Mandragora [CIS]

[Ascendant Muse]

N I G H T L A N D S​

Under a canvas of stars did they gather.

Men and women who had thought themselves apart of something much greater. Men and women who...doubted if they could call themselves that anymore. They thought that technology was the answer - that profaning one's body was the key to triumph over all corruption. But one act struck a crippling blow to the foundation of the Knighthood. One act sowed seeds of doubt in the hearts of those faithful few. From the highest of Exarchs to the freshest initiate, all wondered if they would be next. All wondered what the point was in placing so much faith in the works of Man...when the realm of spirits could overtake them all.

And so she had called them. She who was Taken.

Although Justice was her High Calling, she was a Queen among them. Beloved. Respected. Her very presence brought hope to those the Confederacy liberated. Her firmness brought feelings of utmost security to the worlds. And thus, when her strength was stolen in the chaos of the Incursion...when she was turned into a literal puppet by the etheral...they became afraid. But the High Justice did not return from her ordeal in silence. She did not sit idly by and allow defeat to ruin her. She did not dispel the reality of her possession as mere rumor, no. She owned it. She learned from it. She was the futility in the Knighthood's efforts...

No longer.

Heeding the call that was spoken over the comms and HoloNet would lead any of the Knighthood to the Nightlands of Ryloth. There, under a canopy of stars would they muster: a crowd before a trio of towering stones. Upon each were charred symbols: circles which each represented something native to the liberated world. Jart. Lylek. Doashim. But the meaning of these symbols would be lost upon the Knighthood...for now. Underneath these stones was a roaring fire: the sole source of true light and warmth for the gathering to enjoy. And behind the dancing flames stood the High Justice. The changes were evident in her appearance. The prim and flair were gone...yet in their place was something primal. Something free.

And within the hands of [member="Tmoxin Temi"] rested a tome.

The Grimoire of the Mandragora.

Spoiler

[member="Aedan Miles"], [member="Aevan Kitaki"], [member="Akabane Jarvik"], [member="Aleksander Miles"], [member="Arlox"], [member="Ash"], [member="Ashen Soul Reynauld"], [member="Aut-X"], [member="Avo"], [member="Aya Clarke"], [member="B1-990"], [member="Bartic Myth'rand"], [member="BBZ-20"], [member="BX-22222"], [member="BX-25233"], [member="BX-66260"], [member="BX-72967"], [member="BX-73300"], [member="BX-75244"], [member="Chalim Vern"], [member="Charr"], [member="Chek Zun"], [member="Darth Interitus"], [member="Darth Kentarch"], [member="Darth Rixas"], [member="Darth Seraphic"], [member="Daxton Bane"], [member="Deneve Verd"], [member="Derek Dib"], [member="Edward Varric"], @Galven Hanson, [member="Hades Dai"], [member="Helix Syndicate"], [member="Holowan Industries"], [member="Idaren Verd"], [member="Iris Issey"], [member="Izevel Zambrano"], [member="Jack Anderson"], [member="Jaya Tandris"], [member="Jia Darkhold"], [member="Jorah"], [member="Jrogan"], [member="Kal Jaii"], [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"], [member="Keric Dynt"], [member="Ket Van-Derveld"], [member="Kurenai"] Ymi, [member="Lady Psyona"], [member="Lewis"], [member="Liset Vereen"], [member="Lord Mettallum"], [member="Maanis"], [member="Malok"], [member="Marcus Lund"], [member="Maxerian Gron"], [member="Morgan Redeaux"], [member="Muad Dib"], [member="Nasho Vesh"], [member="Natalie LaForte"], [member="Natasha Darkstar"], [member="Noviac Caligo"], [member="Rapax"], [member="Rashae"], [member="Seela Tarkona"], [member="Sila"], [member="Sochi Ru"], [member="Surnin Strenger"], [member="Talbot Vitalis"], [member="Tiberius Royalblaze"], [member="Tmoxin Temi"], [member="Tschov Bolyn"], [member="Valis Marr"], [member="Valjan Hon'rey"], [member="Verd Skirata"], [member="Werah Unon"], @Xera Wran, [member="Yuna Hart"], [member="Zahori Denko"], [member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Muad Dib]

He walked the night sands of Ryloth. The stats shine brightly in the clear sky as he moved up the dune, a small cascade of sand drifting behind him. Reaching the crest he paused and looked over the group of knights milling around the stones and fire, the corners of his lips twitching upwards.

They had come, and still were, to answer the call of the High Justice. The man shook his head lightly feeling a cold chill rush through his body. It was the flush of anticipation. He, too, had received the communications to return to Ryloth where the Confederacy had liberated the slaves and freed them from a culture centered around subjugation. But he hasn't come because of the communication. The Force had echoed within, resonating a chord within that bade him answer the summons.

Walking down the dune he moved to join the gathered. As he passed he nodded to the free he knew, the ones he had fought beside on the campaigns for the Confederacy. He could see the unease that was revealed upon many of their faces. He understood. Change was always painful, and yet it was necessary for them to evolve and grow.

Moving to the front he paused. It took some effort for he felt a call in his spirit, a tugging on tattered soul bidding him forward. But he remained while crossing his arms across his chest. The dancing flames of the pyre called to him, the flickering fire finding a kindred spirit in the man. The runes running from elbow to knuckles of his left hand burned, whispering to him of a momentous and imminent escalation which would change him forever.

His glowing eyes spied Tmoxin standing silent. She had changed. She wasn't quite the woman he had met at the gala. No, there was a barely restrained primal ferocity that heralded her alteration. He licked his lips tasting the power.

