Phoenix Rising

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

DEATH IS ONLY THE BEGINNING

[YouTube]https://youtu.be/ScP5Nv-EhZI[/YouTube]
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The darkness was everywhere. An oily sheen that cloaked all in eternal night. No sound echoed, no stirring of the wind sighed with breath, no scent save the grave. The darkness craved everything, and got nothing in return. Nothing was felt. An emptiness that seemed a maw that was unquenchable in it's hunger for something that was more then it's desolate existence. And yet ... nothing.

Then a sound broke the eternal silence of the darkness, a tap upon stone floor. With the sound came the slight rustle of an opened passageway that breathed life into the ancient chamber. Footsteps brought the unseen intruder into the depths, a trespasser. Slowly an ambient light grew in the chamber as embers of fire drifted from every tap of the cane against the stone floor. Just enough for visibility.

The man stood in a round chamber deep within the crust of the planet Mandalore. Black slacks and a tight, long sleeved shirt his attire for the day, unlike his normal suit attire. The room was cold, circular Stine walls covered in mando'a glyphs. Ancient etchings going back to the dying race of taung who had abandoned Coruscant and found their new home christened, Manda'yaim.

Driving his cane into the ground a cascade of sparks flew from the ground. Slowly moving to the wall his hands slid across the depiction of the Akaanati'kar'oya, the The War of Life and Death. Crimson eyes studied the tale of Kad Ha'rangir, the destroyer god. It was fitting that he was to perform this ritual here in this hallowed place.

Back to the center of the room he summoned the force and reached to the elements. The stone crumbled at his feet as a mound formed slowly, a figure shaped into the very earth. The cradle of life. Reaching out he felt the winds of the surface flow through the tunnels leading to the chamber, the breath of Manda'yaim stirring the mounded form. Raising his hands to the cavern ceiling he felt the wells of water above and summoned the drops that rained from the ceiling upon him and the mound. Lowering to his knees he placed his hands upon the floor and felt the molten heartbeat of the planet. Tightening his fists he let the veins below surge above, a chasm opening in the chamber and flowing over the mound.

Sighing he sat back upon his haunches and closed his eyes. He wasn't whole. A part of him was missing, a piece of his soul. The missing aspect was not gone, but neither was it here. A piece of him was vacant. Departed from this realm of life and virility. Closing his eyes he focused on the aspect that was cast out, burned into another.

Opening his left palm he opened it above the stone floor and split his flesh in the force, allowing his blood to rain upon his slate. His right began to draw inscriptions in ancient sith, a door to another realm. As his life force leaked to the ground he spoke the words and felt his spirit get drawn forth from his body and mingle into the ether of nothingness.

A tether held him to this plane, yet his spirit soared through the chaos of the Netherworld. Etheral hands clawed at his presence as he shook the endless wraiths from his form. The Void was not his destination, it was the manda where he desired to go. For it was there a portion of his spirit called to him, summoning him.

Drifting through the eons of emptiness and desolation of the Void he finally neared a place that was barred to him, a place of belonging, a place where you earned your seat among the mando'ade that had passed before. But once he had visited, had supped with a man once known as a Mandalorian, a man who remained in the manda despite his identity inhabited by something else entirely different that even caused Nemesis discomfort to brood upon.

But that was not his purpose for returning to the Nether. This was for a part of his soul that was entwined with another, a warrior known in life as [member="Ginnie Verd"].

 

[Ginnie Dib]

A Mandalorian’s life was above all, an act of worship to the aliit and the might of a warrior. Life was simply lived, but hard. Six rules. One could be a demon of the Chaos to the galaxy, but at home, the armour was shed. Only with family was a Mandalorian vulnerable.

Vigilance, might, and collective adoration.

The adoration was lost on Nemesis, perhaps the man felt none at all. Ginnie was no longer part of the fabric which contained the sound and the spark of Nemesis’ cane anymore than she was part of the planet. [member="Cynthia Raxis"] scattered ashes across the planet Ginnie loved. Yet she was not in the ash, as she was not in the sound or the fury or the emptiness in Nemesis’ soul.

Collective belonging, the eternal joy and sorrow of holding the line. In this chasm of grace and might, a usurper clung to one of the heteroglossic chorus. One who neither deserved nor earned his place.

Nemesis’ soul resided in the perfect peace and collective will of warriors who knew above all, what was worth dying for. Ginnie’s soul rested ill in the Manda. Darth Metus’ attempt at eating souls was no more and no less than eternal and thorough damnation. Yet the Manda was infinite.

The fragment of Nemesis’ soul was wrapped in Ginnie’s ethereal arms, held within the complete and paradisical flow. Nemesis drew out his essence and Ginnie was pulled, tugged back from the eternal joy.

They were conjoined in spirit, one could not answer without the other.

“You.” The Manda saw him. Ginnie discovered she had the perspective of multiple eyes, all seeking outward to view Nemonus. Profound and indelible, the desire and freedom of the Manda shone once upon the wicked man. A potential for grace, folded in the palms of her hands.

“Death is my beginning, come for yours?”

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

The light of the manda shown upon the wickedness of Nemesis Nemonus and saw through his facade. Once he was just. Once he served a cause not his own. But years and choices had eroded the soul of the just and worthiness that was once his own until he was no longer a Paragon for what he had once stood for. The Dragon of Dorin was no longer a protector but a destroyer. He no longer served a cause above his own. And many years had passed since he was considered worthy.

The chorus echoed with the statement that emanated from the soul of [member="Ginnie Verd"], “Death is my beginning, come for yours?” The words struck a chord within the man once born Rhaegar. But the man he once was had passed away, who he was now was no longer the idealistic youth who fought for truth and justice. Now he was his own master, and his sins followed him.

"Death is only the beginning. For most it is the end. But not for you, young Ginnie. Your place is not here, not yet. There is work to be done. A reckoning. You are part of the manda, I feel it's pull even now, but this is not your destiny. I have seen your fate. And an end at the hands of your brother is only the close of a chapter in your life, not the end of your story."

Even now he felt the pull on his soul from the Netherworld, the desire to claim his soul. Tarry too long here and he would never escape. But he had unfinished business with the young Verd, business he could not accurately describe. The force had stayed his hand upon the planet of her death. A death that was not her fate. Or perhaps it was. The force worked in mysterious ways.

