First Reply Space

[Meya Liefi]

OOC NOTE: Anyone, regardless of faction affiliation, is welcome to join. Feel free to enter the thread in whatever creative way you can think of.

One of Meya’s vessels moved through hyperspace.

Far from the bridge and the occasional activity of the crew, one of its private quarters remained undisturbed. The room itself was modest by Meya's standards. Functional. Comfortable enough. Temporary.

Meya sat alone. Deep crimson fabric draped elegantly around her as she occupied a cushioned chair near the room's viewport. The dress was unmistakably Dathomiri in origin, as she was headed back home for a while again. Gold embroidery wound through portions of the fabric while thin chains rested against dark hair that had been left largely unbound for the journey.

An ancient tome rested open across her lap. Its pages had long ago yellowed with age. Diagrams filled portions of the margins alongside notes written in several different hands accumulated over centuries of ownership. Some passages had been crossed out entirely. Others had been underlined so aggressively the ink had nearly bled through the parchment.

Meya turned a page. The soft rustle of paper briefly interrupted the quiet hum of the vessel.

Her attention never wavered. Elsewhere aboard the ship, conversations were held. Crew members worked. Machinery operated. None of it concerned her.

Golden eyes moved steadily across the text. Occasionally, she paused, lingering upon a particular paragraph before reaching for a nearby stylus and adding a brief note of her own in the margin. Most were only a few words long.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi
​

The hyperspace lanes sang in a hum as he crossed the threshold into Meya's private sanctuary with a casual gait. The door behind him sealed with a more pneumatic sigh. Only a short time passed since the recent battle. Shadows of Humbarine remained.. the pulverized architecture and corpses that littered its streets. Reflections clung to him like dust. From his own perspective, most of the destruction had served little purpose other than an excavation of the Dark's insatiable appetite. It was.. weirdly clarifying. While many of his peer might've believed that as a reminder of what their path demanded, he saw a different map altogether. One he was attempting to decipher.. even now.

Perhaps that was exactly why he found allure in this brief exile from the Core. This little journey away from the more familiar duty and expectation. He would sooner lose his tongue than whisper it to Meya, but this stolen moment of respite tasted like a small victory in its own right.

Her presence during that battle was not lost on him, just as he recognized her presence in the governor's mansion during the aftermath. But obligations pulled him elsewhere. Their time on Byss had been different. Whether it was rapport or mutual awareness, he couldn't quite say. If anything, a willingness to tolerate her presence for a longer stretch of time. But here, amidst her ship, he was simply a guest. A transient shadow in a realm where, for once, the deck may have not stacked in his favor. Lysander chose a chair across from her, lowering himself into it in a way that suggested more fatigue over the usual discipline carried.

The silence stretched before he gazed to the book in her hands; this too reminded him of the tome on Byss when they'd worked against more nefarious works of the Collector. The emissary knew it wouldn't take much to irritate her. Breathing the same air might have been enough. The Sephi had a talent for making a room feel like a test one had not been told the rules for. That was putting it lightly..

To bridge that familiar gap, Lysander leaned forward, resting both elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers to mask the fatigue that would have otherwise been evident in one's hands. "Would you dare to explain to me what happened on Dathomir now?" A tilt of the chin accompanied a secondary solicitation. "Or perhaps," lips curled into a mirthless smirk, "does the standard of hospitality here remain perpetually.. impoverished? Nourishment is, after all, a rather fundamental courtesy." Tea would suffice, the galaxy's most reliable ally.

​

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Meya tapped the stylus once against the edge of the tome before finally looking up.

"Two Covenant Sith landed on Dathomir without invitation."

Her gaze returned briefly to the tome resting across her lap. In hindsight, she supposed she could have extended an invitation once she learned they were there. The thought had simply never occurred to her. Why, exactly, was it her responsibility to babysit wandering Sith?

"They proceeded to get caught lying, trespassing, and sneaking about the planet." A page rustled softly beneath her fingers. "When the consequences of those actions eventually caught up to them, they injured several sisters and brothers during their escape."

Whether the matter would eventually reach the attention of the Mandalorian Empire or simply disappear beneath countless other concerns was, as far as Meya knew, impossible to predict.

Politics had never been her speciality. That was more Lysander's domain, wasn't it?

She realised, somewhat belatedly, that she would not have shared this with most people. Their relationship remained difficult to define, but somewhere along the way she had begun placing a degree of trust in Lysander. The realisation was mildly irritating.

The primary concern, for Meya, was her clan. Some sisters might eventually begin urging her to distance herself from the Sith Covenant altogether. Meya had little interest in doing so. The organisation remained useful, and she was not yet prepared to surrender the opportunities and resources that came with it.

"You will be my guest on Dathomir." She studied him for a moment. "Your actions will therefore reflect upon me."

"As a male, you may find it more difficult to be taken seriously by some sisters."

The next observation arrived in precisely the same tone one might use to discuss weather patterns, crop yields, or the properties of a mineral sample.

"But if you choose to spread your seed, you will likely find yourself more appreciated. Introducing outsider genetics into a clan is generally considered beneficial, provided the male is healthy and Force-sensitive. You satisfy both criteria."

Meya considered the matter for another moment.

"You may not find your particular version of hospitality on Dathomir, though you may find nourishment in the attention of several sisters."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi
​

Leaning forward, elbows braced against his knees, a silence settled between them. An emerald gaze traced the lines of the Sephi, analytical and unblinking; the room offered little else of interest for him. But then a hint of movement summoned his gaze toward the ancient tome. Curiosity momentarily conquered his composure while studying it as well. How it rare it was, to feel parchment beneath one's fingertips. He imagined that was a superior sensation, compared to some glowing datapad. How many more of these mystical artifacts cluttered her private sanctum?

As she began to speak, it was almost.. ironic. Truly. Fresh alliances between the Covenant and the Mandalorian Empire were still in their infancy, particularly after Humbarine and those wretched usurpers. The Sith never took kindly to these things. Her revelation should've been concerning. War had been birthed by lesser secrets than these. So, a myriad of questions crowded his consciousness, though he buried the instinct to name them aloud. Surely that would've been insufferable for Meya. Still, another part of him wanted the Council to remain blind to this development.. at least for now.

Should Lysander have felt gratitude for her bringing this intelligence to him directly? Trust, or some woven deceit? One never truly knew with their kind..

"You're certain they lied," the emissary noted while tenting his fingers. "But Sith rarely act without purpose, and they also rarely act without signaling it. Tell me, what did your people miss?" At least the Sith from their Order. His tone remained gentle while brewing suspicions began piling. "A word from you might have prevented injuries, no?" He didn't wish to blame her, but there were some holes in the story.

For better or worse, their conversation took a small turn. "An entire clan of those just like you," added with notes of wryness,"And here I was under the impression being around you had already taught me what it felt like not to be taken seriously. But alas, I have no qualms living with skepticism."

