The Catacombs

[Vytal Noctura]

"My mother played these games with me when I was but a babe," Vytal snorted in the wake of the ethereal cackling. Such attempts to elicit fear or panic were pitiful before the Dathomiri huntress. "I have stood before a rancor's roar. Laughter holds no sway here." Her shoulders were square and chin high for the younger Witches present. It was important to appear strong for them. To let them know there was nothing to fear should they have any doubts. This temple would need to do far worse to shake her resolve.

As they moved through the cave, Vytal's eyes calmly swept the walls, the ceiling, and the floor for signs of life. It wouldn't be long before they found what she'd been looking for -- or what was left of it.

Intact and even some being recent, the corpses had drawn the Nightsister's eyes. She squinted briefly, examining them closely for even the smallest sign of movement. What better guards than those that never slept? They had no need of food or drink or "entertainment." They could stand silent vigil until the Living trespassed, and paint themselves with fresh blood. A grim masquerade of the Dead. Fortunately, the group was not yet assailed by such a foe; but Vytal would not soon forget their presence.

Another snort followed the sight of the Dead begging tribute. Was it to pass, or to be permitted the privilege of remaining alive? It hardly mattered. Pom's glance behind drew her Sister's gaze to note the other skulls had moved after all. So they were a vigil, and they sought to test their visitors.

Before Vytal could stop Ashara the young Witch touched the larger mirror before them. The Nightsister's teeth clenched as her lips drew back. Thankfully the girl's essence was not drawn out of her body in tribute or the result of some ancient trap. A foolish move, but it paid out well as she seemed to alight with curiosity at what she beheld in the mirror.

Hevn being the man that he was took his turn next. This time Vytal tsked aloud as the man vanished into the construct. "Brother," she hissed under her breath. Vytal was loath to utter the man's name aloud in the chamber they found themselves, and she did not think him merely a 'Male' to berate.

She had stepped forward with the man's disappearance and soon found her eye drawn to the landscape surrounding her own corpse in the mirror. The faint telltale signs of the dark jungles of Dathomir visible through a fog that curled about the Dead's legs. But it was not just any place in the jungle. A copse of a massive tangle of 'trees' laid out in a painfully familiar scene. Vytal's breath caught in her throat at the thought others might come to know this place, or for those of Dathomir to know the place.

A green flame slowly spread across the Corpse's body, engulfing it in a mystical green flame.

"You mock me," Vytal hissed as her palms flew open at her side and a ball of green flame erupted before them even as the pouch of ichor at her side undisturbed.

In that moment Hevn plopped back out of the mirror in a state far worse than he'd left them. That, however, would have to wait as his bloodied lips utter their warning. Fortuitous, then. For them. For this test. Let the Dead witness what was in store for them if they desired to claim the power she held.

Vytal whipped around and extended a palm out toward the Bissops that came for them. The first one that began to howl exploded as though directly struck by a mortar. The Nightsister's other hand was brought forth and conjured a wall of green flame behind the pack that had dared creep into this unhallow hall of the dead. If they had come to feast so eagerly, then feast they would on the bitter, cold of the death that surrounded them.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Aisha"] | [member="Hashim"] | [member="Madalena Antares"]​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom shook her head negatively when [member="Ashara Evanaris"] mentioned seeing her own former self in the mirror. Pom only saw herself as she is now, and everyone else as a corpse. She paled and evaded the mirror all the more as she witnessed [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] become momentarily captivated with it. Intentionally facing any other direction, Pom thought about what the corpses could demand. Sacrificial blood? Rendering over their most valuable items? If the group does not appease, and the army of the undead be defeated by physical means, would the porthole still provide passage? They needed some sort of assurance about its purpose. What lay on the other side, once passage is provided?

She called forth the little bird to enter first and it dropped one of it’s tail feathers into the corpse guard’s hand which gripped it. But Pom’s reception of the bird's visual connection instantaneously dropped as it vanished into the realm on the other side of the mirror.

Pom stared ahead and muttered another spell. The center of power which keeps the inhabitants of this place animated must be revealed and destroyed. She sensed that it might lay on the other side of the porthole.

She decided that their advance might need be a collective effort, and therefore should be a collective decision. For if their deduction is wrong, then there could be unforeseeable consequences.