Change wasn't coming.
Change had arrived.​

[member="Tmoxin Temi"]

 

[Aoker Veru]

Aoker stood behind the fires, the first of his kind, he had been a gift by the nightsisters, he may have already been claimed by a patron, but he was still inexperienced in the ways of the Force. He waited, watching those who had answered the call flock in. The flames illuminated his otherwise hidden form. The only parts of him standing out being his bladed staff, his weapon of choice, with reach and flexibility, a weapon as perfect as he, and his eyes, eyes that showed the magick infused within him, a "gift" from his once masters.

Yes masters, as that was what the nightsisters were to him, not protectors or family, masters. He was brought up to obey those who commanded him, never question an order. To him, he was no more than a weapon to be wielded against his master's foes. Now in front of him were those who would claim him as their 'apprentice,' to be honed, then wielded. He waited, no emotion showing on his face, inside he did not know what he felt; even here, on a world whose name he knew not, surrounded by more people and species he had ever seen, nothing was within him. That was his upbringing, emotions were to be ignored, conquered and controlled. They are like decals on a weapon, serving no purpose other than to weaken it's performance. So he waited, observing those who might wield him.

As he watched, one caught his eye, one whose experience showed. He was not larger, or stronger, quicker or more dexterous looking; no, his power came from within. A power that could at a glance paralyze even hardened soldiers, power that could only show through eyes.

Interesting.

[member="Muad Dib"]
[member="Tmoxin Temi"]

 

[Daxton Bane]

He came with very little fanfare, truth be told it would literally appear he emerged from the shadows, such was the nature of the Sith known as Daxton Bane. No one could really tell what he thought though, the highly polished reflective plate covering his face, obsured all his features and left him more of a mystery.

Drawing his grey robes close, he strode towards the fire, making no acknowledgements along the way. Not that he impolite, rather he knew none of those gathered, he himself was a name wrapped in legend and rumor. But still he came to answer the summons, more out of curiosity than anything else, which made it very dangerous indeed. Nothing was deadlier than a curious Bane.

The voices in his head, urged him to strike, to kill all those gathered in assembly. A most amusing thought indeed, but those relentless voices were always blood thirsty and so he paid them little heed. Beneath the armor he called a containment suit, the colony stirred uneasily, but in hungry anticipation as well nervous energy. Such was the nature of orbalisks, especially in the presence of so many force users but they would behave. Having merged with the hive mind, the colony has long since become an extension of his own will and it would do nothing to counter his command.

Standing close to the blaze he awaited for the ceremony to commence so he could learn more as to why they were all brought here.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

It was Ryloth that called to her, all her life, it had hummed and called. Mother had told her about it so many times, Katrine had believed it had been those stories that sounded so inviting but when she had first arrived to the planet, the hum was louder. It was as if something had truly been calling her. Yet, that day, Katrine hadn't found what it was singing to her. She could still remember how she begged her Mother to take her out of the city, to explore other places, but Mother never understood. She didn't hear the music that was beyond the cities. Even Avarisa, as she had shared her infinite knowledge muttered of Ryloth as the birthing place though her lessons were coy and dangerous, never quite passing over a threshold that could truly make her understand.

Now, she called herself an Executor and tried to be a Geonosian Knight because she was well aware of the darkness that still lingered under her skin and yet, it wasn't what she was meant to be, even the Lupine was fully aware of it. She could feel the Witch inside her pleading to escape but Dathomir was not where she belonged; and often, it was not where the Witches of the planet wanted her. Too much darkness, too much madness. Even in the victory she had achieved, overcoming the curse attached to her at her birth, Avarisa's presence from the moment she had arrived into the world, those Witches still feared what she was and how she thought. For all the love Katrine had for Dathomir and the Singing Mountain Clan, she knew her path laid outside of it. Somewhere out there...

The call to the Nightlands of Ryloth had been welcomed with ease. Again, Ryloth, her soul kept being drawn to it, her fingers had pressed into the controls and set the course without her complete comprehension yet. For she had always wanted to go beyond the cities and now, the ones that had welcomed her among them were calling.

It had been close to night when her large Templar-class ship landed on the planet and as her speeder hurried off to the designated location, natural lights faded further and further. By the time she had arrived and turned off the engine, night had completely fallen. She jumped off and moved the small remainder of the way, feeling the power emanate from a source she had yet to fully understand but here, in the darkness, she recognized an old call she had heard in the distance. The light of the fire guided, one step moved in front of the other as her sapphire blue gaze zeroed in on her surroundings. She didn't noticed the beings gathered as her eyes focused on the sights, feeling a distinctive welcome. What lay here had always been calling to her, Katrine had simply not understood why or how.

Now, the Lupine knew, she had returned home, where her ancestors had been barred for failing to follow the ways, she had returned, the first in centuries.

Almost immediately, Katrine recognized the symbol of the predator marked, it was identical to the mark that had become the name of her blood. Dathomirians had called it a Ceta, a Hawk. Avarisa had used a different name as she told her about the mark upon her chest. "The Jart," she recalled now as she stood beneath it, her eyes drifting from it to examine the other two. Both had been branded upon the stone of the planet she had been trapped on but far smaller than the one Avarisa perverted. "The three Pacts," Katrine muttered before something else called, her whole body turning to notice the object in the woman's hand. As a born and raised Witch, Katrine recognized the shape and form of holy texts. Dathomirians had many names for their own: Book of Dathomir, Book of Law, Book of Shadows. Families used their own names for their own Books. Theirs was the Magical Tome, the Nightsisters held Grimoires... but right now, all she could do was stare at it, her feet shuffling herself forward to it as she wished to brush her fingers against it.

