Populate WITCHING HOUR [ ME Populate of Kadavo ]

Beskar · 2026-10-20T03:53:12-0400

WITCHING HOUR
"Bubble Bubble Toil and Trouble!"

WEALD OF THE WEST, DATHOMIR
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

Long before the Mandalorian Empire rose to claim its place among the powers of the modern Galaxy, Mandalore and Dathomir shared a bond that transcended borders and politics. Though distinct in their customs and traditions, the two peoples were well and truly family, united through generations of shared hardship, celebration, and love.

The Witches of Dathomir fought alongside Mandalorian warriors, built homes beside them, and raised children who understood that their heritage was richer for the kinship between their worlds. In those days, magick and beskar stood side by side, and neither people questioned the place they held in the other's lives.

Yet even the strongest bonds could fracture when fear took root, and the Mandalorian people were no strangers to such tragedies. A civil war tore their society apart, dividing the clans over the place of the Force among their kin. Some regarded it as a gift, a tool that could strengthen their people without diminishing the virtues of the warrior, while others viewed it as a corruption that threatened their very identity and demanded eradication.

When the fighting subsided, the latter emerged victorious, ushering in an era in which the Force became something to be feared and its practitioners driven from Mandalorian society. The consequences extended beyond Mandalore itself, poisoning the ancient kinship with Dathomir and leaving generations to inherit a relationship strained by suspicion and mistrust.

That was, until now.

Times were changing, or so the saying had become throughout the modern Galaxy, and the Mandalorian Empire was beginning to embrace the difficult work of restoring bonds long abandoned. Though suspicion remained on both sides, Mandalore had begun taking meaningful steps toward reconciliation, demonstrating that its people could honor their traditions without remaining prisoners to the fears of their ancestors.

On Dathomir, meanwhile, an old entity had emerged, drawing together covens that had long kept to themselves. While many remained content in isolation, others gathered beneath a united banner, hoping to restore the bridge between their world and the Mandalorian people. Their undertaking was not a surrender of Dathomiri independence, but a recognition that some bonds deserved another chance, and that family could find its way home without either side having to abandon what made them who they were.

And so, an invitation was extended to the Mandalorian Empire.

The covens welcomed their distant kin into the wild forests of Dathomir's western territories, where ancient trees stretched beneath crimson skies and magick stirred through the wilderness. The timing was no coincidence, for one of the most sacred seasons of the Dathomiri year had arrived. Harvest season was a time of celebration and gratitude, when the Witches gathered to honor the fruits of their labor, share in the abundance of their communities, and commune with the ancestors who continued to guide the living.

It was also a time when magick ran wild and the veil between worlds grew thin, allowing those who knew how to listen to draw nearer to those who had come before.

To welcome the Mandalorians into these sacred observances was no ordinary diplomatic gesture. It was an invitation to share in the traditions of Dathomir, to rediscover a history that had been neglected for generations, and perhaps to begin healing wounds that had endured far too long. Beneath the ancient boughs of the western forests, warriors and Witches would gather not as strangers divided by the fears of their forebears, but as family seeking to remember what had once made them whole.

Whether trust could truly be restored remained to be seen, for old grievances did not simply vanish with the changing seasons, and Dathomir was a world that demanded respect from all who entered its embrace. Yet with the harvest upon them, the ancestors listening, and the old magick stirring once more, there was no better time to begin anew.

Descend now unto the Witching Hour, where the spirits draw near, the magick runs wild, and all thine troubles may bubble away!

.

THREADS REFERENCED:
The Heart of Dathomir
Before the Emerald Flames

THE WITCH-FIRE

Old kinship rekindled beneath the witching sky.

Roaring emerald flames illuminate a sprawling gathering of tents, casting an otherworldly glow across the forest clearing. Beneath their canvas shelters, Dathomiri cooks and gathered covens have prepared a magnificent harvest bounty, with exotic delicacies ranging from rancor steaks to terentatek roasts. Tankards of Witching Ale, a potent green brew inspired by the Mandalorian drink netra'gal, are passed freely between guests as laughter and ancient songs carry through the trees.

