Fire and Mud

[Petra Cavataio]

[member="Isley Verd"] and [member="Lauda Cavataio"] or [member="Mira Cavataio"]

A group of young witches entered the ruins of a village that was about fifty miles downriver from the lake the Morte Clan’s Stronghold almost enclosed. The village was like a few other that popped up when the witches numbers were large over six hundred years ago. This one was part of the Morte Clan spread from days that were now forgotten. The past might been clouded to the youth of Dathomir, but legends, hear say, tall tales were in the forefront of the youthful minds.

This one legend was placed in the minds of Dathomirians as a lesson regarding summoning elements and to pull an ancient witch from hibernation. Of course, latter was shared in the lesson. The legend only spoke about a witch using a campfire she started to make the flames behave humanoid and obey her commands. Failure came quickly after the flames formed a person. It did not listen to the witch and she met her doom at that moment. Then the creature burnt the forest down, and was only stopped by the three clan mothers. The truth behind it was the old witch known as Petra did battle. Barely winning the fight, she used fire to cleanse her body and the force was used to draw power from the flames to in turn heal herself. The area of the forest that was ‘burnt’ was in reality drained of life via the force for boost in her healing process.

These witches somehow got the idea they could do the spell and control it because they had the numbers. Ones that suggested the idea were out to prove in their clans that they were strong. Proving to others was always a trait that never ended well. This time around, they were going to repeat the same trait like other witches of old.

Starting the campfire, five of the witches circled the fire while the rest circle further away from the five. Chants began to fill the still night. Five voices began with the same phrases and fluctuation in each word spoken. Green sparks came from the fire as the chanting went on. The ten other witches joined in to form a chorus to the spell. That turned the flickering green sparks to a swirl funnel of green mist going towards the dark sky.

Within the mist, the flames did form a humanoid creature. The witches continued their chanting until a chilling, wicked laugh echoed all around them. Coldness ran down their spines and panic caused them to fall silent. Another voice could be heard now, one that had Ancient Sith and Paeceans words being recited. The green mist rose higher into the sky before crashing down. Instead of disappearing and leaving the fire creature before them, the mist jetted from the flames and plunged into each of the witches’ chests. Like cables, rope, or other tethering materials, the witches were being drained of the force and life.

Some of the witches that were not overwhelmed by shock or fear called on the weather to rain down hard and heavy. It appeared the rain was putting out the flames; however, the more that was drained the quicker the flames recovered from the water. Bodies began to fall into the fresh mud. As the husks, like mummies, sunk, the flames moved downward into the mud like the late witches. Rain continued to come down hard as the last tells that anyone was there disappeared into the mud.

- A Week Later -

Morte Clan scouts were sent to investigate why a storm cloud had remained the position for a week. It was assumed there was a witch that played around and the spell needed to be ended. The heavy rain made it difficult to investigate the area. Water was running off in different directions and making the area of mud larger. They move upwards to be in the trees for easier movement compare to the slow, strong hold of the mud. Getting to the village, they used the half sunken ruins to walk around. As best as they could circle the central area, a mound formed upwards as a light green fog rose from the mud.

The green fog grabbed ahold of everything it touched. The village was covered with it. Then came the same event from before, the mist was pulling life energy and force from the scouts, mud, and ruins of the village. All had life or the force flowing from them and the mud mound was drawing it all in. As the witches turned to husks, the mud dried out and began to crack. The mound even started to dry up and harden.

The mist disappeared into the solid mound. There was silence and no activity of any sort in the area. After an hour of deafening silence, cracking and breaking of clay was the sounds to greet the silence. Then a decayed hand reached out from the mound. Clawing, punching, and kicking were means for the being in the mound. A decayed husk like being walked into the light of the sun that was directly overhead. Moving towards the Morte Clan’s stronghold, the person began to appear more like a live woman than a husk she left behind.

Sith rituals and alchemy from her older ways kept her alive, but these days were tougher to hold on those spells and use the force in other manners. So the use of the force was more aimed at recharging the so call batteries to keep her life and appearance going. She was not in a rush to get to the stronghold. Last time she was there, a fight with Allyan witch had pushed her powers to call on the piece that held her appearance together to expose what a living four thousand year would look like if one kept on aging.