She turned to the Lord Commander [member=Hashim] and to [member="Madalena Antares"] and depicted, “Some item in here must be the source of all this magick. We need to discover it and destroy it. It ought to be something that stands out, something of exemplary value to the originating coven of this place. I have to admit, I do not know the exactly—,” her conversation cut short, when Hevn disappeared into the porthole. She turned instinctively, her features contorted to one of dire warning as she shouted, “NO!!” well aware her had not paid the price of his entry.

Pom raised her hands and tried to sense Hevn to pull him back through the porthole, but like the bird she sent in, Hevn too is lost to her senses.

In desperation to regain control of at least one aspect of the situation, Pom begins in incant a spell of Necromancy to control the awakening corpses, as they still lay within their catacombs, especially that many have come to clutch their swords so tightly. Considering her upbringing as a Nightsister, she is skilled enough to do that and dispel their further awakening; however once awakened the chore would require far more focus than this group has time for! While Hevn exists within the realm amidst the other side of the porthole, Pom put the army of corpses back into their eternal slumber. But the ones awaiting payment did not comply to her magick. They only extended their arms again in a more demanding manner than before.

Pom drew out a string of amulets, numbering one for each of the members of the KO present and placed one into the beckoning clutches of each corpse. Sadly, sometimes the demons are more entitled than the witch; some have dominion over a witches power. This is the case here. Everyone would need to render their own particular token of payment to appease the porthole guards.

Pom removed her bone necklace and held it out to the corpse, which shook its head, while pointing at her other hand, motioning for her to relinquish her wand. Of course, she did not desire to lose her wand in this manner! It provided her focussed results to her magick! However, it did not take more than a moment in thought for Pom to decide to render it over, for she did not desire to put a roadblock in the mission due to her own selfishness. That she gave her most prized possession, and the arms of the corpses immediately gripped hold of her and drew her through the porthole alone. Upon her approach of the mirror her eyes caught a glimpse of her own Doppelgänger, it simply warned her, 'Get away from this place now!'

She hoped to join Hevn on the other side, but did not find him, for he passed out of this realm as she entered.

Out of the mists she saw a room full of witches materialize. They are the living spirits of the Slinani witches. The test is not over…everyone needs to enter before the treasure shall be relinquished. The Slinani do not deal blessings upon the inadequate!

Shall the Mandragora all pay the proper homage to pass into this realm, as the Slinani demand of them, or will they fail their sister?



[member=Áine] [member=Aisha] [member="Vytal Noctura"]

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal had caught sight of Pom's movements in the corner of her eye. The attempt to offer material items for every person present had no effect. Any offering would need to be personal for whoever sought passage then. It was not greed that drove the masters of the dead then. A test to determine if one was worthy; if one item of personal importance could be sacrificed for something presumably more important on the other side of that mirror. Curse them all.

Pale hands waved before Vytal to sculpt where in the cavern the lizard-beasts moved. She would help guide them into the waiting mercy of the group, or if they did not seem inclined the Nightsister would gladly end each and every one of the creatures herself. It would take no great effort to destroy the bissops in such a confined space; they practically begged for death by coming for them now.

"Each of you place an item of personal importance in the hand of the dead then step through the portal," Vytal cried out even as she had green flame engulfed one of the bissops. "Do so now before the corpses rise as well."

If no one else stopped to help Hevn with his offering and to aide him back into the mirror he'd recently departed, she would deal with that if the time came. At that very moment, however, Vytal concentrated on keeping the beasts at bay so the ground could advance. If they took their time, then perhaps they would care to taste the consuming flames visited upon their enemies themselves. Pom would not remain within whatever space lay beyond the mirror by herself for long.

When it came time for Vytal to make her own decision -- whether that was last among the group, or in spite of the rest choosing to take their chances in the antechamber -- her eyes fixed on the decrepit outstretched hand. Like Pom and her wand, there was only one thing that would satisfy this toll. Would it be worth it? Could it be worth it? But Pom's very life might be in danger on the other side of that mirror, and that would make it worth it. However steep the cost would seem, however great the sacrifice, her Sisters' well-being always came first.

The Nightsister's hand took hold of the pouch on her hip and extracted it from the belt it'd been secured on. She slapped it down in the waiting hand.