As the tether to his body threatened to pull him back to the physical realm, Nemesis fought against it at the risk of his life. His work was not yet done. A promise to one who had once helped free him from the nether, a soul lost in the spirit realm, unable to acquire peace, yet forbidden to return to the land of the living. It was this purpose that had set his hand against the Confederacy, against the ViceLord. A solemn vow that he would keep.

Clecnching at his soul the man sought to call the shard of his presence back from the manda, seeking to not only return himself to being whole, but to pull the soul of Ginnie Verd from the peace that was offered her within the soul consciousness of her people, a line that went back eons.

"Your work is yet unfinished. There is much left to do in the land of the living."

 

[Ginnie Dib]

A breath where there was none. ​

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A pause in the eternal chorus and it’s might. ​

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It’s mercy.

No further shields banged, or battles told. Nothing but one wrongful death against the power of an utterly consumed wrathful being.

The fragment of soul tugged and yanked until Ginnie felt the collective slipping away for the chaotic void of the Netherworld. Souls connected by nothing but the serendipity of a duel on Maramere. The usefulness of a ghost to her brother's demise. A soul troubled, once bright and noble now he was but a volcanic eruption paused on the brink of ruin.

“He... killed me to get to you. He has no name, we know him not. Dar’manda. Blasphemer, aliit-killer, vode-bane.” The Manda gyrated, bursting forth with righteous anger over the wrongful death of their own. Even yet, Ginnie wrapped her arms around the powerful and fragile, fading being.

Why did [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] thrust himself into the void of death for an enemy’s sister? For an opponent who lost to his power? Ginnie closed her eyes from the light and smiled.

“Rhae. Take us home. We have work to do.” The chorus of voices receded from Ginnie’s, leaving a true voice, lacking the deaf-tone she had in life. Manda receded, letting go it’s newest daughter for the destiny of which the demonic one spoke. An eternal love and resilient might spread from the Manda to the pair, if only both could feel it. Whispers and strains of the first music Ginnie ever heard swelled into her spirit, filling all the places where the strain of her family’s constant betrayals cut bore holes in her joy.

“I’ve never heard music before. Is it like this back home? Is this what music is like?” As they receded from Manda, Ginnie clung to Nemesis’ side for no reason but the instinct to return that piece of him which remained within her.

Her work was unfinished, yet was that work the same Nemesis willed of her?

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

He was too long in the Netherworld. He felt the pull on his spirit as the Void sought to claim the thing that had been denied him. But even as the tether pulled and the unseen spirits of chaos attempted to claw at the tether to find a hold, he resisted both as he listened to the choir of singular voice decrying Darth Metus, BloodBane. Killing your own was a sin that was unfathomable. And of all his sins, Nemesis had never taken a life of one of his own blood line. Not yet.

He felt the willing return of his soul, [member="Ginnie Verd"] departing the symphony of her people to return what was his to his fractured soul making him complete. Yet even as her spirit followed and clung to his own he felt the satisfying and uncomfortable reality of her own light against his darkened presence. It burned as a scorching fire that seemed to sear his soul.

As the tendrils of her arms encircled his being, unbidden his own arms craddled her within his protection for the journey back. “Rhae. Take us home. We have work to do.” Her words struck a chord. A lifetime since another had spoken the name of his birth, and it was unsettling. An identity he thought was gone. The fragment of soul had betrayed him to the young woman. Yet despite this he held on as they receded from the light of the manda.

Her surprise and emotion from the seamless beauty of the chorus of the manda filled her with wonder. A wonder that he acknowledged was, indeed, beautiful. He remembered a song that had been sung by his people during the cycle of death and life, the endless pattern. His voice quietly joined in the memory as he shared the reflection of the past as they traveled away from the light and into the darkness of the Void, a talisman against the spirits who wished to claw at the semblance of life denied to them in this existence.

[YouTube]https://youtu.be/r4j_kCQ4f2Q[/YouTube]​

As the song ended and the tune drifted to an end in his mind he stopped in the Void. Darkness cloaked the vast space of the cosmic Chaos that continued to expand for those souls relegated to the abysmal nothing that was home to so many forsaken souls. Some were sent to the Void by their own actions in life, a few however exiled themselves to the Void in penance for their own sins, a self punishment. His voice murmured as a figure slowly approached.

"Music is a sound that can uplift you or smother you. It's a gift that most take for granted. One that was denied you in your previous existence. But no longer. You question my purpose? I feel it radiating from you. And so I will answer. I am a man of vile appetites, yet I seek to keep an oath I once gave. This is not my first sojourn through the nether, and it was here a man helped me. I swore to try to restore him from the darkness, or to return what he was denied to the Void. Look."

The spirit approached. In the darkness but not of the darkness. His was a self exile for the sins of his body, a body he could feel but no longer was able to control. The presence belonged to a man long since gone from the world of the living, a soul denied it's rightful place through evils. The spirit was Isley Verd. No sound echoed from the man, only the visage that slowly retreated from sight. From the moment of the union of the entity of Darth Metus to his body, the vod of the young woman slowly lost his grip on the living. But in the catalyst upon Mandalore, his soul was lost to the physical realm. Now the man who walked the worlds ceased to have that unique , original spark of the former man. Rhaegar was uncertain what constituted the soul that existed within the form of the ViceLord, but the spirit here who had once helped him sought redemption, redemption that may not be possible. The vessel known as Isley Verd was now an amalgamation of aspects, not wholey Isley, nor Metus, nor any one thing. It was something new, something different, something unique. And yet Rhaegar had sought to push and break the man to return to entirety the former, complete and unique soul of Isley Verd. But that possibility seemed unattainable now.

"I failed."

The words echoed through the Void as the tether tightened drawing them back to the realm of the living. As the tethered fully integrated his form into his body he pushed the soul brought back into the golem laying upon the ground. The elements swirled around the point as Nemesis began writing with his blood once more. With the four elements crafting the form his blood flowed from his body and across the floor to mingle with the creation as the life force of Rhaegar was utilized in the birth. Earth crafted, fire molded, wind breathed, water revitalized, blood circulated, and the ancient inscription wrought a being from dust to dust to flesh. A swelling of anticipation in the force as Nemesis roared and released his power in molding what he created into life, lightning soaring from his hands and enveloping the cocoon before him. As the tempo of his heart mingled with the power afforded through the elements and the intricate design of the force he felt his life want dangerously close to the veil until the Nexus of power exploded outward, sending his form crashing into the far wall.

