Purity Personified

[The Major]

Athiss, not your average vacation hot-spot​

Castle Asijisis, somewhere between free floating clouds and a few steps​

​

​

If someone were to currently ask Sybil Shepardt, friend of robots, companion of the bygones, technical holder of the rank of Major on paper somewhere, and self styled noble, if these illusions that were quite clearly traps to cause a beautiful, regret laced free fall into a ravine down below -incidentally transforming one into clamato soup- what in the world had brought her all the way out here, she would have to say that her growing fondness for the occult was starting to develop into a full fledged hobby. Some might say she had already cleared that plateau and bounded into the realm of obsession. Nonsense. Contrite nonsense.

This was a fine and reasonable mission to undertake.

Sadly, the illusions did not have their intended effect upon the Fallanassi, who remorsefully could not see the artistry that went into their casting. There were glimmers of it, but like a bad clump of dust in the eye it was more distracting than anything else. She made her way up, often stopping to examine the architecture of the fortress.

Now, this planet may have been allied with the First Order, but that did not mean one could just waltz up to the door unannounced with guards and turrets floating about. The Major instead chose to hide her presence visually and within the Force until she reached the grand door. It was a long shot, but maybe someone would hear the next bit.

!Knock-knock!​

​

Quickly rationalizing the impropriety of her actions, she awaited politely, taking a moment to groom her Hunter's Coat for any fibers that were out of place.

[member="Yidhra"]​

 

[Yidhra]

If one were to imagine the illusions woven around the mountain like the intricate lines of a web, Yidhra would be the spider perched at its middle. Even when the pitiful insect didn’t get tangled by its threads, the Sorceress of Athiss immediately felt the tug of the strings – no knocking required.

Three eyes snapped up from the frail tome upon her desk. Two of them narrowed – the third, a sunburst gem in her forehead, merely glinted with coiled power.

Yidhra released the delicate page from her grasp and returned it to the leather-bound folio. (Human leather. A proper Sith should never stoop lower than that.) With the precious codex returned to her library at the snap of a wrist, the Pureblood steepled clawed fingers above polished hardwood.

The presence outside was just… tangible enough to warrant a closer look. Yidhra reached up to draw hieroglyphics into the empty air.

“Tutka sis siyina. Riyisosûti oim tuti an sosûtari kiyij dzuoris. Driuni nu akmuojontû.”

A red shimmer appeared before her, and Yidhra leaned into it without a second of hesitation.

Before [member="The Major"], the door would begin to crack with the heat of Sith magic. Features peeled from the rock with a groan, sharper than nature ever made them. A voice like sandpaper creaked forth upon a tongue hewn from stone.

“Who are you, zûtaditra? What do you want?”

 

[The Major]

Usually high powered translation software linked to the datapad in her pocket would react to what was a foreign tongue and display in real-time inside the Major’s spectacles. Curses. Some kind of interference or previous user inputs were lagging down the system. Thus, question marks formed in place of the word, “Zûtaditra.” Problematic, to say the least.

“. . . Right.”

Murmured the four-eyed troublemaker, responding to the sight of rocks morphing into features keen enough to make a disturbing visage. Of course, this was normal for a reclusive Sith. What remained to be seen was if fire would start bellowing from the face’s mouth.

“My name, so insignificant, would hardly serve justice upon your ears. . . yet.”

Wait, what did the intel files say again? Sith preferred humble servants, or was it that they liked brash strength. The Operative checked herself from resting an index finger upon her chin in internal inquiry.

“I seek a master alchemist. Records indicate this is her residence. Is the mistress of the castle present?”

[member="Yidhra"]​

 

[Yidhra]

“If you want to set foot in this castle, you will understand that it’s me who decides what will serve justice upon my ears… such as they may currently be.” The projected visage regarded [member="The Major"] with a flinty gaze.

“This is her. So who are you, and what do you want?”

Sith were famous for many things. Patience wasn’t one of them.

 

[The Major]

Bowing to a projection was just not in the lexicon of proper responses, but the Major assured herself in a devout promise that she would offer the master of this castle the deepest tokens of respect the moment they came face to face. Pride and dignity demanded no less. Sybil spoke, remorseful in tone.

"Forgive me if my diction comes across as impertinent -as it is a gesture of respect from my homeworld. Culture shock aside, allow me to introduce myself more comprehensively as is your order:

"My rank and name is Major Shepardt, I serve as a dignitary and agent of the First Order Security Bureau. Would it be too remiss to request an audience with you personally?"

This might be a little bit of a problem. The Major's interactions with Sith were restricted to theoretical knowledge and after action accounts.

​

[member="Yidhra"]​

 

[Yidhra]

Suppose the expression of reticent consideration did not translate well into stone – and yet there it was, in the shifting strata of red sandstone. The Sith hieroglyphics danced across the rock as planes of projected features shifted with the pursing of thin lips.

