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[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Hooded and cloaked in crimson, a figure wearing traditional shaman garb stood walked the halls of the Shaman sanctuary. Her medallion chains lightly jingled on occasion, but she moved with mostly silence. Head low, she still felt immensely comforted by the familiar surroundings of the sanctuary. She was a traitor to the Mando'a, but to the Novanian Shamans of Archais, she was a promising pupil.

Promise that the gifted child now believed to be flushing down the drain.

Exhaustion wrecked her bones. A headache pounded in her brain. She was home, but she had returned full of woe. The war between the Enclave and Galactic Alliance was easily taking its toll on her. She was visibly full of sorrow, tiredness, and guilt. It had been months since she last had been here, and so much had happened. She was finding her way to her room, but as she turned the corner to her dorm, she was starting to hear whispers.

"Is that Elise Vizsla? It has been months! She does not look well..."
"Vizsla has returned! Shall we greet her-"
"-She looks exhausted, Telvan!"
"Is that really Siyarr's protege?"
"She hasn't been wi' the Enclave, hasn't sha?"
"Is that Elise?"
"Siyarr's pupil has returned!"
"Should someone notify Yorunarr?"


Elise winced her eyes shut and ran through the halls, hugging her luggage bag as she finally approached her dorm. She opened the door and entered, immediately dropping her gear and meandering towards the cot. She did not care that the surfaces were covered in thick dust, or that her sheets were musty, or that the plants were dead. She plopped down into her bed and closed her eyes. It was still good to be in her room again. But tomorrow... tomorrow she knew that a conversation with her mentor was coming.

And she was counting on it.

She needed him more than ever.

But as for right now, she was too tired to talk...

With no sense of time, Elise woke up in her dorm with a stuffed up nose. Beyond a doubt, it was all the dust in the unattended room. She knew her biological clock was telling her to wake up. Checking the time of a holopad, she saw that she had been sleeping... , for nearly fifteen hours. It would have shocked her,if not for this having become the new norm for her. Up until recent events, Elise had been a highly motivated, high energy morning person.

She was still dressed in her robes, which were horribly tangled and wrinkled. She shuffled, sweaty, and had to free herself from her own clothes. With a sigh, she drug herself free from her peculiar position and rummaged through her belongings. She found clothes. She took her spare shaman robes, black in color, and pulled them over a fresh pair of tank top and pants. She flung her medalion chains over her shoulder and exited her dorm, hoping to figure out where her mentor was. Eating and drinking were far from her thoughts. Only her problems encompassed her... she needed the guidance of her trusted teacher again.

She could not hope for Yorunarr to meet up with her as well. As the leader of the shamans, he likely had too much to deal with. Elise may have been gone the longest time she ever had been from the sanctuary, but that was not so much of an alarm. Everyone knew in advance that she had been headed to Enclave space with her family...

But... so much... had happened since...

She shook her head. She realized that she wanted to talk with Yorunarr as well. And yet, she shoved that desire aside. She was a promising shaman, but still only recently graduated. Furthermore, she was... fearful... of how he would look upon her recent failings. She winced, walking through the halls. Some shamans she had studied and trained alongside tried to speak to her. Once, Elise would have eagerly engaged in conversation with her friends. But now? Her answers were vague, short, and devoid of her old vigor. She seemed to be aimless at first, but eventually her feet took her to one of the sanctuary's greenhouses.

Surrounded by local Archais plantlife, she was tempted to remove her shoes. But she was not in the mood for her psychometry's tricks and visions. Standing still, surrounded by familiar fauna, she had never felt so distant. If even... coming home... could not ease her pain- ...

Tears slipped down her face. Red eyes gazed through the trees, into a distant hellscape. She needed to talk to Siyarr, and she still had no idea where he was. She had not thought to ask her colleagues as she escaped them. The girl was lost, even at her home. She needed guidance, and even now was helpless to find it.

And so, she stood in the greenhouse. Lost. She had come so close to where she knew she was welcome, but was still alone.


Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

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NEW DANCES, NEW ERAS I: THE WORLDS WE KNOW - PROLOGUE

EN ROUTE TO FORT DEFIANT, THE MYRMIDON QUARTER,
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN (880 ABY)

<"All units, this is Ground Command! Stand down, I repeat - stand down! The swarm are routing, but we have no orders to pursue! We've won here, our part is played.... The rest is up to Ravelin! Ground Command - out!">
​

All the surviving Imperials were making their way back to Fort Defiant, happily obeying orders that resembled anything close to a collective state of rest, breathing with life's many intended aspirations permitted once more when the Novanian caste were reconciling on their way back. Made much easier with the Gods fading back to the confines of their own firmaments, leaving the white-eyed masses to make amends despite the sudden denominational split just hours before, and in this brotherly realisation between both newly-formed sects, Siyarr would find himself feeling quite grateful for the simmering tensions as they cooled to peacefulness before his very eyes.

It all washes away in the end.
We choose to let the bonds of fellowship lead the way.

As all things should be, we speak where arms never prevail.
​

But then the pangs of shame forced Mitharran's son to sigh in dejection, and despite the Godseer's warm-hearted forgiveness and brotherly affirmations, Siyarr's act of embracing the savagery (that which his heart had denied him for almost twenty years by then) still embittered the victory the enjoyed over the Swarm and the Scar Hounds alike, though the Novanians were still clueless to the calamity that awaited their arrival to Fort Defiant. Not the best of moods to carry into the process of hearing the darkest of news, but when the rejoining sects found Lord-Colonel McGechin, they were already apprehensive when the Dreamseer finally asked,'What of our High-Command, Lord Carwood? What say the heroes of the Empire?', the tears that followed only made matters worse.

'Priest-King, High-Shaman.... I'll start with the good news - the Lord-Baron lives, but has chosen to make for Bastion posthaste, choosing to aid the other Barran as he aided the Lord-Regent's son in turn. But, unfortunately, this is where the good news runs out.... The Lord-Warden was induced into a Bacta-Coma not ten minutes ago - in critical, comatose condition, thus will remain in the tank for as long as Argilac an' Sigismund consider it pertinent. Stable for now, but its not looking good.'

​

Yorunarr had shot off towards the Hand of Thrawn, clearly unable to contain himself or hear anything more of his friend's condition, and undignified though it would have appeared to the layman, Siyarr understood the admiration and respect his Priest-King always had for the Woad-born Druid. Just as Lord Erskine had changed Novania for the better, changing Yan'Sharlim's only-surviving son for better, the Lord-Warden himself continued this unspoken tradition to forge the man Yorunarr became, lending much to the precedence underlying the sudden departure.