Yet the feast offers more than food and drink, for this is where Mandalorians and Witches gather to restore the familial bond that was lost generations ago. Stories are exchanged, old traditions rediscovered, and new memories forged beside the fire, reminding both peoples that kinship need not be surrendered to the mistakes of their ancestors.

Share in the harvest bounty, sample Dathomiri delicacies, raise a tankard of Witching Ale, and celebrate the family that is finding its way home!

THE HARVEST LABYRINTH

Where the living wander, and the dead remember!

A winding labyrinth weaves through the ancient forests of Dathomir, twisting between gnarled trees and stones etched with forgotten runes. Here, the veil between life and death grows paper thin, allowing spirits to wander freely among the living. Ancestors long departed, fallen comrades whose memories endure, and curious sprites fascinated by the strange beskar clad visitors may all cross your path.

This is a place for reflection, remembrance, and discovery, where the past and present mingle beneath the emerald glow of Dathomiri magick. Some come seeking wisdom from those who came before, others hoping to reconnect with lost loved ones, while a fortunate few may simply find themselves adopted by a particularly inquisitive spirit.

Lose yourself among the winding paths, commune with the departed, and discover what awaits beyond the veil!

BRING YOUR OWN OBJECTIVE

The forest is alive, and the night is yours!

Beyond the gathering fires, the wild forests of western Dathomir stretch beneath the skies, their ancient boughs alive with strange sounds and flickering lights. The harvest season has awakened the world's magick, and curious visitors may discover hidden shrines, encounter the strange creatures that call the forest home, or stumble upon gatherings of Witches practicing their ancestral rites beneath the moonlight.

The Weald of the West belongs to neither Mandalore nor any single coven, but to the wild spirit of Dathomir itself. With the harvest celebrations underway and the veil between worlds drawn thin, there is no telling what wonders, mysteries, or mischief the night might hold.

Explore the wilderness, discover secluded corners of Dathomir, join the festivities wherever they lead, and see what the Witching Hour has in store!

Umber

Rorie

Anvil

Rynna

Sharloe

Maia
@Vojövif Fett

Sylor

Kivah

Sylor

Astrid H'ray

Sev Notimo

Kyran Thaln
@Coranth Renth

Cabur

Fiore

Kyramud Kass Holliday
@Ekka Batari

Colton Renth
@Prisoner #36929

Mao

Alden Akaran
@Kael Varr

Hrist

Niijima Izumi

Vael Saren

Elian Abrantes

Serrik Skirata
@Astella Verd

Quinn Varanin

Ivalyn Yvarro

Rowyna Galeway

Xerxes Verd
@Tessa Thayne

Mia Monroe

Azen Kast

Cyran Vaas

Cabur Nau'ur
@Kotak Vikar'Ranov

Avast Verd

Pal Veda
@Dral Kar'taal

Zurak Bruul
@Ajalurk-Chaidth Kryze
@Arden Priest

Inez

Sidonia

Maur

Ferris Skirata

Veyla Krinn

Renn Vizsla

Perseus

Hubert Starhopper
E erida Lok

Acier Moonbound
@Colden Renth
@Domina Prime

Elira Verd
@Viera

Nando
@Tin
@Serra Toss

Palladium
@Songsteel

Kassandra Beskar'ad

Liorra

Conrad

Reshim

Red Mobius

Suleiman Lok
@Kyrida Verd

Jiriad Galaar

Kandosii Ka'rta
@Manti Wyrvhor

Mia Monroe

Ladante Mamba
R raef Malstadt

CT-312

Rhys Swynol
@Lysara Rynn

Nephthys Nardithi-Verd

Hanna

Siae Andronike

Zlova Rue

Runi Kuryida
@Ren Ashbridge

Aliza Vale
@Thram Drokor

Sagan Verd

Ze'bast Verd

Vyse de Valorous
@Varuun Rekaal

Garo Vevut-Varkor · 2026-10-20T04:08:44-0400

OPEN TO INTERACTION

Garo was alone,no elmet,green skin,blonde air and ble eyes exposed, the teenager shaman boy come here with one objective,learn, as an shaman of the Mandoa faith Garo wanna learn more and the Ancestor Spirits whispers about kinshin between the Mandoa Shamans and the Witches. Garo don't hide his spiritual presence and his eagernes to learn with the witches if he can. He look each detail,he feel each touch of spirtuality and he hear each word from Beyond the Veil

Juniper Le Fey · 2026-10-20T14:18:12-0400

		
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​
It had been far too long since Juniper Le Fey had felt the ancestral ground between her toes. It had been far too long since she had listened to the spirits that guided her. It had been far too long since she had been home.