“You may enter, Major Shepardt,” the stone spoke, and the tall gates began to grind open. Her voice echoed now down the long corridor that would light in time with [member="The Major"]’s step. Inscriptions and mosaics graced the walls and floors of the chambers beyond, all of them extolling the many feats and virtues of the Dottash dynasty.

Though, of course, what passed for ‘virtue’ in Pureblood society was oft deserving of capital punishment in other cultures.

“I hope I don’t have to remind you how needlessly senseless your death would be if you’re here with ill intentions, agent.”

A long pause followed, filled with naught but an utter absence of noise. Footsteps didn’t quite ring like they should, here.

“Simply continue forward. I will join you presently.”

 

[The Major]

"My many thanks. . ." Responded the Agent as rumbling gates gave way to a passage unlike anything Sybil had laid eyes before. Those irises sparkled with morbid curiosity -pleasing outwardly in the Force for anyone skilled enough to be a plague upon these energies. Such splendor; such magnificence: it was a far cry from the utilitarian nature of the Force Order architecture. Glittering runes sparkled like gold against crimson backdrops. And yet, the closer she moved to inspect these intricate panels and displays the more she realized that the materials being used were beyond her comprehension. Perhaps touching them would prove to be dangerous. Still, the four-eyed operative wished she could memorize every curvature of what she witnessed. Luckily, data-glasses served a dual purpose as a recording device which could be examined later. This was of course if the datapad in her pocket survived. A marker on her heads-up display on the corner of her vision showed that there was no reception to a wireless station here.

She noted that the hallway was far wider and longer than seemed possible, but there was no obvious trace of illusion. Perhaps this castle was much larger than one could ascertain from outside. Her mind briefly touched upon the warning against the use of violence. How silly. Of course the First Order agent was armed to the teeth, but intent of foul play or harm was the furthest thing upon her mind. She certainly wouldn't have knocked on the door first if that was the case. Perhaps Sith were always this careful out of virtue.

"Magnificent! Truly, what grand spectacles you must enjoy in such a place." If the master of the fortress could hear, it was impossible to tell. Sybil wasn't speaking loudly enough carry across the passage.

[member="Yidhra"]​

 

[Yidhra]

“Not for a long time,” Yidhra replied in a quiet voice. The caress of her timbre still carried down the long corridor as she stood in the door at the end, backlit by the flickering flames of a lively hearth.

“But once, certainly. Come on in.”

The Sith was nowhere as tall as [member="The Major"], but she seemed entirely unbothered by this difference in height. Many had tried to make her feel small over the years, and they all rotted in the ground now – or worse. The Dottash scion gestured wordlessly to the opposite armchair as she took a seat herself.

“So you seek an alchemist. What for?”

 

[The Major]

Waiting for the Sith pureblood to take her preference in seat, the Major keeps her internal promise and proceeds to bow deeply to the master of the castle -a dandy right arm completing a triangle with one end touching the place a human heart normally would be. One might notice that a barrel of an overlong rifle drooped into place upon the Fallanassi's back. Oddly enough, it lined up in the general direction of [member="Yidhra"]'s position.

In one motion the agent stands to while removing the clasp which held the sling of her hunter's tool open, deliberately allowing the musket looking antique to slide backwards smoothly into a one handed grasp. Purposely grabbing unto it backwards, she stowed it underneath the proffered seat. Perhaps it wouldn't translate properly across cultures, but it was designed to be a gesture of peace. Of course, neither party now seated would be worth their salt if they didn't have another dozen or so means to attack or harm a target on the turn of a credit; however, form above all else was to be respected -nay, consecrated- in Sybil's book.

"I seek a master alchemist, yes."

Inquisitive, shadow slicked blue eyes danced up and down Yidhra's features, consuming every detail on display.

"To craft an 'good luck' charm, as it were. An amulet to be precise. It must be a powerful piece to ward off the most powerful of human emotions: fear."

One pass wasn't enough. The eyes crank and dart to follow the side of the Sith's cheeks, curving along the folds in her clothes until staring directly into yellow, inhuman eyes.

"And perhaps something else as well. Amongst my peers such a request would be odd, but perhaps here it might be little more than mundane. Admittedly, it is worrying to say aloud."

Sybil was looking for something in those jaundiced balls of fleshy energy. A sign, maybe?

 

[Yidhra]

Three yellow, inhuman eyes, at that. Two blinked – the last one, a vertical yellow stone inset into her forehead, maintained its glare without pause or respite.

Yidhra, for her part, was content enough to hear the agent out. Claw-tipped fingers drummed softly on the leather of her armrest. The noise was swallowed by the crackling of the hearth, by the snap of scorched wood and sizzling tinder.

If she was surprised by the musket, the sorceress did not show it. (Simply because she was as clueless about firearms as a newborn babe. Her weapons were far subtler, and often intangible.)