The Empire's Arkanian demographic always knew that dark days awaited, but in their understanding of all that was achieved in Imperium's protection and inclusion, all that brought them into the fold and into the arms of those who would become friends and comrades before long, their tribalistic sense of loyalty allowed it to bond them to Imperator, Emperor and Regent alike. Thus tying Novania, Archais and all the Imperial Arkanians to the leaders who guarded them, letting faith and facets flourish for as long as Archais' golden age was allowed to continue, even to the bitter end of all they recognized as Galactic civilisation, even after the deaths of the living souls they revered and respected in life. But in the process looking into the dewy-eyed gaze of the grieving Woad, the Dreamseer understood it went much deeper for the Goidel than it ever did for those living under Yorunarr's Imperial theocracy, gulping at the implications as he worked up the courage to ask,'And the Lord-General?'

​

'He died well, found kneeling in the Knight's Prayer.... Just one wound - indicating..... Indicating he died duelling, likely perishing to the same strike that tagged him on Korriban.... Ashla rest his soul.'

Many had agreed over the years, though some still retained a hope beyond it, but despite that and the yet-smaller number of those who thought the realm would perish before that day, the majority agreed that the death of Imperium's most-decorated soldier would mark the end of an era. To many, Lord Aron Gowrie was the embodiment of the Empire's military might, it's brazen valour and tenacity alike, but to most the Kellas had represented one of the last great walls of dominant defence against the Galaxy's savage neighbouring powers; and when suchlike beacons of hope were ever snuffed out in such times, representing the eradication of the hard-to-kill elements that separated them from all those who fought them, the affected factions (and all they fought to protect) always followed.

'Died well though he did.... The Kellas lives on in all of us, Lord Carwood. His like will never be seen again in our lifetimes, this I clearly can't deny, but we can embody everything the old Tuath achieved, walking - so we - can run. Imperium lives on, in all of us - as the Goidel lives on in turn.... Awaiting the chance to rise again, awaiting the chance to resurrect the cause at a moment's notice.'

We'll have the old Tuath set in marble- No!
We set his praying form in porphyry.

As according to Imperial-Ashlan custom for heroes.​

Marking the makings of a new age, a new era for the Galaxy as much as it was marked for Archais, but in a way that seemingly brought everything back to square-one again, and in a way that made it seem as though a divine, unseen hand had decreed their circumstances to be; delivered by the harshest, bleakest means imaginable, almost as if it were a punishment for a hubris they never knew existed in the first place, but despite it all a punishment the remaining Imperials would regardlessly take in their strides. Retribution for barbarism, for death, a toll exacted for all the souls they sent to the Nether - or someplace better.

​

'Whichever funerary practice suits best for Ashlans, I would help as much as I am permitted.'

NEW DANCES, NEW ERAS I: THE WORLDS WE KNOW - PART 1

The Healing Gardens, The Temple of Dreams,
Novania, Archais (900 ABY)

Let her reflect a while longer.... Trauma sets the pace here, remember?
​

Remembering his own, and those revealed by Elise's mother years before, the Dreamer smiled to himself in acknowledgement of trauma being a part of the growing process within, noting all that his darkest days had done to forge the man he became in the new Galactic era. The savagery had been mastered, though at great cost to his sanity for a time, bubbling beneath the surface until the moment came to take charge of the faults and his own soul in short order; though fortunately for his young apprentice, those years of madness had passed the Dreamer by, like the last years of the previous century.

Like waves on a windy, wintry tide, but like the traumas of the Dreamer's past, the grief would be taken with him all the way to grave - inconveivably distant though that day was for Siyarr by then.

Yet there was much in the way of things to smile about, especially in the years after casting aside the Galaxy's ancient mantle of responsibility, and with the freedom to choose their fates without consequence, none benefitted quite so well from it as the Theocrats of Novania. It was this truth in particular that Siyarr was wise to consider in his process of healing the heart of his young apprentice, and with abundant time and space to endeavour to that end, Mitharran's last-surviving son was more than content enough not to rush the delicate process. The training would help, especially in advancing through the more-esoteric aspects of Siyarr's dreaming curriculae, as there would be much uncovered that would aid in the soul's healing process, essentially plotting the path of a recovery by way of accomplishment's validation.

Deciding then and there to make his way into the Healing Gardens from the archway of the sun, the Dreamer approached at a strolling pace, allowing his apprentice a little more time to herself, likely amounting to a period of peace and quiet of the likes she hadn't experienced for weeks. But on approach, Siyarr saw Elise's head bowing with shoulders hunched, watching on as her hands instinctively reached toward her face, instinctively hidings her emotions from people who were likely miles (or even parsecs-) away from the Temple of Dreams at the time. At least here, insulated from judgement and curiosity alike, in her place of peace and wonder, young Vizsla could be free to endure the tortures of life in such a wartorn Galaxy, without reservations and without any humiliation worries to jeapordise recovery in these moments of vulnerability.

A vulnerability of which the Dreamer carried himself in turn, his weight to carry - that which Elise was yet to see in his mind.

His dreams.

You betray noone, Elise.... Damn these people for doing this to you.
This is wrong on so many levels - its genuinely infuriating to contemplate.
​

Hearing much (though likely only surface-level knowledge on the matter) of what had happened to Elise already, Siyarr would have been a fool to think it could have been anything else, and when his hand eventually rested on her shoulder with understanding, it was likely to take much effort on his part to hold back tears of his own. Vizsla would likely have seen and heard it in her mentor as he finally whispered,'Its alright, my young apprentice.... Take your time.... Rest assured, you needn't explain yourself here - not to me.', saying nothing more so as to adhere to his self-imposed example of stability for Elise's sake. It wasn't easy, and even with eyes steadily evaporating the dewiness, the rising lump in Siyarr's throat had the man gulping as quietly as he could, creating difficulty in stifling tears of empathy in the effort to hide the effort in and of itself.

Karking Enclave, man....
What drove your faction to this?

Who, even?

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

The feeling of Siyarr's presence, and the way he placed his hand on her shoulder, gave her a sense of security she had not had since when she last spoke to her mother. And telling her that she had no need to explain her actions... this was the first time she did not feel the need to be defensive since... who knew? She let out a sigh of relief, knowing that there was at least one person on her side. As difficult as she found it fitting into the world of being a Mandalorian, being a Novanian Shaman felt more at ease for her. And Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran had proven to be a brilliant mentor. Like her, he was far more of a person of action - as opposed to his peers. He always had understood her energy, her need to get out there and make things happen. He understood, thanks to his background of theology, of the importance of her Mandalorian heritage. In turn for everything he did for her, she had only tried to be the perfect student. She had been a prodigy in every aspect of training - save for dream interpretation and the applications of Mother's Root. But she had excelled everywhere else; and she had always been driven by the purpose of making the Galaxy a better place.