With a sharp snort, Vytal strode toward the mirror with no comment made to creatures lacking any sense or ears to listen. She'd haul Hevn through as well if he'd remained and chosen to return once more. Hopefully whatever befell the man before would not do the same to any of them again. The sight of her double wreathed in flame with its hand reaching out toward Vytal's face did nothing to deter the Nightsister from her path. If it was a fight the spirits wanted, they would have it; parlor tricks held no sway in her dark world.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] | [member="Áine"] | [member="Aisha"] | [member="Hashim"] | [member="Madalena Antares"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn could only squeeze the trigger a few more times before the blaster tumbled from his grip. The reptiles fell against a flood of Vytal’s green fire and he succumbs to the ripping sensation in his belly. With a groan, a pool of blood pours off of his tongue onto the ground. He wretched as he gags on a second batch and spews it like spittle and drool.

Pom was gone, and Vytal was ushering them towards the hands of the undead. An item of personal importance she said. What had Pom offered this treacherous place to pass through as he had not? He had passed no test, only failed it, alive. He crawls towards the nearest decrepit hand, and thinks hard. His two most powerful items were probably his most cherished. The gauntlet and his sword. As he reaches for the sword the hand waves eagerly in a gesture of denial. As he goes to pull the gauntlet from his hand it repeats the gesture.

His pain is grotesque, and the blood rushing out of him wasn’t stopping for anything. Phantasmagoria had that effect on attacks. To strike intuitively where it could end its prey, no matter the cost to the wielder. His astonished face is swallowed by terror.

No. Not that! I could not....I would never! The louder he screamed the words in his head the more eagerly the hand gestures. It points again and again at his heart. He would surely die before he’d ever relinquish it. “Kill me. Take my life instead.” The hand answers him with the same gesture of denial. It was clear that the only way to proceed and not die, was to surrender. Tears attack him more violently than he can combat. A tidal wave of agony and sorrow crushes him under the fastest wave he’d ever been swept under. “ ANYTHING! Anything else!” , He openly sobs, screaming so loud through his choking that it echoes off the cavern walls. His pain amplifies and resonates with each time his words bounce through the darkness of the catacombs. He did not hear it mocking him. He was consumed by the infinite doom before him, and the hell that would certainly follow. The hand was so excited that the rocks from which it reached strained to contain it.

Had he been stabbed? He couldn’t feel it anymore. A giant drill was boring it’s way through his chest, and emptying everything he had ever tried to become. Every step he had ever taken from being a monster was about to be lost. Years of effort and torment at learning to feel and care again. Every person he ever saved, or protected. He had to forsake every ounce of his redemption. Hell was the only place for him. Hell would follow him everywhere, and touched everything he did. All that suffering.....for nothing. All that growth....would be lost.

Hevn’s reach over death had once tried to reach his first, and only true love. Memory was a fickle thing, and it often serves to make the past shine brighter than the future. He had always held his angel on the highest pedestal. She was his goddess for which he’d do absolutely anything. His Crystal. That didn’t change after he lost her, and when he finally had the power to bring her back from beyond he was denied. She wanted him to live on, to love again, to find peace in something someday. The ring he gave her to be married was the only thing his circle summoned. He greedily guarded it until one day he had the techniques to make it part of him. Through alchemy he used it to gild his broken shattered heart, and make her a part of him forever. It was the first time his dead heart thumped since he rose from his snowy grave. It made him a man again, and not just an undead puppet of Sith Lords. It was when he forged his new path towards the Jen’jidai, and the only reason he was capable of accepting their knowledge and guidance.

Sobbing still, he pushes his fingers through the hole in his gut. His insides roar with pain as he digs underneath the plate of metal reinforcing his chest cavity, and his extended finger tips settle just below his beating heart. Undoing the spell hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced. The shock that ripped through him put him down as his most prized and secret possession separated from his being. That ring slides down into his fingers, and is pulled blood soaked from his insides. The hand reaches out and snatches it from his grip before he can think at all, as a transformation tears at every fabric of his being.

The price was paid. To others the toll could have been sentimental at best, but this was catastrophic for Hevn. He could see the specter of Goliath and Crystal, intertwined in each other, reaching for him. They screamed “no” over and over, louder and louder as he rolled into his back. His love, his ability to love, anything or anyone, disappeared with the ring. Even if he got it back somehow, what he had done could never be replicated again.

