Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Unity Among Shadows

Vytal leaned over the table the droid had extended between the women. As quietly as she could given the environment ruckus, Vytal added, "Fortunately, we discovered ways to extract more ichor since departing home…"

What Vytal mentioned next caused Pom to turn and stare at Vytal, mouth agape. Her eyes narrowed in thought. Does Vytal know that Abeloth is bound to Dathomir? "Not here," she said and she rose, urging Vytal to follow, where they could speak about their ways in private.

Her fellow Knight Obsidian, Alkor Centarus would never miss her as she left the arena where he went all karawak on his opponent. It was a public spectacle. The story behind their reasoning for the vicious fight in the first place, she did not know personally. While she did work with him before, she never got close with any of the Knights as much as she should have. No matter how hard their Commander had tried, they just weren't an openly friendly bunch; and at times even, they seemed to turn on one another, even if unintentional.

Pomsty walked slowly next to [member="Vytal Noctura"] once outside the great walls of the arena. A solemn expression cast over her countenance. She had hoped Vytal would never learn what had hurt Pomsty herself so incredibly, that the Spirit Ichor they came to utilize on Dathomir was nowhere to be found off of their home planet. In fact, she had to learn to commune with another goddess who the Mandragora utilized. She wondered exactly what Vytal wanted to gain, by telling her that she has discovered how to conjure their goddess anywhere off Dathomir.

In the back of her mind, her conversation with Darth Metus suddenly recalled. Pomsty herself cannot shake the probability, that the power the Nightsisters and the Mandragora, and the Force Users wield, go by many different names invoked, but all in all may very well be by channeling of the very same Force. The names each people utilize to awaken their connections are very different, including their dogma, but the power is from one source.

"Please, Vytal, explain what you have discovered." In respect for her conversation with Darth Metus, she would keep her mind open to whatever Vytal would reveal.
 
Vytal smiled at her Sister's stunned expression. Much of the Outside had overwhelmed the Five that had left home, but they had fought for every inch of what little they'd obtained in all that time.

When Pom stood, so too did Vytal. Discussing this topic was best done in private -- away from the many ears of the crowd. Certain ears in particular; the ones you did not see. The Confederacy was certain to have an 'Intelligence' division like many other ruling bodies of Offworlders. They were all one, big, happy family weren't they? Not as far as Vytal was concerned. She had only been a part of this group for a short time and not yet made many connections; it would be easy for them to extract what they could from the Nightsister and then dump her dead corpse on any number of planets. Trust was forged in trials and time. They had not enough of either yet.

Something troubled the other pale woman as they strode the surrounding area. Vytal personally preferred the shadow cast by the wall rather than the sun. Why did such a bright planet exist at all? The dark of swamp and jungle was far better. Yet so many Offworlders scoffed at the idea. Pitiful wretches.

"First," Vytal turned her head to look over at Pomsty, "our power would be stronger, and it would be easier to conjure the ichor for our magick were we still back home." Important details to set the expectations for what was to follow. Was this necessarily a hard fact? Vytal did not know. It was a belief formed from what had been observed in their time among the stars, however.

"Five of us left Dathomir together. We came to call ourselves the Fates of Midnight," she began to set the foundation of what had been discovered. "We knew we only brought so much ichor with us, and that our journey would not be short once Above. So we learned to use the Offworlder weapons." Blasters in particular, as she'd noted earlier. "However, we continued experimenting with the creatures of the stars, and with our own abilities far from the embrace of the Fanged God." Their deity that Vytal could only imagined had set his throne on Dathomir, and which explained why their potency was so strong there. "We knew this 'Dark Side' of the 'Force' existed and so we sought it out. What we found," there was a moment's pause, "surprised us."

Her progress along the wall stopped, and Vytal turned to face Pomsty. With a slow step she drew close and lowered her voice even with no one seemingly around to overhear, "We created a ritual that can extract ichor from a sacrifice. Rarely is it much, but we wonder if it has to do with this 'Force.' Perhaps stronger users would produce greater ichor. Securing such a sacrifice is quite difficult." A short laugh followed at the observation. Jedi and Sith were worthy prey. Admittedly, some were so strong that hunting them would be foolish, and yet a Nightsister's Pride could not accept that forever.

Vytal stopped with that to see Pomsty's reaction. To hear her thoughts. Something had plagued her Sister's mind, and now it was time to see if this alleviated or compounded her troubled countenance.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
Pomsty’s lips puckered and her brow furrowed in thought. She nodded lightly at what Nytal confessed. ’Sacrifice, as in kill. Malvern would have a cow!’

”Hmm.” Her tone grew most serious and she cautioned, “Vytal I am the first to attest that I know not what the rules of engagement are an inch from Dathomir’s highest mountain top, but I do know very honestly that...” she looked around to assure their privacy, “we are not permitted to slay anyone here in CIS territory.”

What Vytal described however, caused Pomsty to shudder just as she had when she witnessed Darth Metus create demons straight out of his own experience. ’Wait. No. It did not repulse me until after I met the Jedi Argis Volmir.’ It is true that something strange occurred to Pom on Moorwood. Her edge softened, on more ideals than one. Where Metus created his own sense of Ichor, Vytal stole it from someone. But in all honesty, the Mandragora are commissioned to explore these things.

But does that personal mission outweigh the overall rule?

“I do have an alternative ideal. The Vicelord has been good to me since my arrival here. He gave me charge amidst his super dreadnaught as his assistant. Being so close with him, he has spoken with me again and again about this Force you also have come to realize. I say it goes by many names, but he believes it is possibly one and the same from all beliefs. He says it is not living and therefore answers to no name.” She shifted on her heels, contemplating where to lead next. “I just cannot get my head around this, because people do become obsessed with it and their power consumes them. Study this with me. Please, I invite you to join my purpose. I need someone who comes from the same path to give me reason and help draw conclusions. Outsiders just don’t understand the incredible knowledge of the Nightsisters. But there is some kind of great cosmic force in play which these others deserve merit for their understanding. I believe our skills are cosmically intertwined. I want to understand more about this probability.”

Pomsty meant every word she uttered. She would never lie to her sister, nor could a lie go unrecognized. Her eyes formed a little smile as she completed what she had to say. “We were always the ultimate team in our youth. What say you?”
 
Rule of engagement? Vytal looked at her Sister calmly, though not entirely sure where she was coming from. If an Offworlder set foot on Dathomir they were fair game. Fortunately, only the very strong or incredibly cunning actually dared -- usually. Weaker creatures were fodder to be played with however a Sister saw fit. Within reason. Sometimes without their Mother knowing of it. And every so often a Sister would be punished because she messed with the wrong Offworlder.

How did that translate to the Stars? Everyone was fair game. It was a rule of survival that as far as Vytal had witnessed was universal accepted. Smugglers, gangs, criminal underworld, assassins... not to mention the various interstellar governments vying to control the galaxy. The strongest won -- though strength did not mean whoever had the most raw power.

"No CIS are sacrifices," Vytal replied with a slight pat of her hand in the air. "The Fates conduct business in neutral territory." Were the CIS going to policy the actions of a few Nightsisters outside of their jurisdiction? There were far larger criminal organizations the faction took no interest in beyond their borders -- far as Vytal knew.

