Private Two Vamps...One Cup of Blood

[Darth Moskvin]

Call M3 Lttle Sun5h1ne
-by Ghost-

Location:
Objective:
Gear: Staff of the Damned / Talisman of the Witch / Magical Gems / Bow of Immolation / Hilt
Familiar: Archimedes
Tags: Alina Tremiru​

The setting sun was in motion to prepare to hand over the sky to his nemesis, the blood red moon of Dathomir, in all her glorious majestic viewing. Per the ritual, daylight creatures scurried into their protective hovels, as awaking nocturnal beasts awoke with a yawn; seeking to settle the rumbling deep within bellies seeking redemption in the first lower being to scamper by; tasting their version of breakfast. Growls, cries, and woes of death captured beasts echoed amongst the riddled and dying forests of Dathomir, setting a feeling of survival far beyond comprehension. Dathomir was not short of predators, most had been logged and cataloged in what the zoologists called in their collective holocrons "The Beasts of the Galaxy". But not all predators who haunt Dathomir made it into that watershed holocron.

From a perch overhanging a view that spied deeply into the hearts of anyone coming to visit her home planet; well, the one she claims now cause what became of her before the Embrace was raped from her; her memories of her "living life" just a tainted memory of despair possibly cataloged in some different archive, one that she will never know. Ships of all sizes manifested onto the one and only constructed mock version of a spaceport. Unlike most spaceports, the one here on Dathomir harbored dangers far beyond the common guard seeking payment for your landing: Nobody seeking adventure comes to Dathomir, less its death you're hunting. And you shall find your treasure explicably.

Inverted tones that washed upon a splashing of a bloody opened wound, one that sounds like death impending and salvation running amok into a different direction, the Sangir known amongst predators and prey as Clíodhna scanned her eyes across all the newcomers. With Archimedes resting upon her left shoulder like a fallen angel; she whispered <Archimedes my love, I do hope Dathomir is spared another pirate. I grow tire of feasting on those blokes. Give me a real evil doer to eat.....like a Sith>

 

[Alina Tremiru]

The Witches of Dathomir. It was the only reason Alina was here. She needed answers. The Force was trying to kill her. To ask the Jedi would certainly result in her incarceration after her still too recent escape from jail on Coruscant. And the Sith cared little for the will of the Force. With no place to find an answer that didn't involve her being likely killed on sight, why not the Witches?

She stepped off the shuttle, an exhausted sigh escaping her. She hated traveling like that. But she didn't have her own ship. And hitchhiking like she used to was a little.. Dangerous. Who knew when a bounty might be put on her head or a hunter trying to catch her for another that might already exist. The Sangnir pulled up her hood and wandered from the shuttle.

She needed to find these Witches and get off world.

Darth Moskvin

 

[Darth Moskvin]

Call M3 Lttle Sun5h1ne
-by Ghost-

Location:
Objective:
Gear: Staff of the Damned / Talisman of the Witch / Magical Gems / Bow of Immolation / Hilt
Familiar: Archimedes
Tags: Alina Tremiru​

My cold, golden eyes flashed as each potential meal stepped off the incoming shuttles. I wasn't hungry, I was curious who was coming to my home world. I grew tired of greedy businessmen, I grew tired of corporations trying to lay their seed, and I grew tired of self-proclaimed politicians toward Dathomir inviting the cast of Coven Mothers to garnish their Daughters into a sacrificial war that historically benefitted the politician. And I knew of Jedi and Sith alike, the latter of the named Darth Tyrannus who once spoke of unity; only to promise a lie; and another Coven who waged war against the white hair monster: only to succumb to the finger of near extinction. And I watched intensely, and sat quietly in the shadows; self shamed.

Titles is a term I've grown to despise, even the simple word curls my fangs. I've been around for to long, and in a frame of existence I can't even fathom. I died, on my 19th Birthday....and seen to much. Loneliness as an immortal is far cursed than dying in an accident. I know I was 19 when I died, I forever wear that death shroud of a garment; relegating in misery that still holds the scent of my Father who bestowed it upon me, the one who raped my life to the monster that made me. And back to titles, some among my own Coven and of those that have tread lightly into a union of Sisters call me: Little Sunshine. I understand the words of those lyrical chants....and yes, I am her.

Like a blossoming scent of rotting beauty within itself, a smell of the undead waft it's smell across me; making my legs shiver and that untouched orchid between my quivering legs melt its dew down my legs slashed into an orgasmic horror of hunger. I craved that being in a hood....and if fate beheld truths over lies: we would be become a Union of Death.