It would be a couple of minutes before her eyes wandered upward to recognize one of the faces of the party, though Katrine didn't know the woman by name yet, she recognized her face as someone whose beautiful attire had captured her attention. Then her eyes drifted around, recognizing another face she had seen at the party, before finally recognizing a Zabraks present there though Katrine immediately knew she didn't. None of their faces though now held her attention for long as her eyes drifted back to the holy text in the woman's hand, its music of power obvious.

[member="Tmoxin Temi"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Daxton Bane"]

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

If she’d known what she was about to willingly walk into with a grip on her full faculties, she would not have made it through the door. While Tmoxin agreed in theory that technology could solve most problems, her body - the red freckles on her pale skin, the hourglass Hapan figure - was not to be used as a conduit to power. Obviously she’d used her striking looks to her advantage over the years, but the Dark Jedi did not even have a tattoo, much less anything more disfiguring.

But after she’d returned from accompanying Kyrel Ren to the mysterious star system controlled by droids, The Blood Monarch and High Justice of the Geonosian Knights had not felt the same. Funny to think now that on that trip, she’d worried mostly about her relationship with the Master of Ren and spent less time examining the effects that the semi-toxic environment had had upon her, and the gas and substances to which she’d been exposed.

Yet she shrugged it off, returning to the Seven Moons Ranch in Bothawui where a fever had gripped her night after night, causing her to seek out a doctor even. But there was no diagnosis.

And then days went by or perhaps weeks or maybe just one minute. Time had blended and as Tmoxin found herself on Ryloth where she found the Grimoire hidden under layers of stone placed there by countless slaves who died in the construction of the tomb.

And she’d remained on Ryloth ever since, not calling out to anyone except her fellow Knights.

However it was clear that studying the Grimoire had taken its toll upon the Hapan. Dark circles appeared under her eyes, the product of many a sleepless night reading and not resting. Whatever had possessed her on the mysterious planet, still remained pumping steadily through her veins.

The ever-poised Tmoxin was now wild and dangerous, and she called out to those who assembled before her to help understand why they’d all been brought together. Blood dribbled from her nose, a mask of fury stretching across her face, her normally coiffed red hair hanging loose and stringy.

​

“Help me,” she demanded in a voice that made it clear she needed no personal help but aid of the magick kind. “I cannot interpret this alone.”

This new era of the Confederacy Force wielders would not be led by one woman.

The book held all of the secrets they would learn. And Tmoxin slammed it down upon an ornate dais, stepping back in a sneering taunt to see who would drink from the power of the old tome after she had.

[member="Eternal Muse"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Daxton Bane"] [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Nassier Zirfae]

While the Confederacy stood in awkward silence, members of the Jart and Doashim did as they pleased. The people of Lylek seemed almost divided in their actions. Their elders, having committed their lives to those of stealth, remained silent in the shadows. The youngers, while certainly not lacking in commitment, had better plans for passing the time. Those people crept through the crowds, creeping in on the fire like the spiders whose webs marked their flesh. The area grew noticeably darker as bodies drew closer to the light source, pushing past Daxton Bane to the point in which they were inches away from catching ablaze themselves.

Then a single drum beat sounded off from somewhere in the crowd and everything flourished. What was possibly an intimidating display revealed itself to be entirely different. Other drummers joined in and an impromptu dance party was kicked off in a fashion only the people of Lylek could pull off. Some twirled scarfs adorned with jingles, adding to the sheer amount of sound. Others wielded staves, fire from the bonfire lighting both ends, giving off a wave of warmth when they moved particularly fast.

Nassier was content not taking part in the dancing of the revelry, instead choosing to play with the drummers. Said drumming and the overall revelry ceased as Tmoxin addressed the masses. Some of the dancers moved to stand in more normal, more comfortable positions. Others, remained in the poses they'd taken when the drumming stopped, maintaining the illusion aside from moving their staves away from anything that might catch fire. As quickly as the revelry started, the Lylek rescinded into silence, with heads cocking to the side, watching the other pacts and Geonosian Knights with mild curiosity.

[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"]​

 

[Muad Dib]

The plea that sprang from her lips was, while worded as an askance of help, no cry from a weak woman but a challenge to any who thought they could answer the call. The revelry that errupted around those gathered only served to heighten the tension and aura permeating the very air. Many swayed to the rhythm but not the blue eyed man. While bells and drums tolled out a beat that inflamed the crowd he heard nothing save the call.

A whisper that burned at his core, the very one he had followed, beckoned him like a lost lover with secrets untold and yet desiring to be told. A need that wanted to be fulfilled. When Tmoxin slammed down the stone upon the dais he felt an electric shock shoot up his spine. The sensation of possession ran through him that whispered of belonging. Not only did the stone say it was his, but it also said that Muad belonged to it.

Silence stretched as all waited on abated breath for something to happen. Only the strong, those with the strength could choose their own fate. And Muad chose his.

Moving forward he walked to the raised dais and looked at the blood stained face of Tmoxin for a moment. Her face was frightening at it's transformation. But he was not a man who trembled nor was he one who flew from a daunting task. Turning his back warily on the new Hapan, he eyed the stone. His vision flickered in beat with his heart, fading out of focus then flashing to sharp, acute precision. His skin was hot yet a chill flowed through him as he lowered his hands toward the stone.

Then he gripped the grimoire and everything he thought he knew was upended in a second that was an eternity.