His feelings for any and all die violently on the floor as his dazed eyes spin, and his brain reels. His bond to Pom and Vytal is erased in an explosion of pain that wipes his Sisters to dust. His gratitude, his admiration, every feeling is swept away in a cloud of dust. Hatred floods into the abyssal vacancy left by all his progress. It fills the void inside of him with the only feeling that never leaves him.

His hand covers the hole on his stomach, and black tendrils ooze from it into his wound. The force began to knit his tissue back together, and repair his damaged organs in full. Hatred pours from his finger tips into his would to fill it. The strength of the emotion turned his condition around into a complete one eighty degree turn. He rises from the ground stronger than when he entered. His glare is so intense that the wall that took his beloved ring begins to ooze melting rock and his hatred cooks it.

“I will find you. I will torment your soul until every star in the universe dies. Only then will I take your mangled spirit to the frozen shores of hell and throw you into the icy waves so you may suffer for one second, as I have my entire life.” His threat is directed towards the melting wall, and as he turns toward Vytal his blue eyes have corrupted. A vicious red had conquered the blue, and inside of it a ring of yellow.

His eyes are void of tears. His face contorted in a scowl of boundless contempt. He says nothing as he approaches the mirror again, quietly praying it would challenge him to another battle. There was no hope for any deity, spirit, or living thing against the creature that passed through the mirror now. He had devolved into embodiment of agony and woe.

[member="Madalena Antares"] [member="Hashim"] [member="Aisha"] [member="Áine"]
[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

It is not the Slinani standing before Pom; yet indeed they happen to be so. The dust settled since Pomsty had entered the chamber through the Mirror. It contained the caskets of the Slinani sarcophagi, standing erect, imbedded into the fine earth. The power of the Darkside of the Force radiated within the chamber and identified the skeletal remains themselves as the source of all power within the catacombs. Pom found the idea fascinating, how even after death their magick remained vibrant. If only she could mimic such a legacy!

Pom swooned within the sensation of their radiating presence. She fancied such a splendid find to add the relics of these witches to the cord around her neck. Yet she would not help herself to them. The best relics are forged from those conquered on her own merit. These would be better to study and perhaps used to fortify some aspect of the Mandragora outer grounds.



Mirrors appeared out of the mist, surrounding her. Each reflected a different destination. One specific destination that looked familiar, was during her trespass in the mission the KO had called Into the Darkness where the KO boarded the transport, nearly leaving her behind, right after she saved Alkor Centaris from a difficult demonic possession. Frankly her opinion of the CIS deserving her allegiance in the first place is on the cusp of collapsing. No manner of desegregation policy is capable at this time to bring her out of her bigoted mindset. The unspoken understanding is that none honestly prefer to assimilate with the witches, not only of the Mandragora, but of this galaxy. Why is the minority witch expected to be the sole entity to change her views? Relationships can only be built upon people who both meet in the middle.

The first to reach out their hands and sacrifice are as expected [member="Vytal Noctura"], then [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]. It felt like an hour had passed to Pom. Do they truly know how much she loves them right now? Pom glanced at Hevn who looked like death mauled over, as usual.

“Where are the rest?” the Slinani witches' voices raised out of their caskets.

‘Afraid? Confused? Uninspired? Preoccupied physically or mentally with the Slinani's tests?’ Pomsty could only imagine how they viewed their predicament. Here she just expected them to have had some inkling of experience among the darkness of the netherworldly, that they would not fear stepping into the catacombs alongside her to gain something. Next time she will judge her teammates accordingly, and never assume. A witch unsupported is worse than one venturing out alone; for she is expected to haul someone else's arse out along with her own. “They feel their offering less than adequate, Mistress,” the Nightsister offered. In reality, she doubted the entire lot able to part with their most coveted items.

“Their Light restricts their comprehension,” the Slinani answered. “Treasure you may not receive, but a token for your sacrifice; choose wisely, for your blessing can also become your curse.” The chamber radiated with Darkness and the ancient witches manifested their thoughts. In the mirrors reflections of their blessings appeared. Each mirror harbored a different offering. The reflections were limited to the three who had entered.

One mirror represented unity. Where the trio united in battle would raise a connection unsurpassable.

The witches’ voices rose up their incantation in unison and the walls of the cave trembled. Louder and more shrill they grew until Pom felt she would soon fall victim to a seizure if it did not soon end.

