Mandragora [CIS]

[Tmoxin Temi]

Having been scolded by the beings for her over-eagerness, Tmoxin stood back and watched as another Knight approached to interact with the Grimoire. The Hapan could feel her body and mind aching for release from the pressure of the unenlightened. But she waited as she was instructed.

She felt Derek’s presence immediately and then a spike of anxiety. Her rational and pragmatic mind took over for a blink - I can't let him see me like this - but as [member="Nyx"] whispered “Doashim," she was again transported by the possession and thought no more about trivial concerns like messy hair and smeared makeup. Even when her most recent lover approached the dais, it was for his own transformation. And she welcomed it.

“Do not hesitate because of me,” she told him in a soft growl. “We will weather this together.” That’s all she could promise him. There was no turning back now.

As the Jart took him, she felt an intense pride for him, and an attraction that had a place, but in a ceremony later all on their own.

And as the others gathered, either still waiting to peruse the tome or having just been through their own grueling ritual, Tmoxin finally stepped up to the grimoire, placed her hands upon it and was immediately cast in a bright white light which slowly turned amber and then bright red.

“Are you ready, Night Mother?” the beings asked, their voices blending to become one.

“Yes.”

The Lylek apparition began to spin a bloody web around the Hapan which oozed with scarlet liquid, until she was completely encased. The Tmoxin that Derek knew would have resisted with all of her might. The ambitious Dark Jedi, proud to a fault, graceful and immaculately put together at all times would never allow a spectre to smother her in its tangled and rough-hewn web. The being gently lay her down before its feet, signaling that whatever transformation was about to take place would take time to complete.

An unintelligible chant could be heard now from the Mandragora spirit guides, but only the chosen could interpret it. And those that could interpret would be guided by its instruction in the most personal way, one that would only make sense to them.

[member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Eternal Muse"] [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Lady Psyona"] [member="Rapax"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Derek Dib"] [member="Nyx"] [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] [member="Daxton Bane"]​

 

[Malok]

So long ago, Darth Metus was ran away from this place. From these very worlds. He had bled, he had conquered - all in the name of the Independent Systems. But, when it was convenient for those above, he was betrayed and painted as a villain. Those he had considered allies had buried daggers into his spine. Those he had considered friends set fire to his home and scattered his family about the stars. And for the years following, Darth Metus went into exile...with his sanctuary being the distant world, Dathomir. It was within the winding forests that he first encountered Magick. It was upon the far-flung world that he found another place to belong. He discovered a family who welcomed him with open arms: a Mother who claimed him as her son.

And at the feet of his mother, Petra, did he learn of the realm of Spirits.

Now, he felt as though he were coming Home yet again.

From a respectable distance, the Sith Lord kept watch. It was intriguing to see that a gathering had been called of all the Geonosian Knights to the Nightlands - of all places. And, as one who was not a member of the Knighthood, Darth Metus did not feel like he had a place participating. Initially at least. Thus, for several minutes did he simply observe the proceedings alongside his apprentices [member="Srina Talon"] and [member="Akabane Jarvik"]. Yet, as the truths escaped the lips of [member="Tmoxin Temi"]...as the Spirits began to move...something stirred within the Sith Lord. It was a yearning to feel at home once more. It was as if every fiber of his being screamed for him to approach. And so he did. Rising from the boulder that had become his seat, the Sith led his students towards the gathering.

And once there, the Spirits began to howl.

Lylek.

Doashim.

Jart.

In the case of Darth Metus, the Spirits did not wait for his contact with the tome. Rather, they manifested before the stones erected in their honor; but whether this was reality or a vision, the Sith did not know. He continued his approach regardless, staring down the ethereal beings with each step. At long last, he arrived before the Tome and extended a single hand. Bare fingers brushed upon the ancient writing, savoring the texture of the pages. Yet it was not the ink that captivated him...but the raw power that surged into his being. He recoiled, momentarily, as the Spirits howled in his mind. Yet one...one roared louder than the rest. Darkness. Darkness began to cloud his vision. "Wha-?" he breathed, confusion plaguing his tone.

