Trinity of Shadows

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Location: Castle Mandragora, Ryloth

Hevn’s ship touches down inside the hangar on the Mandragora grounds. A severely crippled and weakened Hevn shambles down the ramp with assistance from his crew members underneath either arm. The warlocks rally around the ship in a mass of bustling hoods and cloaks. “Brother Hevn! The state of you!” The welcome singes Hevn’s ears and twists his scowl tight. He pulls his arm off Mad Claws shoulders, and nods towards the warlock.

“Punch him in the face.” Hevn’s cruel command was followed through in a flash. The Catharian issued a feral smile and wound his thickly muscled arm back and then walloped the warlock with even more power than necessary to fulfill his command. Hevn’s frigid eyes rake the warlock over as he hisses a dangerous warning to the fledgling, “It is still Lord to you, boot lick.”

The warlock rises with a bloodied and swelling face. He instantly take a potion from his belt and downs it, reversing the effects of his sudden and unexpected bludgeoning. He bows deeply to Hevn in apology. “How may I serve?”

Hevn has not returned to Ryloth in some time. He had been tasked with several missions in the mean time. The last time he saw the Sisters was the Catacombs. Not exactly his most pleasant memory. His last was that of Rugosa. A vicious attack by the golden crusade that crushed the Confederate defense, wounded the Knights Obsidian deeply, and the loss of their war leader Cardinal. He had channeled something there. It helped him escape certain death. It gave him power beyond belief. When it passed though he had been left utterly emptied and powerless. Even his cybernetic limbs struggled to move as the sum of all his power, physical and spiritual, could barely raise above the flicker of a candle.

“I need my Sisters. Mistress Pom, and Mistress Vytal.” The warlock nods and vanishes in a pop of smoky air. Alpha and Claws pass Hevn off to the warlocks who support him into the Castle. He takes a seat in a chair large enough to support his form and sighs.

Pom was the only chance he had of recovery or healing from this strange wound. Vytal’s conviction to her gods of Dathomir was the only hope he had for understanding what happened to him. The only thing Hevn had brought along from his ship was a small case, stuffed with the credits he owed the pair for saving him from a spell that would have warped him forever. The fate worse than death.

He didn’t look nearly as miserable as he had after those events, but it was obvious that the fire within him was struggling to rise above a flicker. His loud angry aura was stifled and quiet.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"] [member="Vytal Noctura"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Sweet words, so empowering. “He’s here!” Pom practically leapt from the library study table, surprised at how captivated she had been in her books that she had not sensed [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]’s presence! She was beginning to think it a charm of the Library, that all outside interruption be snuffed out of its walls. She had been working on her talismans, of very special qualities. She stuffed them into her vest pocket as she slid the bookmark between her pages before closing them.

She rounded the exit archway and approached the lobby, trying not to step too eagerly, then determined she would Apparate the final distance to him. As she reappeared before him, she sat upon the armrest of the chair he had so longingly sunken into. Pom smiled immediately as she raised her hand to gently tap his cheek as she has always done. “Ciye!” she crooned, ‘My Brother!’

It took not but a moment to see something weighted on his thoughts, when Pom took on a most serious expression. “What is it?” She thought, ‘Surely nothing can be worse than some things already are! We are dead are we not?’

He had been away from the castle for a short time, but not too short that Pom did not slip into moping about. How terrible to grant another being that much power over yourself, and worse that the one bestowed it doesn’t even care that they have been granted it! “My days have been much worse than your’s!” she boasted, refusing to freely explain her reasoning was simply that he had been gone. “If you never left, we’d have both been just fine.” The look in her eyes read, ‘You just try me.’

He would tell her; would he not?

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal stood before a small group of Hopefuls that had shown potential in magick, and now sought to begin exploring its nuances. They sat with their eyes closed listening as the Nightsister calmly led them through the exercise. They needed to reach out with more than their eyes or their ears; a sixth sense they would polish with time able to know the world around them. All things were connected, but it was not something to be forced. Small spirits hovered before the young ones; their voices called out gently as a beacon to awaken the students to the layers of the world they weren't truly aware of yet. That would change in due time. Starting today.

A Warlock crossed the grassy lawn within the Castle walls. He stopped and leaned in close to whisper that her presence was needed elsewhere.

A breathless sigh mimed upon black lips as the Nightsister turned to another woman seated nearby. In a hushed voice, Vytal asked, "Lira, please continue." This was an important opportunity for the young Witches and Warlocks present. They'd go no further without even a cursory sense of the spirit realm that shared this plane (separate from the one lurking in its own plane).