The chamber was silent once more.

Rolling to his side he looked at the mound with expectation, refusing to admit a second defeat. The dirt stirred slightly, or was it his imagination, as the embers of light from his cane revealed the scene in the ancient chamber of the taung.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

The songs of Manda and Rhae lingered in her mind as the first songs, the music of parting and rebirth. Hemmed in by [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]’ protections, Ginnie had nothing to fear of the horrors around her. She was nothing but a vision of the Manda, the spirit of a girl, who died when her brother’s sith soul called himself the judge of who deserved breath and who did not.

Eyes which saw all round her took in the scapes of the Nether and the Void, and Ginnie’s internal music shifted. There was pain here. Suffering.

Yet unlike the Sith who held her, Ginnie was not of the pain and the suffering and the hate. It attempted to cling to her, spirits and emotions of the dead and vanished attempting to find fertile ground.

Hemmed in, protected, Ginnie knew it not, as she knew the demon in her brother not.

“[member="Ahani Najwa"] was Metus’ lover, not Isley’s. Figured that out on my own... Isley died on Mandalore, then. During the Cataclysm which took my brother Aran Ordo... I will help you end Metus... I see now why you attack and call him out.”

Nothing more exited her ethereal throat, before a terrible jerking sensation passed through her. She felt the crushing weight of rock slam her down. The burn of fire tear across her esper-form. The Tears of Manda’yaim brushed away the heat of the flame as the Great Mother’s breath cooled her. Echoes of pain thundered across her until Ginnie’s soul went blank.

Dark.

That first shivering breath.

One Ginnie Verd could hear.

A preserving fear burst through her as she clawed at the soil around her, the black and dark and cold.

Her amber arms clawed and pulled at the dirt, digging out, until she came gasping from the tumult, naked and covered in mud.

She grunted and let out gasps, feeling down her face and body, back to her ears...

Ears!

She had ears!!

Newly formed eyes searched the gloom and found [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] in a tangle on the floor.

“Ah!” She rushed over in a mix of crawling and stumbling, pulling him upright.

Her heart thundered in her chest, renewed.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

As he watched expectantly from across the chamber it was confirmed that the shadows cast by the light were not, in fact, playing tricks on his eyes. The dark skinned form of a woman clawed from the mound of dirt, a resurrection. With fervor the form escaped from the cocoon before running hands over a definitively female body that was revealed in the flickering light to be pleasing to the eye. However Nemesis was not moved by the stirring of flesh that a weaker man would be.

As the woman staggered/crawled/stumbled to him to pull him to his feet, Nemesis stood to his height looking down at the foreign face beneath his. This was not the woman he had risked the nether realm for. Yet even as the thought formed in his mind he found a familiar virility in her eyes, eyes that he had seen up close in passionate battle to the death. Her presence seemed to commune with his own, due to a portion of his spirit being united with hers he assumed, which confirmed that this was [member="Ginnie Verd"].

Standing there in an intimate scene, a naked woman and a virile man secluded alone in flickering light, a bystander would assume it was a romantic setting. But the reality was that Ginnie had been returned to the harsh reality of the physical realm, torn from her heaven in the nether by a man who she had been locked in mortal combat with before her brother betrayed and eradicated her from life. Then her brother had sought to leech the manda.

But her words in the nether revealed that the woman had seen the reasoning, of not Nemesis but the man who still remained named Rhaegar, the true intentions of the mission against the Confederacy. It wasn't about destroying a government, but keeping an oath. But the reality had caused him to reassess his vow. Now the mission wasn't to save Isley, but to finally give him peace. Peace through death.

Looking at the woman he slowly raised his hand, a lone finger attempting to tilt her chin slightly backwards so he could look fully on the face.

"You have been reborn by your own Mandalore. A second chance. Go, be free. Be a warrior. Live your life and leave Metus to me. Because whomever ends him will fall with him. You were a worthy adversary. Your people mourn you, I have seen it with mine own eyes. Destiny beckons you, and the fate of those arrayed against Metus will share in his fate."

 

[Ginnie Dib]

You're So Very Far Away by Clem Leek​

Her state of undress had yet to trigger in the reborn woman’s mind. Ears rang with the auditory experience of Manda and the man she only knew as a warrior. As Rhae.

Manda’yaim, the Great Mother, awoke one more of her lost ones. A heart beat regained. Chin tilted by Rhaegar’s finger, Gin felt the flame-heat of [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]’ skin. Gin lived in the belly of the monster, even in the almighty grasp of her Manda, a man named Rhaegar pressed at her side like a thorn.

Monster begetting the Redeemed, it felt like a story which didn’t belong. Sith magic was not supposed to heal.

“But... you need my help…” Had it not been for the Manda which they experienced, Gin would question Rhae’s admonition of people who loved her and grieved. The woman who set foot on Maramere was a woman abandoned, one attempting any reconnection she could, when Isley called. But this wasn’t the Clan she lost when Jasper Ar’klim died to hold the line. Clan Verd was barely cognizant of the Resol’nare and even less devout with Darth Metus in control. Alone. Devoid of direction.

A hired gun with nothing more to achieve, no lover and no child to raise. In the fires of their duel, [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] discovered a spark worth fragmenting his soul to salvage. Perhaps it was the only part left of his former life, perhaps this was the only moment of kindness in him.

At first Ginnie’s arms wound around Rhae’s chest in a selfish desire to steal body heat. Gin wanted nothing from him, held no desire for murder or delight. One slim piece of him remained in the back of her neck, sliding down her spine to settle within. Forever modified by an act of mercy from the man who decimated any and all to achieve his goals.

How odd then, that the woman who was reborn no longer deaf found a clumsy tongue in her mouth. This was a man who meant to die. Her left hand raised along his back, securing the back of his neck. Pushing up on her tip-toes, she placed her forehead on his, and for a moment which would pass both in a blind second, and last an eternity, opened the link between them to continue the song of the Manda.