His hands flailed against the blindness, but there was no relief.

Gone was the Tome.

Gone was the Bonefire.

Gone was...the noise of those who had gathered.

I S L E Y​

He turned his eyes skyward, finally seeing a contrast to the darkness. A reptilian beast. A demon. Doashim stood within the very heavens. Coward of Cowards. The beast growled.

"I am no Coward!" he roared in response...and yet, there was no sound. He could feel the air escaping his mouth, but he could not hear his words.

"I will hear no lies. And neither will you."

Descent gripped the Doashim, until its crimson eyes bored into the skull of the Sith Lord.

"How long will you continue to run, Coward?"​

"How long will you bow? How long will you kneel? How long will you sit idly by?"​

The Sith opened his mouth to speak, yet again there was no sound.

"You speak only excuses, but I will not hear your lies and 'reasons.' You, oh Coward of Cowards, vowed to [member="Mia Monroe"] that you would support her. That your House would bleed for her. Yet here you stand. Upon seeing the face of [member="Ra Vizsla"], you sat upon your oath. You stuck your head in the sand, again. Now, what you fear the most is becoming real - simply being born as you will see innocents die. And yet you sit upon your oath. And yet you do nothing."​

He didn't bother attempting to speak again.

"And what excuses you weave. 'I am Sith, I am hated no matter what I do.' 'I gave the title to Ra.' Cowardice upon Cowardice and yet you call yourself Darth? Ha! And even now, you turn your back upon that too. 'I am Sith.' 'I am wed to the progeny of [member="Darth Carnifex"].' But still you are Here. Still you do nothing but sit upon your oaths. Still you stifle what you ARE."​

"What is it then. What AM I?"

"You. Are. Mine. You thrive where there is blood. You thrive where there is battle. When you fall, when you falter, you do not stay down. You do not let death defeat you. Your greatest strength is eliminating all weakness, and yet you do nothing with it. You create this, a Safe haven - a gaggle of peaceful worlds. A quiet place to sit afraid...but you have Fangs. You have Claws. There is Prey sitting at your doorstep and yet you do not eat. Run no More, Coward."​

Run. No. More."​

The Darkness broke.

The Spirit...faded away.

And as reality returned, there was pain. A burning upon the flesh of his outstretched hand.

There was no choice. There was no more running.

You. Are. Mine.

[member="Aoker Veru"], [member="Nassier Zirfae"], [member="Lady Psyona"], [member="Rapax"], [member="Muad Dib"], [member="Derek Dib"], [member="Nyx"], [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"], [member="Ket Van-Derveld"], [member="Daxton Bane"], [member="Srina Talon"], [member="Akabane Jarvik"]

 

[Daxton Bane]

Whether Daxton could sense the restless spirits, the Harbringer of Chaos gave no indication. His body language a mask of enigmas and doubts which seemed to reflect the emotions of those around him while standing aloof, acting like he was above it all. The Sith cocked his ear slowly to one side as if listening to someone or something speak, it was hard to read what was going on beneath that polished metal helm.

The voices spoke volumes, not that anyone save himself could hear. Gone were their usual lamentations of doom and despair, replaced instead by a cancanopy of amused laughter and delight. Not that the sound was anything less chilling than the norm, one could hardly have a private thought while a million voices cackled, muttered and outrighted giggled inside one’s mind. But the Sith had learned a long time ago how to limit their depravations on his attention.

By erecting a mind labyrinth in his psyche, the voices were channeled into a more productive way. True one or two would occasionaly push through and de,ad to be heard like what was happening right now.

The voice was urging him to leave this assembly, no good was to come of it, only more blood, more pain, more anger. Daxton paid the voice no more than amused thought, the voice should have known better than that by now. Those were the tools of his trade, the wages of his hard labor. Sometimes a patient had to suffer in order for his body to heal, Daxton knew the price he would have to pay but he did so willingly.

Dismissing the voice back into the labyrinth, he continued his vigil and observed what else was about to take place.