Cheek-tendrils twitched along with one corner of her mouth at the discomfort that played across [member="The Major"]’s face. She waved a quiet hand, tipping her chin the slightest bit up in a display of amused curiosity.

“Certainly, Miss Shepardt. Speak.”

 

[The Major]

With some degree of effort the strange -strange for a human that is- First Order agent tore herself away from staring into what now looked like two distant and amber stars against a sea of various red, white, and brown nebulae and process that actual wording of the request. Her eyes turned to the distinct fireplace nearby, and yet somehow she could swear the intricate spikes and red skin of [member="Yidhra"] were snaking about in the flames -half tantalizing/ half terrorizing. The shadow of flames against flesh always did accentuate the curvature of a person's face in a more mystifying and enticing light.

I need to get out more.​

​

Back to the matter at hand. Justifying her rationale with an excuse that any Sith Pureblood would scoff or deal with such desires for power right from the womb, the Major pushed on while searching for the exact words as she spoke.

​

"There is a certain sensation one feels when. . . close to another person. ​

While fighting them, of course. ​

There are the usual endorphins and adrenaline as you strike and are struck."​

Even now thinking about it was causing the kind of warmth and swelling in her mind that was uncomfortable at first.

​

"There is something else often unmentioned. . . ​

. . .A euphoria. . .​

when their blood rains upon you as though beckoned.​

Yes​

I know they might be expiring​

but the sensation vibrates,​

sighing.​

Regardless of that body dying​

that person lives on upon you as one final, rapturous aria."​

Her legs squirmed at the start of her exposition. And yet, the more she spoke on it, the more captivated she was by its morbid subject. You can almost see warmth buzzing into her cheeks as though tipsy by the concept.

"Can such a device store this feeling and magnify it? Something that is attuned to me during combat and can help me continue to fight with this clarity and purpose?"

She wasn't entirely sure if such a thing was completely possible, but that is why one sought out such help in times of exploration.

 

[Yidhra]

The mild amusement bleed now fully into her expression, leaking past thin lips that parted to reveal razor teeth. If Purebloods were indeed fashioned from the Darkness by a divine hand, it must have been an exact deity. A god of geometry, if you will – a god who, as opposed to angels, created hosts of angles instead.

Yidhra batted her eyes, which remained as dead as ever despite the lively spark of the fire.

Curling a brow, the Sorceress of Athiss leaned forward in her armchair. Light spilled over sharp features as she traced a thoughtful finger along a tendril.

“So you wish to capture the… thrill of the kill? Mm.” A pause. “Well.”

“I can see why you didn’t approach a master of Jal Shey, Miss Shepardt. An unusual request, but not outside the scope of our ancestral art. Alchemy is the craft of blood, after all.”

Claws abandoned the tendril to sweep, splayed, through the licking flames. She drew them back from the hearth – playful red strings that she soon wove into the shape of a pendant in the air between them.

“Tell me, young one… what manner of price are you willing to pay for such an artifact?”


[member="The Major"]

 

[The Major]

What a mysterious and intimidating response for a mere mortal to hear. It was almost like a storybook the Major had fell into, one of eventual remorse and charming devils with twisted endings. Imagery of her corpse briefly filtered upon her mind, and new tales that were told to children were soon woven as cautionary as they were bizarre.

"Whatever price you deem it is worth -that I'll pay."

Well. What?

She wasn't going to say the "Soul" word aloud. Of course it seemed fitting to state such things while caught up in such morbid proceedings, but that was ridiculous. Sybil didn't believe in souls or an afterlife.

What she did believe in was the law of need.

She needed this amulet and the strength it could bestow for the days to come.

[member="Yidhra"]

 

[Yidhra]

Tendrils twitched – three eyes glinted for a moment. Too cold to be fire, though. Too cold, and too old.

The Sorceress of Athiss tipped her chin, staring down her pointed nose at [member="The Major"]. A long time passed, and no time at all. Then: “Very well. It is clear you are devoted to your goal, agent.”

Waving a clawed hand through the illusion of the amulet, Yidhra rose from her seat. “Come. We may begin.”

With an uneven step, the Pureblood would lead the taller woman down a different corridor. The walls and floors shied away from attentive eyes, shifting whenever a gaze lingered upon the inscribed surface.

One such uncertain stretch of carved red stone became a doorway beneath the touch of the Sith, and suddenly they stood in a spacious chamber. The vaulted ceiling was consumed by shadow and smoke, plumes rising from a raging fire in the middle of the room. The ground sloped gently towards this pit in the center, the rock interrupted rhythmically by intricate fullers.

They were an off-red color, though if the agent could see it in the flickering half-light, Yidhra did not know. Three yellow orbs fell upon the humanoid as she extended a waiting palm.