It was the supreme moment of eternal comfort and peace she could give Rhaegar. One moment of interconnectivity and intrinsic belonging to carry with him on his way. The moment passed, as all did when one lived in time.

“You don’t have to die… what do we have to fear of a battle, when we know the glory to which we go?” Yet the words fell empty. He would defeat Darth Metus. He would fulfill his oath to Isley Verd.

Ginnie’s legs shook from the cold and the newness of their usage as she stepped back and worked her lips. Her eyes cast down to her feet as a jagged bit of rock pinched into the sole. Both hands reached to cover herself, yet she felt no shame. Gin merely raised an eyebrow, pouted her lips to the side of her face, and gave Nemesis a glare.

“May I?” Gin coughed, not awaiting an answer, before she attempted to yank off his long sleeved shirt and clothe herself.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

“But... you need my help…”

The words, though not spoken in a desire to rouse a negative reaction, had the unanticipated result. Eyes flickered from a hint of warmth and caring to cold and calculating. He was Nemesis, a name given to him by his enemies, a name uttered in quaking fear moments before he sent them to their deaths. He was a man that saw into the depths of people and saw strengths and weaknesses. Then he manipulated them to their demise. He was a man who had become more then a mere mortal, he was a symbol of the bane of all existence. He was a Nemesis. He needed no one's help, wanted no one's help. He had no equal, only servants who he bent to his will.

Eyes glowed slightly, a red hue bullseyed by ambient blue pupils. He had brought her back, not out of any emotional attachment nor desire to give honor to her spirit. No, she was a tool he would craft and use. And when she broke he would discard her as the worthless item that carried merit no longer. The perceived mercy and kindness was merely the strategic maneuvering of a master tactician who used his pawns with no qualms of sacrificing the inconsequential lives of others to further his is own cause. [member="Ginnie Verd"] was nothing to him but a set piece for his grand scheme.

Even as her arms slid around him for the warmth that radiated from his fury, he felt the cold rage envelop him. She knew not her place, and he would gladly teach her that lesson, a lesson best learned through pain and suffering.

And then she did the unthinkable.

She touched upon the smoldering embers of the man once known as Rhaegar.

Her head pressed lightly to his own, a moment shared that was miniscule in time, yet everlasting in eternity. She shared peace, happiness, belonging, joy. A moment where she bared her soul to his, where he felt acceptance from another. It was not a physical comfort that one received from a friend or family member, but the anam cara, a soul friend, a being willing to share their core with no fear of reprisal. A trust, however fleeting.

The cold of his exterior cracked and the man beneath breathed his first breath in decades.

“You don’t have to die… what do we have to fear of a battle, when we know the glory to which we go?” A sadness echoed out. A sight twitch of ironic amusement flickering upon his lips. The tranquility shared in that moment would be all he would ever taste. His spirit was destined for the Void , the Chaos of nothingness. Yet that moment Ginnie had given him would warm him, he knew without a doubt, for the unending eons he would spend in the hells of the Netherworld. A precious gift he would cherish in his punishment for his many sins. Unbidden his hands moved to her waist to return her embrace just as she pulled away.

The mask of Nemesis began to reassert itself yet was paused at the pout upon pristine lips. The fiery spirit he had admired on the battlefield still emanating from the new form of the woman who knew no shame nor modesty. Her hands went with her words to claim his shirt, not to hide her body but for necessity of warmth. Her hands lightly skimmed his skin as she took hold of the hem of his shirt and raised it across his chest. Obliging he lowered his head and allowed the shirt to be pulled free of his form.

Once the shirt slipped free of his head Nemesis'eyes locked on the woman once more. His skin was marred by a mytaid of Sith runes of power, prominent scars of battle, and carefully shaped musculature. Though he wore the trappings of a refined aristocrat his body told a very different tale of an experienced warrior who was not only familiar with pain, but embraced it.

Looking at her, it wasn't the Mask of Nemesis that starred at her form and spirit, but the controlled gaze of the man Rhaegar who felt a new hunger stirring. Eyes traveled her form judging the battle readiness of her body, certainly not admiring how the fiery spirit wore the supple curves of her feminity boldly. His voice came out huskily.

"I will not share in your after life. My destination is to be a forlorn affair of my own making. And ... You may."

 

[Ginnie Dib]

This was an evil man. As the Undying was to Mandalore not long before, so was Nemesis: An evil to dispel an evil. When had the definition of evil changed from outsiders to one’s own kin? Did the Galaxy require such a threat to destroy Darth Metus? Could Ginnie be complicit in her own brother’s demise?

The spectre of Isley Verd was her answer, as the frigid ire in Nemesis was her answer.

He would never join her among the Manda. Rhaegar was not Mandalorian, nor were his sins capable of being washed away. No, Ginnie knew precisely where the end of Nemesis’ road lead him, and it sent another shiver down her spine.

The quirk of her eyebrow deepened. Rhaegar was still glancing up and down her body, even as the shirt clung to her chest. It was a small thing Ginnie never noticed for her former disability. Rhaegar’s hands wove around her waist.

His voice wavered as he offered his shirt.

She never understood how tone of voice could change the way a collection of words was understood. [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] became dangerous beyond his infamy and use of biological toys.

The skin she discovered was no nobleman’s, nor a celebrating dandy’s. It sung of battles, dark magics, dangers in every pore and stroke and rune. Ginnie attempted to hide her cognizance of some of the stories which lined Nemesis’ skin, yet she knew it was useless.

He, who held her spirit in his arms, would hold her past alchemical pursuits in his mind’s eye… that was, if he stopped looking at her ebony splendour.

“Your voice changed… hah. First time I’ve heard that…” Eyes cast to his shoulder, then his collarbones, Ginnie attempted to swallow with her new throat.

“You have shared in it now, and you can again… Rhae?” Ginnie whispered, her palms pressed on his pectorals. “If you planned on bringing me back to life, why didn’t you bring clothes?”

A single moment of mischief as she pushed off from Rhae with a grin, walking backward, then turning around to seek out the lay of the land. “Did you distrust your abilities, or my backbone to make it out of the Nether?”

