Private Regarding Second Chances

[Vytal Noctura]

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There had been an increase in visitors to Dathomir as of late, so Vytal Noctura had a platform molded out of rock for ships and portals -- for the mystically inclined -- to use. It was all well and good to have a portal in the Sanctum to get somewhere else on Dathomir to greet visitors, but that was impersonal and left to chance whether they'd be alive by the time their existence was known. It also served to keep sudden visitors from landing at one of the covens yet to be convinced not to hex or boil aliens on contact.

Plans were already in the work to refurbish and resupply a spaceport on Dathomir that prior factions -- such as the prior Mandalorian regime -- had constructed. Once the outsiders' influence waned some Rancor had made a nest of it; it had taken time to coax them out. In time it might serve as a single, authorized landing zone on Dathomir. Discussions on ensuring covens weren't "denied" access to their own guests were on-going. Nonetheless, it should avoid unwelcome outsiders getting themselves killed and stirring up some sort of inane galactic reprisal (the sort of thing Vytal was trying to warn her Sisters might happen, and why they should work with the Mandalorian Empire and not against it).

Strong as they were, a coordinated orbital assault would result in the deaths of countless Sisters (and Brothers). To which some said they'd just remove Dathomir from mortal space, and yet another drawnout debate would ensue.

As for this day, it was a day like any other. A storm on the horizon, young Sisters receiving education in how to hunt in the Wilds to graduate and begin instruction in magick, and the adults ensuring the needs of their community were met. All before even delving into the complexities of spiritual exploration. Their power came as a result of their hard work; something most outsiders didn't appreciate and got snippy when they didn't reveal their "secrets" "fast enough." Fools. And the spirits knew it.

Vytal nodded as one of their hunters returned with a sizeable catch. "The Ancestors were with you today." Even after coming of age the need to forage the wilds never waned. They didn't become cloistered monks like Jedi or rampaging conquerors like Sith. They were one with Dathomir. Everything they did was in an effort to maintain that ancient bond with the unforgiving world.

Technology was limited in use in the Sanctum. Defensive technology hidden in the mountains nearby to provide sanctuary should a fleet appear in orbit. Medical supplies. Vytal wanted her Sisters kept safe, but not to lose themselves as so many other worlds had to the conveniences of 'modern' technology. Outsiders had lost their connection to their own worlds; it reflected in everything they did and said. It was not for Dathomir. Hunting was of and for Dathomir.

Of course, to facilitate landing of craft -- and the spaceport later -- there were other technologies hidden out of sight. Sensors, nav beacons, and so forth. Enough to announce the approach of a vessel that had asked to visit. Vytal welcomed respectful outsiders. Knowledge was learned faster when shared from those that prowled the galaxy -- especially if it came from covens scattered on other worlds. So much to learn, so little time.

When word of their approach came to the pale Witch, she settled affairs and turned toward the landing pad to be prepared to greet this new face. It was her responsibility to ensure everyone's safety as the one that sought to keep Dathomir cautiously open to outsiders. Very cautiously. She, herself, still harbored a bias against those that might try to pillage knowledge from them or trade it for trinkets like they were savages.

Kasir Dorran​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Vytal Noctura
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<<I promised…You would never have to be powerless again.>>

As the transport shuttle tore itself out of hyperspace, it was as if a wound was being ripped open once more, the stars smearing into existence like fresh blood.

Dathomir rose ahead.

In the aftermath of Alvaria, Kasir departed with Veradun Sharr at his side, his brother, his fledgling, but the path did not bend back toward Mustafar. That world demanded fire and pain, and in some ways, it was the cruelest of forges, stripping him bare and revealing only truth within. Of course, now it felt impossible to re-enter a place that required him to be used. Nor did he settle back into his role within Wonosa. Silence no longer felt easy. There were far too many paths led inward. In truth, he was not ready to test whether the fracture would hold when tested.

He was a weapon, forged by the hands of Darth Strosius ; the Empress made sure that weapon was impossible to erase. Now, here, he sought to understand what it meant to live with that..

