Impediment

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Geonosis, Confederacy of Independent Systems, Capitol planet, remnant mining colony​

It isn't always a cry for help is received from across the galaxy, although for the Dathomiri similar events involving her relations in the recent past have drawn her awareness. It isn't always she would even think to comply to a random call, but this one peaked her interest, mostly that it holds potential to promise a bit of wicked fun.

The pleading cries from a woman most destitute, channelled across the galaxy, as she begs nightly while deep in prayer, for someone to admonish her abusive spouse. If there is ever such a personality flaw which Pom Stych Tivé detests, abusers of those less capable is at the top of her list…by far more than she detests those incapable of defending themselves, in a universe where technology can accomplish any horrific deed.

Pomsty shall offer her services to relieve the wretched woman and her family from the stain of her husband's mere sustainable existence. 'Delightful!' she smiled to herself, hustling in her boots along the dusty path leading away from the landing pad. Looking rather out of place, most any place other than Dathomir, Herself, Pomsty with her jet black hair and pale complexion, donned her black floor length dress of leather, tightly fitted about her torso lined by gold zippers. Relic phalanxes of her numerous victims hung strung around her neck by a cord, tucked out of sight just beneath her collar. Her only weaponry, a wand and an apothecary of potion vials strapped snug in the lining of her overcoat, promising success in her Will, which Force users determine to be mere props promoting a witch's belief in her inherent skill.

The Sorceress can feel the tug of the beckoner more strongly than ever, as she begins her trek towards the outskirts of the general population en route to the old mining colony. "I am coming," she whispered, willing her words travel swiftly to her intended recipient, "shortly." The raw emotions of lamentation, trapped in despair, destitution, and harboring an absolute revulsion towards a love long ago lost, fed into her dark anticipation.

Not many nights has the Dathomiri, a young woman still in her twenties, spent off-world amidst the galaxy at large. Her preference is her home world, yet only up until recently she rediscovered a long lost lover across Sith space, and has taken up spending time with him on occasion. Sith justice is often highly subjective to the barer. In her naivety, her understanding of justice is entirely anarchic, not much concerning planetary differences in governing Laws ever even crossed her mind. This instance is no different, for there is a woman yet unknown, asking for help in obliterating a personal problem, regarding which Pomsty is willing to comply.



[member="Alden Akaran"]

 

[Luca Donskoi]

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[SIZE=12pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Remnant Mining Colony, Geonosis (CIS Capitol)[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Tags: [/SIZE][member='Pom Stych Tivé']​

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[SIZE=12pt]Alden had yet to establish any love for this planet. Not even in the bustling excitement which the planet’s very capital offered to the world. No. Life was not that which he strove for here. The were no trees. No grasses or planes. There was no green, leaving the planet to a grim and dark swathe of dry, cracked earth. Pillars of towering rock dotted the landscape from pole to pole and the mere heat of the sun that baked its surface had long ago force many of the indigenous population deep into the mantle. There, at least, the crust could offer something of shield to flee the intense rays. However, any disdain he may have harbored for the hell this planet embraced daily, didn’t seem to sway the Confederacy’s intents to have him continue to revisit its very heart.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Perhaps it was his position beneath the Exarch’s ([member="Adron Malvern"]) wing as his apprentice that kept him returning. Perhaps his position as an elite pilot among one of the specialized squadrons with the Confederacy Defense Force. But no matter, whatever swayed his destiny, continued to circle him back here. Today had proven to be the same. Called back to put eyes on a mining colony on the capital whose production had dipped in recent months. A step out of his usual taskings for sure, but perhaps the hand that directed it, wished him to embrace the more diplomatic avenues. To better shape him as a leader and possibly groom him to serve in a regard come a distant time. All that was beyond him and his control, and as such, his thoughts would not linger there. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He stood before the supervisor of the mining operation, dressed in his typical flight suit, yet with unique item hanging off his right hip – the lightsaber he’d recently constructed. It was a personal effect was quite proud of, but his professional bearing held him to his tasking. Along his left thigh, the ‘Ace of Spades’ blaster pistol was holstered and clipped.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The very way he held himself today, demanded an authority and that very authority was given to him, evidenced in the submissive actions taken in response by the mining operation’s supervisor. The man was small, and seemed to be mostly human, though it was impossible to really tell without a DNA analysis to determine an exact species. His skin was dry and cracked, baked to an unpolished bronze by the unrelenting rays of Geonosis’ violent star. He had an unshaven face with specs of silver hair hugging the wrinkled skin. His head was balding and unkept, screaming out its desire to garner more care. This man had certainly seen much better times. [/SIZE]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