Suddenly he was alone in the darkness as swirls of ambient light encircled him. Turning he sensed that even though he saw nothing, he was not alone. A snarling grin crossed his face as he moved forward to where he felt the presence. But he stopped as three shadows coalesced from the mist into undefined towering beings radiating immense power. The wave of pure immensity washed over him threatening to push him back into the nothingness of the etheral darkness. The very marrow of his bones seemed to melt in the presence of the three.


He is too wild.
He is too will full.
He is strength.

Hearing the three distinct voices that shook the otherworldly realm it felt as though he was being rent and examined from the inside out. Roaring a challenge he advanced, each step a monumental effort of will and stubbornness as he approached the beings.


He is determined.
He is tenacious.
He is beautiful.

As he neared his legs gave out and he dropped to his hands and knees. Raising his eyes he glared at the others, one crawling step at a time as he closed the distance. Mere meters away he felt the immense weight of their power that flattened him onto his chest. And yet he continued forward, one clawed pull over another.


He is strong.
He is powerful.
He is mine.

The center figure stepped forward and raised it's etheral arms and Muad was lifted into the air floating before the behemoth figure. An awe filled him as he recognized himself in the figure who began opening it's jaws. Mouth partially agape at the presence he watched as the widening maw spewed forth tendrils that filled him, entering mouth, ears, and nose. A burning sensation erupted on his chest and his shirt was suddenly gone, a symbol flaring into existence as if carved by a flaming knife. Mouth open in a frozen roar of pain, rage, and utter defiance he felt knowledge fill him, and yet he did not understand.


You are mine. I called you with a holy calling, not for yourself but for my own purpose which was ordained before life began. You are mine and I am yours ... My Doashim.

Something was growing within him. Something unfathomable. Or maybe it was something that had always existed but was now finally freed. Throwing back his head he roared before the altar, his face rolling with a moment of transformation before flickering back.

Releasing the stone he dropped back, rocking unsteadily upon his feet before dropping to his knee. His chest ran red as the symbol that was created on the spirit plane had transcended with his return. The symbol was the Mark of the Pact of Doashim. And the Patron had claimed him as a Shaman, leaving the touch upon Muad.
​

[member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Tmoxin Temi"] [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] [member="Daxton Bane"] [member="Aoker Veru"]

 

[Grace Darkson]

Magic, Grace had been taught, was the refuge of the primitive.

Force Traditions were as old as sentient life itself. The Jedi, the Sith, even those like the Knights of Zakuul were birthed from the faiths of their ancestors. And in the old ways, these traditions held that the power they drew on was something mysterious, something unstudyable. Something beyond comprehension. This, Grace had been taught, was wrong. The Force, for it was the Force they called on, was not only something that could be understood, but something that could be bent to her will. But that did not seem to be the case here.

The man beside her was tall, wrapped in a robe lined with a shimmering silver hem. The Twi'lek seemed to study her, and for a moment her skin crawled in fear. As she stared back, the noise of the drums grew louder, But Grace did not look away. Not at first. Her initial studies into those traditions who claimed magic were... interesting. The Dathomiri seemed to do things that Grace had thought impossible. Perhaps they drew on some element of the Force the Sith had not found?

But what intrigued her the most was that her own were not immune to these superstitions. Hidden among her research into the Old Sith were scattered mentions of Sith Sorceries, and descriptions of powers that she had never understood. But as she began to toy with the mortal coil and the spirits that haunted her every step, it seemed likely that these myths and traditions held more fact than she had given them credit for.

As the woman she had known as the High Justice stepped forward, it was all the woman could do to stare back in shock. The woman looked tired, worn down by whatever had drawn them all into the Nightlands. She saw the man next to her smile. The roaring fire did little favors to the woman, but seemed to paint her with the brushes of a madman. If this is what it would do to the High Justice, what toll would it extract from the rest of them?

But such was the price of power.

As the grim tome hit stone, all else seemed to fade away for the young Sith. There was a voice, no, voices, calling to her, clawing at her psyke. Read us. They echoed in her brain. We can show you everything. It was a song, in a language she did not know, yet understood all the same. Young seeker of knowledge, come to us...

Grace staggered forward, coming to stand before the altar and the book. It didn't matter that all eyes were on her. A cold, pale hand extended, fingers grasping the edge of the book.

She saw the world, so small, from far above. Air rushed past her face, chilling her and leaving her breathless The voices seemed to argue for a moment, roaring and screeching something like the roars of wild beasts. It filled her with fire, the cries of war and battle. And like that, she fell, plummeting towards earth with the speed of a bullet. The fire enveloped her, searing her skin and scarring her flesh. She saw herself, hand resting on the cover of the grimoire. Red eyes flanked her, the eyes of a massive avian, the hunter of the skies. They burned her skull and soul, and she let loose a howl of pain.

Staggering back, the Vahla stared at the book, her body shaking. Blood pounded in her ears, her skull. She wanted to let it out, to bleed it away. She raised her hand to hold her temple...

Her hand. Black lines crept up it, crawling up her arm, ducking under her sleeve. She didn't understand, not yet. She didn't recognize the Mark. But He had claimed her for his own. The Twi'lek caught her as she fell, whispering to her as he stopped her from falling.

"Welcome, Sister."

[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Nassier Zirfae"]​

 

[Ket Van-Derveld]

There was a time when he was but a boy. A time when he knew nothing, and looked at everything with starstruck eyes. Those dim, almost black eyes once shone and sparkled a bright blue. Yet here, on this junk laden world, He felt...free. This was the husk of a man whom once was the very worst the galaxy offered. Public Enemy Number One. In this galaxy, He was nothing more than a relic. 'Time leaves us all behind eventually...' These were word He knew all too well to be true. Yet the call...the call of the BLOOD. It reached out to him like a moth to a flame. For all He was...there were only 3 people who call Him forth. His Wife, His mate...his other half, Curupira. He missed her in ways most men dare not dream, yet sitting in the cockpit of The Deceased Star, He looked out to the barren wasteland, and He wondered.

