Vincit qui se vincit.

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

​

​

​

Years, Months, Weeks..​

Kiffu​

[member="Darth Vornskr"] had been the one who had died.

Vornskr had been the one who had his life extinguished by her pure will and bare hands.

Pulling down the citadel where she had been kept should have made her feel more triumphant, but it hollowed her even further. Kiskla was a force to be reckoned with, but she wasn’t one for wan destruction. The anger, frustration and (almost) hatred she had felt the day Marcello and Sardun assisted in her liberation shattered her will and brought out a side of her she couldn’t understand.
Apparently, being locked up for half a year in a dark dungeon has a toll on one’s system. Exposure to nothing but shadows and despair infiltrates one’s systems in ways she hadn’t noticed until she’d awoken to the gentle hands of [member="Avalore Eden"].

She’d passed out, completely collapsed at the explosion of energy necessary to pull down the Panathan Palace. A most ferocious move from the politically-correct, former-Grandmaster. [member="Marcello Matteo"] had taken matters into his own, practical hands, and immediately transported her to the Jedi enclave where she could get assistance. Her physical would remain scarred, even after the nurturing touch of the healing knight-deemed-Master. Words transpired, and whispers promised - Kiskla’s presence to the enclave was not to be conversed as common knowledge. Despite the positive effects of Avalore’s ministrations, the Kiffar Master couldn’t trace the route of her mindset. It wasn’t a pure eradication — something within her had been hollowed too deep, too affected by even the sensational purge of Force Light and other ashla remedies.

Kiskla’s goals were no secret to the galaxy. A united front of Jedi and do-gooders working together with a single objective to be paragons of the light. Her nightmares were wretched though — an infiltration of Vornskr’s affect on her. Each night she would dream fragments — the worst was when she achieved her goal. She would see herself at the head of a large crowd, speckled with familiar faces. A combination of aspirations and memories. And they would die. Turn on each other by her own command, rot before her eyes, she would slaughter them. The ending changed in it's delivery -- but the result was always the same. Misery. Chaos. Death.

By her hand.

The last time she’d had dreams this terrible, and this real — she’d come into contact with a world conceived by The Force and infected by celestial forces beyond her comprehension. She was in no state to return to her leadership position, the idea of devastation by her hand was too seeded in her being at this point. She was afraid of herself, of the power that Vornskr seemed to have in her world of The Force. He had transcended it — poured into her world of light and stained it darker than anything she’d ever known.

The Omega Protectorate had dissolved, leaving her world on its own. Her father didn’t seem to mind, the amount of power charging through his head. He had big plans, some that his diplomatic daughter didn’t quite share the vision of. Which wasn’t a surprise. They didn’t have much in common. When Marcello brought her home after the enclave, it being the only planet she could grow back to health with the autonomy she demanded, there was much news to appear to. Before she had gone full-steam ahead with The Republic, she had been considering stepping back and moving forward with developing her own planet. She had met with the Protectorate’s then Lord Protector and discussed cloning initiatives. The idea of building an army worth plunging into the war was something she fuelled, but the idea of sacrificing her brethren made her body physically revolt. Hence the ideation of cloning. To test it, she had wanted to use the blood of her chief guard, but decided her own was better. Safer should there be any consequences. Therefore, upon her arrival - the scientists greeted her and Marcello with a small, blonde Kiffar cradled in their arms - joking slightly at her extremely clone-able blood (in reference to the obvious clone Vornskr had created in her captivity). She’d been horrified, but they assured her it was a clone, a biological compilation. The idea of maternal necessity was squashed with the amount of rigorous activity they were going to put it through. It was almost worse sounding than if the child was to be indoctrinated into the Jedi. But no worse sounding than if she and Marcello had spawned another human being from their loins. That would be truly awful.

But back to the dreams.

Night after night she was infected. Everytime she went to exercise a notion of The Force - she could feel a serpentine like grip wind through her veins and she failed. Her prowess was greyed. Flawed.

She understood her limitations now - the reality that she was in no position to lend a hand in the war efforts of The Republic or The Jedi. To right herself, she’d have to conquer herself - in a world that she had yet to explore.

The Force wasn’t going to work here.

Desperate times called for a reserved connection. This time, she’d felt obligated to explain to someone. Nay, she’d wanted to explain to someone. Marcello had understood, and took this as an opportunity to re-join the fray of the constant battle rather than stay by her side — a resolve of his since apparently he hadn’t done so in times of past. They’d promised connection via exclusive channel, and parted. As they often did.

She couldn’t rely on a crutch forever.

This pans to the time of now(ish), where she still somewhat frail Jedi Master sat perched on the edge of her bench, tired and worn looking. Marcello had just left and she was alone in the Kiffar communication centre. A silhouette amongst the eerie blue lights when she cued in a channel that had remained silent for years.

[member="Cameron Centurion"].
“I’m alive, but I need a resurrection.”

The message was simple, and left with written mention that she was taking a separate, private vessel to Dathomir and she would need to meet him in the atmosphere or on the planet and work his his connections. From what she understood, there was help beyond The Force there.

It’s strange which connections one chooses to maintain in the midst of internal chaos. She could certainly reach out to either Sardun who had assisted in her rescue (she still didn’t know what path his life had taken now, she hoped he was still alive) — or to [member="Aaralyn Rekali-Gyndar"] who was a resident and child of Dathomir. But no. She needed anonymity and someone who’s curiosity and questions would leave her to take charge of her own will; without attempting to influence it one way or another.

Vincit qui se vincit. ​

She conquers who conquers herself. ​

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Citadel of Lord Ashmedai
Corstris

"I don't...I don't know, Mi'lord."