<<…You are not permitted to die where someone else can claim the meaning of it out from under you. You fight, because you must. Take my hand as you did once before... >>

Throughout the journey here, those memories returned.. nothing but fragments of shattered glass. That meant they would never fit the way it once did.

Kasir could feel the presence of something beneath his sternum.. or was it something else entirely that Srina had placed when she saved him? He tried to find something that could be attached to that knowledge.. a feeling even. Grateful? That was only a word that existed, hollow, one that belonged to a version of him that no longer existed. But it still lingered far longer than it should have, turning over in what remained of his mind.. gnawing at the ruin. Stubborn.. skeletal.. it refused to decay. Perhaps that was something he could offer her. If it ever existed since becoming an assassin on Formos, then it was only after that last battle.. after the screaming ended. Two syllables lodged beside the shard, a space where the abyss had been denied.

“Mother..”

This was his second time on the planet; the first had come at the summons of another Sith, Darth Anathemous, one he had once considered an ally, another word that never carried sentiment, only that they were a blade worthy of standing beside. Nothing more.

The landing pad was carved from Dathomir like a scar that the planet chose to tolerate. Even if the world did not remember the Sangnir, another reason he came was because it understood survival as a craft; perhaps that led him to believe that, if this place could teach him anything, it was that survival was not about being unbroken.. but about placing scars where they would hold.

<<The Prophet of Bogan commands my blade. You hold my blood. And both truths are now eternal. Where my blade strikes for Him, my blood will answer to you, should you summon it.>>

Steam bled from the engines, drifting outward. A ramp lowered, and he emerged without haste. Black marked the figure from head to toe; trousers cut for movement, a fitted jerkin worn close his lithe frame. There was no warmth in him, the pallor of something long divorced from the suns. Predatory orbs seldom revealed anything.. clearly one who cavorted with killers time and again.

With a leisurely gait, the closed the distance between himself and the waiting figure. And as he neared, both arms lifted in ritual, a show of open palms meant to convey the lack of weaponry; though, upon closer inspection, one might catch the ceremonial dagger upon the hip, one that'd tasted the blood of thralls and traitors alike, a badge of ruthlessness, never meant to be hidden in cowardice.

"If my presence here is unwelcome, then I shall depart without protest." A voice that was satin caressing obsidian glass, words laced with the memory of a thousand transgressions. "I have crossed enough boundaries to recognize when one should be held. I did not arrive here to test yours."

For one of his undead nature, a gaze did not wander; it rested, and so often that weight was heavy. "I do not come to ask for your mercy. Nor do I seek to trade anything for what this forsaken world may hoard so closely. I have found that places which survive by means outside of conquest tend to recognize.. damage. That distinction has become.. very relevant to me."

His chest rose minimally. "If there are customs I am expected to observe, they will be observed. If there are limits.." Thumbs brushed once against forefingers, to remind himself he was unarmed. "..they will be respected."

 

[Vytal Noctura]

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The pale woman of Dathomir strode through the arch and stopped where the bridge met the landing pad. Her face was marked in black ink; a tradition they and the Sith of old shared -- much as Vytal hated the likeness -- though for different reasons and design. Crimson armor cradled her body from neck to toe with the claws of her hands folded together over her lower abdomen. Emerald eyes watched as their visitor descended from his ship. The Witch observed the way he moved, how he held himself, where his attention pass, and the strength behind his gaze.

Vytal stood silent as the man spoke. She made no effort to interrupt nor allowed her face to betray any thought or emotion as words fell between them. There was no time to waste reacting to every stimuli as the spirits whispered in her ear at the same time he spoke.

At least, a twitch of the Witch's black lips accompanied the end of his... request to be among them. "Do not attempt to command a Sister in your time here. All else stems from that." This one seemed of strong will. Not vile in their arrogance, but not unfamiliar to it. There was a chance he could yet find what he sought before any faux pas occurred.