Levity in the dark. She looked behind her, pulling her raven hair behind her ears and letting her fingers linger on the delicate curves and bowl of the sculpted, new flesh. Gin gasped!

Touching one’s ears tickled in an unimagined, unexperienced but pleasant way.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

"A mere oversight on my part. It won't happen again."

The admission of negligence surprised Nemesis somewhat. Negligence was weakness, a failure to plan for every outcome. How did he not anticipate the need for clothing for the newly resurrected woman? He admonished himself internally for the slip in cognitive thinking even as he observed the way her eyes skimmed over his torso, understanding written on the face of Gin'ika.

Gin'ika? What sorcery is this? Mando'a is neither a native tongue nor one I speak fluently .... Perhaps it is a shared response from the sharing?

Brows furrowed slightly as he was momentarily distracted at the hands upon his chest. The warmth of her palms seemingly scorching his flesh and leaving him burned by her contact. Though no wound appeared on his form, he felt slightly unbalanced and exposed.

“Did you distrust your abilities, or my backbone to make it out of the Nether?” Her words exhied his previous sentiments though his distraction grew more so as his eyes traced the line of her hips as she walked away, the curve of her ....

Shaking his head lightly to remove the etheral feeling clouding his mind he excused his lapse in focus as a mere curiosity for the ... Seating comfort of the woman's new body. Moving forward his body hid neither the power coiled within his form or the lithe grace of a master swordsman. Reaching his cane he plucked it from the earth and walked a few more steps into the chamber, his gait altering to incorporate a limp, the facade of the elder gentleman masking the prowess his body revealed moments earlier.

Turning to respond to [member="Ginnie Verd"] he heard the slight gasp of pleasure as the woman took in the tactile sensations of her hands upon her new ears. Rhaegar stirred once more at the sound before the mask reset. Placing the cane strategically in front of him, his hands rested upon the head of the cane as he allowed a self indulgent smile to cross his lips.

"I have seen souls refuse to return to the land of the living. And I knew the risks of my plan. There was always the possibility you would not return, through no fault of my own."

With the unexplainable, compulsory offer of her freedom his eyes narrowed imperceptibly at his actions. Why offer the woman her freedom? It made no strategic sense unless he was using the offer as a way to further bind Gin'ika unknowingly to his cause.

Ginnie, not Gin'ika. Stop that.

Motioning to the walls around the chamber that were decorated by the ancient glyphs left by the taung he explained.

"A holy place of your culture's progenitors. It speaks of the tale of the battle of Life and Death. It seemed fitting that you would be reborn, not as Verd nor Ordo, but as a daughter of Mandalore, free of the tethers of your previous existence. Free to choose a destiny of your own design. The bonds of this life are shackles that many never have the opportunity to cast off. Yours is a new slate, a chance to choose your own bonds. Your fate is now in your hands."

His head tilted in the direction of the entrance that would follow a tunnel, recently excavated, to the surface of the planet where it would breach into the empty desert. The stars above would shine upon the scene, the desolation of the barren desert never truly devoid of life if one knew where to look. A lone speeder bike would be parked on the sands. In the desert the catalyst had a negligible effect as the harsh reality of the wastelands were one of survival. Those born to the desert knew not the comforts of the slothful, only survival of the fittest.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

“You’re forgiven. Must have been terrible to be missing a piece of you. Thank you, Rhaegar... I never understood how two words could mean something. Waggling your lips about, when usually the words said didn’t show the truth of it...”

Gin’ika’s lips pursed as she turned and saw how [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] stood with his hands on his cane. The reborn woman might have never enjoyed the pleasures of a man’s company, but she was raised around too many brothers to be a complete ignorant virgin. Yet, after the reports of Relovian and that game show planet, Ginnie wondered how such a tactician could forget something so intrinsic at all. The dim smouldering illumination in the cave hid well a rush of blood to Gin’ika’s cheeks.

Nemesis nor Rhae were dogs rutting in heat... Gin cleared her throat and focussed on the thick baritone of his husky voice.

Daughter of Mandalore. Neither Ordo or Verd, but a being of Rhae’s creation, renewed in infamy yet set free for destiny’s purpose. She inspected her hands, seeing the callouses of the Beskar Forge were gone. Calling within her, Ginnie opened her palm and a burst of flame flashed into life between them.

Gin grinned, comforted more than a little that her powers followed her beyond the grave. Yet the flame looked different somehow. More white. More blue. Moulding it into the figure of an imp, Ginnie loosed the fire creature on the tunnel. It raced with its little feet leaving smouldering scorch marks on the ground, until it stopped to gaze out at the evening desert sky.

Gin’s eyes flickered blue and white like the flame, seeing in a way, what the imp saw. As it vanished to the wind, Gin began to walk out the passageway toward the surface. She hissed as jagged stones threatened to cut her feet, maneuvering with care through the passage.

The sand released its warmth on her raw feet, the stars flourishing in new eyes. Gin hugged her arms around her torso and stopped. A splash of salt water rolled from her cheek to the ground, as the desert air of Manda’yaim brushed against Gin’s cheek.

“I didn’t have time to fear it. Death. Pissed off more like. How dare someone try and kill me? Dang. How dare he hide behind some Wraith, as if that mask makes his actions excusable. At least yours I can understand, Rhaegar. It’s armour, where Metus’ is abdication.” Glancing up and down Nemesis’ body, Ginnie realized that image would remain within her more than any other.

The Manda, the calling of Rhae’s spirit, curling up in the protections of a monstrous man.

She padded along the sand, letting it filter between her toes, warm and more forgiving now than in the heat of the day. Taking the seat off the standard speeder, she unearthed the emergency kit, and took out the slim, thin thermal blanket. More a sheet of pliable metal than anything else, Gin wound it around her ample hips and tucked it in like a towel after a bath. It would have to do.

“I can’t touch the pedals barefoot. I’ll burn.” The ‘blanket’ rode low on her hips, shirt resting just above her belly button. She waited for him to get on the bike, sat behind him, edging as close as she could and wrapping both legs along his inner thighs to avoid burning on the speeder components or sliding off. Both arms cinched around his chest, Gin placing her cheek on the middle of his back.