Silver-green eyes gazed intently at the blue-skinned Twi'lek as the sounds of Elora practicing her saber technique in the background filled the cavernous room. Cameron's facial expression was...empty, impassive. In fact it would seem as if even the Force around him and somehow suspended its normal ebb and flow.

The Twi'lek sensed this reality quickly. "I-I-I will find out though, Mi'lord. Rest assured."

The deafening silence coming from Cameron rose until it was practically unbearable. A subtle motion of the Sith Lord's finger, intent largely indiscernible, was the only indication that Cameron was in fact alive. "Oh?"

The Twi'lek, new to his present position as a Shadow Force commander and thus someone that actually received facetime with the Sith Lord, forced himself not to shift uncomfortably, to maintain a posture that exuded the confidence he was unable to muster in speech.

Before Cameron could say another word, a datapad on a small table next to him beeped twice. It was not a device that received a great many transmissions as those with the frequency were preciously sparse in the galaxy. With his free hand, Cameron reached for the device. Quickly, he opened the message, a thin, delicious smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Glancing up at the Twi'lek before him over the top of the datapad, Cameron waved the sentient away with his still-raised finger.

The Twi'lek bowed deeply before quickly retreating from the chamber.

As he lowered the device back to the table, Cameron called to his eighteen year-old daughter. "Elora. Gather your things, we are leaving."

The sound of a lightsaber deactivating was heard just as Cameron had gotten to his feet. "Yes, Father."

----------
Dathomir

Cameron wasn't exactly a fan of Mandalorians or Witches. His presence on the planet of Dathomir at the moment was one of...intrigue, mostly. He'd heard the whispers, stories of what happened to the former Grand Master, but he never much cared to identify specifics. The cryptic nature of her message was to be expected, but the location was...the most intriguing aspect.

Stepping out into the cool evening air, Cameron allowed his gaze to linger on the horizon. Memories of his time as a Nightbrother were distant, but they existed. There were things he'd learned, methods that he'd never really completely accepted. The underlying reality was that...the Force was the Force. Differing methods of interacting with the energy source would always exist.

"Why are we here, father?"

The Sith Lord smiled thinly as he turned his head to gaze at the bright green eyes of his daughter. "To investigate the quality of a Jedi when the darkness invades their soul. Pay attention child. You are about to see what happens when a Grand Master of the Light attempts to live with the ravaging of the dark side."

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Dathomir​

Kiskla was relatively well-travelled — a nature of her career that she appreciated. To be trapped to a single planet would be depressing by her standards. She’d been privileged with easy passage through most systems; and she’d developed a name that meant she rarely needed to share any credentials. A preceding reputation had its benefits as much as it had its pits.

That being said, she wasn’t a stranger to Dathomir - although the last time she had been here was of a similar purpose. She had been travelling with the time weaver, [member="Tamara"] to seek the roots of her past and try to understand how the exile operated. It had been eye opening, but very dark. And very foggy.

​

“That must be him.” Kiskla spoke aloud to the astromech that was accompanying her. Usually the blonde Jedi travelled in solitude, but in light of recent events it was insisted she abandon that behaviour and bring some sort of companion that could at least record her actions if not advise them. What cued her words was a small indication from her radar that pierced the atmosphere of Dathomir. She was just on the edge of the ruby red world, doing what she could to meditate in the silence and focus herself. She had convinced herself of this necessity — and was aware of the deception she could easily be walking into below. Nevertheless, [member="Cameron Centurion"] rarely turned down the opportunity for one not to be myopic in their view of The Force.

To use it again, she’d have to understand more than just two sides of it. The Force was beyond rhizomatic — and all its complexities were turning on her now. It was time to flip that.

“Let’s meet those coordinates now, R4.” The little droid beeped it’s acquiescence and the Jedi leaned back, keeping her eyes on the advancing horizon.

***​

The soft whine of her transport announced her arrival, touching down not far from Cameron’s own elite vehicle. There were two silhouettes on the planet, and she frowned. Unexpected, but not unwelcomed; she was in a humble mood.

A single finger pointed toward the droid before she turned to depart; “Stay with the ship, let’s try and keep it in one piece so we have a way off this cesspit.”

Her cowl fit over her blonde tresses, the thick air immediately curling around her and clinging to her clothes. The fog veiled the silhouettes she approached, but there was no mistaking the dark signatures about the two persons — which made her wonder for the first time what her signature was like right now.

Did she have one?

Snow-white eyes drifted over the pair, a brow arching only vaguely at the femenine shape of Cameron's companion. There was a bond there, and beyond analyzing features that were shared Kiskla could determine a relationship beyond Master and Apprentice. It was an insight gathered by The Force - despite her lacking in the empathetic realm.

"You brought your daughter to see auntie Kiskla?" Strange, Cameron conceiving and caring for a kid. She couldn't imagine his paternail pedagogical methods. She simpered slightly, breaking the cold silence that strung between the trio. Kiskla was centuries younger than the Sith Lord, and most certainly not related, but they did have a relationship of their own. A strange one to be sure - but it was there nevertheless.

Obviously. Or else this conversation would not be happening.

"I recall you mentioning ties from years ago to Dathomir," Kiskla began - forgoing her formerly practiced diplomatic small-talk and not wasting the time of the timeless. "I understand there's history here, a different use of the Force. Witches.

I want to know how it works."

She frowned, not wanting to expel the following sentence; "Can you help me?"

UGH.

Oh well.

Some things never change.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

[member="Kiskla Grayson"] most certainly did have a presence in the Force. Had it changed? Perhaps to others...those closer to her than even Cameron Centurion, it had. While Cameron certainly knew of their somewhat extensive shared history, he was not so invested in the life of the blonde Kiffar to know that apart from a very select group of individuals, he probably knew things she had long since buried or hidden.