 

[Srina Talon]

Srina silently followed her master as she often did. The evening was cool, quiet, and the sky overhead glittered like millions of diamonds laying on black velvet. She was young, when it came to interacting with her abilities, untrained, and inelegant. Yet even with her undeveloped skill she held an aptitude for understanding raw energies in their basest form. The wax and wane of Force. The ancient ebb and flow that ran between everyone present. She understood the taste of it, the flavor, the strength. The dark and familiar night was unequivocally infected with the tang of power.

Her pale hair remained hidden beneath a cloak colored such a deep blue that it appeared black. She had not participated in the trials that had taken place on Ryloth. She could not realistically be known by those that called the Knights so fervently because she had never been one of them. Somehow, she’d felt it still, a ringing in her ears, a flash of flame and the sweet consuming dark.

There had been music, of a sort, at first. Dancing. Skilled drumbeats filled the air in a way that made her feel it deep in her core. It shook her bones when it stopped, and [member="Tmoxin Temi"] began to speak. The woman was…Afflicted. Gifted in making demands, obviously strong, but most definitely changed by that which she held. Bloody nose, angry eyes. Srina’s mercurial gaze fell to the obviously ancient tome that the flare haired woman slammed down on the dais. The little force wielder was inquisitive, observant, so she waited, and watched alongside her Master and fellow apprentice.

One after another Srina watched as people were changed. For better or worse; she did not know. Concern that she dared not display lived and breathed in her heart for those around her. The ritual seemed to be many things, many whispers in the dark, saccharine and seductive, but more than anything it rang of sacrifice. Was it worth it?

Srina was startled when Darth Metus stepped forward and touched the grimoire. Even at a distance she could feel the aching, rolling verve, which poured from the artifact. Her voice caught in her throat. Her Master was the strongest, most resilient man that she had ever met. Watching him surrender to the call of this ritual without preamble was both humbling and frightful. There was so much cloying power surrounding the bonfire that the slender Echani felt like she could barely draw a full breath.

The lucid dreams that she had suffered ever since leaving Eshan had no mercy. They kicked in, full force, while Darth Metus passed through what seemed like a metaphysical judgment. She saw fire. The kind that hollowed souls and left nothing but ash in its wake. Yet, from ash, came life. The small slip of a woman found herself approaching that which she feared. Her feet moved of their own accord, much like they did when her visions took control, and sightless eyes bore witness as two fingers gingerly touched the pages of the grimoire.

She did not read the words, could not think, and did not comprehend what was happening. The silvery apprentice could only feel. It called to her, just like it conscripted others in the crowd, and Srina couldn’t help but answer. There was no fanfare, no mental displacement, but her anxieties were slowly washed away by things only she could see. The tome did not speak to her. It showed her.

She was still herself—Still her father’s daughter. Only...She was more. She could hear the flapping of wings in her ears, the sight of brilliant feathers, and a fierce confidence that Srina herself had never known. She knew it to be the night hunter, the Jart, though she knew not how. It threaded through her, soothed her, and for perhaps the first time since she’d left home…Her mind felt quiet. As if it had reached some sort of equilibrium.

When she could, she stepped back from the book, and resumed her place next to her Master. The entirety of her right shoulder blade stung and itched as if it were being brushed by thousands of sharp little talons. Her small form remained tense as she waited for the sensation to fade. A lattice-work crescent moon would be etched into her pale flesh, delicate, meticulous, and even without looking…She could see it. Her vision snapped back to the present when the red-woman behind the tome lay her hands to the artifact.

Srina watched as was Tmoxin Temi was bound—Listened as words flowed. It was a language she did not speak. And yet, somehow, she did.

[member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Nassier Zirfae"] | [member="Lady Psyona"] | [member="Rapax"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Derek Dib"] | [member="Nyx"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] | [member="Akabane Jarvik"]

 

[Akabane Jarvik]

Akabane now, in reality, was the result of losing a piece of himself. He had great experiences and went with the flow since it didn't come across his mind that something was gone. Well maybe a few times but progress wasn't made on discovering exactly what is missing. The life of Akabane Jarvik, a man with no reason to go back home joined something greater to become something greater. The CIS. During his stay with the Confederacy he acquired skills that he'd previously knew nothing of. And now a new journey began, starting point - Ryloth.