Well, look how that was going...

She had hoped, that by studying her ancestors and their memories, by learning history and being mentored by elders, that she could crack the code to breaking all the cycles in the Galaxy. Of Jedi and Sith, the rise and fall of empires, the corruptions found in governments ranging from Imperialistic Tarkinism to Galactic Democracy. She only saw all the patterns running as usual, her own self taking part in those cycles... and the only end in sight, as always, being devastation so wide both sides would be literally beaten into standstill. Right now, that cycle was between two groups which despite having flaws, were filled with decent peoples. And one side, the Enclave, included her family. And she had betrayed them. Betrayed them, as if standing against the Enclave, the war would magically end. She should have known better, been more realistic... shouldn't she have?

She was able to calm down after several long moments of tears. She sighed, heavy and weary. The Elise Siyarr was seeing right now was so different than what she usually had been. Elise had always been pumped for action, eager to learn, and filled to the brim with Type A energy. Sleeping in late, dressing heavy, and not dashing to a fro... this was not like her at all. She was sure Siyarr understood. Especially now. But after an entire life of being the Gifted Child, the prodigy, the purpose driven trainee... she was burnt out. Burnt out. because for the first time in her life, she realized how badly she had failed. A pathetic stall, was it not?

She looked up to Siyarr, her hood half covering her head and tangled in her hair. Her eyes, usually full of life, were dull and guilt ridden. There was so much she could say, so much she could rant on about. She trusted Siyarr more than even her own mother. But her throat was heavy and tight. She shuddered, regaining her composure as she swallowed multiple times to get those lumps in her throat down. Eventually, she was able to reach up and rub the tears from her eyes. She turned, pulling her hood down as she found a tropical tree and leaned against it. She was unable to look Siyarr in the eyes. It still somehow stung, to admit her wrongdoings while keeping eye contact with anyone. But she looked away, to the many flowering plants in the indoor garden, and spoke.

"You probably heard. The Galactic Alliance stuck its nose into Enclave affairs it had no business in. Declared war, even. But the Enclave's methods, and the Mandalorians driven by decades, centuries, of neglect and exile... I understand the Enclave, and I would stand by them, if they were not so desperate in their machinations of war. Reminds me of the Death Watch of old, and other past Mandalorian sects. I couldn't let it continue, so I-..."

She gritted her teeth, "I fought my own sister..."

She wrenched her eyes shut, looking away. "I betrayed my own people. That's one thing. But I also betrayed her, and not just in that battle."

She looked up to Siyarr in desperation, hands flailing about as she exclaimed, "I have been doing everything wrong! I was so obsessed with getting stronger and better at everything, because I wanted to 'change the galaxy!'. But I left her behind, and I didn't realize! And I spent so long training, and studying, and I did get strong, but that's all a waste now! Look what I've done!"

She pushed herself up from her tree, stomping her foot as she messily ranted in self loathing, "Six. Vode. are on their Long March With the Manda, because of my actions on Lwekk! You said I don't have to explain myself? That's great, but my actions speak for themselves! I'm nothing! Wasted potential who hasn't made a single good decision in her entire karking life! And you put so much effort into training me, and you somehow still have faith in me. I-I'm sorry!..."

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

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NEW DANCES, NEW ERAS I: THE WORLDS WE KNOW - PART 2

The Healing Gardens, The Temple of Dreams,
Novania, Archais (900 ABY)

I did not wish to teach Elise what I would teach her now....
But if it puts concerns to rest - then so be it.

But I think I might need a little help from an old friend.
​

Listening intently throughout the process of letting Vizsla vent for the sake of her sanity, Clan Mitharran's only-surviving son would learn of the worlds beyond Archais, learning of all the lows they were perceived to have reached as Elise continued through the tears. But in the moment Siyarr heard Elise expressing guilt for being perceived as a traitor, the rage he felt for the sake of his apprentice was more than enough to instinctually clench his jaw in an anger he hadn't felt so intensely in years before that day, but Arr'Huwal's dreamer, in his ever-growing wisdom, chose to let the Dreamseers' next generation continue.

Even after hearing the stated death of six of her fellow Mandalorians, Siyarr listened without a single drop of negative judgement, and by the time Elise was finished in the amble of her confessions, there would be nothing to stand between her own rage and the kindness he was still every part as willing to offer. However, the Dreamer calmly let the silence hang in the air for a while, letting the winds bring the calm for a few moments before he finally responded,'Oh, Elise.... if only you knew! Your anger would not rest inwardly as it does now, this I can assure you - but rest assured I would not suggest rashness either.... And certainly not when the Galaxy reaches the peak of it's inherently-feral nature.', whilst fidgeting his way through the process of finding his cigarras to light one in needless haste.

'I've seen it.... And now.... So have you.... But in this case, it stands to reason that the duality of the situation is lost on your former allies, thus they'll never admit the truth until it hits them in the face. So listen; you - were never - a traitor, or at least not as according to the laws of civilisation - and so it becomes clear that your former comrades just needed someone to fill that role.... Disgusting though it is, I understand their subconscious workings all the same, and it becomes apparent to me that they needed this to feel as though they made the right collective choice - as you & I both know that second-guessing is death for a Mandalorian.'

Besides the scant detail in what intel he could gain from the Enclave's latest spats, (within and without their insular, Kestri-based power structure) perspective really was all that the Dreamer had to go on, along with the truth of his prodigal Dreamseer's heart, and the hallmarks of trauma that spoke of much more than the perceived breakdown or breakaway from Mandalorian prominence. Someone was responsible for all of this, someone manufacturing the hatred to tear families, friendships, fellowships and strike-teams apart, and it was that specific entity of whom the Dreamer desired more than anything to grapple and fight with, desiring ignorance of all others in the accompanying desire to proverbially (or physically-) behead that subversive serpent once and for all.

'Always has been so, always shall be so.... And if not you, I guarantee you now that someone else would have been perceived as a traitor in your place - in the same spirit of convenience no less.'

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran was no Mandalorian, and there was no way he understood every feeling of significance and importance to her culture. Yet he was still a studied theologian. One who had worked closely with Mandalorians in the past. And under his teachings, Elise had been well respected for her Mandalorian heritage and Way of life. Siyarr knew what he was talking about, while also offering a keen third person perspective.