During their last encounter on Ossus, it had been clear that she had, perhaps, even convinced herself such things had never occurred. There was a time that Cameron wondered whether or not the whole Grand Master bit, the ever-inspiring Jedi Master routine, and her continuous thirst for knowledge of combating the Sith was all part of an elaborate scheme. For in the shadows of the Force, Cameron knew the truth of Kiskla Grayson's quality. He had seen and felt the true extent of that which she was capable of doing to accomplish a goal.

As the slender woman approached, Cameron could feel an all too different sensation stir within his own soul. The reality of what had transpired between himself and [member="Amorella Mae"] years ago had changed the Sith Lord, yes. The strength of darkness that pulsed within the core of his being did so in a different fashion. whereas his presence would ordinarily struggle and agitate in the presence of the light without settling, it no longer did. There was something there, of course, a natural impulse to fight that quickly gave way to an attempt to reconcile, to understand.

However, the moment his own presence fully recognized that Kiskla was not Amorella, the strength of the darkness took over. It only receded, diminished in the presence of his chosen partner and the woman that was, most definitely, not the mother of the child standing beside him. That meeting would likely never occur because Cameron was quite certain that Elora would do or say something to necessitate Amorella keeping the girl from causing any potential problems in their life. Though Esmae may have been a beacon of light and hope to millions, she understood and exercised the reality that death and life went hand in hand.

Once Kiskla was fully in view, the Sith Lord did not smile. He did, however, shift his gaze to Elora when the Jedi Master made mention of her. Not one to belabor the point, Kiskla purposefully moved on to the reason for their shared interaction on Dathomir. "I see." Indicating his daughter, Cameron managed a brief introduction. "This is Elora. Elora this is--"

"Grand Master Grayson. I have read much about you."

"Forgive her eagerness, she is still learning the reality that her abilities do not grant her immediate wisdom. You can return to the vessel now, Elora."

The teenager looked at her father, green eyes burning more due to the discourse with a Jedi. It was a concept she saw as unnecessary. "Yes, Father." Elora turned and retreated back towards the loading ramp of the vessel. Born to Cameron and Shery deWinter hundreds of years ago, Elora was the product of the extensive shared heritage of destruction and disinterest of both her parents. Capable but...still learning the reality of a galaxy that had developed while she had been frozen in stasis.

"So. You come seeking the knowledge of Witch Magic then. The mechanism is simple. They chant a spell and the Force responds. However, I surmise you did not come all this way for such a simple response. In order to help you...I must know the complete reality of that which compels you to seek said help."

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Light eyes coattailed the girl as she retreated back to the ship she had come in. Kiskla was silently impressed by her ability to reign in her displeasure. A trait Kiskla did not exhibit as a teenager, and hardly as an adult either. It was a strange sensation to consider that persons read about her; but not unexpected. The Kiffar Grandmaster had done a lot in her time, and hadn’t abdicated much like those before her — her leadership had come to an end abruptly and was not part of her plan. She actually liked the responsibility of assisting the Jedi - lending insight and having people listen, marvel, and respect her.

A curl tickled her pouted lips and she almost wagged a finger at the ancient demi-deity. The complete reality was not a concept The Deceiver dabbled in. If he did, it was a one-way street; and never one he travelled. Only his poor passengers.

She did like [member="Cameron Centurion"], though. She liked him because he didn’t ask questions that would accuse her, or link her back to something — but he asked questions that made her think.

Why was she standing on this ruby, ragged world? Why did she continuously seek conversations with a Force User who’s views contradicted her own? Or, were supposed to contradict her own, anyways.

“Cameron,” she sighed “-You have the benefit of millennia at your disposal. Seeking knowledge can be a lackadaisical pursuit for you.

I want to know The Force in a way I’ve not perceived it before. Beyond the natural back-and-forth of the Light versus Dark. Grey versus —“ she rolled her wrist to indicate ‘whatever’.

Her lips drew into a thin line.

“I don’t want to rely on Ashla.”

She was good, very good, with the Light Side of the Force. But that was to be expected, anticipated. That was how Vornskr got to her — that’s how everyone got to her.

“So what compels me?

Survival.


I need to know alternatives beyond what I know.” Otherwise, she wouldn’t last long.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Cameron offered [member="Kiskla Grayson"] a very definitive, resounding response to her statements. "No." Drawing in a deep breath, the Sith Lord began to advance on the Jedi Master. However, when he passed just within range of being able to touch her, he stepped to the side and continued walking. Cameron suspected that Kiskla would follow, but she was her own woman.

"No I cannot merely cease to seek knowledge, regardless of my longevity. And no - you do not need to know alternative methods of knowing the Force."

As Cameron spoke, he motioned casually with his hands - mostly to distinguish the continuous push and pull between light and dark. "You Jedi... Ashla is the name of a moon of Tython." Kiskla knew this, and he was certain that she knew the story as well. So why then did the Jedi struggle against it? For the same reason that the Sith did. In the end both sects desired for their side, their way to win out. It was this principal reason that Cameron called himself a Sith by nature of his training, his views on interacting with the galaxy. However, he was not so foolish as to think the Jedi Order or light side of the Force would ever truly be eradicated.

Why fight then? Because in conflict, an individual discovers the true quality of their existence, forcing them to be the best possible version of themselves. This was Cameron's purpose, his creed - to elevate the galaxy. In this reality, the strong would always have to stand on the shoulders of the weak, Jedi or not. There were countless Jedi, however, whom did not agree.