There was a familiar pull to their dance, though the word 'guest' immediately fractured his casual indifference. "Then I suppose I'll have to behave as one," murmured thoughtfully, his thumb brushing against his jawline. "Though I imagine your sisters will find me a curiosity long before they find me a threat."

Glancing downward, he scrutinized his nails as if the conversation had lost its luster. "An entire world where men struggle. You know, Meya, this explains so much about you. However, if my actions reflect on you, then you should decide what you want them to say." That was giving her a lot of power in some sense, but it might prove to make things interesting, if nothing else.

A corner of his mouth twitched. "I genuinely can't tell whether you see me as livestock or a strategic resource sometimes. Though you do seem awfully invested in the matter. Which is it?" This particular exchange was certainly not something for the Council's ears either. Whether this served to build the necessary rapport between them remained to be seen. "As the Point Emissary, I'm obligated to carefully consider all opportunities presented before me." A smirk dared to grace his lips. "They should at least buy me dinner first."

Stepping into a den of nexu was a hobby he was often prepared for, but caution would still dictate the moment. "Well, before I commit to Dathomiri social customs, I do believe I'm entitled to at least one cup of tea aboard this little ship of yours. After that, I suppose you'll have another lecture for me to endure." He'd never say it aloud of course, no sense in encouraging her, but he did find their disagreements refreshing.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

"What did your people miss?"

Meya's immediate instinct was the desire to answer nothing. The response lingered briefly at the front of her mind before she dismissed it. Reality was rarely so simple. There was also another layer to the situation that might sour Lysander’s mood.

"You might be..." She paused for a heartbeat, an unusual hesitation for someone who normally spoke with certainty. It did not show in her expression. That, at least, remained firmly under her control. "Starting with incomplete information."

Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing vaguely around her. "Out here, I am largely my own authority. Even those who outrank me, I can usually find a way to speak to them as equals over time. On Dathomir, however, things are somewhat different."

Her fingers tapped lightly against the tome. "I am expected to listen to my Clan Mother and the Elder Sisters. Whether I always agree with them is another matter." A faint hint of amusement touched her voice before fading just as quickly.

"Once I reported the sighting, the elders assumed responsibility for the situation. I was not privy to every discussion, decision, or action that followed."

"I suppose I could've attempted to interfere regardless. Though that would have required me to vouch for them. Why would I risk my reputation, or my ability to bring outsiders to Dathomir in the future, on two Sith who arrived convinced they could turn their nose up at Dathomiri customs and outsmart every witch they came across?"

Perhaps that was not what they had truly thought, and she had overlooked something. The possibility did little to improve her opinion of the encounter. When they had first spoken to her, it was as though they had mistaken her for a clueless savage. Meya found it mildly insulting.

"Men have their struggles on Dathomir, yes, just as women do," she continued despite her wandering thoughts. "Simply be mindful of what you are curious about, where you choose to go, and who you speak to. There are aspects of Dathomir that are not intended to fall into outsider hands, and the wilderness holds many dangers."

One dark eyebrow rose slightly. "I am uncertain how to categorise you currently." That was all she was presently willing to offer on the subject. Meya rarely allowed people close to her, and she considered this relationship—whatever it was—far closer than she was entirely comfortable with.

"Some sisters may attempt to ply you with food and drink. I recommend accepting any meal offers. Much of the meat will have been freshly hunted, and the herbs gathered, prepared, and mixed personally. You will find little modern technology or infrastructure within my clan's territory. Most work is done through more traditional means. Most prefer it that way."

Without warning, a datapad lifted from a nearby table and drifted into her waiting hand. A few quick movements across the screen followed. Less than a moment later, the cabin door hissed open and a brown-haired human male stepped inside.

"Mast—"

"How many times have I told you not to spend your entire day lingering outside my door?"

The man visibly wilted.

"My apologies, Master. I was only passing by and—"

Meya waved the explanation away before it could properly begin. She had never fully understood the behaviour.

The man seemed incapable of remaining away from her for extended periods while they travelled by ship. It was not as though she required constant assistance, nor had she ever encouraged the habit.

The slaves fingers fidgeted nervously before him.

Meya regarded him for a moment.

Her best guess remained that the behaviour stemmed from whatever circumstances had existed before she purchased him. He was well fed now. Properly clothed—far better than he had been under his former master—and provided comfortable quarters. Medical treatment was given whenever necessary.

Admittedly, those decisions had nothing to do with compassion and everything to do with practicality. Allowing one's slaves to appear malnourished, diseased, or dishevelled reflected poorly upon their owner, in her opinion.

"Rathi Tea."

The slave blinked.

"Master?"

"Tea," Meya repeated. "For my guest and myself."

Understanding immediately returned to his expression. "At once." The man departed with considerably more enthusiasm than the task warranted.

Meya waited until the door slid shut before returning her attention to Lysander.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Regardless of what may be said, the blue and white tunnels of hyperspace reminded him that the two Sith were locked into this trajectory. Lysander had already signed his silence to this gamble; there was no turning back now. Most Sith were abysmal liars, their deceits as obvious as cracked glass. It was an objective fact of their wretched order, born of arrogance and a need to feel.. clever. For whatever illogical reason, he found himself pulling the reins of skepticism.. brittle margin of benefit for Meya.

An elegant eyebrow ticked upward; perhaps, for a time, that was the only sign that he was acknowledging the friction. Even so, the Emissary's gaze would not roam; nay, he just studied the woman's veneer and nothing more. A hand traced the edge of the console, his ring tapping a hollow sound. "Incomplete information," the words rolled off his tongue dryly. He rotated his wrist, fingers curling inward. "A rather curious phrasing. Usually, in our circles, that is the appetizer served before a betrayal." And if anyone was ever going to put a knife in his back, it was definitely her.

"Authority on Dathomir sounds like a rather peculiar beast. I daresay it clearly ignores the galaxy's broader sense of hierarchy." Perhaps, a little jab at the Sephi.. fully aware she wouldn't agree. "Personally, I believe one can respect the 'Mother' of a house while recognizing rot in the foundation," added, teeth grazing his lower lip. "So, entertain me with this riddle, if you will.. when the Clan Mother orders a path that leads to a.. mm, cliff, do you offer her a hand, or do you just make sure she stays in front of you?"

In his mind, he tried to map her pride. He never formally pulled her into his inner constellation; but, given his role in the Covenant, it felt natural enough to offer a note of advice. Whether Meya accepted it or not, was on her. "Your reputation is worth far more than two reckless acolytes. I can’t fault your priorities there. Interfering would have won you nothing and cost too much. While you may have preserved it there, just don't forget you can also wield it." There was absolutely nothing wrong with strategic thinking. "Sometimes.. a single word placed carefully, can redirect an entire council without tying your name to anyone." His tone remained devoid of judgement. "But I do appreciate your honesty, nonetheless. It makes our work far too. I trust that this won't be a one time courtesy."