The gathering of all the Geonosian Knights didn't seem odd at first to him, but that changed when he arrived and fast. Something felt weird from the beginning, something trying to pull him it's way. Strange. When they got to the site where the meeting took place he stopped, noticing the tome. A smirk fell on his face as he could believe it. Witchcraft? Nonsense... Thinking for a moment and clearing his head, he continued forward before stopping again. Metus stepped forward and interacted with them, he really was confused then.

A believer in such things, he was not. It made him feel uneasy watching Metus participate in this activity. Even though he didn't believe in the effects of witchcraft, it couldn't be denied that changes occurred in those touching the artifact. He laughed it off in his mind, trying not to look disrespectful to those of notable positions present. Then, the other took part in it. His eyes widened, he couldn't believe this was happening.

Then, there was a voice. "Warrior of Kro Var. Move forward."

Suddenly, Akabane felt insecure. He didn't believe in the tome's power, but the voice didn't sound like telepathy from a human. Fine, I'll investigate it myself he said to himself, moving to the tome, he decided to try it. A light touch appeared to work for others so he did that. He could see no more until a terrain appeared, everything around him gave off nostalgia. This terrain was all too familiar but the location seemed to not be in his memories. Why am I brought back here? The voice spoke again.

"You're the false one. A Jarvik, you are not."

"Funny. This is just my imagination, you don't exist."

"Silence, there is much that you do not know. No, it is there, you can't see it."

"See what?"

If such a beast could grin, this one did. It moved towards Akabane towering over the young man. "Become the vile prince that everyone feared." the beast picked Akabane up and threw him into an endless pit. "You long for your former self, I'll give it back. But he is mine, you are mine. Receive your gift." he continued to fall as the beast spoke. "Doashim."

Everything stopped for a moment and then he returned. A change in both mind and physical differences started. He now had memories from his real early years. No longer was he filled with humor, only with sin. The physical changes was a mark of Doashim and a red glowing right eye. He could feel it personally. Moving his hand over it. Some changes already happened but he felt like there would be more, but one thing was for sure. The false Akabane would be erased bit by bit, and the one that returned will take over.

Akabane too went back to where he stood, beside his master. Even if I change, a warrior is what I am. That won't ever be erased.

[member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Nassier Zirfae"] | [member="Lady Psyona"] | [member="Rapax"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Derek Dib"] | [member="Nyx"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Ket Van-Derveld"]

 

[Ket Van-Derveld]

((Theme for this post: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oS1yAwVmiXQ&index=3&list=RDMM_0vCqEgarBY ))

Ket stood there, watching his offspring try to get a grip on all that was occurring around them. Ket saw so many find something they felt was their own. At least three felt they were the one to bring the rabble gathered into a new age.

Yet all Ket could do was chuckle with closed eyes.

"These little pups thought they had the power, the right, the place....yet to one such as him, They were...no...ARE insignificant."

Only one had a chance to take Him down, and even then, a long shot at best.

So The Lone Wolf turned his attention, and bellowed out into both the wind and the Force. His voice would shake foundations and make all gathered shut their holes and turn to him.

"ISLEY VERD, SHOW YOURSELF! YOU SMALL LITTLE PLEB. YOU KNOW MY VOICE. COME AGAIN AND STAND BEFORE ME. OR SHOULD I SHOW THESE PEOPLE HOW INSIGNIFICANT YOU ARE?!"

The former Dark Lord of the Sith, Former Jedi Master, the Howling Wolf who'd lived multiple lifetimes screamed out. If the one who called himself a Mando'a had even one inkling of pride, He would raise his voice against the one man who shattered his Beskar'gam and showed him just who ran this entire galaxy.