"Just as Bogan is. Our predecessors merely used this cosmic reality to explain their view of the Force...the reality of a light and dark component. You know...those that held too closely to one side or the other were banished to the respective moon and forced to meditate on the existence and powers of the other side. You have lived your life on Ashla, yes. Yet...when an agent of Bogan came for you, you did what you've been trained to do, trained others to do. You resisted. And...you succeeded. I hear tell that you even managed to outright destroy your captor and a great deal of his holdings."

Whether or not the man had found a way to return was academic at best...that was hardly even a secret of the Sith Arts at this point.

"So the answer to your predicament is simple in theory, but I suspect it will be much more difficult to you in practice. Reject your devotion to Ashla. Reject your conditioning to fight against Bogan. Be the embodiment of a Je'daii on Tython so long ago...accept that the Force is both life and death, simultaneously, perpetually."

Stopping, Cameron turned to gaze into Kiskla's white irises. "I am not saying to hoist yourself as a Grey Jedi or whatever it is. I am saying...be Kiskla Grayson, accept that there is a darkness in your just as there is a light. What happened to you on Panatha did not change who you are, there is no entity that powerful in this galaxy. We are created of the Force in varying degrees. Remove your brain from the equation...and merely feel."

Laughing slightly, Cameron shook his head. "As for the ways of the Witches...it is the same, Kiskla. They believe that an element of Magic grants them their power. They are correct and incorrect at the same time. Their Magic is merely another manifestation of the Force. The difference between us and them is they believe it is different. Were I to try and grant you insight there, you would suffer the same struggles that I had. However, if this is your wish, then I can show you to the path."

It was, in Cameron's opinion, Kiskla's mind that was defeating her. Her inability, her weakness...more illusions of Vornskr. Very convincing illusions, no doubt, but based in fallacy nonetheless.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

She did follow the ominous figure into the night, splitting her attentive gaze between him and their wispy surroundings. She simpered slightly when [member="Cameron Centurion"] pointed out the naming of Tython’s moon — many believed Tython was where it all began. Ironic it was now in Sith hands. An omen, perhaps?

Likely not. There was no projection in the upcoming timeline that suggested triumph for either party. To eternally thwart was a keen goal, but not a quenchable objective.

Cameron continued, and she suppressed a small shiver — be it brought on by the evening chill, or the pride at mention of her accomplished victory despite the costs she’d suffered.

It was true, she knew the method of which she needed to adopt; an understanding the practiced more as a Knight. She’d had to abandon that neutral perspective and embody a paragon when The Order turned to her, requesting — nay — demanding a paragon. She rose to the challenge. She became that which so many sought and excelled at it. She became the Jedi of all nations; a candle in the dark. Cameron knew of her darknesses, her huntress past. She had been just beyond a tween at that time, but Kiskla demanded a lust for achievement that challenged even the Sith Lord’s. Satiation was not within reach, ever, for the blonde woman.

“Change me?” She shook her head, resolute in agreeing to what the ancient diety was saying “-Perhaps not. Bring to light something that I don’t want to exhibit? Yes.” His gaze locked hers, and she looked back listlessly. She had wanted those in that palace to die, despite their perceived innocence in the manner. [member="Darth Vornskr"]’s captain had eventually surrendered to her, and perhaps escaped, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure because she had abandoned her usual rhythms and hadn’t considered his escape, hadn’t paused to ensure clearance to what she wanted so badly to destroy. She had been furious.

She could feel her eyes glossing over, even as she held gaze with Cameron, while she reflected on these memories. In this moment, she understood a motivation which she had not considered before — but something she sought so often.

A distraction. The witches were to distract her — a new path was to re-ignite herself, a new challenge. What’s more, the more of the galaxy she understood — the closer she could draw herself to a united realm. Not just of Jedi, but perhaps much grander. Talk about nonviable! But talk is cheap.

I digress.

She smiled and blinked back to focus when The Deceiver indicated he would assist her.
“Seeing more paths just gives a wider road to travel on."

A nod manifested in comprehension of his generosity.

"What was the first spell you learned.”

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Cameron turned his gaze back to the horizon. The reality, whether unfortunate or not, was that the ways of the witches were, like most things, a direct reflection of the culture of Dathomir. There was no functional difference in accessing the Force. During his time with the Witches of Dathomir, Cameron had certainly feigned use of the occasional spell when necessary. That did not, however, change the reality.

"Altering the environment. However, I fear you are perhaps not fully understanding the true spirit of my statements, Kiskla."

Motioning to the environment of Dathomir around them, the large Sith Lord attempted to rephrase his earlier comments. "Witches are trained and taught from birth that the only way to access what they refer to as Dathomir Magic is through various spells or other rituals. It is how they channel the Force into actual action. Yet - there is nothing they can truly do through Magic, that you cannot do through manipulation of the Force." Pausing for a moment, Cameron quickly realized he was mostly just restating his earlier comments. "There isn't really anything new to teach you - take it from someone that spent an abundance of time among them, fathered a child from among them. By comparison, the same can be said of Sith Magic. It can certainly be accomplished without any arcane rituals or chants, but the act of doing such helps the user to channel their focus and emotion to the requisite level for manipulation of the Force."

Stopping, Cameron turned to face Kiskla once more. "That is not your struggle, Kiskla. I do, however, think I know the real solution to your present affliction."

No sooner had the words left the Sith Lord's lips than the Force surrounding the two took on an almost palpable era of the dark side. The warning was purposeful. Choices...defined sentients, Sith and Jedi alike. If Kiskla could not be what she once was, then she would have no choice but to become something different. What that was...remained up to her.

A three hundred and sixty degree arc of strong, repulsive force energy erupted from the Sith Lord's core as his silver-green gaze remained fixed on his friend-turned-enemy-turned-mentee.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

That much was true and not anything she had qualm with. The Force and Kiskla were united with a strength enviable and fearful to many sentients. They’d been in a relationship for a long time but she hadn’t been hearing it correctly for over a year. In fact, due to Kaine’s torture, the Force had given her the outright silent treatment for a stretch of time before completely exploding.