'Any person living here has to be a bloody slave. Nobody in their right mind would choose to live in this system,' she thought when she saw down which path she is being summoned. It did not make her feel any better to know someone is asking her to pop off someone else’s property, maybe even some government entity's asset, but the feminist inside her could not turn down the chore. She believes oppression is a necessary state to keep the people in line, but when a man is making it worse, well this just strikes a cord with her kind. On Dathomir the women run things…and the Nightbrothers who train there, and the Sith who come there to breed for offspring accept it. There is nothing more pathetic in Pomsty’s eyes, than a weak, grown-assed woman. The idea hit her that maybe she should toughen up this woman by simply giving her the tools, and therefore the guts, to defend herself against the tyrant she chose to live with until death.

She had no idea prior to her arrival that she would stand out like a sore thumb, but she is quite partial to her leather attire. Surely there must be something to hunt here well worth its skins! Everyone else except for Pomsty cannot be dressed in the sorry brown, bland, burlap jumpers that she sees people darting around in. Everyone, except for those men over there donning official uniforms. "Greeeaaat," she quietly proclaimed sarcastically.

As she approached the overseers, she was asked her purpose here. A visiting witch really doesn't need a remarkable cover story to enter a slave colony which she has absolutely no ties to. It is not all that uncommon an occasion one should visit. She had thought of a good enough excuse for her presence as she walked. She will simply enter the bunker under the guise of a healer. Pomsty waved nonchalantly, whispering her spell to cause the slave master to allow her peaceful passage, and hopefully forget all about her presence. The man, if she would call it that, more likely beast, stepped back in compliance. She had hoped to get closer to her intended destination before making her profession known, so she could assure that she will reach it without hinderance.

Pomsty noticed the cylindrical weapon hanging off the hip of one standing nearby, seemingly organizing the help. "Greeeaaat," she sighed quietly to herself once again, knowing full well this man might not be so easy to fool, especially if the deed that needs doing is going to stir up some resistance among those in the bunker.

A servant of darkness hovered over the Sorceress and whispered the name of the woman who she had been drawn to meet here.



@ Alden Akaranhttp://starwarsrp.net/user/20419-alden-akaran/

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

Nightmother Mark 1 descended from the skies, a representation of the spirit Lylek. It's pilot, Katrine Van-Derveld exited the vessel once its entrance opened, sapphire gaze observing her surroundings as the holographic image of her companion A.R.K.I appeared at her side. "I fail to see the purpose of this trip," A.R.K.I. said to her as Katrine watched ahead, half ignoring the hologram as she reached out with the Force to seek what it was that the spirits wished for her to see on Geonosis.

They were a complicated bunch, to say at least. Sometimes, the three spirits of the Mandragora sent her on large life-threatening missions, other times it was to find a single gem or meet someone. They were attuned to the past and present, aware of the future yet they didn't always speak up. Her visions were limited, even more, limited than that of her Lupine protector Larentia who carried a far greater gift of seeing than she did. Larentia held visions though, she was born of the spirits and within her, Kat could feel the traces of ichor naturally entwined with her Lupine DNA whereas Katrine herself had only absorbed its traces, allowing her to connect to the spirit realm far more. It was a confusing relationship she held with the other wolf. They were similar in some ways and yet in other ways, they were different and far apart as if the lives each of them had held were light years away from each other. They were different people, different wolves, different Witches and yet the connection Katrine felt with the girl of her age was undeniable. The connection between them was unmistakable.

