Where it Begins and Ends

[Curtis Learchin]

The crimson skies of Dathomir filter the sunlight that scatters through the trees. The planet was steeped in history, suffering and witchcraft intertwined in a past that few remember. That past wasn't so long ago for Curtis, as a few years prior, the planet had been his home.

He had not been born there, but for 18 years he had lived among The Children of Talzin, the family that he had never had. They had been better to him than he truly deserved, and their destruction at the hands of the Sith had always been a sore spot for him, a reminder of his failure. That had fuelled his power while making him weaker at the same time, the past never lets go.

Curtis stood at the centre of what was once his village. The bodies had been picked clean by both fauna and scavengers, a fate that they didn't deserve for all they had done. The armour he wore and the weapon he held had come from this place too, and he held his staff tightly, as a reminder of his heritage. The place was a curse, on his mind, body and soul. Maybe it needed to be destroyed, maybe the whole planet did.

But for now, Curtis would just stand in his former home, as if waiting for someone to emerge from the surrounding woods.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tag: [member="Curtis Learchin"]

Dathomir.

Twice she had been on this wretched planet. The first time it was to fulfil her own little need for blood, to punish the Witches for the deals they had struck with the Mandalorians. Weak, pathetic, they had given their freedom to the tuna cans, proving they were worthless. A mere shadow of the power they once were, seven hundred years ago, when Scherezade's parents ruled from the Unknown Regions and had alliances with those who mattered. The Witches of that time would have died before becoming slaves in all but name to the clans. That trip, she had taken with the man who later shattered her heart, a pain that had still not entirely become a scar. But she was working on it.

The second time had been to meet the woman who titled herself as the mother of all clans. The very same woman who had struck the alliance with her parents all those centuries ago. Time had taken much of her power away as well, yet she had not been around when the clans of Dathomir gave themselves to the Mandalorians, and she was even angrier about it than Scherezade had been. The two had struck a deal; the woman would help Scherezade find her parents and twin brother, and in return, Scherezade would lay waste to the entire planet. The woman knew such abilities were within her reach, and Scherezade…

Her ship was full of Blueprints of Doom for a reason. So many planets, both without and within the Confederacy whom she served, for so many of them she had created entire plans for destruction. The only thing that held her back on bringing those plans to fruition was being held back by those above her. Certainly, she could always leave the Confederacy and carve out her own path.

Yet who would follow? She was a princess of a planet lost to memory, where life still thrived while remaining shrouded in mystery to those who were not part of it, yet it meant nothing. She was hardly above the rank of a bottom feeder, and the people within the Confederacy until recently had preferred to mock her rather than listen to her, even if her record had shown mission success after mission success. On the field of battle, she was her enemies' worst nightmare. But at a party, she was a wallflower. It was a cruel twist of fate.

Still, here she was now, on Dathomir, for the third time. There was no actual reason for her to be there; the planet had traded hands, from those of the Mandalorians into those of the Sith Empire, rendering the Witches of Dathomir to not any better than prostitutes lacking for will and direction. Their end was near, even if they did not want to believe it. One good war was all it would take, and Scherezade would not have a planet left to destroy.

But she wanted to see it. With her own eyes. To see the remains of what once was a glorious civilization but soon would be noting but ashes.

Walking among the jungles, she knew little of the local geography. This was not part of a Clan she had visited before. This was not one of the rivers she had let flow with blood. It was… New. Scherezade, clad in her armor and wielding enough weapons to arm a small village, might have looked intimidating. From the distance, she probably was. Yet should anyone come across her, they would find a friendly expression upon her face, a warm smile as her eyes scanned her surroundings, looking for some game to kill. It was almost lunch time.

 

[Curtis Learchin]

At the centre of the destroyed village, a monument still stood. It depicted the deities that the Children had worshipped, those who had once filled them with strength, but now stood as a reminder of how far they had fallen. Curtis had never truly believed in the Fanged God and Winged Goddess, but in that moment he felt compelled to pray to them.

"If any of them still live, grant them safe passage. And grant me forgiveness for bringing this fate to them." It was brief, but he had never been one for long words or lengthy speeches. He always wondered what life would've been like if he hadn't been found, if he could've risen to a higher rank within the clan. Maybe it was for the best that he had been found, but the cost didn't seem worth it. He would've gone willingly, but an example had to be made.

