Postscript: Teta - Revelations

[Jannik Morlandt]

[Occurs between the Invasion of Empress Teta and Sworn to Valor...]​

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LOCATION​

Temple of Vahl​

Byss​

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MUSIC SELECTION​

The Temple of Five​

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There had been no restraints, not a single scratch laid on his flesh - the Maelibus had been true to his word, insomuch as the word of a Sith was worth. The padawan seer had been shipped out, separate from his companions, to be shuffled off to another world, in a temple, in a room, with nary a chain or questionable device in sight. A room, it appeared, that was lined with soft comforts, gently lit, and silent as the grave to his ear. A large bowl of fresh, brightly-coloured fruit sat on a dark-stained, long, rectangular table, in front of an inviting, plushly stuffed couch.This place would easily draw any weary mortal to rest in its bosom. The fruit would tempt any hungry man.

Jannik Morlandt was weary, he was hungry, but the weight of his conscience, the burden of all that he had seen laid waste to his appetite, and stole sleep. What was more - this place unnerved him. Where Ossus exuded a calming, focusing peace, this world set him on edge, and made quieting his mind an extremely difficult prospect. In this silence his ears seemed to ring worse than they had in the clamour of the battle, though the headache had subsided. It drove him to think, and think, and do little else, just to try and distract himself from the effects of the loss of hearing, for though he was not restrained, he was most certainly imprisoned. How long had he been in here? Did it matter? His thoughts, soon enough, went to the others that had ultimately followed his lead.

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This was all squarely on his shoulders. The decision made - his. Had he been wrong? It was too soon to tell, but what he had seen in the eyes of Val Kur, what he had heard in the man's words? There was no certainty that he was right either. There was a distinct irrationality in the Levantine that the padawan could not grasp. He could not see the worth in the sacrifice of all their lives simply to resist capture, to 'stick it to the man'. He knew there was the heart of all dark underneath the veils of charity, benevolence, and grace - discreet, seeping darkness woven into the superficiality of the smooth, pure face of bringing 'order' to 'chaos', the wool had not touched his eyes. Whatever he had done, whatever trespass made to take this path... it was easier to beg forgiveness or achieve redemption than it was to come back from the dead. If this was seen as cowardice, well, he would not deny them their interpretations of his actions. He would deal with it when or if the time came.

There was much he needed to know, not just for his sake. The entire weight of his decision had been on this one point - here, he knew, he would find answers. Here, he would hope to better know she who dug at the walls of his mind, broaden his awareness of just what he was dealing with... and quell the apprehension that wrung at his stomach.

In his deepest of hopes, he prayed he was not wrong.

 

[Darth Isolda]

// We are honored by your presence, // came the low hush from the shadows, standing behind [member="Jannik Morlandt"], power rolling out of her in near tangible waves, a gift and blessing of the Dark Lord.

Of the Goddess.

The voice would be audible, but more sent through imagery and the senses. Crafted through the Force. Perhaps a consideration to the Jedi Padawan’s burst eardrums? How thoughtful.

Ever so slowly, long alabaster legs gracefully led the woman in the black cowl into the light, revealing the lithe figure under the thin glistaweb silk. Black inky tattoo’s were curling round her limbs, intricate detailing that almost seemed to writhe with the pulse of her heart, like dancing shadows over the purest bed of snow.

// Darth Shara says you are the bravest of our captives // her voice went pouring over him like thick honey, sickly sweet as the lower half of her face shone under the light. Her bright crimson lips did not move, no instead she spoke through the Force, her voice echoing in polyphonic layers augmented by Her power.

Her head gave a slight shift to the right, studying him, as if listening to the whispers of the million voices the Goddess had so deemed to use as her vessel to grant the Eye of the Dark Lord her visions. His aura would dance with silver glints and a pure light, like churning clouds painting him with a cerulean hue -- however, amidst those clouds lay the promise of gathering storm. Pulsing. Waiting. The thrum of energy that could strike with rolling thunder and the flash of lightning. What could give life as a summer shower could very well turn into a roaring tempest.

How fascinating.

