Trappings of the Past

[Raejar]

Celanon, a world of agriculture, a civilized world, one that used to be the home of Raejar. The memories of his youth, of the crimes he’d committed still haunted him, as he walked down the sidewalk of what used to be his old neighborhood the memories became stronger. The sun, Nalros sat high in the sky its rays falling down on Raejar its warmth bathing him. The houses on either side of the street had been abandoned or foreclosed, windows were broken, graffiti painted the walls and the only living individuals that remained were spice fiends or those strung out on deathsticks. These individuals meant nothing to Raejar, they weren’t here when he was a child. They didn’t know about the depraved acts he’d partaken in. All for the love of some abstract… Manifestation? That’s what Raejar had started to know the mistress as from what he’d been told by his guardians it was the way he rationalized communicating with the darkside.
You know as well as I do that I’m real… I’ve been with you for so long my love. The presence hadn’t been there before but there was a sudden chill that crept up Raejar’s spine as his mistress made herself known. It was just a voice in his head, he hadn’t envisioned her physically since he was but a child. I was the only one who showed you love when no others would.

“That is a lie, there are others now. They don’t use me, lie to me, try to twist me.”

Is that what you believe I was trying to do? I was freeing you Raejar! I guided you when you were lost.

“Yes… Right down the primrose path.” Raejar said as he came to a stop his hood still pulled over his head blocking his appearance from view. Before him sat what remained of what had once been his home. The windows had all been shattered when he released a scream of fear, graffiti with the words ‘monster’, and ‘abomination’ were painted on the walls. It had obviously been done long ago as the paint had begun to fade. Resting a hand on the wall Raejar tried to gather himself, there was no door in the frame, though that happened when he had been living there.

Raejar had reached out to some of the more esoteric force users in the galaxy looking for someone, anyone that could help him understand himself and how he related to the mistress. Was she truly a manifestation of the Darkside or a sign of Raejar’s possible madness? He needed answers, anything would do as long as it brought light onto his situation. Raejar hated the thoughts that plagued his mind, the veil of red that had covered his vision, the blood of his parents that had painted him. With a sigh, Raejar knew he could no longer hide from his fate and entered the abandoned house to wait for the witch.

[member="Irina Volkov"]

 

[Ellie Mors]

[x]

For one so physically unassuming as she, the wilds were her home before any construct of the civilized world. The animals spoke to her, the trees bent and swayed in a beautiful dance to please her, and the winds whispered sweet, honeyed, nothings in her ear. Celanon, thus, was the twisted offspring of the two conflicting ways of life - a planet that was home to an economy built on the fields, an agricultural world, that was heavily modernized and paved with the poison that the civilized scourge insisted on laying over the vibrant greens that sustained their lungs. Where worlds such as Coruscant disgusted her, Celanon only brought her a deep pain that she knew the trees felt the moment they met the axe.

Soft footfalls brought her towards the ruined mansion, her vacant gaze kept held firmly ahead in spite of the thoughts racing through her mind. So many were obsessed with power, or they desired it to reach out desperately for a lofty goal or ideal - and there were those fools who desired it to protect something, and others who yearned for it in order to destroy, to enact vengeance or impart retribution possible only through its might. She saw it in her inner eye, the throbbing ebb of darkness that twisted and swirled within her, strengthened by the grand sacrifice she made in a blood rite with Darth Carnifex, and knew it to be what her Sith master so unknowingly desired while it was only a mere stepping stone to what she, herself, wanted.

The subtle crunch of dried grass under her heel was the audible sign of her slowed stride, coming to a halt as she pondered a thought. It had been her connections gained through the Sith lord she now served that brought her this opportunity, to hear tale of a man who was haunted by spectres that could, perhaps, be only whispers of the dark side. He, himself, had reached out to many - even to her, though she doubted he knew much of her aside from her prowess of the mind - with a request for aid that she knew was well within her expertise. But it was not helping the man that mattered to her, neither was it the reward or pride in doing so - she desired to expand her knowledge, to understand more of the darker arts, and if this ailing man was indeed suffering delusions brought forth by a spirit, it was that which she desired to obtain.

Knowledge was power, power that far exceeded the weight of the sword or strength of the shield. Clearly if she were to learn something, even from someone so uninitiated in the force that he could not tell apart phantoms from psychopathy, then there was something more to be gained from this trip than mere material wealth. Carnifex had forced her hand into serving her because he understood her worth as a tool, her ability to utilize the force as a weapon rather than as a resource to learn from. It had been his fatal mistake, to allow her a connection so close without realizing the ramifications of such - and it was the source of potential that she felt not more than a hundred meters away that would become one of many that would help prop her up, to allow her mental might to overcome physical failings.