Keticus Diego Van Derveld cared not. He'd lived a fair few lives. If Isley Verd was to be the one to end him, then let him do it here and NOW.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

The energy and excitement were still coursing through the entirety of her body even as she'd approached [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] , all of it obvious in the words she'd spoken. Only the sight of the four legged creature had been able to distract her but the sound of Father's voice made her turn back and face him, feeling his hand on her jawbone as he spoke. He'd missed her, almost even more than he missed Mother. A flash of sadness passed through her eyes at the mention of her, her disappearance had caused her much grievance and pain; it had been the breaking point which had send her into solitude and under control of Avarisa for two years. "I missed you too, Father," Katrine confessed as the moment passed her.

He'd called her his greatest creation, his legacy, the one to inherit the Schartzward and all of Figaro Favoura. Now, a sense of pride had pushed away everything else, amplified but the already strong excitement from just minutes before. She was his second born but his first born Lupine born of a Lupine mother so in ways, she was his first born just as she was his second born, which all made perfect sense in the mind of Katrine Van-Derveld. The animal inside her wished to be free in the moment Father called her his heir, a wide grin spreading over her face. "Father...," she'd been lost for words, which was now even more powerful than it had been before.

What unfolded next had left her staring, watching the eldest Lupine in her life drop his head first and his knee second, offering her a lightsaber, something Katrine had never held. It was therefore only natural for the newly made blonde to hesitate, watching him as he'd spoke of being a relic of a time past, someone that had yet to learn and much to give. She swallowed nothing but air watching him, processing. The animal inside her wanted nothing more than to howl with a sense of joy and pride, to be worthy of what she was being given.

Father was asking her to show him what he needed to know and he would in return be a proper Father and never leave her side. Her hand was reaching for the lightsaber in that very moment, stopping midair. "Wait, what?" Katrine wondered out loud, confusing mixing into her pride. There was a way of life to their own little family. It was Mother once who had always remained her side and Father to enjoyed his freedom and often vanished. Now, somehow, it had become backwards. She blinked, barely collecting herself for her fingers to wrap around the hilt of the weapon, studying it. "That's not how it has ever been," she whispered as her blue irises focused on the hilt. There was a way, there wa a past, both in story of times past and in life Katrine had learned. How everything had been able to turn so drastically, Katrine didn't know but she assumed that it had been her fault. She and Chloe were, after all, the anomaly in this time, the uncounted factor. Or perhaps, like her broken curse, it was a world without predictions and foresight. Everything was changing now.

In the next moment, her hand outstretched and her thumb activated the blade, giving the whole weapon a look before she deactivated again, glancing back at him. For in that moment, Katrine knew that this was not the world she'd been prepared for. Perhaps it had been another action or perhaps it had been the very liberation from Avarisa's dark curse, but it was undoubtedly setting up a future Katrine knew nothing about.

And as if the spirits were still beckoning her mind to focus, Katrine turned her head to look at the Grimoire again. "Father, come, meet them. They are my past and they could our future if your path lies with them," she offered. Perhaps it would not be the path for him but he would only know if he touched upon the Grimoire and met the spirits. In the end, no matter what Katrine knew, she was a Witch. Dathomirians might have never accepted who and what she was, but she would be a Witch even despite their closed mind. None of it mattered though, as the chant began, her attention turning to it. The words demanded attention, even if she was not one to understand the language.

When [member="Darth Metus"] arrived, it had been an inkling in the Force at first before the familiarity filled her senses, her head turning again to see the figure approaching. There a difference in his presence, her senses not quite reading the man that had been her Uncle in name but the power he moved with was undeniable. It was him, Katrine decided. So, when Father suddenly stood and shouted at at him, calling him out, Katrine was surprised. Had Mother skipped a relevant chapter in their lives or perhaps this was something new. "No, wait, stop, that's Uncle Isley," she muttered against herself. Even if he was not really family, in a future Katrine remembered, there was no reason for this, there had never been. Had somewhere along the sands of time a family friend become an enemy? Kat didn't know.