Her lithe form would come towards her ‘guest’ until she stood before him, her delicate face upturned to search his face, revealing orbs of silver for eyes heavily lined in kohl. The closer she came, the more the heady fragrance of her perfume would come to tickle at Jannik’s senses. Paluruvu; it not only excited the sense of smell, but it could also have a soporific effect on most humanoid species.

// Yo̧u͢’҉v҉e͡ ͝the͝ ͟t̶ou̶ch͠ ͘o̴f ̵D҉e̷sti̢ny͜ ͘a͢bo͞ut ̡you͝…J̕an̢n͘i͝k ̵M̶or̕lan̛dt.̴ ̢//

 

[Jannik Morlandt]

// We are honored by your presence. //

Honoured? Well, that turned things on their side, just a bit. The words shifted with deceptive softness into his mind came as a herald to the power that splashed in a subtle fashion at his senses, for senses of the Force that were far more dependable than those he had been born with, in body. Those could and had been ruined, could be fooled. His eyes slipped shut a moment as air was drawn into his lungs, and opened again as the breath was expelled in a sigh, perhaps in subtle annoyance at the difficulty of obtaining the inner peace so easily found elsewhere, but more in an attempt to steel himself in the face of what may come. Calm over panic. Calm, as she came into view and for the first time, he saw the tangible form of the woman that had more than teased at the doorstep to his psyche.

What he saw was far different from what he had imagined - she was young of face and body, lithe, and... he squeezed his eyes shut again and his head shook for a moment to will away the path that line of thought wanted to take. It would not do to have his purposes - whatever they ultimately were - tainted by such a distraction, but he was tired, weary, and it was hard not to look, the revealingly thin silk giving way to a show that both intrigued and disturbed him. Ink was common on the skin of many a species, for differing reasons, but never in any circumstance had he seen it move. One more thing that fed into how wrong this place felt, but he wasn't making that connection, now, because...

// Darth Shara says you are the bravest of our captives //

It was stronger this time, this voice, strong enough to pull his attention from the fixation it was starting to accept, slipping over him, around him, thick and syrupy, many voices as one, feeling not unlike a distortion in his mind. His eyes snapped up to find the visible portion of her face, ingrained, sapient reaction guiding him to expect the words to have come from her mouth, when he full well knew otherwise. His mind felt the voice, felt the words and their meaning, and his brow furrowed.

Brave? He questioned, for himself. Was this brave? Something about this voice urged him to believe it, but... skepticism held its ground. This was the woman that had inadvertently shown him just what they had done, and oh, those thoughts, those feelings... but he watched [member="Darth Isolda"] circle around him, coming closer. Her perfume came to his nose, only just managing to not seem so cloying as to choke, yet so alluring that it pulled the majority of his attention and fraying focus to a point, to rest on her upturned face, a shuddering breath pulling into him, and rushing out. Irises of silver wreathed softly in dark caught his gaze, the smooth pale of the skin around them accentuating in a way that was difficult to ignore, and the weariness he felt gained some weight.

// Yo̧u͢’҉v҉e͡ ͝the͝ ͟t̶ou̶ch͠ ͘o̴f ̵D҉e̷sti̢ny͜ ͘a͢bo͞ut ̡you͝…J̕an̢n͘i͝k ̵M̶or̕lan̛dt.̴ ̢//

His eyes rolled back, as did his head, his teeth gritting as his head rolled around to look on her again, a shudder of body accompanying his breath, as his dark brown eyes took hers in again, fixating on the silver of her orbs. His breathing had quickened, a strange yet in a way familiar excitement he hadn't felt coming putting his body in a state that he couldn't... and wasn't trying to back down from. He had questions, so many questions and his voice came out, pleading, cracked with a mélange of fear, fascination, curiosity, and need to get the answers he craved, his still-furrowed brow adding to the flavour of the words that came from him.

// What are you? //

 

[Darth Isolda]

[member="Jannik Morlandt"]

Cursed By Beauty

[SIZE=10.5pt]"Why don't you tell me?" [/SIZE]Isolda asked, in a voice that some thought was a throaty, seductive sound, but for a few would fill with dread. The silk of her gown would whisper as she drew closer, close enough for the warmth of her body to resonate against him.