Literally.

Then it exploded again.

Literally.

An indication giving her a cue and Kiskla was silently marvelled by [member="Cameron Centurion"]’s generosity. The sphere permeated from the Sith Lord’s core and outward, giving Kiskla little time to react against its insane amount of pressure. The shimmering shield touched her within seconds, and Kiskla physically pushed against it — rather than rolling with gravity for the first second and bouncing away into the night from the explosion.

In this split second, she did wonder how Witches took the time to whisper spells to cue their bidding and be successful with the whole thing. Seemed awfully time consuming.

Typically, Kiskla would have countered the onslaught of darkness with something from the light. That would have been the logical thing to do - but she wanted to attempt to react with nothing but feeling.

And boy, did she feel it! The farther the spread got from Cameron, the more powerful it grew. The girl’s heels were slipping in the soft ground, and she dropped slightly pushing against it with an open hand - no shield of light manifesting. It continued in its push, until she was on her knees being forced further away; now both palms out to stop it from ripping through her skin and completely decimating her.

The curve of the ball was tangible as Kiskla managed to stay on its outside, pressing against the manifestation with her palm as it sparked around her fingertips reactively. Little by little, she stopped being pushed by it, willing it to work with her rather than overtake her. The circular formation began to slowly throb, pulsating in a similar rhythm to her own heartbeat. Syncing. Matching. Her teeth grit as the transition began, the powerful dark side energy tainting her fingertips and igniting the ferocious memories of Panatha. This is what she had felt. This is what she had been victim to amongst the shadows; it had penetrated her.

Which is exactly what it was doing now. She could see the bubble reducing in size, although where it was going one couldn’t immediately determine aside from those who understood tutaminis. Through her fingertips, palm, forearm, elbow, shoulder, chest, stomach, back through the same path through her opposite arm. Her toes dragged as she stood once more, clenching the fist that swelled with dark energy, flashing and pulsating randomly; as if she was holding a bulbous handful of glowing poprocks. Her insides were tight though, the light reacting to the darkness the same way your nose tightens when a foul odour enters the vicinity. She felt like revolting, vomiting it all back out.

Slow strides drew her back closer to the god, feeling a twitch of envy at his everlasting life in that random moment; and how she had to make the most of a stretch of a century (at best).

“I like your style.” She commented idly, shaking her numbing hand which was slowly fading with the dark permeation she had just consumed. Whatever was left; she expelled it as a nonchalant push away from the pair toward the ground- only causing a slightly dusty stir from its point of impact.

His training style mirrored her own.

Straight into the deep end. No threat, no purpose.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Truthfully...Cameron's attack had been quite a neutral one, pulling on neither the machinations of the light or dark. However, he did suppose that anything having to do with expanding the energy that constantly surrounded him was inherently dark at this point in his life. For a few brief moments, the Sith Lord stood motionless, watching [member="Kiskla Grayson"] just barely manage to absorb and discharge the energy.

Smiling, Cameron managed a deep, gradually slowing chuckle at Kiskla's appearance. Vornskr had indeed done quite a number on her, that much was obvious. However, buried deep beneath the surface of her pain and discomfort, past her misguided notions of failure or impotence, the same girl the Sith Lord had always known resided. It was curious really...that Kiskla Grayson, former Grandmaster, would grow to be something of a friend. While their relationship was hardly one of love and caring, it did compose an air of respect and, perhaps, admiration on more than just his side.

Once upon a time, Cameron had been a young man...largely new to the Force and its gentle manipulation of all things. He, like so many other Sith, had suffered as Kiskla now suffered. During his early years of captivity masquerading as training, Cameron begged for death. He begged for it until he, eventually, no longer saw his death as a release. On that fateful day, Cameron had decided that a retreat from his struggles was out of the question. In no time...he had fully succumbed to the lure of the dark side, to the power of death. Kiskla, on the other hand, was much stronger than Cameron was at her age.

As such, he held a much higher standard for her. She would rise to meet death as he once had. However, whereas Cameron had surrendered to its power, pledging his allegiance to its machinations and needs, Kiskla would defeat it, banish it back to the shadows from whence it came. Yes, Cameron had eventually over the years learned to make the dark side his tool. Now, he wielded it with an almost effortless finesse. It had not happened overnight...nor would Kiskla's return from the brink.

Once Cameron's laughter had come to a halt, he slowly began to reach for the hilt of his Sith Sword, constructed long ago. The second his hands grasped the worn leather hilt, purple-white tendrils of force lightning cascaded up his arm. It was an effect of the alchemical process in which the blade was made, not a light-show purposefully put on display for the Jedi.

As Cameron slowly drew the weapon, eyes locked with Kiskla's, Cameron abruptly opened the palm of his free hand and unleashed a destructive blast of the dark side directly at her midsection.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

This time, there was no grace period. [member="Cameron Centurion"]'s display was not something she was unfamiliar with - it was akin to a showcase revealed on Ossus when she had been Master of the Order. When the One Sith first revealed themselves. Cameron, a confusing relationship of hers joined in opposition -- though his presence had really been elevating to Kiskla's own talents and self discovery of being the Jedi necessary to success.

Perhaps something he was attempting to recreate now. Something she needed to resurrect -- determine what she was to fill her shell with. Jedi ambitions, or something not restricted to a series of doctrines and mantras.

Think later.

Act now.