It felt like the slim piece of him which remained was home, united with the whole. Ginnie understood none of the sensations coiling around her stomach, nor did she have experience with their application.

All she knew was the veil of Manda’yaim’s stars, and the beautiful infamy of [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]’ body heat. One hand slid down to his waist, the other staying at his sternum. Her head turned, lips brushing against the flesh of his back out of necessity away from the biting wind.

This man tried to destroy her like she were chaff after a wildfire. Yet somehow in the grand battle, he came to find a modicum of value in the young woman. Not naïve enough to think she was anything but a pawn, the flicker in her spine betrayed a deeper insight. Her arms clung harder.

She breathed him in.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

Forgiveness was a foreign concept when applied to the man. It was neither needed or wanted. But he had been missing a piece of him that seemed to have been returned once more. He was whole.

As [member="Ginnie Verd"] eyed his stance with pursued lips he had the distinct feeling that the wonan had seen through his rouse of modesty. Another foreign concept. He was not a modest man, but the stirring of Rhaegar had seemed to infect the persona of Nemesis, in mind and body. Something that had long slumbered had awoken and he was unsure, for the first time in a long time, to the meaning of it all. He was Nemesis, yet the Dragon of Dorin lived still. It would bear introspection at a later time to ascertain what affect it would have on him.

Watching as Gin'ika (again?) explored her force sensitivity and created a flame and then a small creature of fire, he was again reminded of what attracted himself to the woman in the first place. An attraction of kindred pyromancers and fiery spirit. Glimpsing the shift of her eyes he nodded slightly understanding what she was doing. It was a skill with many applications, another reason he had spared her on Maramere. The potential of power.

Following along behind her in the semi darkness of the tunnel he found a hint if amusement at her hiss as her feet found sharpened stone. She could easily have hovered over the terrain until more agreeable footing, yet she marshaled onward. He had chosen wisely. Her determination to move forward despite pain and discomfort only confirmed his decision.

Yet all the thoughts of Nemesis ceased as they entered the vibrantly lit night. He had only seen aspects of her form by the flickering diminutive light of sparks within the chamber. Now, under the stars of the brightly lit sky, he gazed upon the woman. Definitely a woman. A woman who's new form matched the powerful and femine spirit of Ginnie. Without a doubt.

A dry swallow as he continued to follow behind her to the bike and listened to her comparison of himself to Darth Metus. His armor, as she put it, wasn't a protective layer. It was who he was. But as he had paused and she continued to the bike he felt a pang, as if the shard of his soul had not been returned, and her distance from him was a reminder that he was no longer whole.

What sort of witchcraft is this?

His mind went over recent events as he sought an answer for what was occurring. Perhaps the passage through the Nether had weakened him more then anticipated? Perhaps he had missed a rune in the inscription? Potentially the sharing of the manda experience had an unforeseen affect? But as she leaned over the bike to collect the emergency blanket his eyes became fixed. Very fixed.

Rhaegar... She has awakened him...

He was not someone with multiple personalities. Instead he was very aware of who he was born as and who he had chosen to become. But in this moment he had difficulty in knowing just who he was in the present time. The man capable of attachment, able to embrace life, who lived in the moment as a flame. Or the monster capable of atrocities, able to embrace death, who lived in the machinations carefully planned and executed.

He clenched his teeth stifling a primal growl that arouse from within as she wrapped the 'blanket' aroaund her form. He was not a creature of passion, he had ascended from such earthly pursuits. He was a man made in the image of stone. An ironic euphemism not lost in his current state.

Moving to the bike, feigned limp forgotten, he tossed his leg over and shoved the cane into a sheath on the front of the bike near the handle bars. As the woman climbed behind him and wrapped both arms and legs around him, he was ready. Gunning the bike they flew through the barren desert. An actual smile of enjoyment , a rarity, crossed his face at the sensation of soaring across the plains at high speed, the wind whipping his hair, flecks of sand whisking across his bare torso. He felt alive.

Then her lips brushed his back sending a holy through his body almost making him blow into a dune. Gritting his teeth as he felt the warmth of her body and spirit mingling close to his, Nemesis fought for control of the bike, the bike, as he smoothed out the ride once more. Speaking over his shoulder he kept his eyes mostly on the road, not the thighs around his him.

"So ... Where is your destination Gin'ika?"

Karking mando'a .....

 

[Ginnie Dib]

So that was what a man sounded like when he growled. Ginnie’s back shot straight up as [member="Nemesis Nemonus"] grumbled in his chest, and with her face turned away from him, she grinned.

Men were strange creatures, and this one most of all. Into the Wild expanse of Mandalore’s desert, Gin felt the freedom of motion and the warm wind of night. During the day it would get unbearable, yet now it was as pleasant as the company battling inside the man she only knew as Rhae.

The battle seemed to deepen when Ginnie’s lips brushed against Rhaegar’s back. Ducking her forehead on his back instead, she mused over her experiences, over the lack of hate rolling off the man, and over the still audible strains of the Manda’s hymn. So soon after resurrection, did she know how long this would last?

Then he called her Gin’ika and she knew. The transfer was two sides, and the villain inherited a modicum of her as much as the reverse was true. She scootched as close as she could, raising her head so her lips were poised by his ear.

“Sundari City isn’t far. The Palace is there, and the Barracks. I have some... old friends who could give me some clothes, armour weave at least. A good meal, and I can give you your shirt back... course if they all think I’m dead... make east.” Gin removes the hand from his sternum and pointed within his sight in the direction she imagined the biodome of Sundari was located. The bike jerked, Ginnie clung to his back to avoid falling off.

“Last I heard from Yash, the Mantis House was empty. Preliat and Silas both left Mandalore. I can crash there then... find the next battle worthy of my skill I suppose. You can’t miss it, it’s beside the Palace. Come get something to eat at least. Expending all that energy must have made you hungry. I need to return your shirt.”

Oh what appetites did she speak of, one might wonder.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

He felt the press of her body against his bare back as she leaned in, lips near his ear, as the heat of her breath combated the whistling wind to brush his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, one that he accredited to the cool night wind upon bare skin. Turning his head slightly he followed the line of her arm as she pointed to the destination she had chosen.