[member="Tmoxin Temi"] , [member="Daxton Bane"] , [member=Nyx] , [member="Derek Dib"] , [member="Nassier Zirfae"] , [member="Lady Psyona"] , [member="Srina Talon"] , [member="Akabane Jarvik"]

 

[Anastasia Verd]

Anastasia Verd did not belong here but keeping one's head to ground, so the speak, was a habit long possessed and nurtured and power called like nothing else did in this galaxy to Naha'va. The body, just close to entering double digits but the clone looked far much older, yet nothing in comparison to the parasite that had set home inside this child's mind. At over eight hundred, the monster wasn't picky, she was looking for a likely subject. Genetically, Anastasia had proven herself to carry potential but it was far too early to tell just how strong her connection to the Force would truly be. Centuries ago, Naha'va had risen herself to that of a Master under the watchful eye of her first Master and true creator. His era had long passed, the woman had watched Empires rise and fall but her spirit refused to stay behind, much as he had once fought to return and see his vision come true.

Now, she moved across forward, unaffected by the chanting of the woman nearby, her thirst by power leading her straight to the center where an artifect lay. Naha'va had not yet set food in this new Confederacy her latest creature had returned onto the map though she was well aware of its actions. It was growing, to say at least, but whether it would succeed this time or fall like others, Naha'va wondered. The Empires she had once served were unworthy of her attention now, the eternal bickering of children causing a headache to her more than anything else.

The ancient spirit instead sought to find the worthy herself, but the pull of power could not allow her to pass Ryloth on her travels, her steps slow but sure, as she arrived. Another summoned the name of her creature, her mind only registering this but no reaction was given as she moved. It was like wild animal had discovered wounded, bleeding prey that had the potential of being far stronger than she had been and yet the smell of blood was driving her on and urging her to reach out. For power, as Naha'va had come to ultimately realize, was what was true and all others were weak and pointless pursuits.

She reached for the book and gripped tightly, the feel of old leather burning through her skin. It took thousands of years of self control for her not to scream in that moment, her eyes growing wide and the true blue of the spirits irises flashing in that very moment.

Everything rushed passed to, a million stars passing beside the edges of her eyes as familiar images passed through her mind. Her true Master, the legacy left behind that she judged, the Master that had killed her... the truth of herself flashed before her eyes before there was nothing but complete darkness that not even the body's Umbaran eyesight could adjust her. 'Monster,' something spat out in disgust at her. 'Demon,' another muttered as a flap of wings passed. 'What do you want of us, creature?' The last voice finally roared. Naha'va felt herself blink, feeling her true essence exposed before the darkness.

"I seek power," Naha'va forced, her intent to show no fear but ultimately failing as she'd been stripped bare from the facade he held. One of the creatures laughed. 'This power is not meant for you,' the voice insisted. "I demand the power you hold. I have seen empires rise and fall, I have walked among the most powerful, my spirit is strong, stronger than any of these children I have passed. I demand my fill." For in truth, she had been blinded by the belief that she deserved power. It called to her worse than a death stick to an addict, more so than it had ever her Emperor in all his attempts to gain it. Centuries had passed from her beginning and her many deaths had kept her from discovering her true power. Now, she was demanding it of creatures before her.

Theybegan to whisper, only the razors of their tone reaching her ears when she could not make out what they were saying. Somewhere in the distance though, she heard the whimper of a child, making her head snap to the annoying sound, feeling her much lighter old locks touch at her skin. "Who's there?" Naha'va demanded. The whimpering stopped suddenly and light shone on the corner. She was quick to recognize the young form she occupied. The girl only stared at her, a flash of recognition on her expressions. 'Her, we would welcome among us,' one of the voices spoke now, joined by another quickly, 'But you, demon, are unworthy of what we have to offer. The darkness inside you is blinding, nothing we have to offer could overcome that.'

In her corner, the young Umbaran blinked and weakly tried to stand, stumbling as her weak mind try to fight Naha'va, trying to make her way to the voices. 'Come to us, child,' the voice summoned, encouraging her on. Anastasia tried, the possession still wavering heavy on her her very mind. 'Come to me child. There is strength inside you, I will guide you,' and he soon gained flesh, terrifying in all his might. Naha'va shook her head. They dared call the Emperor's greatest creation a demon and what was he? He was truly a demon. Anastasia flinched at the size and monstrosity of the being calling to her but his words still called, still gave her strength to move. "Stop. She will never free from me, this is mine for the taking, not hers," Naha'va shouted, moving towards the demon. Whatever power he offer, Naha'va would take it for itself and grow stronger.

