heart. Wordlessly, he listened. Her questions were valid - what made him think that she could learn to command the power he wielded? It was not due to some inborn might which eluded her notice or understanding. It was not due to her being some chosen one of some prophecy uttered eons ago. No. What made the young Witch capable of wielding the power he commanded was the blood running hot through her veins. And the fact that her days were numbered. And the fact that a well-placed blaster bolt would render her deceased.

Mortality made her capable of commanding the power that had seen the Phobis Device enter existence. And as she exclaimed, demanding that he awaken the apex of his accomplishments once more, a thunderous chuckle escaped the man's lips. "You are right about one thing, oh apprentice mine. People don't just wield the power I offer. But I do. And those who follow my footsteps will." For the moment, he did nothing. His muscles did not twitch as to awaken the slumbering entity once more. Nor did his burning gaze waver in their inspection of her features. But he did continue to indulge her questions.

"It is because you are mortal that makes you capable. Mortal and gifted with the Force. That is all the criteria you need to learn the power I hold." And upon saying thus, his dominant hand raised. His fingers flexed ever so slightly as the Darkness stirred within. His mind was set upon painful things. Of the agonies life had unleashed upon him. Of the sorrow. The anguish. And above all, his death by fire upon Mandalore. All swirled together in a cacophony of negativity which empowered his whims. The Force wavered and knelt at his feet, manifesting as a midnight star within his grasp. Sputtering, the shimmering orb cast an ethereal glow across his face, only magnifiying the small grin which captured his lips.

"Feel what I muster. You have felt these things, have you not? Pain. Anger. Sorrow. All are the gateway to true power. You will find no incantation that will muster the power of your own existence." His fingers coiled about the midnight star, seemingly putting to an end its brilliance. But as the light was snuffed out, the remnant embers fluttered about the Witch. She would hear the whispering agony of a new Demon as it entered into life. Invisible to the naked eye, yet towering all the same. She would feel the darkness radiating from it - a darkness born of her master and not the ancestors which held her bound.

"Do you understand now?"

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

He did not grant her what she had been motivated to receive. He spoke of offering her far more, that she would learn his unique ability, because of her mortality and being gifted with the force. She did not understand what her own mortality had to do with anything at all; unless perhaps it has to do with one's innate desperation to endure against a vast galaxy of people who definitely intend harm. This must be it.

As for her believing herself to be gifted with the Force, a strange sensation stole over her because of his accusation. The connection rarely occurs that a memory of her past long gone flashes into her conscious, but for some unknown reason her mind decided to remember a particular instance, however only a brief moment. She became aware that he speaks the truth about her ability. She is afterall a clone, fabricated from the body of her own past existence. Far too much of that lifetime still eludes her memory. The most profound characteristics of her pastlife, known to her after unlocked by Lord Depravious. The flashbacks of events she does recall on her own above those, are proven to be far too emotional to comprehend. The pain, anger and sorrow, the Vicelord mentioned. She had known every aspect he spoke of, and how to utilize emotion to move this Force. Presently, she holds no knowledge of this Force, for she is only the clone of a fallen Sith Lord, having been trained to follow a different monster. How much the Nightbrothers could have taught her, if she used them for a purpose far more beneficial than mutual carnal indulgence!

You will find no incantation that will muster the power of your own existence.

"Vicelord, I keep hearing Living Force. Does not with that Force come its sentience? Why could it not have a name to invoke? Maybe that name is the Force?"

She had already given up that he would activate the Phobis Device that she might analyze it more thoroughly. She begrudgingly in turn lowered her hand. Just then he did something far more obscure than activate his Phobis Device. Pom felt [member="Darth Metus"]' power surge from within, then project outward. Her mouth dropped open at his display of controlled power. Such intensity in stirring the darkness is not unfamiliar to her. What he did however, is something she has never even fathomed as possible before today. It was incredibly unique.

"Is this you chipping away a fragment of your own soul?" she asked wide eyed. 'Is that even a thing?!'

She also wondered, "Vicelord, does inner Darkness always reign supreme? Or does shedding the Darkness, make room for the Light...or whatever happens to surround you?" because Pom believes no being is all Light or all Dark. This is why there will always be someone, or some entity, that is more attuned to the Light, or the Darkness, than another can possibly dream of becoming. If not, everyone would be equal in skill and power.

He asked her again if she understands what he is showing her.

She may…but she determined it absolutely sacrilegioushttps://youtu.be/Wr3mrlppJ8I!

Never in her life has it been proposed to her, -before recent people have entered her life,- that all the talk about the universe regarding this unseen Force, born out of Light and of Darkness, could be a power wielded by her own hands. Her study of invocations conjuring magick is NOT her accessing this SAME Force.

Abeloth is very REAL!