Seeds of Rage were dropped into her hands, tucked inside a small charmed box to hold them securely, to minimize their effects until planted. They are more profound in number. Pom trembled at their radiating Darkness, her subconscious recognizing the lure of promise. The all consuming tendrils of the Force, how it digs into every aspect of life and commands to be worshipped, both fascinated and frightened her. Everything Pom was taught this time around in her upbringing, was vastly different from the memories locked within her subconscious. The Darkside of the Force asked for surrender, where her Sorcery made her its Mistress.

“We feel, you know what to do with these,” the Slinani witches goaded.



The mirrors radiated with life, images of places beyond. Pom felt a tug from them. She realized it was the tug of her own desires. She could walk to anywhere from here. She could snatch hold of anything she wanted within the reaches of the galaxy. She also had a feeling stir which signified that her entry could trap not only herself in the mirrors, but entrap everyone else in this place.

'Déjà-vu…'

Pom dug her feet into the dust to assure they would obey her command to remain where she stands, and not find herself lured into the mirrors.

How can she lead them home again, when the destination on the other side of the mirror looks so enticing?

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

The reflections within the mirrors changed from places to people, and they strongly entice Pom to step into them. She saw many stages of what could be her life. In all of them were family, the people who helped build her up to this point, some who vanished, and some she hasn't yet met.

"Kæstyl…" Her heart ached for her Late son, and she approached the mirror. She could return to the time he was living. She could return to Shaidin and stop a war before it started. She could never leave him again if she did all the right things this time around. She would never die, and then be made what she is today.

The witches cackled as Pom neared, but at the last few steps, her own Doppelgänger reached out a hand from the other side of the mirror and stopped her. "GO NOW!" it demanded, returning her thoughts to her painful reality.

"Not with that box you don't, Dear!' the witches cackled, assured that they would win, and nobody would ever leave this place. Already the group's likenesses exist within the mirrors; yes?

Pom held fast to the box as she rushed with the others towards the doorway through which they entered this room. She quickly snatched the tokens they left in the clutches of the corpses, and shouted, "Everyone, back the way we came!!"

She raced ahead and lead the way, tugging anyone by the arm she had passed who wasn't keeping up, as the ground beneath their feet shook.

Pom pauses before the final mirror to help everyone through. As the group exits the original mirror within the mouth of the cave, Pom turns to look at the images of themselves. In the mirror the likenesses of themselves warn the group to stay away one final time.

Instinct brings Pom to shatter the mirror into dust. She could swear that just before the strike, the Doppelgängers looked relieved at her choice. Had she changed something for the better? Déjà-vu…

Within mere seconds, the transport begins the take off sequence, the lifeforms on this rock stir as the witches under their feet are restless.

As the Mandragora take off, Pom feels a sense of regret that she doesn't have one of those mirrors in her possession. She so would have liked two. Perhaps though, it would be overly captivating. She might like to research into such magick in the future.

The minute the ship passed through the biome it literally disappeared and another KO transport broke through and landed.

Pom exits this transport vehicle. The Knights follow suit.

The mouth of the cave is strewn with bones, but nothing more.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything here. No entrance to the underground cave. There seems to have been a cave-in. Sorry everyone,” Pom said, as the group is lead back to the transports.

As the transport lifted off, Pomsty felt a weight inside her pocket and patted it. It is the very box the witches had been presented to her. However she could not possibly know its origin. She removes the small box from her pocket and peers inside it, immediately recognizing the charm to be an Extension Charm, Capacious extremis. A charm that expands the internal dimensions of the box without affecting its external dimensions, enhancing its capacity, also rendering its contents lighter. Her eyes widen, and she nudges [member="Vytal Noctura"] seated next to her, to view the vast open space within the tiny box. She blinks seeing her wand inside it, and what she knew to be Vytal's own pouch, among far too many items to discern properly within the transport.

She closed it without any further word to anyone. Should anyone ask, she would tell them the box contains her Potions. Afterall, the KO and the Mandragora still have yet to prove that they can actually get along.

The KO transport ship left the asteroid and traversed the asteroid field destined for home again. A subtle smile remained painted upon Pom's features, regardless of what was perceived as failed intel.

- END sad little THREAD -​

[member="Hashim"] [member="Aisha"] [member="Áine"] [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] [member="Madalena Antares"] [member="Ashara Evanaris"]