The Nightsister slid through the archway, her thigh-high boots making sharp, balanced steps along the floor. If the diamond cutouts above her breasts and over her belly made the sleeveless, dark outfit drew any stares, Vytal hadn't acknowledged them the entire day. Frankly the ease with which she could distract people by her appearance was of no concern of hers. They should practice the art of concentration if they had any hope of finishing a spell on the battlefield.

Naturally, Pom was already there.

Vytal sauntered up on the pair when her eyes traveled over the course of Hevn's body. A faint crease formed between Vytal's eyebrows with an accompanying downward turn of the corners of her lips. "Pom," one hand laid gently upon her Sister's shoulder, "perhaps you should pamper our Brother with your restorative elixirs."

As circled the chair until she stood behind it and Hevn. Both of her hands fell to either side of the man's head, but did not make contact with it or the shoulders they hovered over. The Nightsister's eyes closed as she focused on matters deeper than the flesh. "What's this?" Vytal asked. It wouldn't be long until she discovered how exhausted the man had brought himself. He did have this opportunity to explain himself before chastisement. Not that Vytal had much ground to stand on having exhausted herself to such an extent a few times previously, but that was not the matter at hand!

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Come to me darling. Her spirit had been quiet until a moment ago, and within the same breath appeared atop his arm on the rest. She wasn’t heavy enough to bother his obscenely powerful arms, and at the tap of his cheek he scoops her into his lap. His eyes soften for a second. Quietly he beams at her. Their close proximity blossoms euphoria in every contact with her being.

“Sister.” The deep grumble is his voice softly replies. “It is good to see you.” He meant it in more than just the sense that he believed her the only one capable of restoring his strength in full. If he was lucky, the potions master might even have the means to make him stronger. Beyond that, he’d come to terms with the curious feelings she inspired. He did not feel threatened any longer by her touch or what it invoked in him. Only curious to understand what bond or power she could possibly share with him to do so. He’d seen her in the mirror. Was it as simple as their shared undead nature? Or something more? Her presence is a small comfort in light of what he needed to disclose to her, and Vytal.

The concern on her face and in her tone as she questions him washes his lightened expression away like a cloth wiping dirt from his face. She confidently declared that she was worse off than him, and that he’d have been better off never leaving her side at all. A danger lurked in glare. A flare of electricity. He nods, agreeing with her. Not to appease her. Hevn was beneath such deception. It was because she was right.

“You are right Sister. I have failed you both.”

His head drops onto his chest at the admission, and with that Vytal joins them. A hand on her sisters shoulder, she seemed to have assessed his state in the intellectual sense, while Pom had responded emotionally.

He interjects at the suggestion Pom should leave them. “Patience, Sisters. It will not be so simple as something you have on hand. If you’d allow me to explain.” His head rises to meet their gazes. As Vytal circles around him and places her hands at either side of his head, he could feel her digging for answers he’d come freely to provide. A tremendous roar of rage erupts within him that resists her attempt, pushing her Dathomiri claws from the reaches of his brain. “I cannot retaliate now, Sister, but I highly recommend you never do what you are about attempt. I will beat you death with your own limbs if you are think yourself above permission to crawl through my mind.”

His stony face and icy eyes are fixated on Pom, though he spoke to the woman behind him. His anger rolls through his body but cannot stoke the flame. He wondered if he had the physical strength to grab and hurl the witch like a toy across the room. Instead his hands lift from Pom, and lay upon each side of the armrest. His fingers tap against the rest to attempt to settle his nerves, before he remembers where they are. Turning a palm upon the rest, a glass of liquor appears in his hand, at the mere wish that it would. He slams it in a single touch to his lips before it vanishes as quickly as it came.

“Your invasion is unnecessary Sister. I’ve brought the holo of Rugosa’s last stand for you both to observe. I need you both to look hard. To listen. Tell me if you see anything unusual. I was answered by something on that forsaken rock, after asking for your Fanged God to see me safely back to you both. I can’t be sure what it was. I require your familiarities with the spirits to guide me now. I should explain that among my spells, the most powerful is Invoke Spirits. Allowing possession by familiars from beyond to augment my strength to double or triple, and harnessing their masteries and powers as if they were my own. What happened on Rugosa can be explained by my ability to act as a conduit to the realms beyond, but I am curious as to whether something greater called on me to do its will. My fire has been left weakened in the wake of its absence. I know not whether your potions, or simply time will be enough to come back from this. Please. Help me understand.”