There was much more he could've mentioned on being mindful; he'd navigated courts more treacherous than forests. Sentients more dangerous than beasts. The warning was welcomed though. It also spoke of her values, or at least that was how he read it. Surprisingly, his knowledge of Dathomir was limited, but respecting boundaries wouldn't be too challenging. "It's refreshing to know my safely isn't irrelevant after all," affected in a lighter note.

The exchange between the Sith Lord and her servant bordered on the.. inanimate, but he would track it all with detached scrutiny. The man practically vibrated with need for approval. Clearly, the slave was nothing more than living furniture. Cruelty was never in the whip; it was in the way one handled another's humanity. Still, Lysander wouldn't sympathize with the creature either.

When she returned to him, the blonde offered a razor thin, almost too polite smile that surely looked fake. Purposely so. "It is funny," mused with a hint nostalgia. "This home of yours.. it reminds me of mine. To an extent." Her earlier description painted a picture not so foreign. "Ukatis is underdeveloped too, when compared to many of the others jewels in the Mid-Rim. Some of the more arrogant merchants in the won't even compute a flight path toward us. It's possible they're convinced that if you can't find some neon port or link hub, you aren't truly living. They see a lack of technology and mistake it for.. a lack of soul."

An emerald gaze drifted past the woman. "I grew up in a proper manor, yes. But.. I also versed with hunting in the forests, learning the land, understanding the seasons. There was simplicity to it even. Something older." Then, he returned to her. "The best medicines aren't always some chemical compound, and learning how to track a stag.. well, it is deeply sentient in ways most will never understand." His posture shifted once more. "Perhaps one day, when the stars align, you can see it for yourself."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

One long breath slowly left her lungs, with some force behind it. "I have been learning about you. Betraying you during a venture attached to my name would invite suspicion, even if I arranged matters so my own hands remained far removed from it. The fallout would likely be inconvenient."

Both corners of her mouth twitched downward almost imperceptibly. "No. My name would need to be much farther away when the knife was poised to plunge into your back, and the rewards far more tempting."

In other words, your current value exceeded the benefits of betrayal, she thought.

The cabin door hissed open behind her. Carrying a polished tray, her slave returned. Two cups rested upon it alongside a narrow steaming kettle. A faint herbal scent drifted into the room, earthy and sharp, carrying traces of spice Meya recognized immediately.

Her man moved carefully between them before placing the tray upon a nearby table. Steam curled lazily upward as he poured. Only once the cups had been filled did Meya continue. "Dathomir does not care about the galaxy's broader sense of hierarchy."

She reached for her tea but made no immediate move to drink it yet. "I do not believe she would lead anyone off a cliff," Meya continued, allowing her gaze to wander briefly in thought. "But if she tried, my core loyalty remains to myself and to what benefits me most, and she is aware of that. Mother knows what I am." Meya’s admission arrived without shame or hesitation.

For the first time since he had entered her quarters, her attention settled fully upon him. "If your question is rooted in the assumption that a Clan Mother is simply another leader, then I will tell you something outsiders are not meant to understand."

The slave quietly finished arranging the table and withdrew. Another soft hiss drifted through the air as the door sealed behind him.

"One secret that may make you a target if repeated to the wrong person." Though the truth was that the following information had likely been discovered, repeated, and disseminated throughout the galaxy countless times already. That did not mean it was commonly understood, nor particularly easy to come by.

"Dathomiri witches are strongest on Dathomir. They stand amidst centuries of accumulated power. Age often brings a deeper understanding of what they draw upon. The most dangerous witches are rarely the youngest."

Golden eyes held his. "Maybe you will sense it when you arrive." At last she lifted the cup. It’s scent of herbs rose more strongly with the motion.

"Just know that when you see a witch upon Dathomir, she is not alone." She took a small sip. A collection of millions, perhaps billions, of witches' souls were part of the planet. That detail she elected to leave unsaid. "Even if you perceive only a single corporeal form."

Bringing that up reminded her that, as powerful as they were, maybe the elder witches slipped up with the acolytes by not being around to stop their escape, or maybe something else had drawn their attention away from the event entirely. Either way, Meya understood they weren’t to be underestimated, mistakes made or not.

He was right about a carefully placed word, however, which annoyed her. Somewhere along the way, she had forgotten that influence and authority were not always the same thing. The reminder was an embarrassing one.

Meya rotated the cup slowly between her hands, watching thin ribbons of steam curl upward before dissolving into the air. "It is possible," she admitted after a moment, "that I am somewhat rusty when it comes to influencing people from a lower position within a hierarchy."

Being able to manoeuvrer her way into being treated as an equal was one thing. Operating within a hierarchy where that was not an option was another entirely. At least for her.

Her thumb traced the rim of the cup.

Perhaps that was part of why their conversations lasted as long as they did. Lysander certainly wanted things from her, but he also challenged her with an almost annoying consistency.

Another quiet breath escaped her. The irritation remained, though she found it increasingly difficult to determine how much of it was genuine. Straightening slightly in her chair, Meya closed her eyes for the briefest moment. "Hmph. Be careful. I may eventually decide to oppose your advice simply to annoy you in return for the many occasions upon which you have annoyed me."

Her cup settled softly back onto its saucer when he finished speaking about his home.

"Unexpected." Meya found herself surprised by what he revealed. "I had imagined something considerably less… similar." Part of her wanted to ask more questions, but then again, it would distract from the main subject. “Then maybe you will be understanding when I have you cleaned and appropriately dressed before arrival.” He would stick out as an outsider regardless, but the less he did, the better.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

A meditative hum pooled in the Sith's chest. The admission was.. refreshing in what could otherwise become a stifling room. :eaning forward, he bathed her in the intensity of his focus. "Predictability would be the graveyard of ambition, would it not?" The sound of his voice was almost harmonic. "A knife with anything less would be a waste. That may even bring us closer to speaking the same language."

True to form, each and every movement would appear orchestrated. Spine finally beginning to uncoil, the seat would creak under his lithe frame. Grace governed the Emissary's reach as he extended a hand toward the table, not once bothering to acknowledge Meya's slave, as amber liquid spilled into the proffered chalice. Lifting it, he drew it beneath his nose. A curious inhale followed, sifting through the layers of the brew. Perhaps there was even a boyish appreciation in the way his brow smoothed.

"An interesting choice," voiced with consideration. "I've always preferred a blend that demands fortitude to consume." Of course, this observation stole only a few heartbeats from their conversation at hand; there was no harm in a small compliment, even if she hadn’t truly earned one. As Sith, their path was often plagued with destruction. Was it wrong to enjoy indulging in something quieter? That might’ve depended on which you asked. But for himself, these little moments had their own magnetic pull. Wisdom could be pulled from the soil in ways that even policies floating amid the Senate could lack.