The witch was small, she was short and thin, and there was not an ounce of skill with a physical weapon in her body, nor the knowledge to wield one properly in her mind. Her own physical beauty was only maintained to retain that appearance of weakness and frailty.

To reach into the minds of others, to exact a horrific strength analogous to physical might on their psyche, that was her strength.

It was why she was here, to look into his thoughts, to delve into the nightmares he demanded answers to, and to discover what created them - and, more importantly, how she could best replicate them in others.

-

A short breath, hesitation, and a brief, but shimmering, grin, were met with continued steps as she moved on from the dying grass and onto the pavement that led to the manor and within. Though her footfalls were silent, perhaps the only benefit to having such a small figure, she still cursed the flat surface for erasing the natural world that civilization deemed primitive and outmoded. But she allowed her anger fueled by ideology to subside as she stepped into the manor, taking notice of its less-than-stellar state.

Impermanence, a fact of life that society - a society that depended on evolution and technology to persist with such a depraved dependency - still needed to learn. This house was the perfect example of such, nothing but a ruin of the past - and a past that wasn't even that far behind it. Her blue gaze swept over the interior of the building and found [member="Raejar"] laying in wait.

'A darkness has entered your home, mortal.' Came a quiet whisper, one which carried her voice without so much as a parting of the lips. It was biting, harsh - an accent that sounded like a corruption of the Imperial dialect. 'Can you feel it?' Still her mouth didn't open, though she had, indeed, stepped fully into the interior of the house. It was too early for her to peer into his mind, for now she would have to ensure that he wasn't ruled by these demons that plagued him, despite however metaphorical they could be, in order to maintain her own safety - or, at least, that was the facade she presented herself as.

"You called out for answers - answers which I can provide, should you be willing to see what is truly lurking within you." She said, pausing as if to consider something further. "I am called Irina Volkov, the witch who heeded your call." The woman, revealed as Irina, added.

"What is it that you fear?"

 

[Raejar]

“Home, sweet home.” Raejar mumbled after he entered the place that had once been his dwelling, his marching grounds. The air was the first thing to assault Raejar, it was stale, smelled of mold. Beneath that Raejar could still smell the dried blood from years past. Many wouldn’t notice the faint metallic and rotten scent but the sensitivity of the Mahanaim allowed Raejar to pick it up. Wanting to gag he took his first steps into the threshold of the home.

During his wait for the one who would come and aid him, Raejar simply stood in the kitchen where everything had gone wrong. Well in truth where everything had gone from bad to worse. This domicile, the very room Raejar stood in was where he had committed patricide. The blissfully unaware women stood there at the sink, water running as she cleaned the dishes from breakfast. She paid no heed to the boy that she considered an abomination, the one that crept through the kitchen. A look of madness sat in the boys’ eyes, not only madness but rage. In one swift movement, he struck. The knife the child wielded plunged straight into the woman’s back. Her shrieks echoed off the walls as she collapsed to the ground her body twitching. Their species was already incredibly intolerant of pain which left her unable to act as her soon stood over her staring down.

Eyes opening Raejar gasped inwards, he was soaked in a cold sweat tothe pointwherethe robes collar was soaked. His head thrummed with a force making it feel like it would explode and his knees shook. That memory was something he’d tried to keep buried for so long but it had come back to the surface with a vengeance. Holding his head Raejar caught a new scent entering his domicile. Not turning the man held his pose facing away from the figure. The voice that entered his mind caused the young man to shiver. He had only experienced such things from the mistress, but this woman was different. It wasn’t the smooth honeyed voice and promises of the mistress. It was far too harsh for that. “No, I did not know.”

Waiting for the witch to finish her introduction Raejar turned pulling at the hood which covered him. To some Raejar would seem like an albino chiss which was the furthest thing from the truth. His gold and orange eyes examined the woman before him. She was small, frail, or that’s how it seemed from an outsiders’ perspective. “I am Raejar, as I’m sure you know already and I thank you for gracing me with your presence.” To have been raised by Mandalorians, Raejar spoke in a more cordial tone as he knew that it was the far superior way to get what he wanted. Especially if one held the power to potentially strike him down with a thought.

“What I fear is many things, I fear disappointing those who have raised me to this point. I fear the day that the weight of my past sins outweighs anything else I could do in the future. Most of all my current fear is losing myself.”