'I am Doashim, child, come to me,' the demon called to Anastasia, the other spirits reaching for Naha'va to prevent her. In the end, just as the claws were wrapping gently against Anatasia's wrist, Naha'va had grabbed the arm. In that moment, the Doashim roared in pure rage.

The roar had served as a hit, throwing the spirit out and with it, in reality, the body of Anastasia Verd fell to her back. The blue flashed for a moment longer before it faded into the black of the girl's natural eyes, her eyelids moving in a quick blink as she gathered what had happened, her hands moving over her body. She was still herself, the child had grown quiet inside her once more but there was a strength inside her now that had been suppressed for so long. "Silence yourself, child, this means nothing," she whispered at herself as she pushed herself off the ground, jumping back to her feet, her gaze lingering over the artifact once more. The spirits had denied her the power she had wished but the Doashim had bonded with the child inside her none the less. She could feel traces of it coursing through her body. Perhaps in time, she would learn to control this secret as well.

[member="Darth Metus"] [member="Tmoxin Temi"] [member="Daxton Bane"] [member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Lady Psyona"] [member=Rapax] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Derek Dib"] [member=Nyx] [member="Akabane Jarvik"] [member="Ket Van-Derveld"]

 

[Muad Dib]

Rising from his knee he felt his skin crawling. The blue Sith runes glowed hot against his skin as the mark of the Doashim wept crimson tears down the left side of his chest. He felt a battle within, a war of dominance and melding erupt within his tattered soul. The raging, mad Sith he once was, the crazed mando'ad Alor he was, and the Shaman that he would be. As the varying aspects of what made up the man, Muad Dib, warred within he felt the strain as the different personas rallied together into a single focus.

He was still born of darkness.
He was still steeped in the arts of the Sith.
He was still refined by his searches for more knowledge and power.
He still had the honor and strength gained from being a part of the Mando'ade.
He still had the primal urges and affinity for madness that he embraced.
And now he retained the Mark of the Doashim and the gifts received by the Patron.

As the shards that made up the man coalesced into one he turned his head and looked upon the woman, [member="Nassier Zirfae"] , as she spoke to him with a familiarity he did not share. Yet the mad man never felt uncomfortable and gave a small grin.

"Muad is my name. And nothing frightens me. As for being called Shaman right out of the gate? It's just another title, another job. Then again ... it feels different. And what do you mean you don't even want to know what happened to the previous Shaman?"

But as his eyes fell on the place [member="Tmoxin Temi"] rested he felt a call to his spirit. His eyes flashed a brighter blue as he extended his right hand unbidden. Not sure what was being called of him or asked of him he answered nonetheless. Blue flames wreathed around his fingers as he stretched his hand toward her. Flickering flames rushed from him and enveloped the body, swirling around the prone form in a vortex of fire. He was not certain what or why but he felt his energy pour through him fueling the change that was occurring in the Nightmother.

Again he dropped to a knee as he felt weakness clawing at his bones. And yet the flow continued from him as he sensed the form of the woman slowly absorb the power he was feeding her. He felt the call of the Patrons, unseen, as they administered to the chosen Nightmother. Change was not coming for the Knights, Tmoxin, and Muad himself.

Change had arrived.

 

[Daxton Bane]

What would you do when something dark calls you by name? None of that good and evil, self justification bull crap that philosophers, heretics and fanatics use to justify their deeds. After all, aren’t we all heroes in our own little lives? It gave no small measure of satisfaction to Daxton to tear away the veil, to serve the cause of Chaos, not just another powerless peon swept up in the rising tides of disorder, but the Harbringer of Chaos, creator of change. This was what he truly was, and that was why he was reviled.