[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Longing. This is it alright. Pom sighed for no other reason than the cruelty of longing for [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] as he pulled her into his lap. His nearness also drew a subtle sense of satisfaction to her features.

Pom definitely noticed her sister’s costume. How [member="Vytal Noctura"] always scoffs at Pom for her display of affection towards Hevn, and now parades around the castle like an eye candy magnet for everyone. What could the huntress be hunting today?

To just fall into his eyes and dwell there forever...

Vytal had disturbed Hevn’s attention with Pom and obviously overstepped permissions. Dathomiri are not accustomed to making requests, but just to get to the bottom of things and move on. They are raised eating, sleeping, and... well, just always performing magick. Pom raised a brow lightly at his immediate reaction to Vytal.

If he had not voiced his request so soon, I could have spent the next few moments defusing him the best way I could think to try.

Pom turned her head away from his gaze and watched the past event play out. Where Hevn invoked Vytal’s fanged god of darkness and then fell to the whim of some entity taking advantage of his dropped guard and waltzing right into his body. Hevn left himself open and in it lost his rationality. It happens to every Sorcerer, once in a while, especially during duress when you don’t have time to actually demand the spirits prove their identity.

How could Pom answer him? Vytal totes the torch for the Dathomiri god. Pom knows the fanged god is bound to Dathomir. A slight look of discomfort crept across her expression, regarding the speech about to rain from Vytal’s lips. Pom could not destroy her sister’s beliefs when all the woman knew was one god all her life. As for Pom, the mere term of “god” compared to what she knows now, seems labeled upon mere demigods or elementals, compared to her newly formed expectations of how much more a god should be. No god should actually serve it’s own creation. Should it? A real god should remain out of reach and be something far to great to be commanded by one tiny flicker of the very light or darkness it had created itself. No creation should ever outgrow the source of the god who created it in the first place. In Pom’s mind, her view has expended; she channels spirits, no true gods. She has never met a true god yet. Someday she and Vytal are going to have to have this conversation.

‘You’ve gone and done it now, Hevn,’ she thought gently reaching him Telepathically, ‘I’ll scrape the salt block for your wounds.’

Pom knew invoking what people call gods, and having no kinship with them at all, can leave one open to all manner of possession deception. If anything Hevn requires a spiritual cleansing. Now he is paying the price for his use of magick.

‘You would have liked my way of doing this for you. I know you would have.’ Pom teased, for it is far too late for Hevn to begin withdrawing his spoken request to indulge in Pom’s own idea of how to make him whole again.

Now he gets her potions. Damn them both!

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal gazed down at the back of Hevn's head as he spoke. As ever in the man's presence the countenance of the Nightsister never wavered even when threatened with a gruesome death. "I have no interest in rummaging through your soiled thoughts of my Sister, Brother. I do have an interest in how you nearly spent yourself from existence, however. From afar you looked exhausted, but now I know you did something foolish, didn't you?" She calmly strode back around to look down upon him from the front. "And if you attempt to kill me in such a fashion, know when I emerge the victor I'll have your severed limbs and head cast throughout the galaxy where you will still be able to feel every sensation."

The two of them could probably exchange threats, barbs, and other horrific foreplay all day if neither had anything better to do.

Once Hevn calmed his servos, Vytal listened to his words of events on Rugosa. A world the Confederacy recently lost a number of people, including the Master of the armed forces -- War Marshall, she believed they called him. Strange their Brother found himself there, but that was not important. What he described and what he now sought were all that mattered. The Nightsister's black lips thinned with each word.

"This is not the place for such talk," Vytal declared after he'd finished and with Pom's silence. Green arcane symbols appeared before the Nightsister as her finger traced them into the very air. A moment later the very chamber around them melted away to reveal a private study of some kind with a crackling hearth all ready lit. Hevn found himself in a large chair, but one that had changed in color and even molded itself to fit his body to provide adequate support.

Without another word the pale woman began moving to each of the four walls and tracing a much larger glyph surrounded by a conjuring circle. When the last fell across the study door, Vytal looked back at Hevn. "As you have asked, so shall I. Hevn, for this to work I need your permission to take us back to that moment. To when you called upon the Fanged God and became this conduit." She strode back toward the chair where he sat awaiting his response. "Elsewhile, we can observe this recording if you prefer." What he'd said carried great import. Either as a matter of personal interest, or Hevn's well-being.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Stay right there forever, wont you?