His way of speaking to her, saying her name, and speaking gently to her was reminiscent of her own mother's way of speaking to her. His first statement, that if only she knew, that her anger should not be focused inwards, baffled her. If only she knew what? What he saw in her?

But it was his suggestion to avoid rashness that made her smile nervously. She had spent so much time obsessing over her choices before defecting from the Enclave, and yet... it indeed felt rash. She had left due to the foreboding energy of the youths from her own generation. She had left because she could logically see where a crusade could lead a people obsessed with glory and vengeance. And she left... because of her terrifying Force visions; warning her of the bloody path ahead. But the truth was, despite Galactic Alliance's propaganda, the Enclave had not necessarily done anything... inhumane. The accusations of skinning wookie pelts and murdering civilians were mere lies. Elise knew this. It was the fear of those crimes becoming reality, egged on by a vision, that drove her here. So despite the careful thought put into it, was her defection driven by fear instead of logic?

Still, the notion of her not being a traitor at all was... bizarre. Was Elise not a traitor to the cause of the Enclave? Was she not a traitor for fighting against them on the field of battle? It was certainly confusing to wrap her mind around. But his explanation of them needing a traitor, to feel justified, gave her a sense of clarity. It felt... eerily similar to the Galactic Alliance itself. The Jedi and Senate needed the Enclave to be monsters, to justify their declaration of war. It was a realization that made Elise take a step back. She took a step back.

And she laughed.

She laughed, "Well, won't you look at that! The Galactic Alliance needed the Enclave to be its villain. And the Enclave needed traitors to fuel the war machine. Isn't it fickle! We're all branding roles on each other without taking the time to truly understand each other!"

She sighed, leaning against her tree as Siyarr smoked. "But there already had been attempts to talk. Neither side would back down. And now both sides dehumanize their opponents to feel less guilt. Crazy, huh? No wonder the Galactic Alliance is obsessed with their 'Enclave bad' propaganda."

She looked down, a weary expression crossing her face. "This war was merely destined to happen either way, huh? The Enclave was eventually going to go ahead with their crusade, and the Galactic Alliance was always going to pretend to be the entire galaxy's police force. So where does that land all the people caught in the middle? This war is creating more victims, just like every other."

She looked up to Siyarr, a hint of determination in her dull eyes, "And those were the ones I defected for. The civilians caught in between. But it cost me..."

She closed her eyes, tearing up once more. "It cost me everything. My mother is alone again, and my sister hates me. I can't say I don't deserve it, but it still karking hurts."

She opened her eyes, staring into the smoke of Siyarr's cigarra. The smoke was like the ashes of her family; rapidly burning up. "I want only the best for my fellow vode. I know that we have always been a divided people on multiple sides, but I hate to think of the Enclave's fall. I want the Enclave to survive. It's full of good people... But I sacrificed those interests, and I sacrificed my family, and for what?"

She looked away, "Look at me second guessing myself, after you said that we both know it's death to a Mandalorian. It certainly feels like dying... because I actually thought I could deal with the consequences. I had three choices. I couldn't fight for the Enclave, it would pave the way to mass violence. I could not simply walk away, the guilt would constantly chase me. I could not fight against the Enclave, because those were my family and people... I was going to regret it any way I chose. Why not choose the one I would most likely be able to live with myself for?"

"... And yet here I am. Living with the decision, and feeling like it's death."

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

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NEW DANCES, NEW ERAS I: THE WORLDS WE KNOW - PART 3

The Healing Gardens, The Temple of Dreams,
Novania, Archais (900 ABY)

It needn't have come to this, forcing the young to make such choices.
In a time when Gwyneira needs her daughters more than ever.

The spiteful inherited the mantle, and healthy families are made to suffer it.
​

The sweetest laughter was always attributed to the young Dreamseer, but in the outburst that followed his assurances, it had sounded eerily rueful; and for the very first time, and in all that which he had spent with Elise over the years, found himself feeling saddened when his best student burst out in a laughter that usually always affirmed his purpose. It was a harsh, soul-deep melancholy, a gnawing, chewing feeling felt deep from within his heart-of-hearts, unshakable within - despite his great need to rid his thoughts of it.

But despite the hurts he could feel like a little pulsating wave of air ejected from a siren's speaker, despite the pains of revelation of which he could see assailing the young Ajayid at the time, Mitharran's only-surviving son saw the makings of a hope for a better tomorrow, glowing as red as the aura-bright hue in Elise's irises. Sensing the wrongs of those she knew in life, along with those of whom she had been pitted against in combat, but in Elise's process of comprehending the scale of the wrongs beyond her control, the grander scheme of the Galaxy's latest conflicts would begin to reveal the gravity of the task before the very eyes of the young Dreamseer. Even Arr'Huwal's Dreamer could see it, but even Siyarr knew this was a healthy frame of mind to nurture going forward, for there was no urge to kill, to intimidate or threaten unduly for that matter.

Only an urge to make something better of the careless cosmos around her - and an inherent need to atone through such actions of warm, honourable intent.

That conditioning of sovereign statehood had sliced far and deep into a mind of which Siyarr knew he would need to delve deeper and farther yet still, and in the admitted opinion that her choices had come at the sacrificial cost of her family, Heady knew that Preach's help would be needed at certain points along the way, though returning to the Wetlands (post-schism) was likely to end in a trial's challenge in and of itself. It had been far too long since Siyarr had parted in supposedly-good terms with Priest-King Yorunarr, but if word on the grapevine was anything to go by, it appeared as though the Godseer himself was having troubles of his own, and in turn such that were in need of swift resolution. But the references to dying and such were bringing up reminders of another issue, another problem that would require both Preach and Heady to solve, as rumblings and rumours of Vandrim's return were rife by the turn of the century as well.

'If we speak too much of death between us, we may yet find ourselves summoning a certain fellow who doesn't like me very much - but I digress.... You will never be alone again, this you know, nor will your mother for that matter; she has a good life here, and despite her dismay, she will always love you both, and unconditionally so! Nothing can take that from Gwyneira, not even torture - and this is but one of the many powers derived from sacred motherhood. Something within her soul that keeps her from abandoning you and your sister, so just be patient.'