With the motion of the bike he felt her tighten her grips upon his body even more so, which caused him to open the throttle fully, the two speeding through the desert and going airborne over dunes with no other reason but to reach Sundari.

An amused thought crossed his mind at the sentries seeing two figures flying through the sleeping city, both in various states of disarray, clinging to one another as if lovers back from a tryst. It was a reasonable reason to lower his hand and pull her left thigh tighter around him.

"For appearances sake."

Although closer inspection of [member="Ginnie Verd"] would reveal the grime of her resurrection, and a more then intermediate glance at the man would surely make out the runes of Sith origins. Too quickly they neared the palace and slowed as they approached the building that Gin'ika had motioned to. Even as they passed theough the city the analytical part of him made sure to notice armaments, sentry routes, and weapon emplacements.

Easing to a stop before the 'Mantis House' he turned off the bike and turned his head to look into the face of the woman. Yes, the woman. The ride had settled his mind and inner turmoil somewhat and at mention of food his hunger became noticable. So did an empty feeling at his core at the words "something to eat at least" that he accredited to the expenditure of his own energy during the rituals.

"Food will suffice."

He reluctantly waited for Gin'ika, fierfek, to disentangle herself from himself and the bike so he could follow her to the offered hospitality. Plus he couldn't go anywhere without a shirt of course.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

“... Ordo?” The sentry grimaced under his buy’ce. No, Ordo was dead. Father and daughter and son. There were no Ordo’s on Mandalore, and Ginnie had terrible burn scars all over.

Nobody wanted that in a wife. Not that any would admit it was one of the reasons Ginnie Ordo never got past a few disinterested dates before living the single life. [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]’ hand stroked her left thigh and Ginnie bit her lip as a trailing moan ranged unbidden from her throat.

Oh. So that’s what that sound was like. The ploy worked, both beings allowed into the domed city and through the streets. There was a luxury to speeding through a sleeping city at night. The world around was quiet and for a moment Gin felt like she owned the planet and the people and the tech atop it all. She felt as powerful as Manda’yaim, an avatar-daughter built for glory and the fighting of a terrible wrong.

The faster the speeder moved, the more Gin grinned and another sound rushed into the wind and the din.

She didn’t recognize it until a passing speeder showed the pair as they were.

Gin’ika was laughing. Such a joyous noise was foreign and welcome. She tasted the sound, settling it into her chest as the speeder slowed and parked at the derelict, yet well stocked residence of Preliat and his brother Silas Mantis. Next door, the Sundari Palace loomed, imposing and teeming even now with life.

For a moment Gin’ika wondered at the coup of walking into the Mess Hall for a meal, as she’d done ages before. Meals were free there, the tihaar flowed from Mand’alor’s own table and the Infernal kept a healthy reserve.

Life was hard on Mandalore. At least a good meal could succour the warrior’s spirit. Yet, the more Gin thought of grabbing clothing and walking to the Hall, the more the idea of distance from Rhae sunk ill in her stomach.

The face Rhae saw was a virile, mud stained but joyful youth in her prime, laughing with a grin showing straight white teeth. She slid her arms along his skin as she dismounted, careful to avoid any sudden movements, lest her new body fail her. The blanket barely stayed in place, shifting down to reveal the curve of a hip as she backed up toward the house.

“Come. There’s no one inside. You look ravenous.” Why the word had an inexplicable ability to cause her cheeks to redden Gin couldn’t answer.

“I... ah... I’m covered in mud... so are you. It’s all over your back.” Defending against the flutter along her lower spine, Ginnie padded barefoot into the house’s back entrance and found her way to the kitchen. While the house was barren of person, the kitchen held fresh fruit in a bowl, a refridge unit filled with proteins and the makings of meals. Someone was tending the house, keeping it in stasis until the owner returned. Ginnie pulled out a slab of bantha meat and saw by the light inside how filthy she actually was.

“I got mud on your shirt...” Pulling it off, Ginnie licked her lips and held it in her hands.

“I can find you another one... there’s a shower down the... hall.” In the light of the house, Gin saw herself. She saw Rhae. Her lips paused while her chest heaved.

“And this way.” Swerving around, she walked straight out of the room with his shirt in her hand. He would follow or he would stay where he was.

The sound of running water pushed at the air. A steaming heat coming from the fresher.

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

To some the unfamiliar face worn by [member="Ginnie Verd"] may cause discomfort. But not for him. The body she wore previously was obtained through genetics, a shell that housed her soul. But the form she wore now was molded by the force, utilizing the very world that helped define her indomitable spirit. The face so close to his was what he saw in the manda, a thing of beauty to behold. With her laughter ringing out like a melody, her hands brushed his body as she stood. The rustle of the 'blanket' drew his eyes to a revealed hip, a reminder of the cloaked form beneath.

At her words he felt the hunger within, however it shifted as the color brushed her cheeks, he new shade inviting and daunting simultaneously. He followed from the bike as she left the way to the opposite entrance from where they parked. Upon entering the house he realized he had left the cane on the bike, a part of his facade as Nemesis. Even the thought threatened to admit that the humanity of Rhaegar perceived that Nemesis was a mask, a persona he wore, but thought of identity vanished as in the kitchen Gin'ika pointed out the state of them both, coated in the filth acquired in the depths of Mandalore. Then she pulled the soiled garment from her body.

Leaving the food in the kitchen she made her way to the shower in the refresher unit while he stood frozen in the kitchen. Events were spiraling out of his methodical control. Used to being the one who anticipated everything the turn of events since Maramere had his head spinning as he scrambled to reacquire supremacy. Yet every action he made had an unanticipated and unnerving reaction. Looking at the food for a moment he tried to remember that he was hungry and needed to eat, but Nemesis had receded and for the first time in a long time it was Rhaegar the man that was in control. Or as in control as he could be under current events.

Slowly he moved down the hall, following in the footsteps of Gin'ika as the steam invaded the hall from the open doorway. As he neared he focused on control, an important thing to the man who never lost it nor acted on a whim. But the situation had left him reacting on instincts which were quite convoluted at the moment. Easing to the open door he spoke, his voice once more thicker and deeper.

"Yes, I shall need a different shirt cyar'ika."