Ket was a simple man when it all was said and done. He felt things in ways only those of the blood would understand. He was unique in more ways than He honestly cared to acknowledge. He was something this iteration of the Galactic Norm would never allow. Yet, some of these little ants...they actually got the idea right. And in that realization, Ket knew it was not serendipity, but the Will of the Force that brought His ship to dock on the junkyard world He knew all too well.

Yet there He stood, upon the loading ramp of the Star, looking out over the husks of dead ships of every size. He made His way through the trash and scattered scrap with but a grimace on His face. He was clad in garb not many would still wear. Tight, well worn black leather pants gripped his legs, with large, combat-style boots in black leather upon his feet. His upper was bared, save the tattoos and scarification one could see upon his upper body. A faded, black leather coat hung off his shoulders. It nearly kissed the ground his feet crossed, yet never quite doing so.

The Old Wolf made his way to this so-called Temple. A free world? No such thing. But who was He to tell them otherwise. He'd been lurking in the unknown regions for far too long.

It was time the Old Wolf exerted His knowledge. It was time Ket Van Derveld reclaimed that which He had lost. And it would begin with his offspring. Where it went from there...

He left that to the Force, as it never did Him wrong before...


[member="Eternal Muse"][member="Lady Psyona"][member="Muad Dib"][member="Nassier Zirfae"][member="Tmoxin Temi"][member="Eternal Muse"][member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Rapax]

He ventured here as a first time event with his other brethren he heard the call for knowledge and more strength which was something hes been wanting for a long time, When he arrived he arrived in his natural Gurlanin state as his eyes glowed a crimson color as he climbed the steps and made his way to where the tome was set down he had heard much of the lady who first held the tome, A calm and collected individual but now she is a wild and different beast. He saw those who tasted it and looked down to the tome as he approached it, For a moment there was hesitation as his hand reached out and stopped for a moment and then after that moment passed he placed his dark long sharp claws onto the tome and he was in a different place when he did this. It was dark and misty and lights soared around him in the mist and a voice echoed through out his little world ever eerie and distorted, You have grown much from your time amongest the starts. You are strong and merciless and in your hands I give you the power to create life ...and to destroy... I submit you as my Shamen and with it all the gifts and knowledge that befit it, Use them well...I expect great things to come from you. Once the voice was done speaking the specters that soared around him left and everything was dark again.


He returned to the real world as purple energy glowed and crawled like veins through out his entire body as the symbol of the Jart glowed and formed on his hand in pain he growled and snarled before it was all over he let out a loud bone chilling wolf howl up to the stars as he let the power flow through him for all time, He was now reborn and stronger then ever and he was ready to unleash.


[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | @Katrine Van-Derveld | @Tmoxin Temi | [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Lady Psyona"]

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

It called, no, it demanded her attention as she moved forward. The woman had dropped the book, her voice sounding like it was so far away, pleading for help. Katrine couldn't look at her anymore, still moving forward though her steps were short and slow, a Force pulling her like nothing before. The song it gave inside her had her no notes and yet it sounded like the most beautiful music to her ears, even in the silence. Someone had picked up the book and dropped it and then someone else before it lay at her feet, her blue irises focusing on it as she dropped to her knees, picking up the Grimoire with both of her hands.

The blood, a voice suddenly echoed from a far distance into her mind as her eyes saw the holy text one second and then nothing but darkness. The blood, another voice muttered immediately after. The blood of the traitor, suddenly it was three voices.

Something moved in the air and she looked up, seeing a bird fly over her head. She realized then, looking down that she was standing and the Grimoire was no longer in her hands. Her head turned again, she was in darkness, the air scarce and moldy. Blood of the traitor stands before us. The voices repeated in union as something moved in the corner of her eyes though when she looked, Katrine only saw red eyes in the darkness studying her. Something flew over her ahead, forcing the Lupine to spin as something moved, slower.

Blood of the traitor, what seek you? The voices spoke at once again. Katrine blinked. "I am not her. Blood of my blood has repented for her actions ten fold. I will not be branded for her sins," she spoke out though even in the state, she knew she hadn't spoken but the voices heard what he had thought. We know, one of the voices spoke before it moved again and this time, she could see it clear as it flew towards her, its large wings flapping as it kept in front of her. We see all, know all. You have broken the curse of the traitor, you are free to return, the bird, no the Jart had told her, the voice in her head sounding welcoming, it had given Katrine a peace she hadn't expected. "Thank you," she muttered, smiling.

Then the Jart reached out with its claw towards her. It took all her willpower to remain absolutely still in that moment which for a girl like Kat was near impossible. It's claw reached for her head, sliding across her hair. Be free, be wise, the Jart told her as he moved, her whole body feeling a weight lifting off of her, liberating her. It was freedom she'd suddenly felt, the pain of her past washing away with its claw with complete ease. Her eyes closed at the elderly touch, letting it slid its claw all through her hair before it reach into her shoulder and collar bone, digging into skin. It hurt for a moment before it felt like it was burning, her face wincing as she heard the fabric tare until its movement. Welcome home, Ceta, the three spoke in harmony again before it all flashed white, the scene fading before her opened eyes.