Looking over his shoulder to be sure Vandrim Ahan-Kiztarr wasn't there, Siyarr couldn't help but scoff at himself as he tried to shrug off his mild case of paranoia, but as soon as his periphery caught the still-saddened image of his student, Arr'Huwal's Dreamer thought it best to leave recent revelations for another time. Thus softening his gaze and body-language for Elise's sake, and in the moment he continued,'She'll come around before you know it, but she'll likely need to see who you're destined to become, so be ready for that at the very least. Prepare for the worst and hope for the best, as the adage goes.... We can put a pin in the matter of familial concerns for now though, you can rest assured I'll be helping to heal you within as much as without, though I may need help of my own for some of this process - someone I can entrust to asks as personal as these.', Heady hoped in his heart-of-hearts that he would get to hear the young seer's laughter again.

Before it was too late for young Vizsla to experience some of the most-vitally important moments in life, those to when Elise could look back with fond happiness, even if only fleeting comparison to the bad - Siyarr would will enough there into making a dent in the war-memories at the very least.

'Good people are still to be found walking the Galaxy's mire, as you likely have along the way already, but of this? We must remind ourselves of their existence in this Galaxy, even if only from time to time.... But in the heat of the Great Wars and such, even internal schisms could tear factions asunder in the most-unlikely of circumstances. In time - you will find this understanding with your sister when the smoke clears.'

 

[Elise Ahana-Gwyneira]

Elise was exhausted, often times just staring as she took in Siyarr's words in bits and pieces. The girl blinked, feeling hot shame as Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran spoke of her own mother's undying love for them. And she felt the sting of being reminded of her sister's wrath. No matter how much Siyarr seemed determined that things would be seen coming back to life. But she was told to put a pin in those thoughts, so she did. She looked up a bit higher, watching Siyarr attentively as he moved on.

There were still good people in this galaxy. There were still little, sparkling lights in the darkness of space. Elise felt daunted, reminded of how galactic powers rise and fell. She even wobbled for a moment, unbalanced by the feeling of an ever shifting, ever morphing galaxy. It was like quick sand, wrapped around her ankles and pulling her under. She lifted a hand to her head, feeling vertigo. She spread her feet out, regaining balance, only to realize that she was panting.

Wide eyed, she sharply inhaled and exhaled as her mind spun. "The Silver Jedi Conclave, the Sith Empire, the Chiss Ascendency, the Galactic Alliance, the First Order, the Eternal Empire, the Republic, the Brotherhood Of The Maw, the New Imperial Order which became an Empire... All of them... rose and fell."

She shook her head sharply, trying to feel realigned with her body again, "This is just another conflict, in a long string of conflicts. It's... crazy... I always read about and studied about all these wars and governments and systems. It's even crazier, thinking of all the people merely caught in between. Daunting, scary even. How many forgotten names were just more numbers to the mountains of casualties? Would my own family become such casualties? What's the point?"

She shuddered, feeling woozy once more. She had to lean again to tree again, as she tugged at her cloak. "But like you said, there's still good people out there. The good people who saw the mountains of bones, and still resolved to lessen the pile."

She looked down, feeling sweaty but also feeling a tiny resurgence of purpose. "To be one of those people myself. I can't fix it all, but I can do what I can. No matter the cost."

She looked up to Siyarr, able to look him in the eyes for the first time as she resolved, "It's no use moping around, isn't it? So what the kark am I supposed to do now-"

A sudden gag took ahold of Elise's throat. She reached, only to realize that she grabbed her stomach instead of her mouth. And suddenly, she realized something that she had not paid attention to for... several days now...

"... I'm hungry."

Her stomach unleashed a mighty roar as if on queue. Her cheeks turned slightly red as she chuckled. Yanked from her existential dread and budding courage alike, she searched her pockets for anything to eat - only to realize that she had nothing on her. This was bad. Elise had hardly eaten since the battle at Lwekk. But having a higher metabolism than the average person, Elise needed so many calories. It was suddenly obvious, how pale and withered she looked in comparison to her usual self. The Ajayid sighed in frustration towards her own self sabotage. She pushed herself up and walked over to stand right next to Siyarr. Her black cloak, muddied and worn, was a reminder of her usual red cloak. They were always a shade brighter than the red cloaks Siyarr himself wore. So energetic and vibrant. The black cloak made it look like Elise was in attendance of some grand funeral. The reminder of Siyarr's influence on the girl was only intensified as Elise habitually pulled her hood over her head.

"Want to go to the mess hall?"

She was bashful because she knew she had let herself go. But she joked, because she had a way of brushing her problems off. She blinked her gaze away from Siyarr, trying to maintain a light banter. "I can't be a good person in a twisted galaxy on an empty stomach. Silly me."

Her personal failings all flashed before her eyes. Her family, her people, and her sins. Without mercy, they all screamed at her. Her sister's hurt, her vode's lifeless bodies, her mother's tears. Her grip on her hood tightened, and she yanked it tighter over her head as she grimaced.

She frowned, the banter immediately failing. "If I could even be called a good person anymore..."

 

[Yorunarr Ahan-Yan'Sharlim]

1st Post

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GODMASK_ACTUAL

ADVISOR TO THE TATTERED REGENT
PRIEST-KING OF ARCHAIS
EYES OF THE FIRMAMENT

Tags: Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

HEAVY ART THE HEADS I: WALKING FAMILIAR TRAILS - PROLOGUE

Fort Defiant, The Old City,
New Carannia, Nirauan (Late 880 ABY)

Michael.... D'you remember what you said of defiance, brother?
Do you remember what you said of a man's will to live on it?

Of it's fuel for the heart when all else seems to perish around it?
​

Dark was the hour for Imperium, though the sun was shining bright on Nirauan at the time, breaking through the last of the dissipating rainclouds whilst the shroud of night was already wreaking deathly havoc on the other planets across the realm by then, killing and dying with wild, ecstatic abandon as the Swarm roared their way to Bastion. Even their glorious victory was marred with the darkest of tidings, defending the old Jewel of the Empire from eradication - only to learn of the heavy toll exacted on the Empire's ever-dwindling roster of heroes.

'I need you to find that defiance within you, Barran.... I need you to dig in and drag it out screaming, understand? BETTER MAKE IT SNAPPY - ESPECIALLY NOW THAT YOU HAVE A DAUGHTER WHO NEEDS YOU, NOW MORE THAN EVER!!!!'

Turning away from the Bacta Tank for a moment, holding his teary-eyed head in hands that were trembling at the time, it was clear to all the guards in the room that the Wanderer meant a lot to the Godseer; and like his father before him, Michael had proven as much a profound effect on Yorunarr's life as the Lord-Regent had in previous decades, and perhaps even more-so in comparison. Made all the more apparent in the increasing intensity of the glow from the eyes of the Priest-King at the time, almost pulsating with the passing seconds until an attempt at self-control was made, pushing the glow to a manageable level, and only then did Yorunarr turn to see what the Bloodhound had left in his wake.

