Cultivation of a Beast

[Lark]

Lark had never been one to believe to heavily in magic. Even as he read accounts of Jedi and Sith performing these incredible feats that no normal being could accomplish, he had no vested interest in their powers as a child, left abandoned in a feculent orphanage. He had never thought that he'd ever leave his hometown, let alone ever find himself amongst the Sith. That all changed when he discovered his sensitivity. At first it's presence around him was painful, as if Lark was a virus the Force wanted to cleanse from it's sheets. That only made it all the more desirable to master. After Lark burned his home away, leaving nothing behind but cinders, families for vornskrs to feed on, and memories of a life that would never have found peace, he made it his mission to learn the secrets of the Force. And how much there was to discover! If Lark had his way, his tainted grip would control as many aspects of the Force as possible, no matter how grotesque the outcome.

Experimenting with sithspawn, enchanting weaponry like the way his sword was enchanted, Sith sorceries and ancient Sith artifacts, they fascinated Lark more than he ever thought they would. He had always assumed the basic powers of the Dark Side would be enough to satiate himself, but truly intoxicating was the Dark Side. Why should he stop, when there was so much for him to master?

That was what brought Lark to where he was now, to the planet Serenno, and to the House of a certain Count, Marlow Venjuta. He had read of ancient bloodlines and such in the Sith libraries, the eagerness he held to learn what was hidden from him at the paltry orphanage was an odd feeling. Desires were not something Lark was used to having.

With pale hands held harmoniously behind his back, he approached the impressive establishment. Quite fond of appearances, Venjuta was. He wondered if the Count expected him to be on-time. Through shaky negotiations the man agreed to teach Lark what he knew. He couldn't guess the man's opinion of the Sith, but Lark would put on a pleasant show if he needed to. Raising a ghostly hand, he knocked on the door in a casual manner, and patiently awaited the arrival of Count Venjuta.

[member="Count Marlow Venjuta"]

 

[Poe]

The great hall in Castle Venjuta was bustling with activity, while myself and my sister, Junoi Venjuta ​sat in red velvet Victorian style high chairs near the fireplace discussing the young Sith who should be arriving shortly. ​"I'm not overly thrilled with you allowing this Sith into our home, brother. Teaching him, that's one thing, but bringing him here. I'm not in favor of this," ​Junoi said while dipping her finger in her blood filled glass, swirling it around as if the whirling fluid would give her the proper response that would sway my mind on the subject. House Venjuta had a long tradition with the Sith, but recent times some of the others felt a policy of distancing ourselves was in order. I didn't trust the Sith, myself, but compared to the Jedi; the Sith had never led a crusade to kill off the Vahla species, whom make up the other half of our hybrid nature. So it was a matter of the lesser of two evils.

"Duly noted, Junoi," I replied. ​"But the Sith are still allies to House Venjuta. Besides, what are you concerned about? He's one boy among a den of Force wielding blood drinkers. Or are you worried he's going to drag you off to some Sith court, where you will undoubtedly be found guilty of treason; and subsequently put to death?" ​Standing up whilst narrowing her eyes, she came back with, ​​"I've killed more Sith and Jedi combined than any Venjuta in history. So one Sith boy doesn't breed concern with me. I just don't like Sith parading in our home."

​I watched her walk off, probably to complain to someone who might actually agree with her. But it didn't matter, I was both the Count and Patriarch of House Venjuta; and the Bloodline by proxy. So my word was law. Finishing up my own drink of the sweet, crimson fluid, Hefgard, my human servant and friend, leaned over to me and whispered my guest had arrived. I handed him the empty, blood stained chalice and stood up; clapping my hand in delight. It has been a long time since I instructed anyone, especially in alchemy, so I was overly excited by this prospect.

​I heard the knocks on the door, as I was drawing close to them myself. Adjusting my suit, and gripping my cane tightly, I smiled as I opened the door. ​"Welcome young Sith. I do hope your trip wasn't marred with setbacks. The other Houses, minus one, truly hate us and they like to play childish games." Stepping aside, I motioned him to enter my home. ​"If you desire food or drink, both can be arranged. Come, follow me." I led my guest to the great hall, where several trays of food and pitchers of varying styles of drink were set out. "When you have your fill, Hefgard there will bring you to the courtyard. Enjoy young Sith." ​And I left the boy to eat, surrounded by monsters; but there was no safer place in all of Serenno than my home. And whether the boy was nervous or not, he was our guest and each Venjuta in the castle would protect him like he was family.


[member="Lark"]

 

[Lark]

Lark took a seat as [member="Count Marlow Venjuta"] made his exit from the dining hall. The man seemed amiable enough, welcoming an unknown Sith into his household and feeding him in a neighborly fashion. The journey here had been largely uneventful, and Lark desired nothing more than to skip formalities and learn what he had come to practice. But niceties were given to him, and Lark would be gracious in return. He poured himself a glass of water, he had never been one for alcohol's toxic influence. He studied the food with a healthy amount of skepticism. He almost never ate food that hadn't been prepared by him or someone he knew. The Venjutas didn't have any reason to poison him as far as he was aware, and he doubted the Sith would make a large ordeal about one of their acolytes being assassinated. There were bigger targets those with grudges against the Sith could go after.

It felt odd to be bothered by the fact that he wasn't worth assassinating.

But relations between the Sith and Venjutas had never strayed below neutral, so Lark was confident he could eat in relative peace. He cut himself a small slab of meat, covered in a spicy, brownish-red sauce. If it was poisoned, at least his final meal would be a good one. It was the least the culprits could do, really. He took a small sip of water, and eyed the sole servant. He thought to say something to him, but he couldn't think of what to say. His reception had been much more formal than he had expected, he couldn't bring himself to behave in his occasional demeaning manner. No, best to behave as he normally did. With an air of serenity about him, a hidden void of darkness within. He continued his meal, energy returning to him. He finished with the fruit, he had always done that although he couldn't explain why. Habits leftover from his childhood? If so, he needed to squash it.

He rose from the table, and Hefgard took that as his cue to lead him to the courtyard. The establishment continued to impress, with beautiful art and architecture at every turn. "I must give my thanks to Count Venjuta," Lark said. "And to the chefs as well. It's almost perturbing to be welcomed in such a cordial manner." In truth, Lark's paranoia concerning his hosts was largely left behind. He feared little, but waves of paranoia would occasionally hinder him. He did his best to obscure that fact, but even the slightest mannerisms could give it away.

Now, let's see what the gracious Count has to offer.