For Petra, the need of hibernation to recover was strong, and she took recovering over continue on her path. There had been lots of bumps on her path. She was used to waiting to achieve her goals. Time was on her side compare to everything else. Of course taking on more energy for the time being was giving her a more youthful feeling compare to the last two years.

Entering the massive entrance of the stronghold, the fifty year old looking Petra walked in. She had a few people she needed to see if the goals that were desire were going to be met. Small piece of the force was used to blast her presence to the people she desired to appear before her.

 

[Lauda Cavataio]

Leaning her hands against the large balcony frame, Lauda Cavataio watched the area that had long been covered by the storm cloud. She had sent a few scouts to examine the area. The scouts did not return but the storm had finally ended. It was far too quiet then. She was getting itchy to inspect situation herself and every so often, one of the elder Witch would approach her, warning her it was far too dangerous. None of the scouts had returned, the place seemed as if it was quiet just before another storm broke.

Her fingers wrapped on the railing a little tighter, inhaling deep. "We need to see it. This is Morte territory, we can't just have freak storms plaguing our land, careless Witches wandering about, members vanishing." Before long, her words became a rant, Lauda realized and stopped herself, inhaling deep. As the air filled her lunges, she reached out to the Force.

Then it pulled her, as if an invisible chain around her forced her to move, making her release the railing and turn on her heel. 'Mistress?' One of the elders called out to her but Lauda did not respond, walking into the stronghold, waking seemingly aimlessly through the well known route, avoiding confused servants, Witches and Jai on her way.

"Ma'dri," she finally spoke, turning another corner on her way, seeing her mother standing on the other end of the hallway, walking forward. Her head lowered in respect. Because no matter what the councils claimed and the clans decided, to Lauda, her Ma'dri was always Mother Superior. Always.

[member="Petra Cavataio"] [member="Isley Verd"]

 

[Darth Metus]

Dathomir.

For those of the world and it's people, rumor and speculation become fact. Tales are woken, claiming that the planet is a vile place wroth with Witches and their machinations. Fear and caution characterize those who draw near to the world...yet for those who understand, there is a different experience altogether. For those who have tasted of the majesty of the world, Dathomir is a shining beacon that beckons her children home. Only here, in the midst of its towering mountains and sweeping plains, could one truly experience a sense of belonging.

For Isley Verd, that experience was something that he craved.

Although his was vastly different than the other members of Clan Morte, due to his Mandalorian heritage, he found himself feeling right at home amongst them. The twisting corridors of their Fortress had become a sanctuary for him; and in light of recent calamity, a place of peace and recovery was absolutely what he needed. However, in all the recent time he had spent on Dathomir, there what was something vital missing. The one who had opened her arms and claimed him as her son was...absent...and Isley had little idea as to where she had gone. However, like any good son, hope was held that she would return.

And she did.

On a day characterized by unusual reports of a lingering, magickal storm, the Mandalorian walked about the Fortress. As per the usual, he was intent upon putting his alchemical skills to good use in service to his Clan; and therefore was headed to the makeshift Forge he had erected. While it was no Aza'zoth, it would most definitely accomplish the tasks that he had in mind. However, before he could so much as get halfway to his workplace, a powerful presence made itself known. Through the Force, this entity brushed upon his consiousness with the might of thunder...but also with the care of a mother. Isley knew this presence and excitement bubbled within him at once. [member="Petra Cavataio"] had returned.

As swiftly as his feet could bear him, the Mandalorian broke into a sprint towards the entrance of the Fortress. He did not stop until he rounded the final corner and saw for himself the sight of the Mother Superior. She appeared as she had the day he met her, and from behind his visor, his smile grew. Reaching, Isley removed his helmet and slowed to a brisk walk; only to halt beside his sibling [member="Lauda Cavataio"]. Lowering his head, he then addressed his mother with reverence in his tone. "Ma'dri," he began, "welcome home."