'FIGHT, MAN!!!! FIGHT FOR ALL YOU'RE WORTH, DAMN YOU!!!! FIGHT DONN WITH ALL YOUR KARKING MIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!!'

It was bad enough to deal with a comatose mentor in that small, stuffy room, but to deal with the fact the Lord-Warden was sharing the room with (the pod-frozen corpse of-) the Lord-General, it was almost too much for the Novanian to bear, but the Godseer wasn't ready to give up on his friend just yet. Not while the heart-monitor bleeped at a stable, powerful rhythm, not while the rhythm itself seemed to resemble half-timed thuds of the Firedancers' Drums on Archais, as not even Yorunarr himself could hold off the rhythmic, therapeutic nods, nor the chants for long. Yet the Priest-King afforded himself one last outburst of vented needs, one more beseeching to assure Imperium's endurance to say,'Please, brother.... The realm needs you, we need you! This is Imperium's darkest hour, and we need something, some-one to fight for! TO FIGHT THE ANNALS OF HISTORY - AS YOU DO NOW!!!!', before he finally inhaled to chant.

But instead choosing to endeavour his prayer in the ancient language of the Wanderer's Goidelic kinsmen.

Praying to gods the Godseer himself felt he had no right to beseech with demands for a hero's survival, but in recalling Lord Michael's own unexpected introduction to the Ancients of Melarran's Firmament, the Woad-like smirk he had seemingly inherited had returned, even if only for a short, fleeting moment. After all, Michael was not the first human to encounter Yorunarr in his communications with the Ancients, but in remembering Julian Qar, (for the stims that both held Darth Malus at bay and brought spirits forth from the Firmament) the Godseer quickly realised that his abilities would have amounted to nought without such acts of survivalist desperation, necessity under duress as catalyst of the Novanian's future as a shaman.

Even in the process of reciting in key, those thoughts continued to flood to the forefront of the Priest-King's mind, reminding Yorunarr of the moment he learned of the deification that became of his father, and of all the emotions that flooded the Godseer's heart in the reunion. But then, memories even older than those drawn from the earlier years of the Second Great Hyperspace War, even older than those small, scant few years of peace after the Third Imperial Civil War, returned from a seemingly neglected, dusty old corner of the mind's recall - back to the very day Yorunarr met the man who would rule the Empire as her dutiful Lord-Regent someday.

Having just found his beloved sword in the home of a long-departed friend of Clan Barran's junior branch just outside of Hirkenburg's suburbs, (deserted then, as many of the city's buildings had been at that point) the wild-hearted Woad was looking for a quiet place to train with his Silken Lion for the first time, and it was in this wandering stroll where he found the half-feral Yorunarr praying to the Ancients during the planet's last occupation. But in a small, unexpected mercy for the emaciated youth, the bearded New-Imperial had gestured with an act of which none of Archais' previous oppressors had ever thought to do under similar circumstances before, letting the youth finish his prayer in respect for a culture with which the old Woad wished to reconcile, to fight shoulder-to-shoulder together, and perhaps to fight back-to-back on their cultures' parallel roads to prominence.

The bearded man's subordinates all remarked of his earned epithet of,"The Stormchaser", in the following months, but none of this would ever matter to one of whom was marked for a better life after meeting Clan Barran's patriarch for the first time, especially on grounds of the positive impact the Woad-Macushla would have on Archais thereafter. From the,"Blue-Hearted", Goidels, to the perceived blue souls of the Arkanians who found spiritualism on Archais, it was clear early on that these cultures could work together in near-symbiotic cohesion in times of war, thus forevermore drawing the Theocratic Novanian caste into deeper consideration for the planet's mostly-human future. Given hope of a better tomorrow, of safety, security and a means of learning how to fight more efficiently for the survival of their people in the long-run, it was no wonder to the Godseer as to how the Barrans, Thrasts and Gowries meant as much as they had to him by then.

Even in the realm's darkest hour, when loyalties often faltered in realms of similarly-Imperial making, seeing Lord Aron dead and Lord Michael subconsciously dancing that precipice was almost too much to take, making it all the more difficult to hold the tears back.

But then, the unexpected would befall the Godseer once again, and yet in a fashion that none (not even the Godseer himself) could have foreseen, thinking the sudden response would be sent reaching out from the beyond, only to find that two spectral figures were standing behind him. Watching on, listening in silence as the strange, eye-glowing mortal chanted in the language to which the celestials were once born, many centuries before the tests of willpower and faith alike had befallen Goidel and Novanian in equal measure, yet their time was not to be wasted in the realms of the faithful. Not on that day of days, and not whilst the world on which they stood was still vulnerable to attack, and for as long as there was fight in the souls of living, the attending gods of Galidraan III would endeavour to make every second count.

~=Ah, why must it be that the fervent possess so little of that faith for their brethren?=~
~=You are the one they call,"Godseer", correct?=~
​

'Yes... But kark me, that was quick!'

~=SILENCE YOURSELF!!!! AURORANN DO NOT BELONG ON FOREIGN WORLDS!!!!=~
~=The Sword-Saint speaks true - but we come with purpose.... Now turn an' face us!=~
​

With hands raised in acquiescent surrender, the Priest-King arose from his kneeling position of prayer to turn and look his friend's gods in their eyes, but in all the time the Godseer had known the Wanderer, nothing at all would have prepared Yorunarr for what his eyes would witness next. A revelation so unbelievably shocking it brought Raindancer out from her scabbard as if by knee-jerk instinct alone, even recoiling in a backpedalling retreat in sight of not one, but two spitting images of Barrans he knew, of younger, happier brothers than those who clashed in the Hand of Thrawn's northern courtyard.

~=Oh.... Great.... This one knows the Barrans as they once were.=~
~=Aye.... Nae kriff, genius! Look at the state o' the-=~​

Bravery wasn't a factor in the confusion of gods who took the forms of men who were born mortals, nor was wrath a factor in the insult taken from choosing their forms in particular, and when Yorunarr finally roared,'-ENOUGH WITH THE MIND-TRICKS, YOU MONSTERS!!!! ARE YOU GODS OR NOT?!?!', the two Goidelic deities would understand they had vastly miscalculated the effect their visages would have on the sword-drawn, distraught shaman standing before them. Trembling with fear and distrust, akin to that which he embodied in the formative, half-feral phase of his life, the Godseer was never more dangerous than he was whenever he was forced to endure this cornered mindset, as was evidenced in the visible concern of both deities as they studied the strange being in silence for another moment or so.