"I said...," A.R.K.I. tried again, this time though, Katrine's response was quicker: "I heard you. I'm busy, Arki." Someone or someone on Geonosis had caught the attention of the spirits and they wished for their Nightmother to discover this presence. So, she was here, still needing to figure out what it was. "Lock up the ship and let me do this," she instructed the hologram, seeing her roll her eyes at her before she moved closer to the city. Planetary security had been informed of her arrival and noted her descent but she was CIS and while not part of any official hierarchy with the faction, a leader of one of its departments, for lack of better word, and an unofficial member of the Vi'dreya family due to her long family connections with the Vicelord, who for all intentions and purposes was considered to be his niece despite the lacking blood connection. She was not obligated to check or state her purpose to any ground security once she had arrived. This was her capital just as it was of any other citizen of the Confederacy. Come along, Jart summoned her attention, the spirit flying above her and the other two spirits at her side. They would lead her to her destination now that she was here.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"] [member="Alden Akaran"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

With all the immigrated and native species, Pomsty wondered how even slave humanoids could ever fancy such a harsh environment. She expected they would likely become dinner to any number of the ferocious, monstrous looking beasts dwelling here…the Acklay, Nexu, Reek, Massiff, even the hive-minded Geonosians. The young witch fancied her Nightbrothers on Dathomir! Men, and humanoid, Darksiders…virile, and obedient! Would do anything for tutoring.

A whisper carried in the wind of another present like herself. "Another witch?" Pomsty snickered. She did not know this System to hold Nightsisters. She was partial to Dathomir, herself, where the source of her power thrives in abundance, a living, breathing, entity, from which all Dark Force stems. Of course, she has never been here before. And yet…she felt a difference between herself and the new presence.

”Abeloth, guide me,” she whispered. 'It seems perhaps this particular someone is here to answer the same call? she wondered. She would not share her income with anyone else. Pomsty quickened her pace to reach the bunker entrance before the other witch might beat her inside to her new client.


The stark contrast to the underground city hit like a wave, the coolness of the air, the smells, the darkened shadows over every crevasse, the distant sound of seeping water trickling down cavernous walls of mineral rock. The people here knew no better lifestyle, aside from spotting the differences between themselves and visitors, and therefore the youngest among them played in groups, unaware that they are born into their destiny like cattle. Had they been able to manipulate the Force, control a Starship, or been blessed by the deities, then they would not be in their precise predicament.

Pomsty noted how the people are not living in squalor, but luckily for them their needs seem adequately provided for. The differences in their stature however, stood out to Pomsty most immediately. Their growth appeared stunted, a result of poor environmental growing conditions, soil depletion.

After her initial entry, her eyes adjusted to the darkness, but then turning a series of bends in the tunnel she was hit by an unexpected shaft of light. She turned a corner and entered the first cavern. A skylite tunneled down to provide light to seemingly well tended forestry and horticulture. She stood most unexpectedly, momentarily awestruck. She spotted specific herbs, long coveted by those of her craft, and decided on such as payment, perhaps. She felt much impressed by the extent the CIS would go to protect their assets. She pondered what she is about to do, and decided she might prefer it if her client would accept delayed results over an immediate success, lest Pomsty find herself discovered and charged with paying a financial restitution to the subjugator of government. She pursed her lips in thought, before trekking forward.

A group of women traveling through the tunnel, stopped in their tracks to admire Pomsty’s attire. Perhaps they had never seen patent leather before today. One small child carried on the hip of its mother marveled at one of the witch’s amulets, and its mother recoiled, fearing the witch would recognize potential and removed the child from her. Pomsty merely moved on down the tunnels she felt would lead to her destination.

An old woman mobilized amidst the bustling people and approached the young witch. She smiled and her eyes filled with hope, as she motioned Pomsty to follow her.