[member="Irina Volkov"]

 

[Ellie Mors]

[member="Raejar"]

Fear, indeed, was the stench that had seeped through the very foundation of the building that they now stood within. It had prompted her question upon her arrival, and he validated that observation by confirming that there were a great many fears that ruled the path he was walking through life. It was a scent, an emotion, an expression, and a tone that was very familiar to the witch - a witch that, generally, amplified one's fears to their zenith - but it was more than just a sensation to her, and there was always more than the simple trigger and reaction. Irina feared death - she dreamed nightmares where she experienced her end in a trillion painful, agonizing, and horrifying ways - but there was more to it than a mere black and white facade. Fear existed for a reason - from an experience, or lack thereof. She feared death because she experienced life, and did not know what to expect without it - to lose everything, all that she had come to know and all that she had experienced, was what brought her to fearing an end to it all.

Raejar, the man listing off what ailed him, feared his own corruption with a rationale and not simply because it was a perturbing thought that struck a nerve. Something he had done, perhaps far in the past or not so distant from the present, had rung true with a darkness within him, a darkness that frightened him. Raised, perhaps, - based upon his phobia of failing to live up to his caretaker's expectations - to see such actions, those which threatened to pull him towards an eclipse of the soul, as wrong and as evil.

But what is evil, and who is to say what is right - much less, what is wrong? Whose expectations matter in the real world - one's own, or those that raised them?

Questions, of course, that had no relevance anywhere but within the wandering mind of the witch, whose pale blue eyes swept over the ruined abode with mild curiosity, her demeanor slipping into a more relaxed posture. She sought out details that were immaterial to the naked eye, but rather for the lingering presence of a darkness that taints the air and its surroundings. Spectres of the deceased, malevolent spirits that plagued the minds of those who were simple enough to be manipulated. If the man's demons were caused by a master of the dark side, one long since dead, she would have seen it now - although she seemed unable to find a trace of any third party in the vicinity. That, rather quickly, eliminated the potential involvement of possession by a former Sith Lord - or at least by one that hadn't integrated with Raejar's mind.

"So you fear the darkness growing inside of you?" She asked, a rhetorical question that implied she already knew the answer.

She eyed the Mahanaim curiously, her gaze traveling from his eyes to his feet and back again, sizing him up with interest. "Let us talk of your history with this thing that torments you." Irina suggested, a hand sliding to her hip whilst the other gestured wildly in the air, physically emphasizing the word thing with a half twirl of her hand. "How long as this been going on - can you remember a time without it?" She asked, searching for a hint of what it was that had drove Raejar to seek out help in such a manner.

 

[Raejar]

The darkness within myself. The words reverberated in Raejar’s mind and he knew that he need not answer the question, the witch wasn’t looking for an answer and Raejar realized that the answer was obvious, even to an outsider who hadn’t known him for more than a few minutes. He must seem a coward to fear the darkness, they inhabited a galaxy where there were numerous practioneers of the darkside. Raejar couldn’t even say for sure whether this woman was a member of the dark. What she must think of him? Taking a deep, shuddering breath Raejar looked inside himself and acknowledged that he feared the darkness.

Raejar had been trained since the age of thirteen to harness the darkness to not let it control him, to instead use it as a tool. To be the captain of his own fate… He had failed, what would Alkor think of the young Mahanaim if he knew the truth? That Raejar couldn’t bring himself to fully embrace the dark out of a fear of becoming like his master and the numerous Sith in the galaxy. Those grand ambitions that motivated Sith meant nothing to Raejar, he need not an empire built in his image. There was no want for sycophantic allies, nor did he wish to become a beast. Raejar didn’t wish to be like his master, a man that sought battle endlessly, an insatiable bloodlust. Raejar couldn’t comprehend following that path.

The next questions by Irina were meant to be answered and thankfully pulled Raejar from beneath the tide of his own thoughts. “Can I remember a time without her? Without the one who taught me more than any school ever could? Who showed me the harsh reality of life. That was the only one to accept me in a time where my parents despised me, where I was a freak in school!” Hands clenching into fists Raejar shut his eyes as the repressed memories forced their way to the surface. He’d put so much effort into hiding those memories, pretending that they didn’t exist yet they always came back. Each time was more vivid than the last. “I can remember very few days without her, a majority of my memories were with her. One day she just appeared, she spoke to me, she understood everything I felt.”

Pacing back and forth Raejar reached up grabbing his own head, the nails of his fingers bit into his scalp as the mahanaim attempted to force the memories back down. To fight the dark influence that threatened to claim him, each second, he could feel the force pumping through him. “Even now I hear her voice, she speaks of my potential, what I could accomplish if I gave myself to her… Sometimes I even contemplate doing it.”

[member="Irina Volkov"]