Then the sense kicked in. The force beckoning his attention to the treeline, something was approaching. Curtis rose to his feet, and took a few steps forward so that he would be directly in the line of sight of anyone who revealed themselves. Swordstaff in hand he waited. He had a feeling that whatever was nearby, it could sense him too.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Wearing: Armor | Pathfinder Boots | The Forgemaster's Ring | Ring of Stasis | Sofitor
Wielding: 10 Czerka knives | 2 Nastirci Combat Knives | Copero's Wail | Fire and Smoke (lightsabers) | Combat Gauntlets | Knight Obsidian Sword | 2 TOTT-001 Arc Light Blaster | 2 Dissuader K-30 Pistols with Glitter Bullets
Tag: [member="Curtis Learchin"]

She sensed him, all right.

Scherezade had been walking for at least an hour by now, enjoying the sights of the forests and jungles that she was going to destroy. Sadly, nothing big enough to turn into lunch had popped up; not even a rabbit. It was almost as though the area knew what she intended on doing, but had not realized that today would not be the day in which she did it.

Eventually, she moved some greenery aside, and the sight of destroyed village as before her. She must've come from one of the sides rather than the path that she could now see, leading… To a short man with a swordstaff.

Scherezade lofted a brow, and grinned.

Men on Dathomir. Little more than property, even when claimed as though they were equals on anything. She knew the culture well; her grandmother, mother, and an endless amount of cousins had grown up or studied on the planet, mostly with the Morte Clan.

"The remains of which Clan is this?" she asked casually, "and where is your owner?"

​

 

[Curtis Learchin]

Curtis smiles curiously at the woman standing before him. She seemed familiar, maybe he'd seen her face somewhere before. Regardless, she spoke in a tone of authority, and asked questions that sounded like they came from the master of slaves. He had described himself as many things, but never a slave, never a thing to be used and discarded. That was never his way of thinking.

"The Children of Talzin once stood here. You will show respect to their memory." He'd become strangely defensive of his previous home in the bat of an eyelid, as if his guilt had surfaced all at once. He could not protect them physically, but their memory would not be tarnished. "I am no slave." Not to Dathomir anyway. A slave to the dark side? To hate? Possible.

"Why have you come to this place?"

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Glowing green eyes beheld the man who stood before her. To him, she seemed familiar. To her, she did not recognize his face at all.

The Children of Talzin once stood here. You will show respect to their memory.

"No," came her immediate reply to that, "I shall do as I please and if that happens to show or not show respect to their memory, they're welcome to return from the dead and try to do something about it. Those who are not in this realm do not deserve the attention."

Grinning, Scherezade took a step forward. There was little place as to guess what her expression meant; the only man she had ever given her heart to had told her that she left a trail of dead wherever she went, that they both had been predators. That still held true. The Sithling stood atop of the food chain; it would never be power or strength that took her down. The things that put her in danger… Were of an entirely different nature.

"No slave?" she asked with the curiosity of a cat, coming closer still, "you are a man, and you are on Dathomir. You do not seem to be lacking behind the eyes… So surely you know what this means?"

And as to why she had come to this place…

Scherezade giggled. That was all the answer she was going to give that one for now.

[member="Curtis Learchin"]

 

[Curtis Learchin]

Curtis gave a low grunt as she refused his demand. It was stupid really, to care so much for the dead, but they had adopted him. They had been the only family he'd known until the Sith, and that was reason enough for him to stand in the way of desecration. She moved forward, and so did he, the blade of his staff grating against the ground with a sharp and piercing screech. For too long had Dathomir been ruled by women alone, The Children had known this and had started to change it. A new era could've been started, if it hadn't been for him.

"Enlighten me." He responded, noting her lack of answering to his question. She carried herself with pride and arrogance, whereas he was steeped in vengeance that seeped from every orifice. Despite this, Curtis didn't wish to fight the women, he could tell that he would lose if it came to that. The Dathomiri sun began to set, casting shadows that danced through the rubble.

[member="Scherezade deWinter"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

His grunt amused her. There was more beneath the surface; Scherezade had a feeling that he knew perfectly well what she was speaking of, yet he wanted her to enlighten him anyway. For a moment, she merely stood there, her glowing eyes looking him over, before she decided that yes – she would do as he'd asked.

"On this planet, you are but property," she eventually shrugged, her voice almost child-like in its lightness and innocence, though there was a layer of depth within it that hinted at centuries long passed and gone by, "males are lesser. Even when mated, they count for less than their female counterparts, are forced to remain true to one woman as she can have as many males as she desires, and… Slaves. The lot of you. There is no freedom. I believe some of the Clans even believe that if they are slain by males, their soul will not reach the afterlife."

Now, she began to walk towards him. Her body language was calm, collected. If the thought of reaching for her knives ever crossed her mind, it did not show on her features.

"But you already knew this, all of it," she said, "so why ask? The culture of Dathomir is not an enigma to the rest of the Galaxy, and the days of the Witches are numbered."

[member="Curtis Learchin"]