Not that the Sith could care what people though of him. The whims of the masses were fickle at best after all. One moment the heroes heralded to save the galaxy, the next the most despicable deplorable villain to walk the the parhways of the lnown universe. It was enough to drive a sane man mad.

From behind his polished mask he watchecrhose around him, he saw naked ambition, a lust for power, a desire for vegence, it was almost as if he could taste it on his cracked dry lips. Yes, he could sense the Force shifting ever so slightly. Someones destiny was about to change, time enough soon for the Harbringer to find them and fan the flames bright and hot, ready to consume everything it in its path. With hungry observant unblinking eyes he watched in utter silence, least he miss the signs he sought.

 

[Grace Darkson]

We are what you have sought all your life. The spirit's voice spoke to her in whispers, in a language sounding like Ryl and Sith and Basic and nothing she knew all at once. We are power and knowledge. We are the fulfillment of your deepest desires. It wrapped around her, feathered wings closing around her form.

No.

The thing stopped, confused. Why do you refuse me? Do you not want power? She shivered as the world grew cold, his wings seeming to draw back, leaving her alone in the cold. I can offer you the power to kill those who took everything from you. Images of Serenno burning, of the ashes of Gravlex Med. Of Vjun and Kraysis II's destruction at the hands of the Sith. Something caught in her, burning like a brand of iron.

What I do, what I seek, I will do with my own strength. My own power. Her eyes locked with the creature. I will not owe anyone anything... Her voice seemed to catch as if she couldn't speak.

Enough. You are mine. You can do as you wish, seek out whatever you wish, and what you gain will be yours. You will become powerful, a goddess among men. But understand:

YOU

ARE

MINE!

The words shook her awake, and the Vahla stood, slowly, her body collapsing during the dream. Staring down at her hand, she studied the marks. She would free herself eventually.

The last survivor of Atrisia was stubborn. It would take more to break her.

[member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Aoker Veru"] | [member="Daxton Bane"] | [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] | [member="Tmoxin Temi"] | [member="Nassier Zirfae"] | [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Srina Talon"] | [member="Akabane Jarvik"] | [member="Anastasia Verd"]

 

[Tmoxin Temi]

Perhaps most in the chamber had forgotten about the Hapan wrapped up in the strange web ball at the feet of these arcane beings, unmoving except for now and again when the cocoon would twitch or her chest would rise and fall with heavy breathing. But the smell of smoke would cause some to notice that the web had turned into blue flames. Tmoxin’s lithe shape could be seen within them, and she writhed under the burning mantle until suddenly she emerged unscathed.

Slightly bewildered, the redhead Hapan rose up to her feet and slowly put her hand to her face to feel the scarlet rivulet of blood trickling down from both eyes. But she was strangely calm.

She then noticed the marks upon her, the branding of the Mandragora.

Spoiler

As though called by telepathy, the beings explained what Tmoxin could not fully understand yet.

“By the decree of the Lylek, the Jart and the Doashim, Madame Temi, you are now Night Mother of the Mandragora, and your mark embodies all three properties.

She looked down to see the intricate and dark scars engraved now on her freckled skin, a lattice work of ancient symbology. And while it itched and burned, the magick residue still settling into her sensitive epidermis, the newness of it felt raw and exhilarating. The old Tmoxin would have been horrified to have even a well-hidden tattoo, but now she admired the black stitching on her upper arms and chest.

Tilting her head to the side, she gazed at Muad and realized finally, that Derek’s brother was the one who doused her with flames. With a graceful nod, she mouthed the words “Thank you” to him for he may have possibly saved her life or at least tipped the scales a bit if the ancient spirits had not deemed her ready to emerge from the straightjacket-like web.

OOC: This is Tmoxin's last post but feel free to continue on and explore more of the ancient magick of the Mandragora

[member="Aoker Veru"] [member="Eternal Muse"] [member="Nassier Zirfae"] [member="Lady Psyona"] [member="Rapax"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Derek Dib"] [member="Nyx"] [member="Katrine Van-Derveld"] [member="Ket Van-Derveld"] [member="Daxton Bane"] [member="Anastasia Verd"] [member="Srina Talon"]​