'Don't you DARE look to me as a madman! I WANT EXPLANATIONS FOR YOUR CHOICE OF FORM, FREAKS!!!!'

~=I take not the form o' Thomas, but rather - Thomas grew t'become my doppelganger instead.=~
~=An' I took this form from the moment Michael made his bloodsworn oath - TO ME!!!!=~​

The Godseer's beloved Raindancer remained in view, aggressively so, but only until Yorunarr's late-kicking reaction within, from there the Barran-forged Songsteel blade would remain naked despite lowering to his side. It all troubled the Priest-King greatly, but in the understanding that these visages were those his friend had suffered for decades by then, a steady relenting of the churning-gut feeling brought the glowing eyes of the Novanian back to the offended gazes of the Goidelic deities blocking the entrance. But then the gaze of the Bloodhound's young lookalike began to soften with understanding, sensing the grief in the Godseer's heart-of-hearts, though Michael's shaven-headed image remained on the dancing-line between offence and disdain, likely still aggravated by the naked Songsteel that was still in plain view by then.

~=Mine voice is known to thee already, is it not? pretend it not to be another, White-Eyes!=~
~=You know me well, Yorunarr.... I can see it.... As well as that newfound divinity within you.=~​

'Alright.... Alright, I'll sheathe my sword. Please excuse my reaction, it is quite obvious there is much my fellow scholar has withheld from me - and rightly so.... Acclimation was something neither of us had time for, not in wartime conditions anyways.'

Then with little more than a twisting flourish, Yorunarr bowed his head as the Songsteel cavalry-sabre slid into the protective cherrywood lining of the scabbard latched to his utility-belt, closing with a snapping click before the Priest-King raised his head once more. Helping to ease the situation with the due-reverence given, the Godseer thought to ask questions of a suitably-pertinent nature, querying,'But please, can either of you explain what's happening? Was this the future for which we needed to prepare, or that for which there could be no way of preparing?', with as much respect as required for a mortal in the company of foreign celestials.

~=What, this? Your current situation? Godseer, this is just the beginning - for both o' ye.=~
~=This one speaks true, for fate is faaaar from done with the descendant. Today is not his day.=~

HEAVY ART THE HEADS I: WALKING FAMILIAR TRAILS - PART 1

PASSING THROUGH ALCANCE DO SONHO,
(BORDER TOWN BETWEEN THE WETLANDS AND THE TEMPLE DISTRICT)
NOVANIA, ARCHAIS (900ABY)

Time to return to the citadel, I guess.
Starting to wonder why I even left the Wetlands in the first place.

Running risks of seeing people I haven't seen in years.
​

'Everything alright back there, Your Eminence? Wee bit quiet since we left the Mardim Oases, jus' sayin'.... But if I'm nosying, jus' say an' I'll shut mah trap.'

Chuckling to himself for a moment, the Godseer would always find himself appreciatively amused by the concerns of his bodyguard, calmly replying,'Its perfectly fine, Kaskimson.... I enjoy your company, and I value the advice you give - especially in times such as these. We're returning to the Citadel after all, back to the beating heart of Arkanian Novania.', though there was a hint of the rueful in his tone that his chaufring confidant would have been deaf to miss. But in the warm-spirited intent to express comfort in the company of his Goidelic-fostered friend, the Priest-King waved it off in self-dismissiveness and put his Datapad in his pocket before continuing,'Its nothing, Kaskimson.... Its just - I'll be seeing faces I haven't seen in too long.... With some among them unseen for the better part of twenty years.', turning away to look outside the speeder's convex passenger-windows in a visual express of the previous ventings.

'Well, ah cannae presume t'be an authority on local religious issues, bein' a Curian as ye know fine an' well b'now, but.... I'm assumin' ye mean faces ye haven't seen since the Nirauan Schism, aye?'

From the very first moment the Goidels had known the one who was then known as,"Variim Ahan-Kaskim.", the tank-crews who found him always accredited the boy with observance and intellect, and an earnest need for learning of which the Blue-Hearts humoured and nurtured throughout their time on Archais. It was this part of Kaskimson's file that drew the lion's share of Yorunarr's curiosity, and for as long as such flairs of personal brilliance continued to shine through, Yorunarr would continue to find himself feeling luckier than most. Especially in the knowledge that his bodyguard personally chose to serve the Priest-King in the years following his (better-than-noteworthy-) service with the Highland Brotherhood, though more-specifically with it's foreign-militant wing, then-known ubiquitously as,"The Firedance Brigades".

The perfect candidate for the specific duty of bodyguard-detail duty, from personal backgrounds to well-commended service as a non-com and as an officer, everything gleamed in the Ahan-Kaskim file; everything but for one small detail, and considering all the risks of a post-Imperium Galaxy, it was glaring enough that the Priest-King had been notified in Variim's initial recruitment-phase to the Godseer's very-own Palace Guards regiment. Unfortunate both in orphaned childhood and in parentage, as both mother and father were serving members of the NLA, (Novanian Liberation Army) guessed to have been killed by Galidraani artillery-fire in the culturally-human reconquest, judging by the lad's childhood drawings in bright, colourful abstract.

Yorunarr knew what risks he was taking on, understanding the many warning-signs as if he was reading Galactic Basic, but in the great aforementioned risk awaited a reward for faith in his fellow Arkanian-blooded Novanian, a reward far greater than any peril could compare. Thus as civilian friendships are known to last entire lifetimes, and so too did the fellowship between the Priest-King and his orphaned compatriot, a brotherhood of two, and that for which both were willing to bleed to keep the other safe. The NLA was dead in Variim's heart-of-hearts, and though he kept his parent's memory close, the memories yielded by the first powers of Galactic grace were something of which Kaskimson had come to love more than life itself.

That, and the Woad-born soulmate he met in the years prior to his first among the Highland Brotherhood, along with a deep-seated hatred for all-things Coruscantine in culture and politics alike, the nuance that guided Yorunarr's fellow-orphan would always remind the Priest-King of all it had taken to make it into the next century. There was always someone they could agree to despise together, and with ample reason as far as the GADF and the SIA were concerned, all living as robbers of the Galaxy's delicate mantle of responsibility - and to each and every one a torturer in the eyes of many Novanians besides the Theocrat and his Ashlan bodyguard.