It was a bit odd to see Pomsty affected by what Vytal had said. True, they had been parted for some time, but Pomsty was a Nightsister. She had been in favor of experimentation and doing what was necessary. Out among the Stars what had become necessary was using every tool, every potion, every spell at their disposal to survive. If that meant ripping the Force out of someone and distilling it to ichor then that was exactly what Vytal and her Sisters would do.

Suddenly her long lost Sister proposed an 'alternative.' In truth, Vytal didn't see it so much as an alternative as it was what she'd been looking for -- someone to study the depths of this 'Force.' Too long had the Sith taken from the Nightsisters and returned nothing of value. Too long had the Mothers shunned learning of this power believing it weak compared to magic; which while true when used properly did not negate the value of Sith and Jedi methods. Each had strengths and weaknesses, where masters of both would emerge stronger than the practitioner of either one alone.

Vytal took one step toward Pomsty, then another as she slowly wrapped her arms about her fellow Sister. "All you had to do was ask." With that, the Witch drew back with a smile on her dark lips. "That is why we are here. It is time we claimed this power Offworlders speak of and use it to strengthen ourselves, and to understand potential enemies. Nothing would make me happier than exploring its secrets with you, Pomsty."

"Now, do we have somewhere to work, or will we need to claim chambers to keep prying eyes away from our work?" The Secrets of Nightsisters were not for the uninvited.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​
 
Pom's lips curled as she watched [member="Vytal Noctura"]'s reaction to what she had told her. Caution to the wind, what she was supposed to say. Feeling her hands tied is nothing the Nightsister honestly approved of, although certain aspects do honestly cause a distaste in her mouth as of late; a terrible demon sprouting forth from her recent domestication, from which she sought to be cured. Pomsty did not approve of her budding softer side in the least. She felt off and realized Vytal could help her become realigned with her root existence. She is not a Sith, which kept trying to resurge within her, through her memories of her past life. Pomsty is 100% Nightsister born. Magick and it's quest to be enlightened to its highest heights, is her life’s mission. The CIS was never meant to become her permanent home. It's dogma never intentionally accepted as her own personal philosophy, nor their alien way of life. Pom complied because it fit her situation. The Mandragora were a tad different than the rest of the CIS. Don't ask. What exists herein, is entirely secretive. What exists just so happens to be death.

A queer look shadowed across Pomsty’s face. It was sheer happiness. A rare glimpse into its purest existence. It's resurgence a rarity.

'Is there ever a place!' she thought when Vytal inquired, for there certainly is!

* * *​
The Mandragora. A Coven for the followers of Witchcraft and Sorcery within the ranks among the CIS Knights Obsidian.

"Welcome home, Vytal," Pomsty announced standing just within the threshold of the awesome lair, her new home when not serving on the Dread Queen. "I have learned to channel here." It is a big thing, for on Dathomir, only the Nightmother herself channels power to be instilled into magickal items. "I started as the Potions Master. Of course I haven't forgotten the importance of relics and amulets! It's just that the coven needed a dedicated Mistress. Not everyone received the extensive training we have undergone. Some experiment, and when such potions go awry...well...you know. Nobody wants to smell that, and it ruins everything someone else happens to be working on at the time. Makes me even prouder of our heritage."
 
The Mandragora? Vytal followed Pomsty through the towering doors and into the expansive, vertical interior. She recalled hearing of this part of the Confederacy and its KNights Obsidian. Dismissed them as a possibility due to talk of foreign gods and goddesses. Indoctrination had not been a subject of Vytal's curiosity -- unless she was the one doing the indoctrination. The Fanged God served her well, and would continue to do so far as Vytal was concerned. So it was a bit of a surprise to hear Pomsty speak of being the Potions Master of the Mandragora previously. Perhaps Vytal had been hasty not joining this group sooner if another Nightsister had weathered their company.

"Most Offworlders grow up with much provided to them. They have no need to listen to the words of their Elders, or to make sure of every scrap of animal or plant flesh to survive." Though it was true Vytal did not mind this technology cleaning her clothes for her. That did free up time for rituals and pursuing contacts among the Stars. And 'refrigeration' had been a wonder -- a means to keep food fresh enough over long periods without need for salt or drying. They actually had to make time to keep their hunting skills sharp with less need to forge for food. "They were lucky to have your skill."

Even so, Vytal had to ask, "Who or what do the Mandragora worship or believe, Pomsty? I have heard things that made me believe I would not fit in well here." Disagreements in deities could result in clan-like warfare among Sisters, and this did not sit well with Vytal. Assuming most were even of Dathomir, which given Pomsty's words might be presuming too much. What manner of magick did these Witches then practice, and could it possibly be better than home?

Bright eyes slid over the naturistic setting of the interior that they had set foot in after passing the imposing front doors. Outsiders did not idly stroll through curious what the Witches sought; and what they sought was often offensive if not deadly. The Force demanded focus -- through peace or passion -- while magick required experimentation. Foci and an expression of one's self. Perhaps it did use this 'Force' as others did -- as Pomsty said some called it by many names -- but the way they touched it was nothing like the rest. Vytal liked to think it was stronger for it. The more work that was put into the spell, the strong it became. That was her belief, and one that played with with the concept of ritual or circle magick she and her Sisters used.

Tthe walkways of two higher levels were adorned by pillars and archways that exposed them to the central chamber. Flora crept about the columns and in planters. They fed from the light that cast through painted glass high above on either side, and through a massive mural and circular glyph at the far end of the chamber. Such vibrant color cast by the glass in the light, frame by fine stone and metallurgy was breathtaking. No such designs existed back home. She had never seen the like in all her travels to date. What purpose could it serve? Did it matter? With tables and seating strewn about this would be an outstanding place for discussion with those like Pomsty and herself.

And that was only the common area.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]​
 
It was strange staring upon the base of the Mandragora. It was unimpressive in comparison to the brand of comfort he had known at one time. Hevn had conquered a substantial number of planets along the outer rim before selling them for a vast wealth unlike anything the galaxy had ever seen at the time. Those credits afforded him a lifestyle tailored to the demands of his personal mission and somewhat sensitive anatomy. This construct did not hold a candle to even a single one of his fortresses, laboratories, or hidden bases. He wondered how an entire branch of the Knight’s Obsidian were going to operate out of it, unless there were a number of subterranean levels. This was not to insult the CIS or its efforts to accommodate him, simply a testament to privileges long gone from him now.

Though it did not impress him, it was a sight of relief. Living on the ship and trying to continue building his library and vault had become an impossible task. It was to his great fortune that he found Alkor here, and that he was welcomed as an old ally of the Knight Commander. It took little discussion to devise a course for Hevn’s progress among the Confederates. The combination of his brain and brawn was a sure push toward the Knights Obsidian, but the discovery of the Mandragora sparked an excitement in the man that was beyond rare, miraculous even. There were others who shared his insatiable lust for knowledge! He had grown more traveling among treacherous sorcerers among the tombs of ancients than he ever had as a warlord or mercenary. Like minds and skills could push development and growth in ways that that those who did not couldn’t even imagine. The opportunity to work within the vast network of the Confederacy wasn’t something he would pass on.