As he entered the refresher his mind tried to decipher the foreign word that had come upon his lips. He found no memory of the alien word, and wondered just what it meant. Of course the more distressing thought that should have been at the fore of his mind was what else had been shared between them? Memory, past actions, current thoughts? But none of that filtered through Rhaegar as he followed Gin'ika.

 

[Ginnie Dib]

Steam bathed her skin, running down as muddy water into the tiled drain. Ginnie took a few seconds to breathe, setting her forehead against the cool tile as water ran down her back.

Water falling was one of the most beautiful sounds yet, comforting as the heat along her skin. Rhaegar Stood in the kitchen, why could Gin feel him? Why was he still present, a strip along her spine?

Bringing back the dead was no cheap trick. It took a Master of utter galactic renown... and a connection between one’s soul. What happened when Metus’ Wraith lashed out to destroy the ship? What mean choice stole death from Gin’s future?

For the first time, Gin heard footsteps behind her. She ran her hands through her damp hair and turned to face him.

Rhaegar.

The sliver of soul which entwined with hers in the Manda. “I’ve never...”

Words failed, where they were unnecessary. She felt the pressure of his past, the stretch of emotional desolation which mirrored her own. Neither knew what cusp they reached, as Ginnie offered her arms to the mighty being.

What was connection? Did it span past ideals, energies and fates to shift the essence of one’s machinations?

Cyar’ika.

Proof the inter connectivity flowed both ways. A chorus of sounds indoctrinated two lonely beings into the joys so many took for granted.

Home, and eternity in the palms of their hands.

Ginnie rustled in the borrowed bed. She pulled the sheet around her frame and sat at the edge of the mattress. Flopping back down on the bed, Gin let her damp hair spill across the pillow as she dragged her eyes along Rhaegar’s body. Her hand followed, tracing up his skin from waist to ear.

Connection. What did one do with it, once the unthinkable was found?

[member="Nemesis Nemonus"]

 

[Rhaegar Nemesis Dib]

He lay on his back, staring through the early morning dark at the ceiling above, an arm behind his head and under the pillow. The old saying, "You can't plan for every possibility", echoed in his mind. A large part of him rebeled at the thought. With enough perception and planning everything could be seen. Yet the flame that was the man, Rhaegar, disagreed.

The sheets rustled across his lower body as Gin'ika moved to the edge of the bed momentarily. His eyes travelled across the unmarred flesh, feasting on his woman.

My woman? Just a few weeks ago I was trying to kill her, and she was reciprocating the sentiment. Now ... Now I don't know what this is ...

The inner dialogue was detailed as she flopped back to the bed, her silken tresses crossing the expanse and laying on his shoulder. Her hand trailed his torso to his face, pausing at his ear. The man skosed his eyes and sighed in contentment, something he never thought to experience again.

Yes, some form of witchcraft.

His head leaned into her caress unbidden as his eyes once more sought hers. So many questions echoed in his mind, yet her touch stilled the fervor. It was an unanticipated occurrence. With Gin'ika he found a peaceful oasis in the desert of his life in which he was unaware he was dying for thirst.

"What does cyar'ika mean?"

His voice had the hint of drowsiness gained from exhaustion. A small smile flickered at the corners of his mouth as he remembered why. But it was more then just arriving at the house, it was the rituals he had used in the night. His eyes were heavy and with a start he realized he had almost drifted off. A light brush with the force reinvigorated him from his exhaustion. Before he would have done so because he would never allow himself a moment where his guard was down, not around anyone, let alone sleep with another near enough to attack him in slumber.

This was different. He wasn't ready to drift into a dreamless sleep. His brow furrowed lightly as he recalled an oath made. Tracing the line of her lips he aonce more connected with her eyes.

"This changes some things, but not all. You know this."

The statement was meant as a question. The analytical part of him knew that he had been affected in recent events that lead up to their sharing a bed. Though he was changed, he still had an oath he had to uphold. And surely Gin'ika had duties she would attend on her own behalf. And though he wished he could stay in this moment, he knew that it would not be so. Even as the hint of the predawn light began to bring a hint of illumination into the room, a new day had dawned for the man.

[member="Ginnie Verd"]

 

[Ginnie Dib]

He seemed unsure, tentative, and likewise was she. How could a connection forged so recently through blood and fire become beskar-bonded?

The Manda was a paradise without time, a collective consciousness where all Mando’ade who kept the Resol’nare were want to go. Ginnie knew and did not know, she understood, yet the connection was fragmented, an alloy in mid-melt and combination. Her fingers draped across his cheek, thumb moving along the skin. The electricity of his naked touch sent another reeling thunderbolt into her stomach.

How could he sink so deep so quickly into the fabric of her reality? Gin leaned over and pressed her lips to his, eyes fluttering at the welcome sensation. How Mandalorian of her to find her lover during a battle to the death… and resurrection.

“Darling, or sweetheart. It’s… a word only used for one’s love… you don’t know Mando’a.” Ginnie smoothed her hair and ran her fingers through it, nodding at the dawning cognizance of [member="Nemesis Nemonus"]’ depth of interconnection. Rhaegar drifted toward sleep. Gin’ika felt the rumble in her chest of a chuckle. It resounded through the air, clinking in her newly given ears.

The glee was not to last. A wash of the Force struck the room, and for a moment Gin worried the Death Watch would find them before Gin found new clothes. It meant nothing, when the weight of Nemesis’ mission pressed on their shoulders.

“I know, Rhae.” Staying quiet for a time, Ginnie nestled into lay her head on his shoulder, kissing his chest.

“You need to kill Metus… you don’t have to die, you’d do better unleashing Ahani. We have to plan, but it can be done… even if we do things Mando-style. Throw down Bral, shoot him with force-killers and cut off his head with a beskad. He killed his own flesh and blood, but everyone will be waiting for you… so we show them the truth. Make his troops turn. Did my buy’ce survive? I could… get beskar, make you some armour.” Her mind reeled, knowing now how Daddy must have felt when he protected Mom… or how Aran held Ahani on his lap. The one possibility she was incapable of seeing was her own value or potential for power.

“However it happened, whatever play of the Force led us here, you have a companion now… A Mandalorian fights hardest when they’re protecting what’s theirs.”