"Be welcome, Brother of Darkness. Few would dare venture to this forsaken world. Fewer still ever leave. If you pass the trial that brings you here, you may be one of those fortunate enough to be blessed by the Ancient Ones." Vytal turned slightly and extended a hand back toward the Sanctum for him to join her. She completed the turn a second later and began to retrace her steps.

"I do not judge you for what you might be, only for what you do. So, tell me, Brother, what is it that is damaged within you?" she asked as they walked at a casual pace along the bridge. Even if Kasir lingered a step behind to maintain control over the situation -- pointed to strike if need be -- Vytal would not attempt to get him to join her or constantly turn to look back at him. There were ways of watching without using one's eyes.

Kasir Dorran​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Vytal Noctura ​

It was rare for a warning to not hold the weight of a threat to Kasir. For a moment longer, his body was motionless, breath shallow, as he studied the figure, and then the ground beneath her feet with equal intensity, refusing to claim eyes first. This was his nature, a result of training upon Formos long ago, always tracing margins and securing territory before engaging. Such was the Sangir’s existence, even in the midst of slim chances.

“Then we understand one another,” affected in a nonchalant tone.

And so, words carried knowledge that could not be ignored; they came from a language he understood well, for in the realms that Kasir traversed, survival was seldom guaranteed, but earned. "Then the trial was never ahead of me. I will walk with it, and see whether this place finds me worth keeping.”

The fingers at his side loosened by degrees before he stepped forward; noiseless and precise, slipping into the space between them as if it were his own shadow. Not simply closing the distance as he was entering it.

“I have learned that damage is often mistaken for absence, when in fact, it has become a form of presence that refuses to leave.”

He let the silence carry what the burden of language could not contain. “What is damaged in me is not a single thing. It is not a wound that closes, or a fault that can be corrected. It is the consequence of having endured when something should have ended.”

His chin dipped just enough. “I feel as though something is unfinished. Not broken in the way a mortal’s flesh breaks, but something that persists because it must, not because it is.. well. And with each passing day, I am reminded of the consequences of this persistence. Some I understand, others I have yet to encounter."

A soft click of teeth. “If you are asking whether this damage can be separated from what I do,” Kasir continued, “the answer is no."

But his next words left no room for softness. "It informs my choices before narrowing them. The distinction between suppression and deferral is not yet clear."

Whatever it may be, there was no recoil from scrutiny.

“Do tell me, what does this place require of what is left?"

 

[Vytal Noctura]

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"The trial ends when we die," Vytal both agreed and corrected at the same time. One's worth always hung in the balance, influenced by one's actions or inaction. Whether he was worthy of setting foot on Dathomir was much the same. Perhaps, soon, she might even see if he could survive the wilds. Other Sith had, but it was a way to sift the wheat from the chaff as Outsiders said.

The Nethermother glided slowly across the bridge as the man spoke. Her ear was open to his words. Vytal did not seek to respond to what was said or to ask more of what he meant. A purpose had brought him, and if he had a desire to see it fulfill she trusted he would make it known in good time.

Then a question. She slowed to a stop half way down the bridge and turned to face her guests with her burning, emerald gaze. A hand swept out toward the landscape that surrounded them, choked by stone and thornwoods alike. "If you were to live here? Everything." There was no need to mince words when it came to telling Outsiders about her world. It was not a safe place. It was not meant to be a safe place. "Not just what is left."

"I hear what you say. I know what you are." Vytal clasped her hands together and regarded the man for a moment in silence. "There is something inside of you that sustains you. And like all such things, exact a price. Yet, you are fortunate, yes? You do not hear the spirits that follow you?" The black lips twitched upward a hair. "Few mortals ever do."

"Why are you here? To understand the urges within? From whence the ability to still move comes? Or do you seek an... alternative source to keep you on this plane? Know, if it is to be free of that which sustains there is great peril, and much suffering ahead. Most die long before their battle is won. Does that frighten you?"

Kasir Dorran​