His pride had been admittedly wounded by the lack of interest those other than Alkor took on him and his abilities. The Draught he prepared for the faction to use against the Mandalorians had gone largely ignored, despite its obvious miraculous healing qualities. His demonstration against Alkor yielded none of the commendation or respect he desired. Favor of the masses was not one of his goals though. He is a champion of darkness and death, not the people. Perhaps those akin to his beliefs or practices would find greater value in him, and the capabilities of the Dark Jedi master.

The doors hiss open before him and his massive frame appears in a blinding sweep of light before closing behind him. Hevn’s boots clap the floor with long swift strides that carry him forward with a rigid but regal gait. His posture was that of royalty and his chin was always kept high. He was in what he considered casual wear. Black pants and tank top with his Krayt leather great coat extending below his knees. Decorative patterns of quicksilver color were woven throughout the fabric and gave it an aesthetic of flowing mercury.

Hevn’s dark aura begins to swell within the confines of the compound. A massive reeking presence that washed over every inch of it, feeling as fingers would for any signs of life. Two signatures flex back against his mind’s probing reaches. He was not alone, as accustomed to that as he had become.

Hevn makes no effort to conceal himself or the cloud of the dark side that swallows him. The alchemy fused into his body and weapons could be read into by those with similar skills. His highly modified humanoid form was in pristine condition though. Where his pale and scarred flesh could not rezch, he was a dull yet polished metallic color. Though his face wears a mask of youth, his icy blue eyes bear the burden of a morose weariness that never really left until anger or hatred took its place.

Approaching the pair of ladies, he could quickly identify the source of their heritage being Dathomir. Bewilderment rushes his brain like a bull and crashes into his thoughts. How unusual the sight before him is, was beyond words. They were far from what he suspected at some point had been their home, and even more curiously working within the ranks of the Confederacy?

One of them asked what it was the Mandragora worshipped or believed in, the only piece of their conversation he caught as he entered the common area. He too had asked these questions of Alkor, ill content to join the ranks of zealots. Eversio had been enough of that strict and unbending thought pattern and he would never return to it.

His voice is a cold whisper, carried by a hint of mechanical vocal chords. “From what little information I have gathered, that is for us to decide.”

The Nightsisters were not an unwelcome sight, but one that made him cautious. They were of the strict variety as far as beliefs came, and would lead to a clash if their minds were not open to the prospects of power they could potentially discover. The knowledge of sorcery belonging to the covens was a boon he had long sought to wrap his cold dead fingers around. They were resistant to offworld influence and hid their skills and secrets well from the galaxy at large. Magic from that corner of the universe came in a shape and form he could not fathom. Their chants, symbols, and strength in numbers seemed to draw from a darkness, but not necessarily their own. Hevn had yet to see a witch whose body had been corrupted to the state of a decrepit Sith Lord. Perhaps this rogue variant of nightsister could be persuaded to exchange the secrets of spell weaving as they know it, for something he could offer them. The difficulty would be finding something of worth to them. Something he could address directly, in time.

His icy glare darts between the witches as excitement and thought wipe away his look of exhausted mourning. They are each given a small nod as he looks down on them. The scowl that always pulled his lips and eyebrows down is fought into a plain expression, at the least. “I am Bedrovelse Hevn. Perhaps you saw the demonstration between Alk- the Knight Commander and I within the arena. It matters not. I am here to study, discover, and apply the Magics of the dark side of the force. By what name shall I call the two of you?”

[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
”Here is like nowhere else in the Knights Obsidian. We are charged to explore magick and the Force, and to share our discoveries with the rest of the KO. You know,” her voice changed to mocking, ”in case there is something they can be taught which will benefit them. She smiled. ”But...we are who we are.” She scrunched her nose. ”Considering how they treat us, we don’t share our craft. Ever see any of them waltzing into here, and offer to teach us their stupid poodoo?”

As the Dread Queen stands against a transport ship, so does the Mandragora afford eccentricities to please their abundant personalities, void among the rest of the Confederacy. What exists here they bought themselves long ago through sale of their services. It is a fortress built above and multiple levels underground. A place where the gates judge those who desire entry; those found unworthy are turned away by phantasms which star in the many urban legends that surround the land. Stay, and die is what it warns, and that is exactly how the Mandragora want it to remain. Many don’t even realize they are watched by the dragon. Even Pom hadn’t spotted it hanging around outside of the entrance tonight, and she did try to see it, but wasn’t going to look too hard for it.

In stepped a presence, [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]. A bit of a swaggering peacock from his first impression. Pom noticed straight away the origins of his overcoat and she scowled. Nightsisters on Dathomir are bonded to one Krayt Dragon during their lifetime, like humans are with their puppies. Except, that when either the Krayt or the Nightsister should die, unlike the men invited into their beds, neither the Nightsister nor the Krayt seeks another to bond with. Pomsty wondered if perhaps one of her sisters were left crying tonight because this man wanted to wear her pet as a symbol of his ego? She stared blankly in return. It was like the man just walked in and slapped Pom in the face, which could be read on her expression.

He answered Vytal’s question for her without invitation. Pomsty knew she had to tread delicately to convince [member="Vytal Noctura"] to study amidst the Mandragora. Vytal doesn’t seem as devastated as Pom was to realize their goddess is just some entity bound to Dathomir and no true creator of the universe. Maybe Vytal just hasn’t put two and two together yet. Luckily for Vytal, Pom will be there for her when it occurs to her. ”Remember what I said about the many names to conjure the Ichor, which no matter the name invoked, grants ever still the same Ichor.” This fact also lead Pom to question the existence of this Force of which Darth Metus spoke, and lean towards favor of its existence and merit. If Abeloth provided Ichor to the Dathomiri, but she is bound only to that planet, what more can this Force which stretches across the entire galaxy teach them!!

Pom was wondering why the man looked vaguely familiar, but then he blurted it out for her. He had been the one sparring against Alkor Centaris in the arena just weeks ago. Pom had saved Alkor from a flock of dementors by taking them on directly, and here stands the man who Alkor was trying to kill in the arena. Their’s is a backstory she would love to learn someday!

Pom’s real name is only for Vytal to know. She has a valid superstition that only those closest to her should know her real name, for magick does stretch across the galaxy, and one’s very name can cause a Witch to be a target; the fact that Abeloth cannot be communed with off of Dathomir further perplexes this Nightsister, for she would believe Abeloth should receive her prayers! The Sorceress did not extend a hand to the new arrival, for such is simply not her custom. ”I am the Mistress Pom Stych Tivé,” she answered, very unsure of this man who took his place at their side.
 
Vytal regarded her Sister as she spoke of their place among the Knights. Curious the way the Mandragora seemed to set themselves apart. In one sense, she completely agreed. Magick was not a subject to be given to fools. Yet on the other, the 'stupid poodoo' as Pomsty put it was not without merit... in some cases. "We will not share our secrets with the unworthy," the Nightsister agreed, "but if we come across those even of other beliefs with power and mind to share with us, we should welcome them." Not that Vytal meant to suggest Pomsty did not agree with this, but only that this personally held belief be shared openly. It was Vytal's own expectation. The desire to learn even foreign Arts was part of why she'd come to the Stars. Even if it came from sources not of Magick, it might be worthy of their time to study it further.