But that changed when the invitation arrived.

She had been out there doing what she did best: keeping Misch in line and collecting bounties on those unfortunate enough to find themselves in her crosshairs. Nothing, however, was quite as important as the spirits, and Juniper's own spirit had been suffering lately. She had become too focused on credits, on getting her name out there, and somewhere along the way, she had begun neglecting her practices. Magick was a tricky thing, after all. If you weren't careful, if you weren't smart about it, it could eat you alive. Witches were expected to give as much to the spirits as they took, and Juniper knew better than most what happened when that balance was disturbed.

And so, the huntress found herself back on Dathomir, drawing looks from some of the older Witches as she passed. Looks of disbelief, of contempt, and occasionally something that bordered on outright disgust. It was true that Juniper had never been particularly popular among her sisters. She had been told more than once that she was too flashy, too loud, and far too willing to flaunt her heritage before outsiders. To that, she had always offered the same sentiment: Good. If she was too much, then perhaps they were simply too little. That just meant there was more room for her.

Unfortunately, that particular philosophy did little to smooth over her return home.

Juniper had a plan, however, and one that might even win over a few of the Mandalorians who had come to fill the forests of Dathomir with their unfamiliar energies. The relationship between the Witches and the Mandalorians had been uneasy for generations, and while the invitation represented a step toward reconciliation, it certainly hadn't silenced the arguments among her sisters. Some were more than happy to share the wealth of Dathomir with their distant kin, while others questioned why they should welcome outsiders who could neither hear the planet's call nor understand the spirits that inhabited it.

Juniper understood both sides, though she was practical enough to recognize the necessity of the arrangement. If it weren't Aether the Iron sitting upon Mandalore's throne, it would be some despot from the Empire or the Sith looking to claim what they could. Better to make friends with those willing to respect their traditions than wait for someone who would trample them beneath their boots.

Besides, she had something rather special planned for the occasion.

During her travels across the spacelanes, Juniper had developed a little act for those occasions when bounties were scarce and credits were running low. She had taken to studying the ancient practice of Bakurat, learning to interpret the fortunes hidden within its cards. Naturally, being the innovator she was, Juniper had decided that the traditional practice could benefit from a distinctly Dathomiri touch. Rather than relying upon the cards alone, she invoked the spirits themselves, allowing their energies to mingle with the reading and lend an appropriately supernatural atmosphere to the experience.

It had proven rather popular, particularly among those who had never encountered a Witch before.

Of course, there was a difference between performing such readings in some distant cantina and doing so upon the sacred soil of Dathomir. Out among the stars, Juniper could charge whatever some fool was willing to pay. Here, however, the spirits were not hers to profit from. Not on their own ancestral ground, and certainly not when she had already spent so long neglecting them. Even Juniper knew better than to tempt that particular sort of displeasure.

So, with her preparations complete, the huntress made her way toward the tent she had erected among those of her sisters. Above the entrance hung a hand-painted sign bearing a single word in Paecian: FORTUNE. Beneath it, the usual price of ᖬ 6 had been rather conspicuously scratched out and covered. It was perhaps the closest thing to an apology that Le Fey was willing to offer the spirits.

She ducked through the entrance, settled herself into the chair behind a small wooden table, and waited for her first guest.

Those who entered would quickly discover that Juniper's little establishment was not quite what it appeared to be. From the outside, it was an ordinary canvas tent, no larger or more remarkable than the dozens scattered throughout the gathering. Inside, however, the walls stretched considerably farther than they had any right to. A crackling fire burned within a stone hearth, casting shadows across shelves lined with ancient tomes, curious trinkets, and objects whose purposes were perhaps better left unexplained. The air carried the faint scent of burning herbs, mingled with something older and harder to place.

And then there were the spirits.