Hevn had found a love in his Sisters for their strength and courage. Neither wavered as he iced over and the venomous words spewed from his lips. Mistress Pom was still where she had settled upon his lap. The urge to attend her bubbles up. To stroke her midnight locks of hair. To sink into the abyss of her eyes. To lose himself in an everlasting night, and never surface again. He squashes it. There was no time for such things now.

As Pom touches his mind his eyes wander down to her. She confirmed what he was already certain of. Vytal and Hevn would undoubtedly at odds after he threatened her. It was the way Alphas communicated. Body language, snapping and growling, establishing boundaries and territory. Hevn had been unwise to think her intentions sinister on his behalf, he had asked for her, but each time the two did this dance things became a little clearer. They had at least deescalated things to harsh words and no more. Weren’t such things common among family? Hevn had none. He could not know.

Pom promises salt for his wounds. He would remember those words. Will your hand follow your tongue witch? Then savor my pain. Drink it as wine at the table with your sister. Feast on my misery. I will do as much in kind. We will gorge ourselves upon one another while golden giants and cultists plot the end of the last one of us standing.

Pom says he’d have liked her way better, and yet didn’t say a word. Made no effort in his defense as he blindly walked into what would apparently be the hard way.

He offers her only one solitary thought in return, answering the whispers of her angelic voice in his mind. ‘You’d prefer the alternative?’ What could be more foolish than defeat and death? There was truly no power Hevn would not accept to rise victorious over any and all. So it had been in Rugosa. A line cast as far as he could into the abyss, hoping anything would grab it. One day the witches would know desperation in the face of demise. They would look back and see the ruling of their judgment false.

Vytal artistically founded on him. Her tongue lashing carried as much fire upon it as her hand could conjure.

“Guilty, on all counts Sister.” He has admitted it aloud for both to hear, though he does so cooly. Looking from Pom who he was studying for a reaction to Vytal who’d declared it in the first place. “I have shamed myself in not trusting you more. Your methods are still strange to me and your courtesies stranger yet. My apologies.” His eyes fix hard on hers, and he means it. It’s in the way his jaw shifts uncomfortably. The way the cold breaks for weariness.

Of the customs he did not understand was their concept of Brother and sisterhood. What boundaries were set in a familial relationship based without blood? She spoke of his lewd thoughts and felt accused of savagery, and he admitted it. It had crossed his mind more than once. However tenderly Pom plucked at the strings of his being, and whatever sweet melody they produced, he could do nothing. It was his Sister. Such things were not forbidden in some cultures. The Dark Jedi Order had no laws against taking a Sister as a lover, but he had watched that relationship terribly weaken both parties. That weakness helped tear their family apart. It followed them to early graves. He was not keen on that fate for Pom, or himself.

Had he just put something before himself for even a second?

Vytal’s runes mark the air and transport them. To his surprise it is into a more comfortable chair. Hell, she’d even shaped it to be more comfortable for the pair as it widened underneath him before settling beneath him. It was only now he saw what she was wearing and was cowed by the fact that she might have been instructing young, impressionable men, wearing it. A lesson in focus in simple choice of attire. Brilliant? Devious? Both.

“You have my grace Sister Vytal. I will trust you.” He nods to her and the three drown in the darkness of the cave on Rugosa. Beginning at being backed in by the horde.

His empathy senses something in Pom. That something causes his hand to leave the arm rest and settle on the calf of her leg. He squeezes lightly as his narrow victory would be put on display by Vytal’s magic.

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom’s alternative method is far from Hevn’s anticipations, at least his steadfast comprehension, as he shifts back and forth so much between love and anger, his misconceptions guide his mood with folly. ‘As we all seem to accept even the most minuscule for our gods, let me worship you as mine, even just for one night; that’s all I ask.’ Pom finished letting him revel in that idea for a moment. She teased for sure, with playful intentions, playing her game which she would not mind surrendering for. [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] salts his own wounds enough on his own. Pomsty only understood the medicinal value of the spice, and whatever insult he assumed she meant, reflected within his eyes as she peered into them. If he would let her be his salt, she would remove his infection. She would become it for him, solely replace his infection herself. If only he would just let go of whatever that last straw might be that he grasps hold of with a vengeance. How could she make him understand just how much he misinterprets her intentions, when all she wants is him? Oh, there is surely a way envisioned inside her very hormonal brain day and night...and right now.