It was still in her hands when she returned, her eyes blinking rapidly to comprehend what had just happened. It felt like nothing but a vision, something happened like in a dream but as she put the book down to the ground gently and reached for her shoulder, she felt the rip on her clothes, causing Katrine to rapidly look down and shuffle off the fabric to spot the symbol of the Jart on her flesh. "Ceta," she whispered and smiled. Avarisa may have been branded with the symbol but so did the founder of her Hawk bloodline and she choose to live in the light, chose not to follow in the footsteps of the traitor as the three had said. Katrine would therefore gladly wear the mark of her ancestors, mark of the Pact.

Then she had seen it, her fingers gripping at her hair and pulling it up to inspect it further. It wasn't purple, not a single string of it showing any sign of the purple that had been her curse. Instead, her strands were blonde, nearly as bright as the color of her fur. Katrine still didn't believe it though, checking the rest of her hair in a quick movement, blinking in confusion. Sure, it was one thing for a crazy Force Spirit to say her way was the right way and live in delusion of her might but it was a completely different thing meeting the three she had mentioned, talking to them and being liberated from the remainder of the physical representation of her own curse. It was gone.

Her eyes drifted down to the book again, her fingers releasing her locks as she moved to touch it again. Magical tomes didn't frighten her, they called to her. But there would be time to study it, now, others needed to meet the three, she decided as she stood and moved away, still smiling as she looked up and spotted her own Father standing there. "Father, come and meet them. Avarisa was a disease, they are incredible," she told him as she came close, her smile growing. Someone else might have thought another who hadn't touched the Grimoire wouldn't know but Katrine always said Father knew all so she didn't concern herself with such trivial thoughts.

The howl reached her ears as clear as day, her mind opened and calm now. Katrine turned immediately and saw the animal there. "What is that?" It wasn't a Lupine, that much was clear; the larger former and different body giving clear sign to it but whatever it was, she didn't have the faintest idea and it made her natural curiosity rise again.

[member="Rapax"] [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] [member="Lady Psyona"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Tmoxin Temi"]

 

[Ket Van-Derveld]

He stood there, watching as those whom held power gave his only daughter acceptance. They, nor did she, understand the nature of the madness that all Lupines shared. None of them understood her curse could NEVER be cured. Confined, yes, but cured? Never. This was simply her strength exerting itself. Her other half would return, and with a vengeance. But Ket need not tell anyone, as Kat would come to know this well, just as He had. The only real difference was that Ket had long ago conquered his other half. It bowed down to Him and accepted that He was the dominant Force. Kat would do the same one day. For now, he would leave this alone. He was not a stupid man. Ket knew which battles would be won, and which would be lost. This was a battle for another time, on another world.

Slowly, He made his way to Kat, as she gasped and wondered about the pretender that stalked them all. Ket paid him no mind. His will was, is, and will always be absolute. He kept walking until He was but centimeters from his daughter. And a pale, lithe white hand rose up, and caressed her jawbone.

"My sweet Katrine...My little one...I've missed you so...almost more than I miss your mother..."

The Lupine paused a moment, eyes shutting, and a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"No...Moreso. You are my greatest creation. You are my legacy, that which will inherit the Schwartzweld, and all of Figurao Favoura. You, my sweet little girl, are the heir apparent. Nothing will change that. And I am proud of you..."

Ket let his head drop down, and for once, the mighty Ket Van Derveld...The two time Dark Lord of the Sith, the Jedi Master, the High Inquisitor of the Confederacy...He dropped to one knee. And He produced that which had not been seen since the day of Diego Van Derveld, Kat's Grandfather. A Lightsaber hilt. It was rudimentary, but he offered it to Her.

"I am but a relic from a time long since passed, my darling little one. In this day and age, I have much to learn, and much to give. Show me...Show me what I need to know, and in return, I promise you...I shall be a proper father, and never leave your side."

[member="Katrine Van-Derveld"]

 

[Daxton Bane]

Daxton waited patiently for his turn, the Sith could see no need to rush things and clamber for his spot. Time enough for flash and pomp later in life, no this time was silently observing all that was occuring around him. When it was his turn, he stepped closer to the tome and for a moment seemed to be studying the vision before him.

In his extensive travels, the Sith has had encounters with strange and unusual artifacts. Some this tome, filled him with sense of stress and dread, which made him all the more curious to find out more. When he did touch it, his back arched straight as he was filled with power he had not felt in such a long time.

The myriad of voices whispering death and gloom in his head, began to sing a chorus of woeful lament, while the orbalisk colony surrounding his torso from the neck down began writhe in pleasure. Daxton collapsed to one knee as the sensation overwhelmed him completely.

Already a gifted duelist, the tome opened up new avenes to explore as well as widening his aresnal of weapons. Weakly gettng up to his feet, Daxton took a few steps back to give way to the next person as he glanced skywards. Over three dozen stars shone brightly in the night sky, bearing silent witness to the change that the man known as Harbringer of Chaos had just underwent. No one could tell what this would mean for the future, but definitely thing would become much more interesting around Daxton Bane.

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

Tmoxin turned her head towards the drumming sound, but then faced the Grimoire again. Her pale hands trembled, dirt still crusted under chipped red fingernails from digging in the tombs. She gazed around to see a horned creature, a dark-haired witch, a Zabrak, and a wolf, howling as he entered the chamber. A variety of Force sensitives, alignments dark, converged, but finally the Hapan recognized one - [member="Muad Dib"], the brother of Derek.

As the drums beat louder, the familiar man approached her and then turned around. He was the first one to open the Grimoire.

And the beings emerged from the darkness.