“It leads me to believe even your palate is sophisticated.” Once no longer captivated by contents within the porcelain, his focus returned to the woman. “So, tell me this, then. If the cliff belongs to no one, who does the land follow when the Mother stops leading?” The answers could’ve been found elsewhere, surely, but it was worth hearing it fall from her lips.

As he'd gathered since their first encounter, many of her words arrived with some form of consequence. Ears parsed not only the lexicon of these warnings, but searched the hidden truth of them. But a man of Lysander's position knew that to crowd her of information would also risk the flow entirely. Allowing his attention to focus on her own cup, another smile graced his lips. "Rest assured, I’ll respect the place and the people. I know enough now through your wisdom to understand that it deserves that much." A knowing luminescence flickered in those twin emeralds from her admission. "It's possible that rust only means you haven't used that part of yourself in a while. Eventually it comes back. We just have to adjust to different environments without losing our edge." Could he have dove deeper into that nuance? Certainly. A more philosophical side of him might've enjoyed that kind engagement for the entirety of their journey to Dathomir. "But perfection is also such a tiresome pursuit. Sometimes, there is freedom in being out of practice. It invites others to underestimate you, and that is exactly where you become dangerous.”

Mirth settled deep at her following comment, crinkling the corners. The chalice veiled part of a small smile, but it would not suppress the soft and warm laughter punctuating the room. “Oh please, don’t pretend you’re doing me a favor by arguing. It’s part of your charm. If you stopped pushing back, our conversations would get painfully boring. All that said, I think you'll find my counsel quite difficult to abandon."

Mulling over a few thoughts, a contemplative shadow crossed the brow; he often retreated into the labyrinth of the mind. Porcelain finally met lips. A slow intake of the tea followed; the sensations bloomed across the tongue. "Where would you have guessed then?" He observed the steam curling for a few seconds. The warmth spreading between his palms was a pleasant feeling, too. "You make it sound as if I have no choice on the matter," unfurled with both amusement and melancholy. "But pray, be honest. With our arrangement for this trip, does it truly make you feel good to possess this leverage, to hold power over me?" Not that the truth wasn't already in plain view.

One more sip eased down his throat. "Though surely, one additional favor might be granted before this.. submission to purification. The water's temperature must be perfectly tempered, and precisely so. Standards, Meya. I trust you have them yourself."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Meya found herself oddly uncertain what to do with the compliment. The tea was good. She knew that already. Whether Lysander approved of it should have been irrelevant.

Was she supposed to care? Did she care?

She knew this was a simple, ordinary interaction, yet she found herself wondering whether it was part of the rust. Even surrounded by her men, servants, slaves, business partners, and supplicants, was she still managing to isolate herself?

Nothing flickered across her expression, save perhaps a lingering stare held a moment too long.

His following words were more difficult to categorise. Meya was already aware that being underestimated could be an advantage. A younger version of herself had been accused of relying upon it. More than once, she had weaponised precisely that assumption. It was not the advice itself that held her attention, but what seemed to motivate it. Curiosity lingered. For now, she left it alone.

"Guidance can be found on Dathomir in many ways," was the only answer she provided, because she wasn't certain if Lysander needed the information or not. Meya had to be careful what she gave him around the subject. "Even when Mother is no longer the one leading."

"Charm," she echoed with a faint huff, a noise mixed somewhere between annoyance and reluctant acceptance. "You needn't worry about that. My charm is going nowhere, regardless of whether you enjoy it or not."

The response had been intended to discourage him, not amuse him. But... Meya was beginning to suspect she had lost control of that particular battle some time ago.

"A planet more like Naboo, maybe?" she answered, somewhat relaxing her shoulders once she realised how stiff they had gotten. Into a more comfortable position, at least. "It's a subject I hadn't given much thought to. It's more that we are different people, that's all.” She wasn't certain she was explaining herself particularly well, and continued anyway true to her nature. “You're a noble, yes?"

"I'm a... savage," she decided, using the word for her own amusement. "One who carved her way through the underworld."

A handful of heartbeats passed before she picked up her teacup again, holding it between her hands for the warmth.

"Yes," she answered one of his questions plainly at first. "To wield power over someone like you is... similar to this." She lifted the porcelain slightly higher. "A sip of perfectly brewed tea. The comfort of holding a warmed cup in one's hands in a cold room."

"I'll ensure all your needs are met for this," Meya added, enjoying another sip and allowing herself a needed pause. "If you wish, you may choose which slaves bathe you."

Was he accustomed to being bathed, or did he usually do it himself? A fleeting thought. She intended to insist upon it regardless. Arriving improperly prepared was not an option in her mind.

A beat passed. Meya gave in to a thought linked to several things he had said earlier. "Lysander," she began. The volume of her voice dipped for a single heartbeat. "why do you collect Sith?"

She did not expect honesty. Not from another Sith. How many schemes was he in the midst of at any given moment? Several, she assumed. Some likely nested inside others. In reality, she wasn't entirely certain she expected an answer at all.

"Because it gives you some insulation from rivals? Assets to use in a Kaggath? Dangerous as they are useful." Golden eyes studied him over the rim of her cup. Steam kissed her cheeks as she wondered if he was traditional enough to accept a kaggath. "I imagine it's for more than amusement. You said you were building something before. Are they part of it? These ones you collect into your orbit."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Ceramic clicked against teeth, and lips pressed gently to the rim, before drawing a slow pull, then letting heat map a path straight into the Emissary’s chest. From foreign to familiar. Somewhat surprising, the quiet between the woman's sentences became something he could work with. More like a negotiation table. Still dangerous.. but with rules. An instinct to survive would always be present, like a serpent refusing to sleep.

Verdant embers slid back in assessment as the muscles in his jaw slackened. "Charm never truly loses its value, even in the Dark," returned casually. "I can play the part, Meya, and even pretend it works on me, so well that one might almost believe the performance is reality. Though," he paused, tilting his head, "we both know you dislike me far too much to ever be truly deceived."

One hand lowered from the chalice and turned palm up for a second before it landed on his knee. Maybe he was tasting the phrase for accuracy. "That's one way to put it. Naboo has a certain.. insistence about it. The kind of place that wants you to believe beauty is the natural state of things. I spent some time there, during my Padawan years, when I still belonged to the Republic in the way young people belong to things. It leaves a mark.. whether you want it to or not."

He suppressed the urge to recount the ballrooms and the hollow etiquette of his youth; to speak of it was surely to invite more.. pretense. "Noble, yes. Though I find the word does less work than people expect it to. It names where you come from and says very little about where you've been." There was a longer version of that story, but it wasn't one he felt the need to perform.