Damn him for bringing another purpose to the table, and yet he is so close! Which of them is the worst tease now?

She stared at him for a moment before turning away again to find his memory now cast about them physically. She witnessed his strife. Surely Hevn cannot die! He is greater than most anyone she ever knew. Even with jaded thoughts, Pom’s are not far from the truth!

She did not want to move out of his clutches. Let him decide to put her away. She felt every twinge as he experienced it, intentional, and not. He always squirmed away before, now she would not allow him to so easily, when the notion should strike, not this time. She watched his history unfold and she gleamed in his glorious victory. He acted foolish, opening himself up to possession, but he was victorious, and came to the right place for help.

Also, Pom paled at watching the visualization play out of his thorough utilization of Necromancy, the most atrocious disruption of the dead. She has experience with it herself as all Nightsisters have, but now that she has her own suspicions about her personal origins, she too has concerns that she could fall victim to the terrible curse herself. How should she learn to avoid this? Her quest brought to the books into which she has delved!! For she would not dare ask Hevn directly; he might then grow suspicious of her! What of [member="Vytal Noctura"]’s thoughts on the matter? Surely if Hevn knew, Vytal would uncover the truth! She had just walked up and probed his mind without asking!

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal did not see what was so strange in making sure Hevn was not a spiritual breath away from fading from the world. His very presence had been so low after practically screaming at them with it any other time they met how could a Nightsister not be concerned? True, he could have learned the art of suppressing it himself, but he had a long, storied life without learning such a technique, so it seemed unlikely he would have started now.

As for her methods being strange, she again could not see how. It was the offworlders who were strange. They said what they did not mean and meant what they did not say. A Nightsister might hide her meaning to avoid it revealing secrets of Clan or magick, but they were quite forthright otherwise. If anything they took pride in misdirecting someone while still remaining perfectly truthful... Ah, perhaps that was it. Perhaps Vytal's words in this 'Basic' language were misleading. She had no idea how to change that. Their language was such a strange one.

Hevn thankfully did not refuse the offer to witness what he himself already had. Holorecordings were so flat and often taken at poor angles. A magickal recreation of events would be far more beneficial, and with the participant's acceptance quite possible.

With events unfolding around them, Vytal slowly paced around the scene always keeping Hevn's face in her line of sight as she did so. The study walls had vanished all around them, replaced instead with the hellscape of Rugosa -- the one it had become that day.

As the tide of battle for Hevn turned, the scene froze all around them. There was no longer any need to witness the entire playback. Much as it would be uplifting to cheer for his accomplishment, Hevn had come here for help. So for now that was where Vytal's focus was -- on his cry, and the uplifting of the dead. "You are fortunate," she broke the silence at last, her gaze swinging from the frozen Hevn of the past to the one seated in the present. "To have survived twice. Once on the planet where so many fell, and again by not being consumed by the power you tapped into. You created an opening for just a moment into the spirit realm; one large enough to be fed power from beyond this world. The Fanged God?"

A moment passed in silence.

Vytal's eye shifted ever so slightly to Pom and back to Hevn once more. "Yes. The Fanged God was not in you, but his strength was given all the same." She had a thought on that, but now was not the time to speak of it. In fact, the Nightsister was not sure if there ever would be a time. To speak of it would invite questions she could not so lightly answer.

As their Sister stood there, the spell-conjured heads of the risen dead slowly turned in Vytal's direction.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn watches Vytal’s display in wonder. She could conjure the very essence of the scene with the gestures of his hands. To do the same, he required a very complex concoction of herbs that were burned into a vapor for inhalation. He was an acid trip, but she made the delirium real enough for them all.

His focus is solely upon what is before him as Pom’s words serenade his urges again. He could not, and did not deny it any longer. He just didn’t understand it. The why or the how if it all. Affection was such a rare and fleeting thing that in the deepest of his callous ways she stirred him. His resistance wavers to neutrality, a step closer to acceptance of some kind. ‘You are welcome to worship me until the universe breathes its last......but to do so would condemn you to a hunger that rivals the abyss. Certain doom, of which I am not worthy.’