[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] [member="Alden Akaran"]

 

[Luca Donskoi]

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[SIZE=12pt]Location: Remnant Mining Colony, Geonosis (CIS Capitol)[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Tags: [/SIZE][member="Pom Stych Tivé"][SIZE=12pt] | [/SIZE][member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]​

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[SIZE=12pt]Today wasn’t exactly different than many others as proceedings carried on without so much as a hitch. Sure, the production may have dipped of late, but the reasons surround that were being expressed by the mining Supervisor to which Alden presently spoke. And it seemed as though the slight failings in the product produced from this particular mine did not fall completely to laziness nor inaptitude to accomplish a particular tasking. No, instead, certain things had managed to escape the ever-watchful eye of the CIS within the heart of its cast territory.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Even though slavery had long been expunged from the systems held by the Confederacy, it didn’t mean that situations did not arise that seemed to reminisce such fallacies. This mine had been neglected for some time now, not something leadership within the CIS would likely be proud of, but it had allowed conditions here to deteriorate. Medicine and simple luxuries were in low supply here. And it seemed such absences had left these people in a grave need for supplies. Add to it that the colony itself had grown in population significantly, it appeared this particular operation was destined to fail. Sooner rather than later, unfortunately.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]However, there was a single question that prodded away at the CDF Colonel…[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Why hadn’t word of the need reached the eyes and ears of Confederacy leadership? Why had it taken a significant dip in production to draw the CIS’s eye to the depravity evident here? [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Even as the mining supervisor led Alden deeper into the tunnels, the questions tugged his thoughts toward a larger underlying issue that may have been going unnoticed in the greater scheme of things. Finally, after a moment, Alden stopped in his tracks, allowing a group of women to pass by, and spoke to the man. “Why did you not reach to the Confederacy for assistance?” The question was simple, but it demanded an answer. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Well…” he said, seeming to stumbled over how he would pick his next words. “We’ve asked.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Alden narrowed his eyes lowered his gaze somewhat, exaggerating a certain seriousness. He knew the man was trying to hide something just in the way he struggled to give an answer. At least a direct one. “You’d do better not to lie, here.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“I requested aid! I did! I did!” The man brought out into something of a desperate plea. But what was he scared of? If he’d requested help properly, then his basis would be covered and he should have a record to show proof of his attempt to request aid. However, if there was no record of the requests, then he would have to work earnestly to prove his claim. And reason why he did not keep a record.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]“Do you have record of your requests for assistance?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The man closed his eyes and sagged his shoulders, dropping his gazing to his feet. “No. The records burned in a fire two weeks ago, sir.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Well that was odd. No fire had ever been reported. There were no logs of such an event. Perhaps it was time this operation supervisor was replaced or perhaps supervision here simply needed to be stepped up. Needless to say, things just weren’t adding up and this operation was failing to produce anymore. [/SIZE]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] [member="Alden Akaran"]



Being the newcomer here, Pomsty could have the wrong impression about this place. In her experience anyone not rich and without any connection to wield great power, is a slave to whomever is in charge.

The elder lead the young sorceress to a compartment at the end of a long tunnel. The woman opened the door and permitted Pom entry. The internal decorative possessions of the apartment were a stark contrast to the situation suffered of the rest of the people she had just seen. This resident seemed very well to do, overly extravagant. Pom suspected they possibly benefit quite greedily from their fellow man, but exactly how remains to be seen.

She started to believe she is in the wrong living quarters when another woman, a bit younger, rounded the entryway. She looked overly made-up but disheveled and disturbed. The older woman drew Pom's attention by opening a door to another room and gesturing inside, were she could see a stash of possible stolen goodes. Pom did not understand why she was being shown these things.

"I'm not sure what is going on here. Did you reach out to me, or not? I deal in credits, not product. From what I can tell, there is alot of traceable goodes here." There were piles of credits, datapads, engine parts, fine jewelry, even a few exotic pets in cages.

Pom stepped back out of the compartment and she opened the neighboring compartment door and peered inside. Nobody was home, but she saw that the items they owner's possessed were very few, even destitute. She quickly chose the next apartment door and flung it open as well. The residents jumped up, a child latched onto his mother, to which Pom politely apologized by waving a hand and backing out of the doorway. This home too, had very little furnishings.