A flicker of the same hand from moments ago waved away the rest of the.. biography, as if swatting at a moth. Another plume of steam spiraled upward. Savagery was an interesting notion to say the least. Could've even been a fascinating choice of armor. One figure’s barbarism was another’s survival. The Outer Rim, and Korriban specifically, taught him this well. There was a hum of intrigue woven into the words that followed. "Tell me of your journey in the underworld, then? Or at least, what you are willing to entrust to me?" A fingertip traced the rim of his own cup, mirroring the wake of more thoughts. "Should Dathomir grant us a quieter hour, you could also indulge my curiosity further then." There was no strong preference, really.

Lysander's youthful visage wouldn't sharpen as the porcelain in her grip rose into the air; if anything, his mouth dipped into amusement, before raising his own in something of a mock toast. “At least it’s something to put warmth in that black heart of yours.” Momentary silence settled. The choice of who attended his 'filth' should've mattered little when the soul was perpetually stained. "Freedom can be jagged, no?" arrived the thought, "though you offer it with grace. I may permit the honor of your selection when the hour arrives."

Finally, he set his cup down on the table between them. “My answer is as simple as it is complex, Meya. I serve as the Point Emissary only to serve something far bigger than myself. My duty is to knit together the weaknesses of our Order, to build architecture that might survive long after I have become stardust." Ambition burned in his chest just as any other entranced with the Dark.. just stripped of cruelty. "I believe in the Golden Age we now inhabit; that is the only stage worth treading these days," added thoughtfully, “Leverage never loses its value either. If there are rivals crawling in the dark, they fear me, and that fear is a shield."

His right shoulder climbed in an inch, a dismissive shrug. One pale finger traced the scar along his jaw. ”I have survived a Kaggath, after all. The great Galactic Kaggath on Ruusan..does that name sound familiar to yout? I was but an acolyte then, foolish enough to dance with Lords who would have thrown me to the void solely for the sport of it." The blonde's breath hitched. "Now, I am the Prince of the Core."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Dislike.

She supposed she did, in some ways, though likely not for the reason he expected.

The steam rising from her cup curled between them, briefly obscuring her view of him. Meya watched it drift apart before speaking. "I knew someone once who shared certain qualities with you." Her fingers shifted slightly against the porcelain. "I see traces of her in you."

The words emerged more slowly than usual, as though she were inspecting the thought while speaking it aloud. Her gaze lowered to the amber surface of the tea. The liquid trembled faintly with the movement of her hands, distorting the reflection staring back at her.

A faint crease formed between her brows. Meya looked away from the cup. "I killed for that woman."

The porcelain settled against its saucer with a soft click. "Unfortunately for you, her departure left that particular weakness far more difficult to exploit."

Silence lingered only briefly before her focus on him sharpened. Eyes narrowed slightly.

"You were Jedi?"

Her head tilted. Fine golden chains woven through her dark hair whispered against one another. Starlight from beyond the viewport caught upon some of the delicate links, scattering brief flecks of gold across her shoulder.

"There are times when those who defect to the Jedi never truly shed all the parts of themselves that once made them Sith."

The observation hung between them while she searched those eyes of his. "Am I sitting across from the Jedi version of that?" A pause, much shorter this time. "Is it even possible?" a question that was more for herself.

The Dark Side consumed, twisted, demanded. Could any of those former pieces truly survive it?

Meya leaned back slightly in her chair, still carrying the stiffness that seemed permanently woven into her posture, though it had eased somewhat. One arm settled along the carved armrest while the other rested atop it, elbow propped and fingers curling loosely toward her palm as she gestured to herself. "My journey into the underworld began with a bloody knife in my hand and twin Hutts who found me both dangerous and amusing." The corner of her mouth twitched faintly. "They were the original founders of the Twin Suns. I spent years at their side."

She gave him only a small part for the moment. In truth, she wasn’t certain how much more she was willing to tell him.

His answer to her last question was strange to her. Strange for a Sith, though she reminded herself of who she was speaking to. Only a nod was given when he asked whether she had heard of the Galactic Kaggath on Ruusan. Then came his final answer. One dark eyebrow rose before she could stop it. "Does that mean one day I will be speaking to the Emperor of the Core?"

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Gone was the mask of diplomatic stoicism; brows knit together, pulling his countenance into.. bewilderment. Curiosity, usually a tool of his trade some might say, became something more visceral. Would it be a transgression to want the map of her trauma? He wasn't so blind, of course; she told him for another reason.

“Well," he murmured the word lightly, "that’s quite the skeleton to pull out of the cupboard over a cup of tea.” Lysander's thoughtful gaze remained locked onto hers. "I’ll admit, your blunt honesty is refreshing, even if it is a bit.. unnerving. But tell me, as I’m genuinely curious.. what was it? What specific quality of mine reminded you of her?” They’d been dancing around truths with their back and forth, maybe tht was her deciding to finally draw a blade. “Or are you searching for the same weakness to be exploited?” That didn’t seem entirely out of question.

Leaning back, fingers interlaced behind his head, shifting once more into something casual. "Well, difficult doesnt mean imposible. I suppose you still underestimate how patient I can be.” An unhurried breath dissipated into the quiet. With an air of indifference, one leg crossed over the other. "A former Sith may stop calling themselves one. They may reject the philosophy. Regret the choices. Build an entirely different life. Yet.. the experiences remain. The instincts remain. The scars? Those absolutely remain."

The silence which followed was due to introspection, before words eventually ventured forth. "Am I the Jedi version of that? Well.. it’s true, I don’t enjoy watching others suffer. I always find myself wanting to solve problems before they become a wider range of conflict. I often spend entirely too much time trying to understand why people believe what they do instead of deciding they're wrong for whatever reason.” Perhaps it was stubbornness, though it was a road he admittedly found narrowing as of late.

Her brief summary alone was enough to summon a host of images in the mind's eye. “I have to say, I'm impressed you survived them, let alone held their favor long enough to be an.. institution. Most would have surely ended up as some cautionary footnote, or a decorative rug in their throne." room.” Refraining from pushing the button, the decision would fall upon the other Sith, should she feel an urge to reveal more from that chapter of her life.

Doubt vanished the very moment the final question appeared on the page. "No, Meya. You should cast aside any hopes on my success. The mantle of Emperor if something I'll never touch. For some time now, the vision has been clear. My final act shall be on Coruscant. Such is the cruelty of fates, no? We don't always get to choose the battlefield, we only choose how we fall."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

His reaction unsettled her more than the question itself. Somewhere amidst his answer, another realisation quietly settled into place.

Her instinct to betray him, to eventually drive a knife into his back before he had the opportunity to do the same, had not belonged entirely to Lysander. Some of it belonged to the woman long gone, someone whose shadow had refused to remain in her past despite every effort to leave it there.

The thought earned no immediate reaction. Meya simply watched him, almost unnaturally still, drawing scarcely a breath.

Her lips parted once, as though to answer his question about the woman, before closing again. Whatever words had begun to form dissolved before they reached her tongue. She found herself strangely unwilling to describe the resemblance any further.