How could she prove to [member="Darth Metus"], just how vast are their differences?! She thought for a moment…

"Let me ask you something. Is there something of this Force that you utilize which generates similar results to the Nightsister Blood Trailhttps://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Blood_trail?"

 

[Malok]

Location: Aboard the Dread Queen​

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​

There was something refreshing about the woman before the Sith Lord. Something that came from the responses she posed to each display and example he provided. Though he was clearly mighty, she did not so readily abandon her suppositions and adopt his worldview as the one truth. And, though he answered and provided proof of his power, the questions she posed made the Vicelord think. In one breath, she asked about the Living Force. If that interpretation existed to be true, did that, therefore, mean that calling upon the Force meant the same as invoking a name? The Sith would have, in all honesty, never considered such an angle.

And for a moment, silence ruled him as he contemplated an answer. "I once believed that the Force was Living, but I do not any longer. The Force is...vast. Primordial. And exists on a plane of being far greater than mortal comprehension. There is no name to invoke because it does not live in the same sense that we do. Its 'sentience' is not nearly the same as ours. There is no singular mind within the Force. No singular Will. There is nothing to invoke, even if it were alive."

"What creates the result we crave is by introducing our Sorrow, Pain, and Malice to the Force. We do not ask - we Take. Satisfied with his answer, the Vicelord awaited her next question. The young woman was surprised by the midnight star that he had conjured from a place of his own negativity. She interpreted it as, possibly, chipping away a fragment of his own soul. But then moved into questions of Light and Darkness.

"No - What I am doing is mustering the reality of being mortal - my pain, sorrow, and malice - and am using it as the catalyst for creation. It is not my soul that is being chipped away. Rather, I am using my own agonies as fuel." He began. "To the question of inner Darkness...to be mortal is to experience pain. It is inevitable. Because of this, it is far easier to access the Darkness than the Light. I cannot say if one side is supreme compared to the other - for I am no expert in things of the Light. What I do know is that each person is free to choose their power. If you choose to rely upon the pains of mortality, then the Darkness will be yours to command. If you choose to rely upon...whatever those of the Light draw upon, then their powers would in theory be yours."

Lastly, he final question was posed. Did he had a tactic which generated a similar result as a Blood Trail? "If necessary, yes. I can create a Bond of sorts between myself and another, that will allow me to know their location and their condition. Think of it as a river of understanding forged between myself and another; though it can be modified to be one-sided."

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

To be given cause to think…what a terrible danger to suffer under.

Perhaps then we pair with this Force. This would give us a name to invoke. There have been stories of such individuals having lost their sanity to forces greater than they.

"Are you greater than this force you speak of? I have been told that many seek greater power, therefore…I beg your pardon for I do not intend to insult your craft nor capability, but…would this fact suggest that many aspects of the power you believe in, to be elusive and possibly unexplored? Let me ask this, if the power you created were unleashed upon the layman, they would simply become possessed by it. If this is an anomaly of the basic physical of existence, then why cannot this force you speak of, possess a chosen being on an enormous magnitude, enough to make them an embodiment of it as a source?"

Pomsty has never before been closely exposed to a force user. Even regarding her lover whose grip she escaped, although he happens to be a Sith lord, he was more interested in resurfacing carnal passions of their past, than truly trying to explain his religion, which in her upbringing is just as carnal a lust.

She comprehended well enough what he explained to her as he intended her to receive it, but from her history she could not be swayed. Throughout history some of her people have been formidable forces in alliance with the Sith. The men had chosen Nightsisters to bore Sith seed. Pomsty knew many of the secrets of her craft, but she did not understand the Sith much for having not met them personally, before her recent excursion away from Dathomir. In all consciousness she did not feel threatened by the Vicelord, [member="Darth Metus"], but for him to be so driven to consciously create this much power to simply behold it, seemed unconscionable to Pomsty.

He answered her question about the Blood Trail, wether or not the Sith can do it and she realized how stupid it was to have asked at all. Of course, [member="Lord Depravious"] had some ancient sacred magic he along with her past incarnation had jointly performed, and to this day she could feel his presence from within her; at times he would speak aloud to her from wherever he happens to be. She wanted to cut him off completely, and yet in the same breath she could not bring herself to. In him, lies the key to her past life, to the painful memories of her son now dead, who was alive before she had been slain. Her past was something she could not escape, an awakening that crept out from hiding within her spirit, which she could not intentionally control.

Her thoughts drifted to her past life, and spirit of her past incarnation stirred, for what she is being told by this Master regarding the force is indeed understood, just locked away somewhere within. And the Mistress from whom she was created found her voice and spoke to the Sith Master before her,

"Galeji yun visuom luai kaergeji?" (Cannot two worlds live coinciding?)
"Kait gal Nu zami, Meistras?" (How can I awaken, Master?)

The originator of her essence looked him in the eye as she entreated him for his knowledge.