The wave of Force Destruction was wielded by a master of the dark arts, well-practiced and versed in its onslaught. Her knees buoyed for a moment as she determined a split-second reaction that was prime instinct. Acrobatics. A move that Cameron was all too familiar with. Even when she was a tween she'd been twisting and whirling about like nobody's business. Perhaps why Vaapad had been so easily adopted - her body craved movement; vied to be pushed and tested. The Force whispered at her heels, before gathering the breath necessary to imbue her muscles upward to an increased height that far avoided the destructive dark blast from her now-opponent.

On descent, dust rolled from her tri-pronged landing -- hand reaching to her lower back where her recovered sabers remained clipped. Light eyes glowered in the direction of the Sith lord, keeping her crouched position.

“I came here for an introduction to initiation with the clans, Cameron.” Slowly, she rose -- knowing that her impatient comment likely wouldn't warrant admission to her request. “I know how to fight.

What I don’t know, is how to reach out to those who communicate with The Force in a different way. I’m seeking galactic trust.”

Those words were tainted, potentially dangerous from the lithe blonde. She was almost snapping. A unity that spread across factions? Unheard of. Against what opposition would they move to fight? Perhaps none, but she’d have more voices to persuade with. More angles to direct.

She would have more.

Ambition was as thick as her blood.

With more friends on her side, meant less support to the One Sith. With no allies, nobody they could twist their minds to, the galaxy would be closer together. His pushing was making her more aware of what it was she wanted to do.

 

[Cameron Centurion]

Cameron had, of course, expected [member="Kiskla Grayson"] to pull some sort of acrobatic stunt. What was it with so many Jedi and the need to flip around through the air like a circus act? The Sith Lord quite vividly recalled Kiskla attempting such on Ossus, only to be ripped back down to the ground.

What Ashmedai had not expected, however, was for Kiskla to return to the ground in practically the exact same spot she left. That was just lazy and reckless. Perhaps she simply harbored some level of faith that Cameron would not kill her. The Sith Lord certainly hoped not because he most certainly would return Kiskla's soul to the Force if she proved to be weak, useless...pathetic. Thus far, Cameron had never used such words to describe the Kiffar.

Ceasing his attack just before it would have caused severe damage to the Jedi Master, Cameron held his now fully drawn Sith Sword innocently out to his side. When Kiskla had finished her sophomoric declaration, the Sith Lord tilted his head slightly. "Oh you do? Let's recap, Kiskla Grayson. You permitted yourself to be pulled into a, seemingly endless, cycle of cat and mouse with Kaine Zambrano..." The use of the man's government name was purposeful. "...an individual that wasn't even aware of his affinity with the Force until well after you had already achieved the title fo Jedi Master. Don't get me wrong, Zambrano is a clever sort and he does so delight in the suffering and pain of others. To that end, you played directly into his hand...and for what? Did you think you had achieved some element of victory over the man? While your Order wallowed in almost complete degradation, you seemed almost solely focused on a moronic clashing of would-be titans like your life was one long holovid."

Advancing closer to the Jedi Master, Cameron allowed the tip of his blade to drag lightly across the ground, causing tendrils of purple-white force lightning to crackle out from the point of contact as he did so. "Your overconfidence is not your strength, and it only accentuates your lack of knowledge, experience." Cameron was no Jedi and therefore not subject to Jedi politics. He had certainly witnessed the rather unfortunate effect of coveted leadership positions in countless organizations. They very rarely made those vaulted to high stations any better at the simple things. Like...not being captured. "You are a pawn, Kiskla. Every action you have taken in the last several years has been the result of the manipulations of others. Perhaps you can see this...perhaps you can't, neither has any effect on the reality."

Stopping just short of the Jedi Master, Cameron lifted his weapon and pointed the blade directly at Kiskla's face. The move was not threatening. As had been displayed, Cameron's perhaps here was not to take Kiskla's life. The Sith Lord still viewed her as...the best hope for the future of the Jedi and those following the light. Cameron's only purpose in this galaxy was to...force others to be better, to transcend the perceived bonds of their capabilities. He survived off of challenge, and he respected only strength. "Galactic trust will never exist, you know this."

Lowering his weapon, Cameron placed the tip into the soil before him, resting both of his hands on top of the hilt. Slowly, a thin smile spread across his lips. "You might yet manage a temporary unification against a common enemy for a time but do not allow yourself to be so foolish as to think that actual trust. As for reaching out to the Witches, basic will work since I presume you do not speak Paecian. You merely need to ask the question. While I could, perhaps, make an introduction or two, it would do you very little good. They are not a group that is quick to welcome those that have since left their fold. Fortunately...you and I both know someone that could actually facilitate an introduction that goes beyond mere diplomacy."

After sheathing his weapon, the Sith Lord briefly adjusted his cloak and motioned towards the distant mountains. "At the base of those mountains, you will find a large warrior camp. Go there and announce you have been sent by Cameron Centurion. You will be taken care of from that point. Oh and Kiskla...I hope you find your way quickly." No further words left the Sith Lord's lips as the sky above them began to fill with clouds rapidly. A large swirling dark blue mass encircled the area directly around both Kiskla and Cameron before a loud crack ripped through the air as Cameron's entire body disappeared from view, leaving behind a large dark mist.

Almost immediately, the mist dissipated and the sky returned to normal. In the distance, Cameron's vessel immediately began rocketing skyward.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Thick lips twitched ever-so-slightly when [member="Cameron Centurion"] refuted her statement. Perhaps there was a difference between fighting and survival. While it was true, her disabling a Sith Lord had meant she had been disabled during a pivotal time for her Order — it didn’t dismiss Kiskla’s knowledge that she was an inspiration. Pawn or not. she worked out of necessity — that was her purpose. And she was good at it.