Instead, she listened to him describe the parts of himself that had survived becoming Sith.

Did he ever grow tired of it? Of caring. Of trying to understand people. Of carrying conflicts that belonged to others.

When he spoke of the Hutts, her attention remained fixed upon him. She considered answering. Not because she wished to tell him more, but because, to her annoyance, some part of her wanted him to understand. The realisation irritated her enough that she abandoned it almost immediately.

His final answer lingered longest of all. Several quiet heartbeats passed in silence. At last, Meya exhaled softly through her nose and lifted one hand, making a small gesture toward the sealed cabin door.

"I think," she said at last, her voice quieter than before, "it would be best if you left now."

There was no irritation behind the dismissal. If anything, it carried an unfamiliar restraint.

"Dathomir draws closer."

Her gaze drifted briefly toward the doorway before returning to him.

"I'll have someone contact you regarding the preparations for your bath. If there is anything further you require, they will see to it."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Logic dictated a retort from her, upon the precipice of the tongue; perhaps something jagged, a serrated edge of wit designed to flay his composure open. The prolonged silence that bloomed between them refused to shatter, mayhaps a deviation, or an anomaly in the otherwise predictable rhythm of their exchanges. A funerary shroud to many, though to him, it was just an empty room.. familiar, manageable, and entirely devoid of threat. But even so, curiosity pulled at him. What ghosts were currently rearranging the other Sith's thoughts?

Refusing to grant the doorway so much as a glance, all movement became unnecessary. Only the sloe expansion of lungs betrayed life beneath the blonde's exterior.

"As you wish, Meya." Just three words, stripped of ornamentation and grace, delivered like a dagger hilt first. To him, it was just acknowledgement of the woman's sovereignty and everything she'd constructed around her existence. One that he may have quietly respected.

Eventually, the summons would arrive; he followed a servant through the labyrinthine corridors with the gait of a man who typically owned every space traversed. Lysander eventually reached the thermal chambers. Garments, one by one, surrendered to the floor. Bare skin met the room's warmth, and he crossed the space with the same unhurried stride reserved for the butchery of battle. Water coalesced around him as he stepped in, heat blooming across muscle and scar alike.

With a sharp kick, he submerged, letting the swirling depths swallow the world whole. Breaking the surface hit like a rebirth. Cascading rivulets mapped the landscape of his torso as he swept wet locks back from his brow, palms slick against his scalp. The sensation was primal in its clarity, leaving him exposed, magnificent, and entirely undone by the quietude.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Two young women entered the bathing chamber without announcement, carrying shallow wooden vessels between them.

The contents carried the sharp, earthy scents of Dathomir. Crushed herbs had been worked by hand into dark cleansing pastes and coarse soaps. His hair was washed with something that smelled faintly of cedar and bitter citrus. Oils followed, poured sparingly into the water until their fragrance rose with the steam and clung to newly cleaned skin.

By the time he was dried, another set of attendants had arrived with his clothing. It was, unsurprisingly, red.

The garments had been designed for him in advance, though without exact measurements there were small imperfections in the fit.

Only after he had been dressed did one of the women present him with a long, shallow case of blackened wood. The lid opened upon dark fabric and several pieces of gold.

A necklace rested at the centre: several narrow golden plates linked together, each etched with fine angular markings and designed to sit close against the collarbone. Around it lay a collection of rings. One was broad and heavy, carved with twisting lines resembling thorned vines. Another was simpler, a smooth band broken only by a small piece of dark red stone. The third bore the shape of some long-bodied Dathomiri creature worked subtly into the metal, its head and tail nearly meeting around the finger.

He was free to wear as many as he wished. Or none at all. That, at least, was written on a note left for him to read.

Meya would prefer he wore some, of course, as he was representing her, but it was not necessary. Not on Dathomir.

— Later —​

By the time Lysander was summoned again, the ship had already landed.

A servant guided him through corridors that grew steadily busier as they approached the disembarkation level. The vessel no longer carried the quiet hum of hyperspace. Under his feet came the deeper vibration of machinery, the groan of cargo mechanisms and the occasional metallic crash of something heavy being shifted into place.

The ramp had yet to be opened, though Meya stood near it. Several members of the crew moved around her, preparing crates and larger containers to be retrieved and unloaded.

When Lysander arrived, she remained silent at first, offering him not so much as a glance. Her golden eyes remained forward, her posture more rigid than usual. Was she upset? No. She didn't care that much. That was what she told herself.

When she finally said, "You know..." the words arrived with the peculiar weight of something she had evidently been thinking about since their last conversation. Maybe dwelling on such things was a more... womanly trait, but she went on anyway. "For someone who serves as Point Emissary, you can be remarkably ignorant."

"Not all Hutts are the same," she said, recalling his comment about being surprised she had not been made into a rug. Her fingers made a small, dismissive turn through the air, as though brushing aside an argument he had not yet been given the opportunity to make.

"Gorga and Vaarba were gifted." Something changed before the next words. Not enough to soften her face, though her voice lowered slightly. "Like you."

Her attention shifted towards one of the crates being carried past. "I became Gorga's protégé, of a kind. Though I doubt he would have used the word." One shoulder lifted slightly. "He was no exception to the belief that his species was superior, at least."

"He taught me how the underworld actually functioned." Her mouth tightened faintly. "The usefulness of patience. Of staying one's hand when an insult could become a debt, and a debt could become leverage."

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

The silence was oddly comforting, interrupted only by the occasional splash of water; that was, until the doors opened, marking the arrival of two servants. Curiosity danced across his youthful features; the mystery as to why Meya had chosen these specific women may forever remain a mystery, but the indulgence of the moment made the investigation effortless, and well, somewhat entertaining.

Sinking further, the sensation of being scrubbed and smoothed with fragrant, Dathomirian pastes felt like.. a different lifetime compared to the austerity of Byss. Every stroke was akin to removing battle armor, exposed beneath the scent of cedar and citrus. Silence maintained its grip on the room. Drying off served to bring the reality of the garments provided; unapologetic red, draped with an elegance that was very much foreign.. and somehow impressive. The cut deviated far from his usual attire, but it wasn't as though he truly had much say in the matter. Once the process of dressing concluded, attention fell to the blackened wood case housing the spoils of this ritual

A handwritten note would appear primitive upon first glance, but undeniably charming in its own right. Fingers hovered above the collection, settling first on the ring marked by twisting vines. Sliding the circlet home, it felt like a symbol that could blossom or bleed depending on the path ahead. A warning, even. Finally, the necklace was brought to the throat, narrow places clicking into place against the collarbone. And so, the transformation was complete..