The doors the two had just walked through soon parted to admit another then. Vytal's eyes turned to regard this new figure over her shoulder. Darkness crept in ahead of his proclamation of self. It had her curiosity, but was tempered by the fact he was a man. Vytal was exceptionally open minded for a Nightsister, but she was not an alien to her own kind. Men were well treated, but they were not Nightsisters. They did not wield the many magicks of the Book of Shadows. Some had potential, but there were no Fathers or even a Great Father. So to find the galaxy overrun with men and their use of this Force had been... an adjustment. To think there were men -- and she had met at least one -- that dabbled in magick, however, was something else.

"Is it?" The straightforward response answered the man's statement. It was for them to decide? Vytal's eyes searched the vaulted ceiling high above of the common area. What manner of change had come over the place, she could not imagine. If it was within their reach to set the path for those that would follow, however... The corners of the Nightsister's dark lips turned upward. This would do.

Her eyes fell back to Pomsty as she too responded. "Perhaps. I believe ichor is...a concentrated form of this energy some speak of. One that can be kept, harnessed, and used for greater effect than any single Force User has managed." Such was what she'd come to believe in the trials the Fates of Midnight had performed since their emergence into the Stars. Two sides to the same coin, each suited to their own purpose. Together... Vytal could imagine the power a Sister could wield. The certainty of protecting Dathomir were every Sister able to command such ability.

What name should he call them? Vytal's chin fell slightly as she regarded the man. Slowly the Nightsister turned to visually appraise the one that had fought int he arena. Yes, she remembered him there. A warrior interested in magick. As a huntress that commanded magick, herself, Vytal held it not against him. As a man seeking to learn their secrets, however... It took conscious effort not to dismiss him out of her sight. But what had she just said? Was her purpose not to learn? Could men not have something worth telling? With a soothing exhale, Vytal met the man's gaze, "Mistress Vytal Noctura."

"What brings you here, Brother Hevn?" Since the man managed to set foot inside this chamber he passed through the perimeter guard. Either he had fought his way through (unlikely given the lack of disturbance), or he had purpose here and would not be a waste of time. Furthermore, as Vytal could see in Pomsty's expression hers was not one receptive to the man's presence, it fell to her -- despite her own misgivings -- to pose the question. Perhaps it was the man's taste in attire Pomsty found offensive? Understandable, but one of them would need to reach out to the man. Accept him. Perhaps not embrace him just yet, but give him the opportunity to demonstrate his was not an ignorant mind. "What of 'magick' has drawn you to us, and what is it you seek to do with this knowledge?"

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]
 
“Mistress Pom Stych Tivé, Mistress Vytal Noctura. The pleasure seems to belong to me alone.”

His plain expression shifted to one of disappointment. While they may as well have winced and spat in his face, the pair demonstrated the self restraint not to. Commendable. Everything was still going about as well as he predicted, total garbage. He found an abrasion to Vytal’s choice of words. ‘Brother’. How wrong you are, witch. The Dark Jedi Order had women among them he called sister. He could feel Rhea’s mutilated body hanging from his arms as the sharp blade of his failure ripped his heart to pieces. She came when no one else could reach him, because they had grown beyond master and student to respect and admire the iron will and tenacity of the other. Kali had shared the Dathomiri disdain for the company of men. The extent to which she pushed this virtue left her isolated to die when the enemies of their Order came, and there was no soul to whom she could call through the force. Those women fought alongside him. Protected him as he them. That was the meaning of brother and sisterhood.

This offense gave him a moment of reflection. With such vastly different back grounds the potential for miscommunication was a relevant threat. It was important to him to get on reasonable terms with these supposed allies, although it seemed to be a trait among sorcerers and witches alike to be distrustful. He was definitely more wary of them. Hell, they couldn’t seem to grasp what kind of power and skill it took to waltz into their midst. It was up to him to diffuse this bomb he had become suddenly aware and concerned of.

“Mistress Vytal Noctura, I thank you for asking. My art may be war, but my passion lies in the infinite potential of the dark side. I have studied sorcery for longer than either of you have been alive, combined. This is not meant to boast, but help communicate that in terms I hope you might understand, I am a Lich. I am eternally bound to the darkness. My very existence was created to bar me from my loved ones in whatever realms exist beyond the Nether.”

The only other people who had ever heard those words come from his own mouth were dead. Others had been wise enough to come to the conclusion themselves after being close enough to analyze him over a period of time. He was laying his intentions bare for them. Hevn was not so much a genuine creature as a tactical one. His sob story would yield no empathy, but it would assist them in tolerating his presence.

“I have scoured the galaxy for tomes, holocrons, grimoirs, necronomicons, journals, and artifacts to discover what I am and how this is possible. I experimented with lost knowledge that brought me to another tier of power I could not have imagined. I can blacken the sky and sicken those trapped inside with a crippling fear. Conjure perfect illusions down to even touch when the will of the mesmerized are weak enough. Summon spears of sheer will power that are invisible to those without Sight. I can change my face into anyone else’s, if I’ve memorized it correctly. I have used spells of alchemy to bewitch my body and weapons for strength and longevity. I command the spirits and bodies of the dead, as well as the minds of the living to do my will and absorb their knowledge. And yet....”

His hand gestures towards the pair of witches standing before him. His excitement and passion pour into every word as if he were discovering each gift he conquered all over again.

“Dathomiri magic reigns superior. The Book of Shadows, or even a copy of a copy, had eluded me for a lifetime. I have defeated lone witches on the battlefield, but in numbers their power is awesome. In the spirit realm, I have only ever been defeated by witches of dathomir. Their grasp of the plane and connection to it far exceeds my own. My understanding of potions is limited to healing, and poison. I have heard whispers that witches use words of power to void them of the drawbacks I do irritatingly tolerate. There are rumors of rituals performed inside of ancient geometry that can boost the power of these spells hundreds of times over.”

His mouth was moving faster than his brain. When was the last time he spoke to someone who understood a single word of this! Who could even grasp at the faintest straws of his wealth of knowledge.

“Truthfully I am honored to stand before you both. I never thought I would see this day. I have suffered greatly blindly stepping through the trials that your kind see more clearly than I can. There is a gap in my understanding of magic that very possibly only one of you can help me bridge. In that interest, I am prepared to offer whatever I can in repayment. There is the chance I can wield none of it, and my personal gains are moot. Even then, I would still have greater understanding of Bogan, and how it can be used and cultivated. If we can come to some accord, there is potential for great leaps in each of our growth.”

Hevn realizes as his mouth finally closed that he may have overwhelmed the situation with some haste, and that he may have chosen his words rashly. It was difficult to tell whether his reception by them was contingent on logic, emotion, or something else. To him it made sense, but that was because it was the last thing among the cold and dark of space that filled him with desire. Vices he had many of, but the lust he had for secret things was an appetite nothing could sate for long.

[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
"Oh, you're new here then?" Pomsty just realized.