She would tempt him much like the Dark Lord had tempted others. Yet her true weapon lay in her ability to pilfer secrets from the depths of the mind that were kept under mental lock and key. Her uncanny ability to transcend normal mental barriers with her farsight and through the dark gifts of the Force made her a force to be reckoned with. Few could withstand her inquisition. The Chosen One, the Queen for example was one of them. And here as well, for the young man before her resonated with a similar ability that would spark curiosity.

Yet that did not hide the rise of awareness she felt from him. No, it was there in his eyes. In the flutter of his pulse along his throat. In the hike of his breath. Yessssssssss.....

She was affecting him. Perfect.

While she would not touch him deliberately, she would press herself against his personal space, awakening her power to the Goddess. Her skin was beginning to glow. Her eyes filling with light, as if someone had set a candle behind those argent eyes.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"Tell me, Jannik Morlandt..." [/SIZE]her voice dropped another octave in that low hush, the warmth of her sweet breath brushing against the stubble of his jaw as she came to lean in close. The tips of her chest would barely brush against him, and her whisper would inch in along the shell of his ear. What came next would be a lovely sound that would make one shiver. A thrill of fear.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"For you already know...." [/SIZE]

 

[Jannik Morlandt]

[member="Darth Isolda"]

Dark Unions

"Tell me, Jannik Morlandt..."

The expression brought to his face within the moment of barest contact, was one of pointed intent, oh how his eyes fixated on her, that glow pulling on his psyche in ways that rang true with the particular state of his physical self. Breath came in slow and out in shudders, fear yet fascination, anxiety yet confidence, exhaustion yet arousal. In her turnabout query, he wondered but barely as to how he could possibly answer his own question about this alluring yet frightening woman that stood before him. Such a question was stricken from his mind at the inescapable proximity of her. What else, then? Nothing else, errant thoughts beyond the intense now simply ceased to exist, at the the seduction of her breath at the line of his jaw, and her words, curling softly in the canal of his ear, where once burst drums had begun to heal, and were tender, amplifying the effect.

[SIZE=10.5pt]"...for you already know..." [/SIZE]

So close, so close... the consequential shudder to the feeling of her words coming on to him in the effect of goosebumps, every short, soft hair on his body standing erect, as other things were wont to do; the chill effect shocking up his spine, prompting a sharp intake of air, and his head nodded forward slightly, in seeming response to her prompting. In the midst of it all - the aroused, lulled state to which he had been worked up as the most direct effect her heady presence incited, and the underlying exhaustion, and hunger - something had been working its way to the surface. A gnawing familiarity that felt as if it had no place, and yet... belonged with such irrevocability, teasing at his psyche, causing the worry that there was something he should know, something he should remember better than he did.

It was when his head tipped softly and involuntarily to the side of her face, an approximation of a nuzzle, his nose and cheekbone meeting her cheek, a hand's fingers offering a scant stroking at the opposite cheek, that his mind sparked, and images, voices, sounds, smells, and tastes rolled across his awareness, eyes of his rolling back as his breathing picked up the pace for one breath, two, three, before he stumbled back a step, wavering as if unsteady, drunk. Tears beaded and began to roll down as his dark eyes refocused, finding her again, his brow furrowing as he stared, still largely in her thrall, with confusion and fearful awareness rippling strongly across his features. Tears came more and more, utterly unbidden, mouth working, but no words coming as his mind worked to process all that had blossomed to the fore, attempting to mount to a vantage point of understanding, despite the rising insistence from his taxed body that rest was sorely needed.

In this, he crumpled backward onto the couch, his form slumping. His head lifted, eyes dragging upward to Isolda again, and his mouth voiced the first words he had physically spoken for days.

"If you're..."

He choked on the words, voice weary and broken, unwilling to say those two words that would make reality out of a lifelong desire, for fear of what it might do, because of who she was, because of the rising feeling of revulsion at himself for what he had been and still was feeling from a purely physical end if it was fact. The pertinent question came forth, instead.

"...then who... what am I?"