A visitor might feel the unmistakable impression of someone standing directly behind them, close enough that they could almost imagine breath against the back of their neck. Yet should they turn, they would find nothing there. The sensation might pass, only to return a moment later, accompanied by the faintest suggestion of a whisper just beyond their hearing. The entrance remained perfectly visible, its canvas flaps hanging open to the festivities beyond, but there was something about the little tent that made the distance between the table and the outside world seem considerably greater than it ought to have been.

Juniper, meanwhile, appeared entirely unbothered by any of it.

Seated comfortably behind her table, the Witch raised her eyes to meet those of her guest, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Before her rested the cards of her Bakurat deck, neatly arranged and waiting to be disturbed.

"Welcome," she purred, gesturing toward the empty chair opposite her. "First, I must ask you something. Are you quite sure you want to know what the future has in store for you?"

OPEN​

Xasin Dyst · 2026-10-20T15:31:06-0400

WITCHING HOUR
Stopping at Fortune-teller on the way to Objective II - Dathomir

Dathomir was unlike Concordia. There were similarities, certainly. Ancient forests, untamed wilderness, and the unmistakable sense that civilization existed at the mercy of the natural world rather than the other way around. Those were things Xasin Dyst understood intimately. Yet there was something different about the forests of Dathomir. Something that seemed to linger just beyond the reach of her senses, as though the trees themselves were keeping secrets. She found that rather appealing.

The redheaded Mandalorian had come to Dathomir for reasons that had very little to do with the festivities surrounding her. The reconciliation between the Mandalorians and the Witches was certainly worth celebrating, but feasting and exchanging pleasantries had never been particularly high on her list of interests. She had exchanged a few greetings, accepted the hospitality offered, and then quietly excused herself to pursue what had truly drawn her attention. The Harvest Labyrinth.

The prospect of wandering through an ancient forest where the boundaries between the living and the dead were said to grow thin was simply too intriguing to ignore. Clan Dyst had its own understanding of the Force and the natural world, passed through generations of those few within the clan who possessed the sensitivity to perceive it. Her father had been among them, and Xasin had learned much from him.

But Dathomir was not Concordia. Whatever mysteries awaited within the labyrinth belonged to this world and its people. She intended to approach them with the respect they deserved, though she certainly wasn't going to let a little uncertainty discourage her curiosity.

Her weathered beskar armor made her unmistakably Mandalorian, even if the orange Tree of Life adorning her breastplate was hardly a conventional clan insignia. The heavy smith's hammer secured across her back was equally unusual. Her helmet, however, remained clipped to her belt, leaving her fiery red hair and emerald eyes exposed to the cool evening air.

She was following the path toward the labyrinth when something caught her attention. A tent. Not particularly remarkable in itself, considering the festivities, but the atmosphere surrounding this one seemed different. There was an invitation to discover one's fortune, and Xasin slowed as she considered the prospect. Fortune-telling. Her lips curled into a faint, amused smile.

The future was a peculiar thing to seek answers about. Her father had always taught her that the Force connected all living things, but that connection did not necessarily mean every question needed an answer. A tree did not need to know where every branch would grow before reaching toward the sunlight. Still, curiosity had always been one of her more persistent weaknesses. Besides, she was already here.

Xasin approached the entrance and peered inside, her emerald gaze settling upon the woman waiting within. The Mandalorian offered a friendly smile, though there was an unmistakable glimmer of mischief in her expression. "I was on my way to get lost in a haunted forest," she announced conversationally, "but apparently the universe decided I should find out whether that was a good idea first." She glanced toward the fortune-telling arrangements before returning her attention to the woman. "I hope you don't mind a curious Mandalorian. I've never had my fortune told before."

Stepping farther inside, Xasin studied the unfamiliar surroundings with genuine interest rather than suspicion. There was much about Dathomiri traditions she did not understand, and she had no intention of pretending otherwise. "Back home, we tend to concern ourselves more with what the living world is telling us right now than what it might have planned for tomorrow." Her smile widened slightly. "But I've traveled rather a long way to experience something different, so it would be rude not to try." Whatever the woman might see in her future, Xasin hoped it would not involve being told to avoid the labyrinth entirely. That would be terribly inconvenient.