Hevn judged their ages by their appearance. As he identified himself as a Lich, Pomsty felt suddenly breathless for a moment, and shadow cast over her features as she froze. Since meeting Shaidin a few months ago, she learned that she has lived at least once before. This revelation awakened her soul to past memories, Shaidin her husband, her own murder, and learning that her son had been slain in battle since she left this world the first time. Shaidin thought she could just pick up where they left off, and quell her innate passion of who she became having been reincarnated and raised among the Nightsisters. This truth was confirmed by the elders of Dathomir, not to Pom's delight in the least. She feels like a sideshow freak, and just wants to return to who and what she was before this knowledge was forced upon her consciousness. If Vytal knew this, would she think it a waste that Pom lived before as a Sith Warrior, and Pom herself is doing everything in her mental power to just forget that past life altogether? She is honestly afraid to explore all the Force skills she used to utilize through the Force, the extent of its capability being alien to her comprehension today.

It's the darkness which naturally feels like Home to the Nightsisters. Pom recently experienced a touch of the purest Light, and it singed her flesh. Everything about it created a resistance between herself and it. She couldn't fathom how any person being born to one extreme could be tossed into the realm of the other, from the light into the darkness as Hevn described himself forced to suffer. Necromancy itself however, was no apostasy to the Nightsisters of Dathomir. But to reverse such a spell, if possible…well, Hevn would no longer be living. She wondered what he had done and to whom, to have been treated so badly! ”Treacherous,” she whispered.

Well Hevn did understand how it is the Dathomiri have survived against the raging galaxy all these years, that is in their keeping their craft in secrecy. But he did say, In the spirit realm, I have only ever been defeated by witches of dathomir. To which, with eyes wide, Pomsty glanced quickly at Vytal, wondering, 'What in the hell is that supposed to mean?' Is Hevn an enemy of the Nightsisters?

He finished, and seemed remorseful regarding what he shared, perhaps on a fleeting whim.

'Wow…am I expected to share my life story in return?' Pomsty looked at Vytal seemingly helpless, for she admits she does not know the customs nor all the rules of engagement practiced within the CIS. She felt tongue tied. She did not want to share about her life, things she hadn't even yet told Vytal! Whatever should she do?!

It was almost painful seeing him waiting for some sort of feedback. She felt at a loss to know how to respond. ”There are non-negotiable rituals Nightsisters must initiate in order to determine the genuine worthiness of her...counterpart. The Mandragora have their’s which you will witness shortly.” His worthiness would be determined through a mind link. Pomsty wondered if Vytal was considering the honors, or if Hevn himself has his own preference between them. She couldn’t expect Vytal to choose to work with him, since she has only just stepped into Mandragora for the first time today. ’What a day! I got my sister back, and now a man!’

"Why did you fight with Alkor?" she asked Hevn slyly.

She stalled really, the Mandragora’s spiritual test would begin shortly on its own for Vytal and Hevn, just as it had the first time Pomsty arrived here.


[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] [member="Vytal Noctura"]
 
Despite her considerable restraint, Vytal could see Hevn's careful deliberation of the moment. Not in the content of his inner monologue, but he was not pleading to be heard or immediately turning to leave. Which was fortunate, as Vytal would not have given him another thought if he tried a second time in the future if he was so easily discouraged. Magick was not for the weak of heart.

Infinite potential of the Dark Side? Yes, of course. The man continued describing a litany of items and knowledge he had pursued throughout the galaxy all to impart the breadth of his own knowledge and abilities. He professed not to try lording over them, but merely to educate. And truthfully, the Nightsister listened. Not from being awestruck, but to understand the man's position and his true desires.

Pomsty's breath in reaction to the man's betrayal failed to draw Vytal's attention. Her gaze was held on Hevn as she searched him for the slightest deception.

And there it was. Dathomiri magick. Many had come to her world seeking its secrets. Few truly understood the lessons they received, if they proved worthy enough to hear the words. So many failures. So many shortsighted, power seeking fools. Yet the man spoke of it being 'superior,' which could strike a Sister's fancy surely. Vytal, however, tempered the swell of pride with knowledge -- Offworlders held tongues of silver and would tell you whatever you wanted to hear to acquire what they sought. Was Hevn genuine in what was said? Only time would reveal the sincerity of his character. Much time, if tales of Sith interaction were to believed. Some were incredibly long suffering, enduring the Witches until they believed they had all they sought. Witches used and then cast aside. Fools.

When he finished, Vytal met Pomsty's gaze as her Sister worried about needing to share her personal story.

"Your background interests me... Hevn," Vytal replied at last without the title. There hadn't been acknowledgement of it earlier, and if it was not warranted then she would forego it; though at the expensive of the lack of familiarity it signified. "You will find we believe strongly in the power of Dathomir's magicks, and would not disappointed. Should we accept your request. Much would be expected in return; your experience in the Force and of mystic arts beside our own, for instance. An equivilent sharing of knowledge and skill, at least. Perhaps more if certain trials and rituals do not go in our favor, but that is life." There were no guarantees magick would not turn against if, if you were foolish in its usage. And he would need to be prepared to endure much, but she expected that would not be a concern.

One corner of her lips turned upward. "You will find we are as interested in knowledge as you are. Though we may not display it in the same way." Hevn certainly had a passion for the matter at hand. There was potential here.

Her eyes shifted to Pomsty when her Sister brought up Alkor, however. She had seemed rather taken by the match earlier. By degrees the corner of her lips rose further.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]
 
Perkiness wasn’t exactly the word he would use to describe the result of his efforts to persuade the witches, but he had presumably averted a total system failure. He could not dream what impression he made, though it was enough to keep them listening. From his point of view, it was difficult to weigh much from either on first impressions. Both were mysterious and choice in their words. A grim warning. Not unlike the words he would choose for one studying under himself. They would accept cooperation and an extension of his own knowledge in return for teaching him, pending the success of whatever ritual or trial was demanded of him. These were ideal conditions under which to exchange their knowledge and experience. He was pleased with progress thus far.

“I am indeed new here.” As Pom whispered the words a grim smile passed over his lips. Nodding. Treacherous didn’t begin to describe the wanton cutely forced upon him. Elation couldn’t begin to describe the ecstatic feeling avenging himself upon such a foe brought him.

“I am prepared to offer anything within my vast realm of experience. Whatever you wish to learn. It is yours. I am honored, Mistresses for your consideration. I am fully aware that you could choose anyone to learn the secrets of the force from. There is no shortage among the Confederacy I am told. I expect the conversion of his debt to be steep, and I am willing. I hope my admiration for your craft can assist my worthiness.”

Mentioning Alkor swept the smile from his lips and pressed them into a scowl. The icy blue eyes intensify as they fixate upon Mistress Pom. Why did he fight Alkor? On the surface the reason would seem to be giving Hevn an opportunity to declare himself to the Knights Obsidian. To show that Hevn’s abilities were on par with one of the greatest and most respected warriors within the ranks of the Confederacy. Underneath the ruse of their alibi a greater meaning lurked. A test of worthiness. Alkor wanted to see if exile had softened the Sorcerer’s edge. Hevn wanted to see if Alkor’s path since the fall of their Order had weakened him. While it was true that both men learned to be above such pride, it was engrained in their essence as warriors to demand a test of the others worthiness. The customary tribute was done through combat or sparring. Proving to the other that you deserved to fight by their side, watch their back, and finally the most difficult. Trust them.

“There is a saying among the Echani. Battle does not build character, it reveals it. “

Hevn had seen Alkor at a glimpse of his most powerful. A diabolical display of mania that crushed an army, a squad of star fighters, and a city. That wild darkness was now tempered into something more refined and composed. The burning resentment that always roared in his eyes had calmed into a cold dark pool. There were demons still. It would seem he learned to bend them to his will.