At Vytal’s words his mind begins to reel. Farther and faster than it ever had before. Hevn had finally broken into the greater beyond. Hell was his playground, it’s tenants his servants, but more?! He had smashed through the barrier into the infinite. The inexplicable. The boundless realm of greater spirits. The mothers and fathers of all spirits. Trespassing was not worth the price he paid. Nothing was worth feeling this weak and helpless after a lifetime of unequivocal power. He had reached a new height. His fingers had brushed the soles of Gods.

His roiling feelings transmit through his touch to Pom, surprisingly still comfortable where she is. At the weakness his fingers coil a little tighter. His need for his Sisters, for her closeness bleeds. At his realization an excitement burns through his finger tips unlike any he had ever felt.

Could he do it again? Could he go further?! Hevn’s greed for greater power could not be stifled. This discovery would motivate him entirely anew with an impossible task. Ascension. Perhaps he could escape the cycle of death by breaking it as he did destiny. By wielding divinity as he did the dark side of the force.

“How can this be so? Why answer me?” A subtle wounding affixes itself upon his expression as he makes the most miserable admission of his entire existence. “I have fancied myself such a power for centuries, I am nothing if not a heretic.”

As the dead turn upon Vytal the question fades from his tongue, as with the feelings that inspired them. Concern consumes his face. He wanted to lift Pom and put her in his pocket for safe keeping, the tiny little thing. But she is a warhead. Pom was the only thing sitting between him and a very difficult time if those figures were interested in him for some reason.



[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

A smile blossomed on Pomsty’s lips as [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] answered her advance. He soon fortified his acceptance by feeding her a sensation. It was like energy being freely shared between the trinity. At the very start of this surge of passion she slumped over in his embrace, coming to rest her neck in the crook of his elbow. The witch closed her eyes as her body instinctively contorted, and she inhaled sharply before crying out in ecstasy. Shadow erected between them, the living power of the Darkside.

She reached up and slapped her palm against his forehead, passing her essence to him in return. Her emotion stirred wildly within, and while Hevn became empowered Pom drew weak as he fed off her energy to do whatever it was that was developing. She suspected [member="Vytal Noctura"] behind the phenomenon.

The spirit of Cylaeria Samshij Kamari awakened within during the duress, a sith warrior of Pom’s past life, the clone her body was fashioned after, the previous name of her resurrected Soul. She gazed up at him during their exchanged euphoria and locked eyes with Hevn.

The risen dead in the illusion turned and stared at the trinity. Pom slid her hand down Hevn’s face and gripped hold of the Warlock’s jaw. She rose herself up from her place upon his lap and turned around to face him, straddling him. She drew so very close to his lips and spoke in the tongue of Ancient Sith the very words which he had spoken on the battle field. The words drew from her lips without hesitation.

“Fanged God, if you can hear me, I need you now....RISE MY DEMONS!”

As she fixated on his gaze, and whispered his words uttered upon Rugosa, her connection with him coaxed him to utter the words along with her.

The Talisman within Pom’s vest pocket glowed with black light and hummed in its activation. Time itself became transcended. What happens here within these walls at this very moment, directly connects to that single momentous event, as it occurred on Rugosa, in Bedrovelse’s recent past. The Trinity has magickally come together to bring about his success during the battle. It was a concept of unity not previously explored between them.

“ATTACK! THE NIGHTFATHER WILL HAVE THIS DAY! FOR THE FANGED GOD!”

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal had been thinking furiously in the moment between Hevn's question and Pom suddenly straddling the man. How could she answer such a question? Was it because of what had transpired? Or something altogether different? Should-- no, could she even speak of it? The Nightsister had brushed off the spirit's accusation of keeping a secret from Pom before. It was not Vytal's to keep.

But the words that fell from Pom's lips made such thought superfluous. That Hevn then echoed them drew Vytal to lift her hand out of caution. Something was growing around them. The spell conjured by runic magick felt wrong now. Dangerous. Whatever it was they were doing might have profound consequences. Much as she trusted her Sister, twisting a spell this strong without even mentioning she intended to do so seemed far too reckless for someone that knew the dangers. Had Pom even known the underlying magick Vytal had used to conjured this 'illusion' around them to convert into some other magick?

No words followed, however, even as she a mind to speak them. Green flame danced atop her extended right forearm where a familiar presence might have lain their hand. Was it a warning to not interrupt? The wrong word at the wrong time might spell as much disaster as if the spell itself went awry.

The scene around them seemed to 'glitch' before bodies resumed their motion without Vytal's leave to do so. Her eyes swept around the scene as the dead rose on command.