Juniper Le Fey | Open

Ryela Solde · 2026-10-20T15:44:35-0400

Objective II: The Harvest Labyrinth
Location: Weald of the West, Dathomir
Tags: @OPEN

Ryela Solde had never been to Dathomir before, and she was beginning to understand why her father had described it as a world unlike any other. The forests were enormous, the sky was an unsettling shade of crimson, and practically everything around her seemed to possess an air of mystery. She had accompanied the Mandalorian visitors to the harvest celebration, eager to experience something new and perhaps learn a little about the Witches she'd heard mentioned in conversations back home. At thirteen, she considered herself perfectly capable of exploring without someone watching her over her shoulder, though she had promised to stay within the designated festival grounds.

The celebration itself was fascinating. Emerald flames lit the clearing, unfamiliar music drifted between the tents, and the smell of roasted meats mingled with spices she couldn't identify. Ryela had wandered among the festivities for a while, examining the decorations and listening to conversations about traditions that were entirely foreign to her. Growing up Mandalorian had taught her the importance of family and honoring those who came before, but she had never encountered the Dathomiri approach to remembering their ancestors.

The labyrinth eventually captured her attention. Winding paths disappeared between ancient trees, their trunks marked with strange symbols that glimmered faintly in the shifting light. From what she'd overheard, the barrier separating the living from the dead was especially thin during the harvest season. Ryela wasn't entirely certain what that meant, although the possibility of encountering an actual spirit was both exciting and a little unsettling. Her mother had died when she was born, and while she had never considered herself particularly interested in ghosts, she couldn't help wondering whether someone like Dean might be found somewhere like this.

Standing near the entrance, Ryela adjusted her utility vest and studied the nearest collection of runes. Her crimson eyes followed their unfamiliar shapes, searching for some recognizable pattern. She understood mechanical diagrams and navigation charts well enough, but these markings might as well have been written in a different language entirely. The occasional flicker of emerald light deeper among the trees only made the place more intriguing.

"Well, it's not like I'm going to get lost," she murmured, though she wasn't entirely convinced. She glanced toward the celebration behind her, then returned her attention to the winding path. Perhaps finding someone to explore with would be sensible, especially since she knew next to nothing about Dathomiri magick. Ryela lingered near the entrance, curiosity warring with caution as she considered venturing farther inside.

After another moment, she turned toward the nearby festivalgoers with a hopeful smile. "Hey! Has anyone actually been through this thing yet? I'm trying to figure out whether it's a real maze or if we're just supposed to wander around until something interesting happens."

Jaren Kast · 2026-10-20T15:49:50-0400

Wearing:
Beskar'gam - Vibro-ax

WEALD OF THE WEST, DATHOMIR

Jaren was, admittedly, creeped out.

For one, he had never set foot on Dathomir. Hell, he had never flown into their system while on patrol. Two, he had never encountered a witch, or magick, or any of the lovely happenings of the season. Yet, here he was, standing before a bonfire of emerald flames. Emerald. Like, green. Really really green. Now, Jaren was not daft enough to think that the Force wasn't capable of all sorts of whacky things. But this? This took the cake.

Yet, for as much as the proximity of spirits and magick made his skin crawl...it was worth it.

Jaren hadn't taken much time for himself in recent history. Between his obligations, his role, and his training, there just seemed to never be enough hours in the day. Today was a rare opportunity for him to take some time away and do what he enjoyed the most. And that was spending time with her.

To say that Torva had been what kept Jaren running these past few months wasn't an understatement. To be a Supercommando meant to undergo grueling training and to be the very best. He had to work harder than he ever thought possible to make this dream a reality. And, along the way...did he think about quitting? Absolutely. Did he consider the aches in his bones and the weariness in his soul? Definitely. Yet the picture he kept tucked inside his helm gave him the will to push forward. It was a horrendously silly thing - a string of photos from a booth Torva dragged him in on one of their earliest dates.

And now he carried it with him everywhere he went.

Said helmet was now clipped to his side as Jaren quietly orbited the bonfire. His eyes were hunting for that head full of fiery hair. So far, no dice, but he knew she'd be coming.

And when she arrived? Maybe they could be creeped out together.