“Clashing sabers with Alkor caught us up on ten years of separation faster and more completely than talking over drinks ever could. We are comrades and brothers from an order of dark siders who once championed over all in their mastery of combat. What we believed in was shown to be a lie when it crumbled and imploded. We are all that remain of tribe of warrior gods. Fighting is about as close to an embrace as you get, in our culture. Blood flows instead of tears falling. It is not a bond I expect others to understand. Much like I expect to find peculiarity in your customs.”

Honestly he was glad she asked. He wasn’t sure he fully understood why until being forced into the question by another. What little of his face can do so, softens into a polite smile.

“I will excuse myself for a moment so you two may talk things over. I have some words for the dragon.” Hevn spins on heel and marches. His coat floating aloft behind him carried by the speed of his steps. His boot falls clap the floor hard all the way up to the door. He pauses as it hisses open. Stepping through a select phrase can be heard booming into the dragon’s angry roar at him.

“YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS COAT MEANS TO ME!”

And the doors slammed shut.

[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
Pomsty notes the sudden change in Hevn’s aura as the conversation drew on. She felt his sense of delight that he may be a step closer to gaining knowledge. But she sure hopes it isn’t against a Nightsister that he seeks his revenge, or there will be no happy ending in it for him. No Nightsister shares too many detailed secrets. Their skill is not necessarily teachable, so much as it’s ingrained into her DNA. There is no book that holds every bit of information. This is how they have kept their edge over the rest of the galaxy. A Nightsister brews on her whim and she just has this natural sense of what earns a particular outcome. The old joke is how similar Potions is to cooking, to someone who thinks all white powder begets the same result. A Nightsister just has this knack to know the difference between the properties of their flours and salts!

Pomsty accepted the reasoning behind Hevn’s fight against Alkor. She likened it to the customs among the Nightbrothers. And if Hevn is Alkor’s brother, then he is alright in her book. Pomsty shifted on her feet. She thought to herself. Why wasn’t she ever told this before?! She knew people were keeping avoiding her for some reason! It cannot all be because of her morbid inclusion of bone relics being worn as jewelry! ”Well ok,” she timidly stated as she took a step towards Hevn and slapped him in his face. She smiled because it did indeed feel good to do. She cringed her facial features expecting a slap in return, before stepping back to her place besides Vytal, whom she looked over at and nodded, encouraging her to do the same.

When Hevn suddenly spun on his heels and left them, she was perplexed by his actions. She stammered, ”Um... Ah... Hey...” but off he stomped regardless. The dragon had been mentally challenging him.

She turned towards Vytal and stared blankly, ”I sure hope his attention span is better than that while he is being taught something!” for the Fates are coming to initiate their new recruits, Pomsty knew, just as they had when she first arrived at the Mandragora.

”MEN!”

Pomsty didn’t want to discuss Hevn with Vytal just now, she wanted to watch what he was going to do to poor Morrok, Mandragora’s pet! She grasped hold of Vytal’s hand and ran towards the entrance to get a good view!


[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]
 
"I think he meant for us to discuss--" Vytal started before Pomsty suddenly took her hand and made after Hevn. If this were anyone else the Nightsister wouldn't tolerate such frivolity, but the two of them had just reunited and there wasn't anything that pressing. It wasn't as though they were competing for the man's attention. As though that would be the case from the moment he strode through door, chest out and head high. Men.

Still, Vytal wouldn't have minded hearing Pomsty's thoughts of this would-be recruit. Obviously she didn't have any overwhelming concerns since her interest was quickly diverted to the man's conflict with the dragon. One which Vytal did not truly understand -- something about his coat?

This was not the start Vytal had expected to meeting a group devoted to magick among the Confederates. Not that she was complaining. It would be interesting to see if the man survived (although he had managed to set foot inside once, surely he'd do so again). There'd be time enough to plunge into the darkness.

"Tell me about this dragon" Vytal finally relented as they hurried outside. The least her Sister could do was inform her of the impressive nature of this guardian overlooking what might become her home.

Tag: Pom Stych Tivé | Bedrovelse Hevn
 
Mistress Pom’s slap landed much to s tragic and comical effect. Much like the way a hand throbs and swells to the ponding drum of the victims heartbeat in a cartoon, she may as well have slapped a brick wall. Given the metal plates that reinforced the entirety of his skull, the only sting it offered was at the corner of his lip. He offers her a second of sadistic glee. A flash in his eyes and in his smile that helped suppress the urge to laugh. First Alkor, and then physically striking him? He muses over the topic of whether that boldness is attributed to courage or ignorance. He didn’t have time to decided however.

The dragon’s massive body overshadows Hevn’s defiant stance. It’s long neck bends down, all the while bellowing a litany of curses directed at his manhood, mother, and choice of bedfellow, finishing with uglier things yet, roared in an ancient saurian tongue. Hevn’s anger bleeds like a bonfire into the dark side of the force. His unhappiness with the dragon is radiant. He shouts back into its face. “ It gave me its life to save my own! I left nothing of my friend to waste and rot in the sand for the scavengers! You belong in a-“

The dragon made explicitly clear that it did not give a single care. It could not find, make, give, or take a care. Hevn could take his mean little coat, mean little lightsaber, and stick them where the stars don’t shine. The dragon describes in great detail how far it is going to stick its foot up Hevn’s rear and how far into the atmosphere he will fly before being immolated by his next string of insidious burns. Hevn’s rage peaks. He glances dangerously back toward the ladies before taking a consideration. Punishing it by force was unnecessary, but humiliating it was not beneath him. His aura boils and he draws the dark side of the force to his tongue, reaching his heart into the vast darkness beyond.

“WODKASI.”

His hand reaches out toward the dragon and the spell emanates like microwaves towards its brain. It takes a moment for the fog to crawl over the mind of the powerful creature, but the key to many of Hevn’s powers of domination and protection was in fact his sense of overwhelming superiority. His supply of courage was boundless because he truly believed in himself and that there was no obstacle that could impede him forever.

Subduing his bloodlust and the desire to inflict pain was no small task. Instead, he forced a fate worse than pain upon the creature in his search for a more creative solution. A fit of tickling attacked its entire body. A noise alien to Hevn’s comprehension croaked from the giant reptile as the sensation of tickling crawled over its scales faster and more fiercely. It clawed at the ground around its feet, eyes trying to water though unable to do so. The foreign sensation began to truly scare the beast and it cried out in submission between assaults of what Hevn imaging was laughter.

Bedrovelse Hevn waves his hand and mutters quietly, “ I release you.”

The dragon stayed down, huffing for breath in a heap, eyes closed in exhaustion. Hevn turns toward the witches and adjusts his cost. Brushing the dirt off of his shoulders and steps toward the entrance and asks, “have you decided already?”

[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
"Morrok is Asher Mossa's pet and Mandragora's guardian. There are many wonderful things here that you won't discover anywhere else among the Knight's Obsidian, Vytal. We are a collective of witches from all over the galaxy, united by one objective, to study how our Magick and this Force may be intertwined. And yet, we have an amazing place where we can commune, brew, charm, and incant our little hearts out, till contented. There are stories about people who were brought up with magick who learned to use the Force like the Jedi or the Sith utilize it. All that fancy stuff…that…Hevn…probably…does," Pomsty answered [member="Vytal Noctura"]'s question and more.