“Give me your hand, Miss Shepardt.”

 

[The Major]

Say what you will about the pureblood Sith: they knew how to command an aura and present the impression of crushing strength, regardless of the field. Such things crossed Sybil's mind as sight and sound was filled with incessant motion. Reality caved in for the promise of an occult ritual, and it worked insomuch that the agent was transported to a plane of higher thought -ironically removed from the ever shifting walls or nefarious whispers of a sliding slab.

One of the most basic tenants of the Fallanassi slashed through the illusion like a sword swung to catch an attack.

The further your reliance on sight; the further your plight.​

​

Sybil bit the side of her lip as the mantra recycled itself over and over. She even had to shut her eyes at points as her instincts began to scream for her run out of here. Something bad was coming. It was a trap. A trap. A trap.

Without courage. mankind would surely falter.

The pair arrived, one oozing confidence; and the other glad that she had returned the antique rifle she often lugged around back to its proper place upon her back. Various details and any protective anticipation such surveying could provide a paranoid individual were lost to Sybil as she was wrapped up in the drama of the moment. Pulling a glove off her left hand, she reached out just as [member="Yidhra"] had commanded.

The Major put on a brave face, and could not help but watch her hand shiver. An unknown trigger caused her glasses to sparkle and illuminate in bright blue. This effectively hid what her blue eyes could say to the Sith Alchemist.

 

[Yidhra]

Her third eye remained trained, unmoving, upon [member="The Major"]. Yidhra brought the agent to the well-kept worktable jutting from the far wall. In the middle of the red slab there was a long basin, carved right into the stone itself. An elliptical pattern of black Sith hieroglyphics lined its curvature, an ever-smaller spiral right to the black crystal inset at the bottom.

It was above this vessel that the sorceress tugged her arm into extension. Under the firm pressure of a clawed thumb, the network of veins pressed against pale skin. Yidhra reached into her robes, red fingers closing around a worn black handle.

“I will now draw your blood,” she spoke in soft warning. Trained soldiers were wont to get twitchy at the sudden appearance of a blade – and a knife was exactly what Yidhra touched against the exposed flesh.

With precise, swift cuts, Yidhra sliced three times across the veins. Redness welled up, then splattered against the stone with a hiss.

“The amulet should be complete within a month,” said the Pureblood as she watched the blood drip steadily into the growing pool. “I will call upon you then.”

 

[The Major]

The cuts were practiced, almost mechanical in nature. Truly, [member="Yidhra"] was a professional. Some misplaced madness had informed the Major that the Sith was going to pluck off one her fingers or some grisly marring of that sort. This was far more pleasant an experience, even if the atmosphere could be described as nightmare fuel to the right crowd.

What amazed her the most during this entire journey was the manner in which her blood sizzled as it struck whatever strange device was placed beneath their hands.

Once it was over, it was quite difficult to ascertain if the Agent was not locked in some sort of trance. Her body seemed to float in a manner off kilter to the untrained eye. A self placed spell, perhaps? It looked as though if the Sith was capable of commanding the human to leap or kneel. In this moment, Sybil perceived the red bodied one as a queen, and one worth lashing out for.

"Th-thank. . . You." Uttered the sniper, breathlessly.

Something snapped and the woman came to her senses. She pulled her hand slowly back and provided a flourishing bow, tiny droplets of blood staining the floor beneath her boots.

 

[Yidhra]

It was a dry smile that curled her thin lips – dry and ephemeral.

“What on Athiss for, Miss Shepardt?” She regarded [member="The Major"] with unblinking yellow eyes. Producing a soft cloth of red velvet, Yidhra began to wipe down her blade.

“I am not doing you any favors, agent. Nor is this, ah… wisitija tuti zhor kam ir ri miririrza?... out of the goodness of my heart. You have a desire – I have the means to fulfil it.”

“If you found your way inside, leaving should present you no difficulties.” The Pureblood gestured towards the door. “See you soon, Miss Shepardt.”

With that, the sorceress returned to her table, clawed fingers already parting the heavy parchment of an ancient codex. Bound with human leather, no less.

 

[The Major]

A warning of sorts and a fitting send off for a Sith, so thought the Major. Replacing her glove the agent backpedals deliberately away, keeping [member="Yidhra"] in her line of sight until she passed from the threshold of this room. Maybe she wanted to look more on the creature's habits. Maybe she was afraid of somehow being killed by her on the spot. Whatever the reason, one thing was for sure: Yidhra possessed way more power in this interplay than the strange markswoman could muster.

For this forlorn daughter of the cosmos, that interplay would extol its price in full eventually. Even if it took more than one lifetime to extract in full.​

​

Would she even realize what was sacrificed in the name of the hunt?​

​

The Agent departed from the grounds during nightfall. In the sky, an amber moon hung low over the horizon, casting its sickly yellow shadow across the landscape.​