The Exegetic Episodes of the Bloodtrailed Bashtok and the Emergent Matriarch

[Aver Brand]

Ha. And she thought they’d been dropping names before.

Still. (Cold, not blind.)

There was enough context between their words; between the escalating body language; the drip of blood down a bent wrist; the twitch of a defensive stance in the priestess…

and then there was Quietus.

A two-way bloodtrail is no Force bond, and in that instant, Aver was glad for it. Because Quietus was pissed.

There was no emotion Ygdris Val knew better than rage. It was her oldest lover and life companion, stalking her steps and cradling her heart ever since she’d left her home of rust and steel. Now, almost half a century later, she’d honed that ire to a white-hot point.

When Reverance poured his anger into her, it was like arousal pooling in the pit of her stomach; but this was Desdemona, and her anger tasted like ash instead of fire.

Aver drew a shallow breath as she watched Ereza leave with her cape between her legs. A few soft words had Dhaladii scurry back into her dark corner. Quietus was nothing like Rev; but then again, she’d never seen her this angry. She’d take one on the chin if she had to.

She stood and approached her mate, but stopped just outside her personal space. Aver knew better than to touch an agitated beast.

“What happens now?”

 

[Quietus]

Desdemona's anger ran a deep and jagged fissure through her psyche and memories, hundreds of years back to her childhood. Though she'd never grown to be so intimately aligned with her anger as Aver, she'd certainly harbored a relationship with it for several centuries. It was the sort that had come and gone on the winds of happenstance, much like today, when certain stars and fates aligned to open that fissure and let that maddening heat rise freely once more.

Ereza's figure could be seen disappearing through the thicket below, enroute back to her ship still hovering on the horizon. Quietus wasn't watching her physically, but Aver would know for certain she was following the woman's presence with her other senses. She did not bother to lick the blood from her lips - the taste it brought to her would only serve to add fuel to the fire.

Now,

The very thought prickled with lingering resentment.

I go to Onderon.

Closing her eyes, Quietus took a deep breath, attempting to diffuse the heat with a measured exhale. The truth of the matter was that the fissure had been left gaping by this news and, for some strange reason, Qui wasn't entirely sure why. Something about this exchange had left her feeling suspicious of Ereza but she couldn't point to any particular source. The anger wouldn't leave and the heat just kept churning in her veins. She pushed off the wooden beam and turned to walk over to the book on the table.

She left behind a handprint burned into the wood.

A gesture and a chain of foreign words unlocked the casing, the book flipped open to the center where a large ornately painted card stuck out of the spine. Her hand snaked forward, plucking it out of its place to lift it before her. Though she couldn't see it, she seemed to be feeling it out with her mind. Both the book and the card held the presence of deep, old powers.

I ... could use your help.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver hummed in the back of her throat.

Onderon, Arathul… going by the conversation she’d just witnessed, the kid was puking his guts out over the edge of Halcyon Citadel.

Or he was passed out. Aver couldn’t care less, but—

Quietus did.

The merc rubbed her brow as her eyes lingered on the handprint. The faint smell of burnt wood wafted to her nostrils; she scowled. What a fething trainwreck. A crime lord just wants to have a nice, destressing vacation, and what does she get instead? A steaming hot pile of family drama into her lap.

And kark, it wasn’t even her family.

Aver rolled her head back and stared at the ceiling as another deep breath rolled into her lungs. She ignored the book, and she ignored the card. Even on a good day, getting answers out of Des was like pulling teeth; this was not a good day.

“With what?”

 

[Quietus]

Quietus turned the card one way and then another, the hand-painted details glimmering in the light of the fire slowly being smothered by her anger. Back and forth, then with a wisp of air the card evaporated.

You know that Arathul is not my son, though I have raised him as such.

He is, in actuality, my Uncle. He was the child of my grandmother and the Sith Lord that created Halcyon Citadel and was my first Master. Arathul was born centuries ago and later taken by the Gulag.

This Arathul is a clone of the original progeny ... and all the memories of his former life will return to him when I wake him up.

 

[Aver Brand]

Of course the card evaporated. Aver wasn’t even surprised at this point.

(If only, perhaps, because Qui just outclassed herself with the absolute craziest shet to have ever come out of her mouth to date.

And that wasn’t a small feat.)

“What.”

There was no other appropriate response.

 

[Quietus]

Appropriate response.

Black gaze settled around the vicinity of Aver's feet while Desdemona thought of how best to explain, she found herself brushing a deeper context off entirely. Des shook her head, There's too much to explain.

What I need help with is his temper.

He wasn't anywhere near as unstable as the original soul had been, but Arathul's temper caught quickly and burned hot. A flash in the pan, but he'd already learned he outclassed his mother on the physical spectrum.

He was genetically modified from his trueborn form. Originally he was a halfbreed, this form is pureblooded. He is ... stronger and faster than I am and I will not be capable of subduing him.

 

[Aver Brand]

Well wasn’t this just the day for confessions. Once you opened the floodgates—

Aver dismissed her stupid musings with an angry shake of the head. (Whose anger, though?)