She was silent throughout the god’s pointed speech at her, rigid even and keeping her hand resting against the hilt of her blade. Light eyes holding fast the features of the one who gave her instructions to move forward. His willingness to acquiesce was surprising, actually. His exit too, somewhat of a marvel in itself. Her hair and ends of her robe whipped about wildly, as she lifted an arm to cover her face from debris. Rats! She hadn’t even had a chance to ask about Cameron’s daughter and how that came about.

Perhaps god-ship would be the blonde’s next pursuit. Imagine immortality. Thousands of years to explore the galaxy and learn things, tuck them away in her arsenal and grow in power.

Nevertheless, he’d given her instructions and since she was here she may as well follow them. On foot, travelling Dathomir could be perilous. This place was the home of Rancors, after all. And swamp lands never really boded well with Kiskla — being a desert warrior and all.

Light steps turned toward her ship. The outpost that the god had pointed her toward was more than a trek if she were to travel on foot, and we all know how patient that beautiful blonde was.

Not at all.

That’s a highly accurate summary of her qualities.

With a thick scarf wrapped around the lower portion of her slim face, the wind really only had her hair to tussle while she travelled crouched close to the bodice of the swoop bike. Dust and mist twisted in a combination of eerie lime green and grey, twirling behind her and dissipating into the thick air that Dathomir’s night offered.

The looming ridges of Dathomir’s mountains were a constant horizon — barely standing out against the darkness of the flittering sky. Nevertheless, with a chill acquired, Kiskla eventually drew near to the location Cameron had pointed her toward. Dropping her pressure on the throttle, the speeder’s engine noise also dropped quieter — humming near soundlessly as Kiskla cruised casually, feeling and peering for an indication of this warrior camp.

As most signals go, a plume of smoke works just fine. This instance was no different.

Perusing nearer to the camp’s perimeter, Kiskla stopped the bike and heightened her caution as she dismounted and trekked toward the source of the plume.


[member="Caid Centurion"].

 

[Caid Centurion]

Kiskla would have sensed several presences within the camp. If she focused her efforts, it would be drastically clear that roughly twenty individuals were engaged in a variety of activites. These activities ranged from training, eating, and sleeping...but not much else. There was no real such thing as sins of the flesh amidst the males of most Dathomiri Clans. In fact if sexual exploits were endured, they were the makings of the female's desire alone.

Still...though they were just barely above the relative importance of slaves, some managed to enjoy a level of equality against most of the females. In this particular camp, that person was Caid. A grandson of a Clan Matriarch, his blood was a known quantity. However, his physical appearance and features were much more of a testament to the man's father. An individual that, outside of Clan Cavataio, was regarded as little more than an outsider. This was the principal reason that Caid had abandoned the dark-side inclined membership of his birth mother's clan.

Following his time as the Republic Supreme Commander, he had returned home to Dathomir, determined to reconnect with his roots and complete his training among them.

"Captain..."

Caid raised a single hand from his seat. "I know. I will be there momentarily."

Near Kiskla, four warriors seemingly materialized from the landscape. The men were dressed in light armor and aimed spears in the woman's direction. No words were offered to the woman, and Caid appeared from around a large tent mere moments later. Dressed only in a comfortable pair of black plants, the young Centurion wore only the glossy black hilt of the lightsaber he'd stolen from his father's compound on Corstris attached to a simple belt.

Silver-green eyes met the appearance of [member="Kiskla Grayson"], noting the definitive difference in her appearance. Stepping just beyond his warriors, he clasped his hands behind his back. "Well then. Master Grayson, to what do we owe the pleasure?"

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Kiskla was an accursed cryptic. [member="Caid Centurion"] and herself had many transactions during their tenure with The Republic — most times Kiskla cuing action off a single word.

A ripple started at the nape of her neck through to her fingertips. It was some strange adrenaline reaction that she was privy to in situations where she seemed to be the only opposing force. Kiskla craved these kind of conflicts, when they had a purpose. She had been the frontrunner to many a conflict before being dragged from the scene to a dungeon. This was not the time — especially when she was on the requesting side.

Her face betrayed no thirst for action, and the ripple extinguished to a typical numbness. “Cameron Centurion sent me here.” She could have said your father but considering the circumstances, it was best she follow Cameron’s recommendations and instruction on how she found herself at this camp. “He said I could find an introduction to Dathomiri ways here. I’m interested in diversifying my Force education.”

 

[Caid Centurion]

Caid's expression remained impassive. Sent by Cameron Centurion. Wonderful. "I see. So you, a Jedi Master, have come here at the direction of a Sith Lord notorious for his manipulation."

Turning to the warriors around him, Caid shouted several commands in Paecian before returning his attention back to Kiskla and motioned for her to follow. "First off, I am not the one to teach you the secrets of Dathomiri Magic. I can, however, tell you it's a useless endeavor for a Jedi Master. Even if I do turn you over to one of the Elders, I can almost guarantee that your exposure to their ways will undoubtedly be conditional on it serving a purpose to the Clan, not just you."

Swiftly, Caid lead [member="Kiskla Grayson"] to a nearby structure. Motioning for the woman to enter through the open doorway, Caid kept his piercing gaze intently focused on Kiskla. The warriors he'd spoken to were busy re-enforcing the perimeter and notifying the Elders.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Eyebrows and lips curved upward in unison, head twitching slightly in a curt indication of ‘Yeah, well.’ Cameron was a manipulator, that was his whole godly endeavour, but he hadn’t failed her yet. With the shouts of instructions, not sounding hostile (so she'd continue breathing) -- Kiskla took note that his language shifted, his accent not sounding forced or flawed (although she was no linguist). [member="Caid Centurion"] had been here for some time, and it made her wonder when this had all come to be. What had happened to the individuals that composed the Republic six years ago?

