Pom studied little into ancient gods beyond those introduced to her personally. For one, she recently determined mankind's concept of god to fall far below her expectations of the meaning regarding which the term ought entail. She understands her views likely not very popular, as most heretics confined themselves to their own Systems. All those fathomed within the hearts of mortal beings are merely demigods, immortals, imposters desiring or demanding worship from minuscule Man. They possess a temper much like that of children, one prime example being the Fanged God; He is an arse, like a lot of men just so happen to blatantly aspire to be. And yet, here upon Dathomir, among the very creation such beings pretend to rule, the Nightsisters themselves have subjugated their very own supreme beings as tools to serve their every whim.
Pom imagines that a true god ought exist far beyond that which its creation should be able to conceptualize. Anything that cannot garner her expectations, she deems not worthy of honest worship. She entertains the notion however, only to earn what she desires, that being to generate the outcome of her Magick. Nothing lesser phases her. This concept of her's surfaced as if from the depths of her Soul, the very moment she met Emperor Carnifex in person. She marveled that her Emperor could extend his reach throughout the galaxy, while her Fanged God's own power, his Spirit of Ichor, remained solely generated upon Dathomir. Emperor Carnifex never blatantly demands worship, nor claims to be the creator of matter, energy, their Physics, nor living consciousness; although he actually Commands it. She fancied him more godlike than those who directly serve those they fancy to master over. Her duties elicit an outward adherence to her ancient culture, and she blindly continues her practice. At first, such revelation outright destroyed her, but now, her eyes are merely open to self conscious actualization.
The Sith occupation is confined to a strip of land around the Warlock's Gate. Dathomir herself is uninviting, harboring an innumerable onslaught of volatile enchantments and preying denizens. The Dathomiri are most willing to accept their Star's position among the vast reach of the Sith Empire. Who else exists in all the galaxy with whom they might build relations? This Nightsister continues the tradition!
Mystical enchantment grips hold of this planet, as it and the Nether enjoined. Originally the Scientific tests directly resulted within the boundary set for the Imperials by their Emperor. In conjunction with the newly induced Chemistry, the Magick of the Nightsisters produced during their usual Witching Hour have wrought forth new and remarkable actualities. Now as Magick of ages old ever hangs over this planetary system and is kept volatile by the consistent flow and generation of the Spirit of Ichor, along with new spells cast and that of the Scientists' generation, unprecedented outcomes have merited. A growing area of Dathomir exists actually within the Nether itself, when viewed from the Nether during the correct time of each day. This feat has amazed the elders and also alarmed them; it also allows for outstanding success in certain Magick.
"I am pleased to meet you both," Pom Stych Tivé returned with a nod of her head. The surrounding area broke out in the festive rapping from a drum circle. "The number of celestial alignments reported to occur this season clearly bless us, and push us to strive towards continuous accomplishments. Timing is everything!"
An initiate presented courteously before them with a tray hoisted upon her shoulder. She curtseyed while she nodded, then swung her tray around in front of herself to present the tray of drinks to the Mistress Malcontent and her featured guests.
Pom lifted two glasses and offered them to her guests before claiming one for herself. "We have a doozie planned for today," she said as she downed her first snort, discarding the empty glass and taking up another.
'Oh, the perils of responsibility!' she thought, while it is highly likely she won't remember a thing about today, when well into tomorrow!
Pom raised her glass. "To the Fanged God!" she bellowed, turning momentarily to face the crowd who reciprocated her toast. "May he not smite us tomorrow while we sleep off our stupor, for how we shall punish him this night!"
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