_______________​

Guided by the beckoning of another servant, the corridors led to the other Sith, an island of stillness, amid a hive of activity. Shadows of crew members passed, rendering her proximity crowded; one might compare the sight to a jewel kept within an opulent-lined case. From experience, she was never truly solitary, save for their shared communion earlier during hyperspace. And behind the veil of Lysander's thought, he wondered if that constant presence from others ever began to weigh on her spirit. Or perhaps, she'd become comfortable with a public display always in her orbit.

Footsteps brought him alongside her; sufficient space to permit the lungs their air, close enough that conversation would be effortless. When she spoke, a slight rotation of the head accompanied Lysander's intake of her words.. along with noting an unexpected valley in her tone.

Curiosity piqued, and an eye dared to migrate upward; swiftly, his gaze retreated to the horizon. Mirth began a dance at the corners of his mouth. From any other Sith, a barb like that would have surely led to saber sparks. From Meya, being called 'remarkably ignorant' tasted almost like a compliment. After periphery vision caught the flick, names followed.. Gorga.. Vaaba, and finally, and an admission held in the same breath as those creatures. Something Lysander would note and file away for a more opportune moment.

"It sounds like a heavy inheritance, Meya," came the quiet reply at last, stripped of the diplomatic veneer. For now, at least. "Being a protege.. to a Hutt isn't exactly the standard path for someone of your.. clarity of mind." The praise was left dangling, a hook for the woman to interpret as she saw fit, really. "Still find yourself mingling with the underworld, or did you leave that chapter behind?"

Naturally, questions crowded the Emissary's mind, but he held them at bay; lips sealed while thoughts sorted themselves. Then he found himself searching the floor, contemplating the audacity of his next chosen query. "When we step off, do you want an escort, or will your servants be the one handling the welcome party?" Mayhaps it sounded foolish, but he wasn't well educated on Dathomir decorum.

Hollow air shuddered out of his lithe frame. "And while we're trading truths, I must confess I find my ego's a touch bruised. You picked red for me and then didn't say a single word about it. That's remarkably rude."

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Meya listened without interruption, though for a time she offered nothing in response. How could she explain these… parts of her life? That she was still fully entangled with the underworld, and more. She decided not to at the moment. His questions were apparently permitted to gather between them unanswered. It was the final accusation that earned a reaction.

A small huff escaped her at the suggestion that she had been rude, and at last, Meya turned to look at him properly.

Eyes burning with annoyance until..

They moved over the clothing she had chosen, pausing at the gold resting against his collarbone and the ring he had selected. For several seconds she said nothing. Then her hands rose towards his shoulder, slow enough that he could move away if he wished. If he allowed it, her fingers caught the fabric near the seams of his shoulders and adjusted where the imperfect fit caused it to sit incorrectly.

"Next time I must dress a man, I will ensure the sizing is proper." Her hands lingered only long enough to smooth the fabric into place before falling away.

"You look..." A brief pause followed, as though the admission required more consideration than it reasonably should have. "Very handsome."

Her eyes lifted to his. "Do me a favour and charm a few Sisters."

Only then did she turn her attention towards one of his other questions. "Only you and I are permitted to set foot on Dathomiri soil," she explained. "The others will remain aboard. Nightbrothers will retrieve anything that must be unloaded."

"The welcome may not be what you are accustomed to. Mother Zorya is occupied with preparations, but she will receive you before the Moonwake tonight."

The Moonwake was a celebration, which outsiders had not been entirely unknown to attend. There were, however, certain parts of it to which Lysander might not be exactly... accustomed. Meya decided then it was not her problem if he reacted, at least internally, to it.

"You need only stay close to me for now. There are no other requirements."

The ramp began to descend. Cool air entered first, carrying the heavy scents of damp earth, smoke, and vegetation into the ordered interior of the ship. Beyond the widening gap, figures waited below. Several Nightbrothers moved forward as soon as the ramp touched the ground, passing the crew as they came aboard to retrieve the waiting crates.

Meya stepped down first. She had barely reached the ground before a collection of small figures came running towards her.

"Sister Meya!" Her expression changed immediately. Not to an impressed one. "No," escaped her. The warning did nothing.

Several children crowded around her before she had taken another three steps, speaking over one another as they attempted to claim her attention. One caught at the edge of her clothing. Another had already begun asking what she had brought. A third simply planted herself directly in Meya's path and appeared prepared to remain there indefinitely.

"You were told to leave the landing grounds." They remained unmoved by this information. Meya stared down at them. They stared back. With a quiet sound of resignation, she removed one of the smaller pieces of jewellery from her hand and pressed it into the palm of the nearest child.

"Share it." Several hands immediately reached for her. "Now go." They did not. Meya's eyes narrowed. A final bracelet was surrendered before she pointed firmly away from the ship.

"Go."

This time they scattered, carrying their spoils between them and calling another cheerful chorus of, "Sister Meya!" as they fled.

Meya watched them disappear. Then she turned back towards Lysander as though none of it had happened.

"I do not know how you plan to solve this problem..." Her gaze settled upon him. "But you will be staying in a room in the west wing of the castle." Which Meya pointed to. A structure that loomed in the distance.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi​

Curiosity was an ever-persistent specter within the young Sith, an ember the Dark failed to smother despite best efforts to douse his spirits over time. So, when the unanswered questions needed somewhere to go, he simply shelved them in the back of his mind, where they might wait without being too demanding. Fortunately, he was aware enough of his own habits to know their volume. His role demanded it even.

Vibrant, emerald spheres tracked the fingertips grazing the fabric; he was still the way deep water became quiet beneath the surface. What was truly strange about it, was the appraisal that followed. "The tailoring is sufficient for the errand," he murmured, a blade designed to deflect rather than engage. Rather than stirring vanity, his psyche processed it closer to how one might with a diplomatic session; where personal sentiment was a currency best not spent. The day was young, after all, and much lay ahead for them. When the request to charm the sisters arrived, a gentle smile broke through the mask; that, itself, a tactical concession. "Failure in such an endeavor would be an affront to my own standards. Rest assured, Meya, I wouldn't dare dream of letting you down."

Moonwake reached him as a riddle, one that sounded.. ritualistic in nature, mayhaps as lunar as the planet itself. The instinct to press for clarity tugged at his tongue. "I do hope you'll choose to enlighten me on the particulars of this event, unless, of course, you would prefer I walk into the throat of the beast entirely blind?" Lysander's tone was smooth; it had always been the hallmark of his success to carry a map into the uncharted, some sliver of logic against the of the unknown. Of course, wisdom could also be found in the.. spontaneous embrace of 'catastrophe'.

Stepping out, a sudden gaggle of children swarmed, their laughter a sharp, discordant melody against the grim landscape. Observing her interaction with them.. offered a map of the woman's character more vivid than any confession; the way they flocked to her spoke of a safety he hadn't pegged her for. Softness pulled his features into a humored expression, before the weight of the other Sith's gaze swinging back masked that warmth.