In a world that was supported by struggle and war, the blonde would assume that there would be no single-way benefit for her. There was always a give-and-take axis to all requests.

“That’s to be understood,” Kiskla murmured, ducking into the opening after the third Centurion she’d interacted with today. The scenery was nothing like the Galactic offices she was used to. Fabrics were strung about, supported by raw materials that had been sourced from Dathomir itself. It was dimly lit, only the vague flickering from a soft eerie glow in a few corners. The parts that were stone were intricately carved, with scenarios and depictions that were enticing, alluring and somewhat alarming.

If he introduced her to the elders. Oh how occasions like this were tempting to wish one had a weak mind, and she could wave her hands and get past the snobbery of egotism. Why couldn’t the galaxy just help each other out, and hand out rainbow lollipops and blahblahblah.

“How did you end up here, anyway — what happened to your fleet?”

 

[Caid Centurion]

Caid's silver-green eyes focused on Kiskla as he clasped his hands behind his back. Arching a curious brow, he afforded the woman a rather simple retort. "It was never my fleet, Master Grayson. I never wanted to be a part of some Republic Triumvirate, but it was necessary at the time. Once things had been stabilized, I handed over the reins to another individual better suited for the politics of the office. Following that, I elected to return home to Dathomir."

Briefly, Caid shifted his gaze towards the open doorway. A mere second later his second-in-command appeared and spoke something briefly to Caid in Paecian. Caid responded in kind before settling his attention back on [member="Kiskla Grayson"]. Caid looked the woman up and down slowly, but there was absolutely nothing sensual about it. Folding his arms over his chest, he gazed down at the woman with curiosity. "What happened to you?" It was a simple question...no need to dance around the issue. The imprint of darkness lingered quite distinctly around the woman...as if it was a stain remaining on her soul.

 

[Kiskla Grayson-Matteo]

Home to Dathomir. Interesting.

She could attest to the necessity of action within The Republic though, there had been roles that needed filling and not a wealth of persons available to fill those roles suitably without The Republic falling and crashing down around them.

She was a little nervous to cue back into the Reports of what the Republic was up to now, how her Order was faring.

What happened to you? The question in itself was simple enough.

She had been fighting on Manaan, had been foolishly distracted by [member="VlPER"]'s behaviour, reached out to him in The Force and left herself vulnerable to [member="Darth Vornskr"]’s machinations. Which turned out to be a simple knockout and haul-over-the-shoulder to his evil layer. A layer that she had been chained to for over a year, cut off from the Force and… well. She’d never really answered this question before. She’d only had contact with [member="Marcello Matteo"] and [member="Avalore Eden"] afterwords, and Marcello received what he needed to know and Avalore was task-focused on expelling the demons Kiskla had suffered via physical torture and being cut off from any access to the light side.

“After failing on Manaan, I was cut off from The Force for over a year exposed only to The Darkside.” She answered, busying herself with looking at some of the murals. The words were foreign on her tongue, although entirely true. “Though The Force and I have a stronger relationship than my Sith captor thought.” Than anybody could have thought, really. Including herself. Kiskla turned at this point, adjusting the way her cloak curled over her shoulder to continue explaining "I cultivated fragments of my residual light every day until it was enough to unharness and escape.” A heavy breath exited from her lips, chest rising and falling with the brief explanation. She figured she’d have to get that down pat. She did plan to return to The Jedi Order, make sure things were right, and everyone was not just co-existing, but cross pollinating their knowledge and making each Jedi the strongest possible they could be.

“I was supposed to be healed — but Force Light doesn’t have the same effect on me that it used to.” She shook her head. She’d already burned herself from the inside out once — hence her snowy-white irises in lieu of her natural azure. Avalore had done what she could, but Kiskla was beyond just Jedi of light and dark, she had started to epitomize just The Force. Subjected to both in drastic, dramatic ways - leading her to exploring this alternative of a more shamanistic route. She was still curious. The redeemer wanted to know more, so she could feel redeemed and not stained. To go back with confidence, and bad-assery.

The subject changed pointedly back to [member="Caid Centurion"]. “So Dathomir is your home."

 

[Caid Centurion]

Caid watched the Jedi Master intently as he considered her words. Though he was no master of the Force, he'd been exposed to it his entire life. Grandson to a Clan Mother, and son to a Sith that had left more than his fair share of a mark on the galaxy. Though curiously enough, he'd never much heard of his father scrambling for any real...obvious positions of power or prestige. It would almost seem as if the man was humble. And he helped Jedi? No. There had to be more to it, but the entire line of thought was irrelevant to almost everything [member="Kiskla Grayson"] had just said.

"We are created of the Force. Individuals that implicitly embrace this concept can be pushed and pulled, but the reality of their connection to the Force cannot be changed unless they wish it so." The younger Centurion waved a dismissive hand. "Or so I've been told."

A brief commotion outside momentarily drew Caid's attention once more before he returned it to Kiskla. "Yes," was the only response she would receive. Neither of them were here to become friends, and he had a duty to do first and foremost. "It is time. Please follow me." Without any further prompting, Caid made his way for the exit and stepped back out into the cool evening air.

After shouting a series of commands at the four men that would be escorting them, Caid set off at a brisk pace in the direction of the mountain.

----------
Thirty Minutes Later...

The dark-skinned Dathomiri native stood casually on the edge of a rock face roughly halfway up the moderately sized mountain. Just beyond his position was a cave that would lead to a greeting chamber where Kiskla would have her audience. As she was the only one that had officially been summoned, neither Caid nor his subordinates would be accompanying her inside.

Sweat glistened off the Dathomiri's upper body as he pointed inside. "Shaman [member="Kytarra Hawk"] is expecting you. Strength on your journey, Master Grayson."