A silent gasp followed as fire spread throughout her body. The Nightsister doubled over slightly, her hands over her belly as a faint green flame began to spread across her form. She clenched her teeth and focused her thoughts as she overcame the shock of the unprompted manifestation; she knew how to control it, and would not succumb to its power like an initiate. Not like last time when she'd been so exhausted she'd collapsed from the strain -- though last time in the hanger there had been more to it Vytal herself did not recall.

The fingers of Vytal's right hand spread open as she extended her power to the duo and the broken, soon-animated forms around them. This was wrong. It was not of the natural order. It would not be the first time Vytal had dabbled in such things, however. If this was the Fanged God's Will then let it be done.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Pom relaxed in his embrace as he kept his eyes fixated on the scene before him. His concern had not yet drifted, only increased as she went limp for a second like a dead body within his arms. Was that his heart hammering? Her breath and body contorted in...ecstasy?! A bond reached out between them as a shadow came forth, intertwining with the essence of his being, he felt her fingers everywhere at once as the dug in to grip his spirit and pry open the doors to his hearth. As her palm touches him, wild power flows through her wonderful touch into his form. She kindles his flame at the cost of her own.

Is this your way Pom? Is this your worship?

As he promised, he accepts her devotion to him. The wonder in it fades toward fear as something takes her over. Whether from within or without, he could not tell. Only that Pom as he knew her, had been taken over by something. Was this the dead trying to kill him!? Taking her over to end his form while vulnerable to the promise of returning his strength?

His every muscle coils to fight as her legs swing over. Still they were locked in an exchange of power. Someone else was looking through her eyes. Something had stolen her beautiful form and taken over, and yet it still fed him. It still felt so good as her electric touch invigorated him. Was it friendly? He mimics its words as though his tongue was tied to hers, mimicking the dance her mouth did against his will. Or was it? They were his very own!

Her form had briefly eclipsed his view of the scene. Now glitching violently as the barriers of time and space bent to the collective will in the room. Vytal doubles over in a ball of green flame, and yet her strength was feeding him as well. Reaching in to Pom’s kindling, and igniting Bedrovelse Hevn with all the fire in the galaxy.

As the feeling peaks, the pleasure of power thrusts him into a dream.

Rugosa, Ryloth, everything fades in a blanket of black. As he opens his eyes again he is sitting in a monumental hall. Grandly constricted of stone and wood. Tables are laid out before his immaculate throne, with warriors of all backgrounds feasting to their heart’s content. Forget being a Nightfather, he was the Allfather. They fed themselves until ready to do battle for his glory and amusement. As they took to the blades and blasters they mastered in life, to battle in the realm thereafter, he notices Pom is still draped across his lap. Her ecstatic sigh. Her longing eyes. Her dark aura fused into an extension of his own. Snow falls freely between their lingering gazes as the sound of war erupts within the torch lit hall. Tables flip. Steel clashes. Blasters chirp. His excitement was building. His euphoria peaking. His power is unlimited. He bends towards the perfect avatar of darkness divine, and her smiles grows. Her lips glisten. As his eyes close to welcome her kiss, he awakens again.

His brain struggles to perceive the chaos around him. Everything was spiraling out of control. He can only follow his intuition against the wordless actions of his Sisters. Perhaps they were telling him what indeed to do. He shrugs the palm of Pom’s hand from his forehead, and sinks his teeth into his upper lip. Blood sprays over it and the tip of his tongue. It could only be the top lip, as his lower is synthetic and placed over his metal jaw. He pushes into her mouth, and clamps Pom’s bottom lip with the sting of his bite. Their blood tangles and exchanges as he presses his mouth to her and sucks the blood from her lips. His kiss is full of the power she was feeding him, attempting to restore her back to what he could only know as normal.

She had kissed him before, but never had he kissed her back. At his first, he grips onto the power the two were feeding him and through the dark side of the force issues a command the chaotic darkness around them. Come back to me.

He pulls back to see her black light shining. Vytal’s green fire glowing. He raises his left hand and snaps his fingers. A thunderous snap. His Sisters has completed their goal to restore him, and save him on Rugosa. A shockwave rips through Vytal’s rapidly diluting illusion to reinforce her, and slam the doors of this spell fastly shut for their combined safety.

Bedrovelse touches Vytal through an extension of his will, as he hand physically done with his mouth to Pom. He completed the circle. The Trinity of Shadows.