She suddenly worried that Hevn might harm Morrok. Watching him intently however, she quickly felt relieved. He wasn't like other men, the type that hunted for sport. He seemed to harbor a rare genuine respect. He even explained his Krayt Dragon coat that caused her stomach to turn the moment she first saw him. He had passed alot of tests he wasn't even aware of, simply surviving to the entryway.

When [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] asked if his presence is acceptable, Pomsty smiled, "Oh, we're keeping you onboard for something," she announced in a teasing manner, "but there is yet another introduction you are about to make. Once you pass their test, nobody here can refuse you."

"As for studying under the Nightsister's specifically, I have a few questions." Who could expect differently?

She asked specifically:
~"Which two ingredients have the best properties as an antidote?"
~"What is the antidote for a Swelling Potion?"
~"What does peppermint do in an Elixir to Induce Euphoria?"

She asked a few questions to trip him up as well, seeing if he would catch her deception, and recognize the details of ingredients which she mentioned were not to be mixed together at all. Even if he were wrong, it gave her a sense of what he did and did not yet comprehend.

As soon as she had finished, Pomsty could sense the approach of the Spirits which dwelled here. The doors at the opposite end of the great room suddenly flung open. She smiled satisfactorily, and most certainly did not step out of their way as a gust of wind enveloped her. She thrived within the feel of their touch. They judge all prospective clan recruits, based on their own spiritual evaluation. The Light and the Dark mix here, the test simply regards one's mental make-up. Do they eat sleep and dookie magick? Pomsty is certain Vytal and Hevn will be accepted. Only they will ever know what the spirits tell them now.

In the Mandragora, the resident spirits are available to lend their blessing upon the magick generated here.
 
Pomsty's response about the dragon was short, followed at length by an argument for Vytal to stay at her Sister's side. No doubt the Mandragora did hold a great many secrets of things none other among the Knights knew. That had never been in question. When confronted with where she wanted to toil among the Confederates for a chance to learn of the Force and their Technology, Vytal opted for Archivist, however, because of strange religious talk about Mandragora. Knowing Pomsty was among them, it couldn't be what she'd feared -- a cult of some other nameless deity. For what deity could be greater than the Fanged God? Who disputed the strength of the Nightsister's power on Dathomir? Where else held such power at their command? Some said the same for the Winged Goddess, and Vytal appreciated her presence to balance the cosmos, but her ways were not those of this huntress and Witch.

Perhaps now was the right time. "I'm sure he does," Vytal offhandedly dismissed concern about what Hevn could or could not do. "Pom," mindful another was near, "what or who does the Mandragora draw power from?" For Vytal was unaware that the name 'Mandragora' stood for both a religion and a group. One grew from the other, but had come to include those outside of the religion. To those unfamiliar with them, however, they might sound like one and the same.

Of course her Sister seemed preoccupied listening to the man's tale about his coat -- or how he wasn't a monster in skinning such a beast. Worse yet, her response to the man's prompt had turned Vytal's features to stone. She wouldn't embarrass her Sister before another. That said, Vytal recalled Pomst asking about Nightbrothers before as well. Her Sister seemed to have quite the social life... Something that Vytal, herself, lacked desperately. Perhaps the two of them could get together later and discuss her interactions with others. If the Mandragora were suitable for the Fates, there would be less burden to carry to ensure the survival of the other four. Time then to explore the forgotten aspect of life -- interacting with others. Perhaps even romantic encounters; though she had become so accustomed to the presence of her Sisters and not trusting any of this Offworlders any else would be uncomfortable.

A good thing Vytal had schooled her features as well, for Pomsty's questions started off innocuously enough until she got to 'peppermint.' What was a pepper mint?

With the clamor of doors being thrown open, Vytal turned her head to look over her shoulder at the source. The sight of spirits hardly surprised the Nightsister, but Pomsty's enjoyment of their presence did even just a little. These were familiar entities then? The pale one slowly turned on the spot to face them, but soon found three swept about her in a circle. Their endless movement had Vytal remain stationary as her eyes observed each in turn as they swam before her eyes in the air.

You seek to become one of us, Child of a Dead God.

You seek to become strong, Child of a Dead God.

You seek to be freed, Child of a Dead God.

"I have no need for you," Vytal replied as her bright eyes flared to life under the light cast down from above.

You will become one of us, Child of a Dead God.

You will become strong, Child of a Dead God.

You will be freed from the shackles of a Dead God.

Pale eyelids slowly descended over her eyes as Vytal drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled it in the wake of their words. The butt of her palm pushed ajar the pouch at her hip as both hands lifted to slowly rub against one another. "The Nightsisters are slaves to no one. The Fanged God and the Winged Goddess are with us for we are their children, and their strength is undeniable."

We will guide you.

We will protect you.

We will give you strength.

For our power is not bound to any one world, but available to all, Child of a Dead God.

Had they power? Did they so confidently offer it to a child of darkness, unafraid how it might be turned against them? Perhaps they had not yet learned the hard lessons so few seemed to want to hear. Perhaps they thought themselves better than a mere Nightsister. And they most certainly had the utmost, insulting disregard for a deity that even a fool would acknowledge if they set foot on Dathomir. Vytal would take it upon herself in what she presumed to be a test to make it abundantly clear where she stood, and what mocking the Fanged God would earn them. Vytal's voice started softly, but rose in volume as her recitation continued,

"They say look to the skies when the sky burns,
And look to the marshes when the waters turn,
To one another when the demons return.
"To the earth, your homes you will make,
To the trees, your blades will you take,
To one another your hearts will yearn.
"When death in many forms comes,
Whispers of many shades it will take,
Let none dare spurn the Fanged God."

The green mists of home would begin to billow out of the pouch at Vytal's hip as soon as the Fanged God's name touched her dark lips. if anyone for any reason asked what she was doing there would be no response. What she intended to do would become clear momentarily. For the moment the mists formed a full circle about the Nightsister's legs did a gale force burst of wind blow straight through the wall, across the bridge, and assail everyone that stood in the courtyard where a dragon slumbered. Vytal's fingers spread wide as her hands lowered to her sides. They began to rise, held out to their limit, arching overhead as she tilted her head back and gaze up at the sky as day became night beneath a cover of black clouds.

Each passing moment had the mist circle faster and faster at Vytal's feet; the ring of sickly manifested energy soon began to pulse outward as it spun. A flash of lightning and a crack of thunder directly overhead shook the very ground they stood upon. The surge of light lit up the white face of the Nightsister, where her black tattoos became a living mask of death. Then the spinning mists began to flatten as they grew ever faster and faster; they started to spread outward, away from the Witch that conjured them, and then stretched upward. Gradually they began to form an inverted funnel about Vytal that stretched toward the sky where the clouds had begun to circle in anticipation of bridging the gap between earth and sky.

Shining, bright eyes lowered from the sky back to the spirits that had taken up position, side by side, before her. "Shall we put the Fanged God's mercy to the test?" Vytal's voice boomed despite the sweeping winds that would have gladly cast voices into the void.

The spirits drifted there as if it were a summer day before they gave the impression of having nodded in unison.