Torva Verd + OPEN

Mia Monroe · 2026-10-20T16:10:05-0400

e6539575693e5689e160cf2ab41b40f173bb0991.pnj

Tags:

Isley Verd

de784f6a6cf1431c65722dd65864b7fa97b46af2.pnj

Mia couldn’t ignore the pull of the veil.

She wanted to, she wanted to be as far from it as possible. Nothing good came from speaking with the dead. Those that were at peace had nothing to say which left only the millions with unfinished business, with vendettas and angry words.

Souls she had fought for decades while Mandalore and her people had burned.

Voices skittered across the back of her mind, whispering unwanted words, reminding her that her debt was still not paid. That the blood on her hands could not be washed away. She should have turned back, gone back to the fires to the warmth of laughter and old connections, but the whispers would have found her there.

How many months after Ijaat had had Ashin rip her from the netherworld had she battled with ghosts, how long had it taken her to split reality from nightmare, to understand what was hallucination and what was real.

A deep rumbling growl echoed somewhere beyond a flash of green eyes passed in front of her vision.

“Katlaydr.”

Mia ripped the helmet off as panic seized her chest and she lowered to a crouch on the path exhaling a slow shaky breath and waited for the sensation to pass, for the whispers to quiet. They stilled all at once, replaced by something else, something they fled from.

The Warmaster didn’t rise at the presence of

Isley Verd at her back.

“Hello Metus.”

Not Isley. Not friend, nor brother. Mia had never called him by his Darth title.

And her greeting was icy to say the least.

Veyla Krinn · 2026-10-20T16:26:57-0400

Objective I: The Witch-Fire Location:
Weald of the West, Dathomir
Tags:

Garo Vevut-Varkor

The emerald flames were certainly not what Veyla expected when she accepted the invitation to Dathomir. She had heard stories about the Witches and their magick, but seeing even a small part of their traditions was proving far more interesting than hearing secondhand accounts. The celebration itself was welcoming enough, with unfamiliar foods, music, and conversations that offered glimpses into a culture she knew relatively little about.

Her training under

Kallous had given her a growing appreciation for the Force, though she still learned to distinguish its subtler impressions from her own instincts. Dathomir seemed an appropriate place to explore that understanding, particularly given the history between the Witches and the Mandalorians. She wondered how their traditions might differ from what she'd been taught.

As she wandered among the gathering, a familiar face caught her attention. The young Mirialan shaman she'd met at the masquerade on Thyferra seemed especially interested in the festivities. Veyla smiled and made her way toward him, pleased to find someone she recognized among the unfamiliar faces.

"Garo! Fancy running into you here." She smiled as she came to a comfortable stop nearby. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Between the Witches and all this talk of spirits, this seems like exactly the sort of gathering you'd find interesting."

She glanced at the emerald flames, then returned her attention to him. "Have you had a chance to speak with any of the Witches yet? I've been curious about their traditions myself, especially how they understand the Force." Her smile widened slightly. "I thought I might learn something while I'm here. Although I suspect you've got a better idea of what questions to ask than I do."

Isley Verd · 2026-10-20T16:32:45-0400

GOD OF DREAD

Wearing: x | x
Location: Labyrinth, Dathomir

This time of year was wonderful.

Dathomir was the one of the few places where the Sith Lord felt at home. When his people, who he had fought, bled, and died for, turned their backs? It was this very world which embraced him. The coven of his mother sheltered him, bandaged his wounds, and restored him. Where Mandalore sought to destroy him, simply for the Force being in his veins, Dathomir accepted him for who he was. It was no wonder that, after the Civil War, the man known as Isley Verd truly embraced the Dark Side.

Mand'alor the Reclaimer. Warmaster. Alor. These were all titles cast aside, the same way Mandalore had cast him aside. It was a small miracle that his own son decided to rise up and to take those mantles for himself. A miracle that his own flesh and blood would try to make the Mandalorians see beyond the Death Watch's hatred.

If his son would succeed remained to be seen. But for now...Darth Metus allowed himself to feel a nugget of pride. For today, the world that had cast him aside and the world that had sheltered him were joining hands once again. And here, the Sith freely walked among the twisting and turning walls of the labyrinth. The spirits and sprites did not bother him whatsoever. Save for one little nuisance who was absolutely infatuated with his hair for some reason.