Tmoxin’s head pounded to the thump, thump of the drums. A feral smile graced her lips, and though she felt apprehension for Muad, she had the strange sense that this ritual needed to occur, and after it did, her vision would become less clouded.

And yet what happened next? The Dark Jedi nearly had to turn away. A sliver of her rational mind resisted the thought that she may be next to be invaded by tentacles, but the magic ensured she kept her gaze upon the sacred rite.

As Muad became the Shaman of Doashim, eliciting a nod of sudden understanding by the Hapan, another stepped forward to interpret the text. Tmoxin began to feel stronger already and she brushed the blood away from her nose with the back of her hand.

“Yes, please. Be enlightened,” she said quietly coaching the woman. She too became marked by the spirits.

Next up was [member="Kat Van-Derveld"], a woman she recognized from the Academy on Geonosis.

Tmoxin was no longer afraid - of tentacles or markings or blood or pain. Her transformation would come at the end, but in the meantime, she watched in fascination as the lycanthrope experienced waking dreams as she examined the book. Before she would gain her marking, her father, [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] arrived and am impromptu family reunion ensued. [member="Daxton Bane"] was the next to drink from the font of ancient wisdom.

And the chamber grew silent again.

The Hapan felt momentarily as though the oxygen had been sucked out of the cavernous room, and she gasped for breath. Her eyes flashed a sanguine color momentarily, and she turned to the beings and demanded, "Take me next!”

“Patience,” they hissed together. “In time we will.”

[member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Eternal Muse"] [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Lady Psyona"] [member="Rapax"]​

 

[Nyx]

Anixya Verd was about as far from a believer as believers went. She didn't believe in gods, spirits, ghosts, or especially magic. She believed in what she could see, what she could feel, and most importantly, what she could kill. If she couldn't kill something, then chances were, it didn't exist.
Which is why when her father [member="Darth Metus"] had showed up and recruited her into his latest adventure, she had been skeptical of her place. Killing things for a cause wasn't exactly her cup of tea. She killed for credits, for glory, and for herself. Sometimes that meant shacking up with some larger group for awhile, because they were paying her, she owed them money, or whatever reason. This time, it was because dear old daddy had talked her into following him again. What could she say? It was hard to say no to him when he got that glint in his eye, that call to adventure. So when he had gone back to his 'Confederacy', she was with him.

From there, she was off to Ryloth. She had never been there before. She wasn't really sure why, it felt like something was calling to her, the Dark whispering, like it always did. And just like her old man, it convinced her to go somewhere she had never been for reasons she didn't entirely understand or agree with.
She had wandered, until she found whatever it was the Force wanted her to find. People, coming together, around a woman with a. . . book? Ah, chit. She hoped she didn't have to read, because this mercenary was completely illiterate. But she saw the others touch that book, she saw what happened to them, and Nyx became afraid. But when it seemed appropriate, she came forward, swallowed dryly, and touched the thrice-damned book.

And suddenly, she was no longer in that chamber. She was surrounded by darkness, complete darkness, and a feeling of dread. And wet. Why did she feel wet? She looked down to see her feet drowned by some strange liquid. By the metallic scent and thickness of it, she could guess what it was. She swallowed once more, on edge, prepared to fight, but that moment never came. Instead, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a voice in her ear.

You who has never believed stand before me. You stand in the life of all those you have taken before their time, you stand before me, begging for purpose, for you have none. You kill for you. No longer.

She cried out as she felt a burn in her shoulder, a Mark forming, and suddenly, she was back, gasping, with only one word on her lips:
"Doashim."

[member="Tmoxin Temi"] @Aorker Veru [member="Eternal Muse"] @Nassier Zierfae @Lady Psiona [member="Rapax"]

 

[Derek Dib]

He stood in the crowd and watched. He certainly didn't feel compelled to join in the festivities and yet he sensed it was something he needed. Watching Tmoxin with a worried eye he noticed the obvious change in her. Worry and concern crossed his face, and yet there was nothing her could do. Something was happening, an unseen force and undeniable authority was at work. The tribal drums created a scene that was rustic and disturbing simultaneously.

His attention was drawn to the front as people began moving to the stone tablet, each reaching out and brushing the stone. Each marked by an unseen force. Each changed in the fluctuations in the force. Turning he looked as the wind picked up to cast grains of sand across those gathered. The flames grew larger as if stoked from the shadows. Change wasn't coming. It had arrived upon Ryloth. And the Confederacy was in the eye of the storm.

Watching those who had been affected he cast an indifferent eye upon most. But for Tmoxin and Muad he watched. Sighing he moved forward through the crowd and up around the dais to look upon the stone. Glancing back he looked to the new Nightmother, feeling a today wave of power surging. Something else was happening with his brother. It was unnatural.

Turning he squared his shoulders and peered at the grimoire. His hands hovered over the sacred object and paused. It wasn't fear or trepidation that slowed him but rather the desire to be free. He owed no allegiance to any order, had no tires that could sway him to either light or dark. He was a weight on the scales of balance. And yet taking the stone seemed to alter those that came before. Was that something he risked losing?

Closing his eyes he decided that no, it was not. And yet, even as he went to turn away the soft brown eyes floated in his mind's eye. The musical lilt of her laugh. The soft tilt of curved, full lips. His eyes snapped open and he started upon the book. He would walk this path. He would accept the change. He would pay the cost, no matter the price. Hands lowered and grasped the stone as a surge flashed through his body.