And in an instant the winds simply stopped, the clouds vanished as if wisps of smoke, and the green mists evaporated beneath the clear skies. Sweat dotted Vytal's brown and her heart was beating in her ears, but she refused to bend her body in any display of the toll it took upon her. "Then we may speak, and perhaps hear one another."

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​
 
The exhilaration he felt while subjugating the dragon faded with Pom’s answer. He was neither welcomed nor refused outright. It was the latter he accepted as progression towards his goal to learn their magic. The opportunity was to great to squander. Every one of his impulses edged toward his sense of superiority and self pride. He was mindful of smashing those feelings beneath a mental heel, and burying them with the twist of a foot. He was considering Pom’s line of questioning when the initiation began.

Mistress Vytal and Bedrovelse Hevn were assaulted by the spirits simultaneously. Their response to the threat made for a visual treat to their onlookers Pom and Morrok peeping a thin golden slit of eyeball open at the commotion. He could not hear what the ghosts said to Vytal, as she began a demonstration of external command of the force.

How many trials have you passed Bedrovelse? Why should you fail this one? He recalls for a moment his most daunting and difficult trial. A series of extraordinarily difficult duels, after one could be allowed to pass through the pool of reflection. He faced his family. The victims of his wrath. His tormentors. At last himself. Once he made peace with his past he was forced to battle the specters or fallen masters. He wasn’t so sure he could solve this with a lightsaber, but a sword...yes. The sword.

Phantasmagoria was above and beyond the classification of dangerous, and in Hevn’s hand made him a god of darkness and prince of death. The scream it emits as he tears it free from the sheath is drowned in a gale force wind summoned by the witch near him. The lust for death immediately fills his calm and clear mind with a malicious desire to kill. The lust demands answer as thirst or hunger would from the man holding it. He wraps a figurative hand around it, crushing his desire into a ball, and burying it in his chest. Fire began to flow in his veins, seizing his muscles, burning his skin and metal body, intensifying the longer he focused.

Feed them to me. Let us devour their souls and steal the secrets from their cold dead grasp.

As the sword continued to assault him, he continued to feed it into the pool of power he was amassing rapidly around himself. Vytal’s green mist, her ichor, begin to flow into the bloody red smoke that could only be seen with second sight, or the capacity to perceive aura.

“Why would we have you when no other will.....no kin, no mate....alone......” the ghosts goaded Hevn, only building on the blocks he had placed to gather strength.

“You’re less than a man.....less than a beast....less than a whisper....” he could hear them just fine, the test was simply not on par with Reign’s final demand of him. A Draught that boiled his fury beyond imaginable heights, and stifling and flame. Choosing not to fight. He was wiser than these spirits. He was....stronger in every way.

As the ghosts spiraled toward him with another barrage of insults they were met with excruciating torment, even in death. Bedrovelse was not only capable, but plenty comfortable fighting them on their own plane. Piercing the veil of his aura caused the ghosts to collapse, wailing in agony on the ground as Vytal finished her prayer? Her spell? His whipped hair and roaring ear drums could not make sense of her words.

Instinctively, he moves toward Vytal’s exposed back, turning his own to hers. His eyes burn with an unholy demonic red glow. The ghosts rise, and piercing into the cloud of green and red coils are met with violent blasts of crimson lightning. They scream at him, unheard within the whirlwind, though trapped in his primal state of power would not have heard them anyways. As far as he could tell, he was aligned enough with the Nightsisters not to allow any further surprises if this was a group test. His looming shadow cast over Vytal as the sky cleared above them. He slams the point of his katana into the ground at his feet, grounding the spirits that had not faded. His knuckles tighten viciously, painfully around the grip, and as Vytal finishes questioning them follows suit in a menacing grumble of mechanical vocal chords pushed to their limits by the monstrous voice emanating from his mouth. “ Declare yourselves plainly or I will damn you to the darkest corner of hell to rot for eternity.

As his words splash upon the ghosts he subjects them to the overwhelming strength of his will. Disembodied as they were, the spirits are forced into all fours, bowing to Vytal and Hevn as though they were deities themselves, prepared to kiss the ground beneath their holy feet. Unlike Vytal however, the shroud of animosity does not fade from Bedrovelse. Angrily he hisses down toward their bowed forms, bone crushing gravity submitting their incorporeal forms in the positions they are stuck.

I serve nothing! No one! I command the powers of darkness that reside in this realm and the next. Yield or be destroyed.

In such a state of frenzy more ghosts began to appear. Creatures spiteful of Vytal and Pom. Their desertion of Dathomir by Nightsisters of long ago, the enemies of their kind, enemies they had slain, lovers lost or left behind. Shadows of their lives.

The sword digs into his soul like barbed wire. It demanded its cut. Needed it more than Hevn had ever needed anything. The longer he kept it free, the greater the struggle would be to subdue its residence inside his mind and body. It tries to goad him towards the witches once more. Once is all it will take to pulverize their frail inferior bodies, and it can rain enough blood for the both of us. The talons mauling his brain were beginning to see things its way. It would be easier to harvest them than endure their insults, pass their trials, earn their trust. All he had to do was give in, let the blade carry his arm to its desired location.

In response his muscles tense, choosing control over what had now become an ultimate and insatiable lust. His body yearned to kill.



[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
 
Pom stood back and her brow furrowed and mouth slightly fell agape. Shouldn’t darksiders thrive amidst dark spirits? This was their blessing to her family today? Why Pom no longer believed in gods because her own can’t leave its planetary prison of Dathomir, Pom thought, ‘Is this how they greet the spirits? How much worse will the gods treat them?!’ Her friends are guests here. She just stood and blinked taking it in, thought about making a sandwich for herself and leaving these two to figure it out. If there is any destroying about to take place it’s their blowing it.

“Oh my gawd,” she muttered rolling her eyes. Just then the two jester spirits vanished with fear as the true spirit behind the magick production entered the room. Most normal witches call it a god, but Pom doesn’t because she’s going through a phase right now. She expect god should be bigger. But this one was different from The Ones. This god was both light and darkness. It had absolutely no qualms against existing to satisfy either side of the power/force. It had no preference of any name ever shared to Pom. Pom recognized it by the way it felt to her. It felt balanced. It was like the feeling of the moment in between thought and decision. It was like the feeling of a mother’s touch. Pom watched the goddess descend upon the room and expelled all other entities but her own.

Pom remembers the state she was in when she first met her. The difference is like night and day from the jesters. The goddess of Mandragora is different for everyone. But she sure hopes her two friends can offer it a little bit of respect. This entity commands the room and the feels of those within it. They must recognize her. What else are they here for?!

She hopes Hevn is more receptive of her than than he was the jesters.

“Can we just get on with this, Mom? I really am hungry about now.” She called the goddess Mom.“Don’t blame my friends, you let those three idiots in here. Tried to trick us.”

At that Pom turned to leave for the kitchen as the two got acquainted with the true ruler of Mandragora. A momentary touch, a hello, an exchange of sense of character.

“Follow down this way, when you’re finished,” she called out to [member="Vytal Noctura"] and [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]. She would prepare lunch with her bare hands, not trusting the spirits to do it today, after that fiasco.

And...Hevn has some questions of her’s to answer.
 

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