She re-entered the apartment hoarding the lavish items. She already did not like whatever reason is actually behind her being called here. She looked at the other younger woman, who still had maybe fifteen years on Pom. "What's the deal here really?" Pomsty demanded. She wondered if perhaps this woman is wanting something more from her husband and he is maybe either forbidding it or incapable of granting it. Such a pitiful reason behind this whole ordeal, selfish greed. A young child came in and sat down upon the floor and quietly began to play with his toys. The child dumped an entire bucket of them upon the carpeted floor. Pomsty doesn't know what it was really, but for the very first time in her life, she felt sick to her stomach seeing this one family get rich, while others starved for anything of relief.

"Look, just take this vial, give me my payment; and I'm outta here. Better yet, you don't even seem to need me, lady." She stopped before handing it over; something crying out to her to stop what she had planned to do, and to do anything other than follow through with this deal. She sighed as she studied the other woman; and Pomsty listened to her gut.

The family from the neighbor's home who Pomsty had uninvitedly entered moments before, rushed in behind her, this woman crying frantically, clinging to her screaming son. She gestured towards the unemotional mistress of the end compartment. The neighbor started begging for something, which Pomsty soon understood it to be that this woman began begging for mercy. This neighbor seemed like she believed Pomsty was recruited to settle a debt against her house, for the rich mistress.

Pomsty quickly understood that she could no longer follow through with her original deal, which was that she came to relieve a woman and her family of an abusive husband; but that it is likely she will also relieve the entire project of this criminal family who capitalize upon victims of a desperate situation.

Her disgust shone in her dark eyes.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom Stych Tivé stood with her back to the door, when the resident woman's husband and a few of his close compadres walked in. She turned and looked at him, as did the neighboring family. Without provocation the men taunted the woman and her young child. She did not fight back in defense of herself or her child; she only cringed and whimpered. The men then turned their attention towards Pom and the husband's face contorted into anger towards his wife. He immediately accused her of plotting to take control of his enterprise through an act of malice.

His wife grew suddenly anxious, possibly even remorseful. She immediately defended herself against his accusations, and at the same instance tried to snatch the Potion out of Pom's hands. She verbalized a torrent of emotions towards him, each contradicting another. I love you. I hate you. I can't live without you. I'll kill you. To which Pom thought the whole ordeal sounded vaguely familiar…perhaps an instance in her past life?

The lot of them began to order Pom to leave them, or they would call the authorities, adding that the authorities and they are on very good terms. She looked at the destitute residents gathering outside the apartment door, and she then decided to hand the criminals these terms, "I will leave you, after you return to these people everything you have extorted from them."

That is when all hell broke loose inside the apartment. Pom literally heard a snap inside her head when the rich boy, ran up on the poor boy and tore a hole in his shirt, all for a little glistening button. The spoiled child elated in his find, voiced his plan to covet the item. He was not reprimanded, instead his mother only smiled. Pom watched this unfold, while the mob boss and his cohorts stood in her personal space and began screaming at her.

The husband turned towards the crowd of people, now some standing inside his entryway, and he shouted to them, "She has come to kill us!" He drew his commlink and made a call for help to the authorities.

The husband again stormed towards Pom and loudly berated her for her presence in his home, and making any demands of him. They stood all around her, the husband and wife so very close to her. It happened so quickly that a knife was discovered plunged into his abdomen. He looked at Pom with an expression of disbelief and incessant anger, only to turn his eyes towards his wife to discover that it is she who wields the knife.

The woman quickly released her grip of the knife, recoiled away from Pom, pointed and screamed. To everyone else who was not looking at the right place at the right time, Pom seemingly committed murder.

The crowd screamed in shock and panic. Whispers of the deed quickly spread throughout the tunnel. Fear of the quality of their future still remained. There are many involved in the mob ring.

The dying man's most devout security guards, took aim with their pistols and fired at Pom. Pom vanished into a puff of black smoke before their eyes. So sad, their slugs tore holes in the beautiful wallpaper decorating the apartment. How the sight mortified the lady of the house!

In the form of black smoke, Pom travelled quickly through the air towards the woman and she uncapped her potent vial of the Sleeping Draught. She paused before the woman's face only momentarily, enough to assure the woman got an ample sniff of its contents, before vanishing again.

The hunt for the witch has begun!

END THREAD​

PART II