Following the line of her finger toward the west wing, his lithe frame snapped into the alignment of an Emissary. Measured just so, he spoke, "For now, I shall go with the ebb and flow, provided I assume full stewardship for the Covenant and the difficulties they've stirred among your kin. Rapport woven through the festivities will hold better than anything formal, I would imagine. Or, more appreciated, as mentioned earlier.. and when words need weight behind them, they'll have it, from both of us," a sharp, but professional emphasis, "because this belongs to both of us."

Abandoning their stagnancy, he pressed forward with several well-placed footfalls. "You learned that from people who never wasted a gesture, never placed someone somewhere without intention. Therefore, when you point me toward my lodge, I have to assume there's a reason, be it someone I'm meant to meet, or someone I'm meant to avoid."

Clasping both hands against the small of his spine, one elbow crooked in invitation, should she decide to accept it. "If I'm meant to report now, I will. Should I be required in the theater of patience, know that I am content to do so. Just tell me how you wish this tableau to unfold. I find my utility is often far greater under the guidance of another, rather than interpreting everything on my own. A higher chance of success, if you will." Byss drifted through his memory; it was strange, he mused, how he was still prepared to offer counsel as he had back then, as if time simply folded in on itself.

 

[Meya Liefi]

Tag: Lysander von Ascania​

Meya turned without another word and began walking, leaving the landing grounds behind. Damp earth yielded to her boots as the narrow trail wound between towering trees whose twisted branches wove together overhead, allowing only scattered shafts of pale light to reach the forest floor.

His assertion that the responsibility belonged to both of them drew only the smallest shift of her gaze. She had little fondness for depending upon the Covenant. Yet to deny that reality now would simply be dishonest.

His willingness to move with the circumstances, rather than against them, earned a measure of quiet approval. Acknowledging it aloud seemed unnecessary. Only after he appeared to have said everything he wished to in the moment did Meya speak again. "Very well. I will continue to acquaint you with our customs as we walk, so that you do not find yourself at an unnecessary disadvantage."

"While I require your masculine wiles," marked the beginning of her first explanation, delivered with her usual matter-of-fact tone, "there are customs that may be unfamiliar to you as a human."

As the trees gradually thinned, ancient stone walls emerged beyond them. The castle rose from the cliffs as though it had grown from the mountain itself. Some of its towers disappeared into drifting red mist.

"In my clan, when a Nightsister claims a male, a sacred bond is formed. It is believed to endure even after both have returned to the Force." The explanation carried no more weight in her voice than if she had been commenting upon the weather. "The bond is emotional, not one of physical exclusivity. Either may seek the company of others if they wish."

"That said... jealousy is hardly unknown." Her golden eyes settled upon Lysander. "It is not uncommon for men to settle such matters through violence. Though you are an outsider, you are permitted to defend yourself should another male challenge you. No Sister will think less of you for doing so. Some may even watch with amusement."

She allowed the instruction a moment to settle before continuing, "As for the Moonwake, it honours the spirits that remain with Dathomir and serves as a reminder that death is not an ending, merely another passage."

Figures became clearer along the battlements and pathways leading toward the gates as they drew nearer. Several Nightbrothers watched their approach openly.

One rested a hand upon the hilt of his weapon. Another's attention shifted from Lysander to Meya before his posture straightened as quiet excitement crossed his face. Meya regarded him with the same blank expression she offered nearly everything else before continuing onward. The moment passed as quickly as it had come.

"You should also know that some Brothers and Sisters observe the Moonwake without worldly possessions upon their person. Clothing. Jewellery. Weapons. The belief is that nothing fashioned by mortal hands accompanies us when we return to the Force. For one night, they stand before the spirits as they believe all eventually will."

Somewhere high upon the battlements a hunting horn sounded. Its low note rolled through the valley before fading into the forest, leaving room for Meya to speak again.

"As your soul is not bound to Dathomir, no one will expect you to take part in that portion of the ritual." She made a small, absent-minded motion with one hand, as though the matter required little further thought. "Nor would I recommend staring. The custom is neither an invitation nor a spectacle. To many, it is among the most sacred moments of the year."

There was more to explain. Who to avoid. What not to say. Why he was placed in the west wing. But Meya left it there for the moment. She had already given him enough to absorb.

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Meya Liefi
​

Lysander never broke stride, though he did pull his pace back; it was certainly not the first time he surrendered his momentum before the other Sith. Letting his heels find the rhythm of her giant, he was positioned just behind her left shoulder; which, in truth, was still far more logical than stumbling into the unknown. Though he was not as familiar with Dathormir as with other planets, it was well-known the landscape here was as much predator as the inhabitants. A land that breathed vengeance, as someone once coined. It would’ve been foolish to insist on leading the way into a snare.

A touch of amusement played across a lean visage at her comment, and the impulse to tease was stifled; perhaps that would’ve been to misread the gravity of this grand theater altogether. “I do appreciate the clarity, Meya,” the reply came, carrying a softer note than usual. “And I assure you, the nuance of the bond is well received. Emotional connection without the fragility of forced exclusivity.. it is a pragmatic arrangement, provided the parties involved possess the temperament to maintain it, no?" It sounded easy in theory at least, which might’ve even been a warning in itself. “Or perhaps, I should say, that philosophy of belonging is certainly more flexible than what is taught within the Covenant.”

Focus shifted toward the silhouette of the castle; stone walls rose from the mist. A few mental notes were made; as always, the internal compass would adjust accordingly. Lysander felt like a foreign object being weighed, which.. was something he’d grown used to as an Emissary. “Jealousy is a universal language, it seems, just as violence is one our kind speaks fluently. But, let it be known that I prefer diplomacy to blood. I have no intention of leaving either of us vulnerable on your home soil. Your reputation shall remain intact.” Brows furrowed thoughtfully. “Should one of your Brothers truly feel the need to test my mettle, I will ensure that it remains brief.”

A shadow of a smile touched the corner of his mouth, hidden by the turn of his head. “Regarding the ritual, I shall take your counsel to heart. I suspect my presence during such a rite would be seen as a.. distraction, if not an outright insult in observance.” Movement continued toward the gates as the horn's rather mournful sound bled into the atmosphere. "Rest assured, my focus shall remain fixed solely upon the path, or upon the particular Nightsister who has, for reasons known only to herself, claimed me. That would seem the safest course of action.”

Glancing toward Meya, a thoughtful hum emanated from his chest. "I should have you know, this may be the first day I have skipped my morning training in quite some time. It’s not a habit I surrender lightly," a confession made with a shrug of the shoulders. “Mayhaps, we can reconcile this loss. Once the festivities are finished, along with all else that needs doing here, it would only be right that I prove my utility to you in the melee as well, rather than testing your patience with questions." His head tilted just enough to catch the nuance of the Sephi's movements. "I fancy myself quite the duelist, after all, and assure you my blade is as sharp as my tongue.”