And while he attempted to swat the little bugger away, fruitlessly, a voice addressed him ahead. A voice that was positively frigid. An eyebrow raised inquisitively as his eyes took in the form of

Mia Monroe .

"Hello Liberator." he said in response, a touch of amusement gracing each syllable. "My what a lovely evening we're having, hmm?"

Mia Monroe

Mig Gred · 2026-10-20T17:20:05-0400

Wrong character

Leddie Gred · 2026-10-20T17:21:00-0400

Objective II
Tags: Open

Leddie looked around the celebration. It was strangely familiar. Like the harvest festivals back on Concord Dawn before… well a lot. She kept a slow pace as she took it all in. Seeing spirits from her past? Hadn’t had any luck at that as best as she could tell. She’d pull her coat closed, taking a breath as she noticed the labyrinth.

“Well. Could be fun.” She started to walk in, not really sure who or what she’d find while looking around.

Garo Vevut-Varkor · 2026-10-20T18:19:51-0400

Garos turn to the familiar voice, e stay qiet for a time listening to Veyla "I..." he try to sepak in an low tone but she continue to speak he waits her finish "I need to find a witch first I'm not sure whhat I gonna ask, I wanna know te differences between Mandoa Shamanis and the Dathormir Witchcraft" He think a little "So you have some treinament in teh mystic was?"

Veyla Krinn

Mia Monroe · 2026-10-20T19:08:01-0400

Tags:

Isley Verd

“Don’t call me that.” she said quietly.

The humour in his voice was like fuel on an already burning fire. Anger flared in her chest rippling out from her. She passed a hand over her mouth fighting to control it.

The Liberator had died on Sundari, the name was little more than a ceremony something the rest of their people could cling to, but she herself? She despised it. All is was, was a reminder of how she had failed.

“I had a fascinating conversation with your son of late. About death, about the cost of returning from it.”

Her voice was dangerously calm. She rose slowly, hooking the buy’ce to her belt as she did and turning to face him, fingers flexing at her sides, like they itched to wrap around his throat.

“Imagine my surprise when he tells me that you, the man who I invited to test the next generation, to see them forward as we had been, uses the souls of our own fucking people to avoid paying that cost.”

Mia took a moment to truly look at him, to fully see him as he was and not as the brother-in-arms she had always seen him as. Corruption had long ago stained his eyes, and he practically oozed the darkside. Yet beyond that, there was nothing to suggest he had abandoned his roots.

Their roots.

She shook her head. “Gar hut'uun.”

Viana Morreth · 2026-10-20T19:17:59-0400

Tags: Open
Wearing: [xXx]

Home. There was never anything quite like it, and nothing like the feeling of returning home after long periods of being away. Granted, this was not a decision to stay home, merely a break from going new places and discovering new things. But honestly, there was no way in every version of Hell that Viana would have missed a gathering such as this.

Almost as soon as her feet touched home soil, her boots were stripped from her feet and tossed aside so that she could really feel the familiar connection being home brought. Her toes curled and uncurled against the soil for a moment while her head tipped back and her eyes closed. It was a sensation that could not be described to another, not unless they knew exactly what it was she was feeling in that moment. Luckily there was no one in her immediate vicinity, and as such her head righted and she pressed forward until she was really amidst the gathered.

While for the moment Vi did not partake in meals that were being shared, she did manage to get her hands on a drink as she continued onward towards the emerald flames. An eerie symbol, but it called out like a beacon to the white haired witch, and the closer she got the more relaxed she felt. Not due to some spell, or enchantment cast, but because this was the place where she could completely be herself. No bars held, no minding what she said or where she said it (within reason, of course, she isn't a barbarian), and no need to restrain the energy that coursed through her, so long as she didn't hurt anyone in the process.

With drink in hand, Viana had reached a comfortable distance from the flames and her body began to sway. Music, no music, it didn't matter, her body moved like it was being led by the finest of tunes. No lewd movements, nothing so drastic or odd that it would immediately draw attention or confused stares. No, just easy sways and occasional turns of a witch who was finally home again and fully in touch with (most) everything around her.

Populate WITCHING HOUR [ ME Populate of Kadavo ]

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