He glares over Pom’s shoulder. Blood trickling freely from his mouth. It wasn’t anger, but the wildness of the moment that had transpired around them. “Not the first time you’ve meddled with the Netherrealm. Is it Sister?”

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] had an entirely unselfish desperation in his eyes and expressed in his mannerism towards her. He certainly understood what it meant to be worshipped! ‘It’s still me. I promise.’ Buried deep inside Pom’s psyche lurked her old learned habits of her pastlife. All the dogma, Force Abilities, experiences and preferences remained hidden from her rational understanding and reach. Every time her subconscious takes over in such a manner of reckless abandonment however, a great sense of fear stirs inside of her. The reprogramming of Cylaeria’s mind as Pomsty has no learned knowledge of this Darkside power called the Force, yet her ability is very prevalent. While Pom has complete control of her skills and the confidence in herself using witchcraft and sorcery, when the Force stirs as it is just now, all manner of negative emotion stirs, only feeding into the success of the power of the Darkside and her connection to it.

[member="Vytal Noctura"] selflessly offered herself as a conduit for whatever strange whim Pom’s subconscious self felt determined to conjure. Pom was sure their combined magic actually connected with what transpired through Hevn on Ragusa. The strength conjured from their unity could never have been imagined in her wildest dreams.

‘My Magus is worthy!’ She beamed on the inside. He proved himself deserving of the title and of the Mistress’ unrelenting devotion, for Hevn gave in return as freely as he received. Not only could he protect her, but he would! Pomsty swooned to the point of exhaustion and he revitalized her. Together they severed whatever hold some entity took over him during his event of Ragusa.

As he ended the tear in time, Pomsty took one look at Vytal and recognized the same look in her sister that tied Pom’s own tongue. Vytal held secrets too, likely just as grand as her own. They each do. Would Vytal want to escape the situation and be anywhere else at the moment, than to find herself forced to explain, as much as Pomsty herself? If Pomsty dared to change the subject now, would suspicion only intensify.

Say anything! We could sacrifice at the altar to fortify our bond! Say anything to get out of this awkward moment of truth! She wasn’t ready to try and explain her secret.

But she just turned her gaze back to Hevn and held onto him burying her face in his broad chest, for she could not let go, not so soon after the bonding moment they had just shared.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Pomsty had entered into communion with Hevn, and together they had managed to not only draw Vytal into their makeshift circle, but reached out to channel the energy that swirled around the Nightsister. Perhaps it wanted to be called upon. Perhaps, in a way, it needed to be called upon in order to complete the circle of events that they had now set in motion. Much was uncertain when it came to the nature of the magickal vein they had tapped. And the well of power was fathomless.

Were Vytal not forced to restrain the power to prevent it from overwhelming her physical form, and potentially raising an army on Rugosa, the Nightsister might have hissed about this foolish endeavor. Meddling with time itself was beyond reckless. The consequences went beyond anything any of them could foresee, or hope to understand. Only something outside of the system could fully appreciate the interwoven nature of reality's tapestry. Were even the gods far enough removed to see such things? Or were they too trapped in the 'now'?

When the spell was at last ended, the Nightsister dropped to one knee with her left arm propped upon a side table. They had opened the valve of a fire hose, and Vytal had been forced to wrestle with it every second the power fueled and shaped the past. Her breath consisted of hard expulsion of air followed by rapid intake.

Hevn's words and his tone drew a sharp look from the Nightsister as she lifted her chin. "And the second time it has saved your life," she snapped.

With care, Vytal gathered her strength to return to her feet albeit with a slight wobble. "And do not think what just occurred can be dismissed by delving into my affairs. What we did could have just as easily torn both Ryloth and Rugosa apart if we had made even a single mistake." She managed to get her heart rate and breathing under control after another breath or two. "We cannot mention this to anyone. Nor make casual use of it." It would be tempting, but they would only be tempting death and destruction on them and anyone near them.

"How did we even stray into such dark waters? That spell recreated Rugosa down to the very rock of that moment, but it was never meant to... Pom?" There was no accusation in her voice, but there was question. Pom had done something. With the danger passed she would like to know what, and also why. As things were now, Vytal needed to understand what she was already furiously contemplating -- that they had somehow created a loop in time. Short, isolated, but paradoxical all the same. Hadn't it been the Fanged God? Then why her their involvement been needed? Of course, in her state she overlooked the likely explanation; and again they returned to Hevn's pointed question.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​