​

'Heh! "Aye!", indeed.... So what do you reckon? Would your Ecumenical Outcome be a possibility yet, or is that still asking a bit much? The Mother is yet to reconcile with the Creator, but if the shamans seek unity - I think you know the dangers I would be fated to endure in the wake of this reconciliation.... It doesn't look good for me - either way, I'm endeavouring perils for which I haven't prepared yet.'

​

With nought but silence as the discharged soldier's initial response, the Priest-King wisely deduced this to be a sign that his friend was considering the question with it's due imperative earnest, but when Kaskimson eventually smirked to admit,'Bein' honest? Ah haven't the foggiest - ah'm no a mystic like you are.... But ah know this much, there's only one way t'find out.... A leap o' faith, Your Eminence! Something that falls intae baith oor wheelhouses for a change, d'ye no think?', Yorunarr would find himself smirking back in appreciation of the candour as he nodded with emphatic agreement. Despite what little it did to comfort the Priest-King, Yorunarr himself saw there was much in the wisdom of Variim's answer, acquiescing as easily to Kaskimson as it was to daily chores around the house, though both knew this was likely the easiest of challenges they were scheduled to be facing that day.

[Bleep! Bleep!]​

'Two hours before we begin our ceremonial preparations - time to eat.... Likely the last thing I'll eat today, the herbs always ruin my appetite as you know already.'

​

 

[Siyarr Ahan-Mitharran]

4th Post

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DREAMER_ONE
HIGH-SHAMAN OF THE DREAMSEER COVEN
LORD-COLONEL OF THE FIREDANCE BRIGADES
ARR'HUWAL'S DREAMER

Tags : Elise Ahana-Gwyneira

NEW DANCES, NEW ERAS I: THE WORLDS WE KNOW - PART 4

The Healing Gardens, The Temple of Dreams,
Novania, Archais (900 ABY)

All these realms, every last one my people have encountered.
They're all gone.... Friend and foe alike.

Did the Dark Three win in the end, reigniting that Hellish,"Eternal Cycle", after all?

Well, it certainly appeared that way.
Almost as if the previous wars' true victors were (and could only be-) the dead.​

Something was true beyond both mentor and apprentice's comprehension, and in seeing Elise coming to her deathly realisations, Siyarr would watch on, listening intently to the young Ajayid's personal revelations as the weight of responsibility weighed him down, pinning Arr'Huwal's Dreamer in place for what would eventually represent the struggle that awaited Heady in the following years. The wars his people were still at risk of suffering, the darkness in his own heart that Melarria once used against him on Nirauan, a darkness of which Yorunarr had seen within him long before that fateful fight for New Carannia, and all that Siyarr had seen in his own reflection from time to time - the Dreamer knew his cherished apprentice would see it in the eyes of multitudes in the Galaxy around her.

The horror of the perils Novania faced, as much as it was setting Siyarr on a fittingly-earnest path to slowing the Galaxy's irreparable decline, was enough make any lesser man vent in screaming obsenities to the myriad heavens, but Mitharran's only-surviving son had grown rather patient in his years of peace from war. Made all the more proficient in nurturing one of the purest hearts the Dreamer had ever known, and in hearing the young Dreamseer's acknowledgement of the fact good people still existed among the stars, the thudding of the heart in Siyarr's chest would subside with a relief like no other; and in the moment Elise expressed her desire to be a good soul in turn, seeing that need to spread joy and hope wherever she went, the apprentice once-again embodied that hope for which the mentor was to strive once more.

She's a hero.... And the poor girl doesn't even know it yet.
Saved my soul ten times over already, but is she - ready?

Only the Godseer could know, a friend I haven't seen in far too long.

And still, Heady kept his silence.
Listening on intently, allowing the Ajayid's personal process to continue.
​

But then, natural, corporeal matters finally took precedence, cutting through the darkness of the heart like cutting through the airy space that lacked food in it's orbit, as a mortal's omnipresent need for sustenance was always powerful enough to railroad despair after all. Any and all invitations to the Old Mess Hall were reasons enough to break off one's plans with dismay, thus Siyarr's estimations of the progress they made would be reassured, smiling with acceptance until he overheard it; even beneath the chuckling, even under the smiles of readiness to embrace a hearty meal, there was no way a Shaman of his standing could have missed it.

'If I could even be called a good person anymore...'
To break a kinder heart like this- kark these tidings to the Nether, man!

But what does that say for me? A heart restless in conflict - such as mine own.
Even worse.... What does that say for those of the Galaxy?
​

Contrary to popular local opinion that the Galactic Alliance had stolen the illusive Mantle of Responsibility from the Empire, it would become apparent before long that the aforementioned duty to prosperity itself was lost to the ether once more, cast to the winds in Imperium's final melees for survival. Yet, after knowing the hearts of whom he was silently striving to protect, the Dreamer's smile took on a happier turn - cheekily smirking with faith that heroes could find what was once lost in the Empire's dying moments.

The Dreamer knew well enough that a heart as heroic as Vizsla's was nigh on impossible to shatter, even in the face of the adversity she faced before, but to see Elise like this was nothing short of frightening; as hearts much weaker than Elise's own (as much as mentor and student alike knew that good people still existed at the turn of the next century) were still at heightened risks of turning to that darkness within those hearts, malforming into murderous husks of the people they were before. It was then that the Dreamer hid his own revelation with a smile, putting a pin in something of his own for later, but Siyarr understood it would be wisdom to remember his inward truth, lest Heady forgot the Galaxy's need for that specific, peacefully-driven sort of hero.

'A better person than I ever was, and with room to be better yet with time too.... Though as for me.... From near-ferality to absolute vanity, my sins are too many to count.... Thus I guarantee that yours is not a path of atonement, but we'll get to that, and besides - the Old Mess Hall is a great idea. Good memories and all - and the food's always been great there too.'

[Bleep-Bleep]
Incredible sense of timing there.... But therein awaits an omen.
Good? Well, I karkin' hope so!​

Just like his old friend, Siyarr was also mindful of his scheduling, especially in the quiet hours before herbal preparations could be made for the first Citadel gathering of it's sort in almost ten years, bringing the future with the first rains of the turning seasons. Elise's hunger had timed itself well on this occasion, seemingly every part as aware of the impending turning-point as the ones who were about to dine their worries away, and for that the Dreamer was emphatically grateful as he remarked,'Two hours before I must prepare.... Fortunate you are - herbs of which only I need to inhale this time, but it would be helpful if you kept a watchful eye on your mentor until it wears off.', understanding the risks with the woes of a growling stomach to make it worse.

'Alright, let us go and eat.'