Blinking against the glaring sun he turned slowly, a great meadow of green grass spread out as far as the eye could see. The wind rustled his dark hair as he turned into the current and saw the grass moving. Dropping to a knee he watched as a massive creature rose, obsidian eyes locked into him from a reptilian face. The creature rose to it's full height, the katarn revealed in all its terrifying glory. Slowly the predator moved forward toward Derek.

He raised his hands and let the force flow through him trying to reach out to the creature. He could attack it and kill it, but there was no reason for gluttonous death. He could melt away and watch from the shadows, yet he was not made for retreat. When cloaked vigilance and frontal assault were not feasible he chose a different path. Trying to calm the beast he slowly walked forward showing no fear. As the predator approached it cocked it's head, the formed tongue tasting the air.

"I am not your enemy."

Slowly the creature stopped and lowered it's gargantuan head to the man to offer it's snout for a stroke. Reaching a hand out her lightly ran his fingers across the scales exterior. A lance of pain arched across his back dropping him to his knees. Before his eyes the katarn morphed into a being that had no definable shape. A voice echoed out.

You are mine.

Rising as he felt the intricate design biting it's way across his back, Derek started at the being, eyes glowing red.

"I belong to nothing."

You do.

"I will not be cowed into subjugation."

Who are you to question my decree?

"I am Derek Dib, raised as a Baron Do Sage, molded by the Kiffu Guardians, trained by the Shapers of Kro Var. Free man, unchained. I am a weight on the scales of balance. And you do not own me."

Ah. I see you now. I have tasted the flesh of your lineage. The beat of your heart. You are mine.

"No one has a claim on me."

Lies. Bond of the flesh. Bond of the heart. You are mine, and I yours. And you WILL ACCEPT!

A flash of light and he staggered back from the stone, his back aching from the design. His eyes drifted to the Nightmother and Shaman of Pact Doashim. The being was right. He was a part of the Mandragora now. For his brother, blood of his blood. For Tmoxin, something as of yet undefinable, but no less real. He was of Jart now.

 

[Nassier Zirfae]

Oh wow this is boring. Nassier sat among the other Lylek. This was her first gathering of this sort and hopefully, her last. Having been raised with this group, she'd no need to look to the book. Some time ago she had heard the voices beckon, had accepted the Lylek pact as her family, had even been marked as someone meant to one day lead as Shaman. For that reason she probably should've been on her best behavior, especially since the current absence of their Shaman left her as the next best thing.

That responsibility wasn't enough to keep Nassier from chatting with her siblings and even those of other pacts. Social barriers didn't stop her, either, the Caprine having about as much of a grasp on them as she did competitive Dejarik. No, she probably knew more about Dejarik.

For that reason, she had no issue navigating the crowd, bare feet stepping gingerly along like it was some sort of dance, until she was face to face with the new Doashim Shaman. With a warped form of a curtsy, something that really didn't look like a curtsy at all with its flourishes and utter ignorance of proper posture, she addressed [member="Muad Dib"] with a series of sentences.

"Hi, m'name's Nassier, daughter of Lylek, current acting Shaman, you know how it goes. Well, actually, you wouldn't but that's beside the point. What's it like being appointed Shaman right out of the gate? Pretty scary, right? I don't want to even know what happened to the last Shaman for you guys, now he was a piece of something. Oh, right, I forgot, what's your name?"

[member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Derek Dib"] | [member="Nyx"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Rapax"] | [member="Lady Psyona"] | [member="Aoker Veru"]​

 

[Daxton Bane]

Warping fractured glimpses caught in blimk of an eye, the kimd which could permanently scar the psyche of the uninitiated or unprepared. Fortunately, Daxton was neither, having seen and done far worst in his travels as a true servant of Chaos. However, the tome also held a promise, a dark promise of power and access to lomg forbidden knowledge.

Perhaps it would enhance his already forminable knowledge in Sith Sorcery, perhaps open new gateways into Dark Alchemy, who could truely say for certain. He was here to push his limits and this tome was the key. He looked forward to delving into its dark secrets soon enough.

 

[Grace Darkson]

You are mine. The voice thundered in her head, slamming into the sides of her skull. Her brain felt like it had gone through a blender. The man who had caught her helped her regain her footing, and as she watched what looked like the demons out of myth approach Maud, spewing out a pile of sentences that she couldn't make out what the woman said. Unsteady legs wavered underneath her as she stared at the grimoire. You belong to me.

She shook her head. This was a new voice. Not one of the spirits she knew, one of those demons that haunted her. No, this was new. It was something darker, more powerful. It was an abyss and a wellspring. Something massive and immense, and yet not all there. It called her name, tugged at her soul, pulled her into itself. You are mine.

I am no one's. I am my own.

The world faded, and Psyona stood, wavering, barely standing up.

She stood in a vast, empty darkness, the abyssal void clawing at her. But she was not alone. He stood before, massive wings and bright eyes like fires stared down at her. My child, he began, his ancient voice rumbling in her mind like grinding stone. Do not try to comprehend me. The thing wrapped feathery wings around her, blocking off the abyss. I am far too old for you to know.

Really? Cause I can understand a lot. Her voice, even in the dream, was quiet, a mere whisper to His roar. You're a manifestation of the old faiths, a Force Entity who grants power to its followers in exchange for worship. You say you've claimed me. I guess there's more. What does it mean to be claimed? Is it permanent? Was I given a choice?

Her answer was roaring laughter. She smiled, a twisted look that told of a lust for knowledge. You are me. You thirst for knowledge, for understanding. That, my child, is who we are.

We thirst for knowledge. We seek it out from the darkest places. We use it to protect our own.

We gather Power to protect what is Ours.

[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Nassier Zirfae"]​