“His temper?” Dubious blue eyes flicked over to Qui. “Des, you’re…” Her emphatic wave in the direction of the scorched wood came a moment before she remembered the blonde still couldn’t see for shet.

“Kark. Forget it.”

The idea of fighting something stronger than Quietus wasn’t particularly appetizing. Matching the Beastia already required most of her considerable strength, and apparently the kid was powerful enough that the Beast Queen just asked for help.

Somewhat like going hunting on the back of a drexl that felt it needed backup. The thought settled with some unease in her gut, and wouldn’t leave.

“...fine. But I’m taking Ygdris.”

If Qui was concerned, Aver wasn’t taking any chances. (And if it would cut off the maelstrom of rage that was her mate for a few hours, well…)

 

[Quietus]

Though she couldn't see what Aver was referring to, she understood it all the same. Despite this, Quietus said nothing. Aver might eventually understand why even with her obvious advantage over Ari with the Force, it wouldn't matter. There wasn't enough time to do what needed to be done in a way that would allow herself to be in anything but a weakened state.

"...fine. But I'm taking Ygdris."

Her gaze flickered blindly downwards towards the dark corners of the treehome where she knew the various pieces of crab armor to be resting. Accustomed to their presence in the shadows of her home, she could hear the scratch of their claws and scales across wood as they shifted at Aver's beck.

Quietus shortly shook hear head.

I can't bring them with us in the way I mean to travel.

 

[Aver Brand]

Aver furrowed her brow. A vein in her temple throbbed. Her nostrils flared.

“And… how’s that?” An edge was lining her voice now. Nonetheless, the scrabbling of Vonduun all across the treehome fell silent.

No matter her mounting anger, Aver would not unlearn the precious lesson of listening.

Even if it brought her blood to a slow boil.

 

[Quietus]

Those black eyes immediately flickered back to Aver.

Wasn't difficult to sense the rising temper in her - like shards of ice infiltrating her aura of fire. It was a curious thought that she'd never shown deep and real anger to the woman before. They'd somehow managed to elude all manner of disagreements and arguments, likely due in part to the sporadic nature of their time together.

A faint line appeared on her brow as Quietus moved to approach Aver, one hand lifting to take hold of her nearest arm, the other making a curious gesture in the air.

A card appeared between pointer and middle fingers, but Aver would not have enough time to see that it was not the same as the one from the spine of the book. In an instant Quietus drew in a breath, eyes closing.

This.

Darkness took them and with it came the strange feeling of disintegration. Of the body slowly tearing apart piece by molecular piece. The sensation of swimming, of drowning, of twisting and folding. Weightlessness followed by immeasurable pressure. Cold that pierced to the core. Heat that flooded the veins. The home around them dissipated in a flash of incomprehensible everything.

Quietus tore a hole in the galaxy, bent it around them, and pulled Aver through. They disappeared from sight.

The home was quiet and utterly still in their wake.

Aver would hear the distant tune of beast calls, sounds echoing and swerve strangely. Her body would feel immense pain and relief at once. Nausea was nigh overwhelming - her insides as though someone had tied them in knots. When her eyes opened she would find not the wooden surroundings of Treehome, but the stone walls of Halcyon Citadel.

Footsteps echoed their way, Quietus was off to her side, crumpled to her knees on the floor, hands steadying a feverish body as heat poured off her in plumes of steam. She groaned audibly and slowly began to push herself to her feet as the shadows of Citadel Acolytes drew closer along the hall.

 

[Aver Brand]

Sorcery was not particularly high on the list of things she was fond of. (It was a short list.) In fact, it was on the other list, which was much longer, and it was down there towards the bottom. The lessons in bloodtrailing hadn’t helped either.

It wasn’t like she was angry already, right?

Her knees buckled as she reassembled violently into the ground. Every fiber of her being reeled. She’d been dragged through a cosmic shredder, then hastily beaten back together. It was a good thing Aver could shape her fury; that she could guide it like electric energy through her limbs and soul and bared teeth. Might’ve done something stupid otherwise.

She rose to full height just in time to stare down the trio of Acolytes who rounded the corner. Unfortunate, that they were there to bear the brunt of her stare. It wasn’t unlike an ice spear burrowing straight through the skull.

Aver made no move to help her mate.

She sneered instead at the hesitant scholars. Easy targets. “Where. Is your Beasten.”

 

[Quietus]

"Who are-" one Acolyte began but was immediately interrupted by the second who stopped him with a hand and pointed to the coiling, smoking figure of the ex-Beastia on the ground.

"It's Master Quietus."

It took a moment to register, especially given the horrid stare they stood beneath from Aver. Two of them looked mildly shocked by the scene before them, but the one that had recognized Quietus appeared as though he had seen this before.

"Acolyte Arathul was placed in his chambers several days ago after a strange illness took him..."

Take us...

Quietus painfully, slowly, pushed herself to her feet. If Aver could get around her affront and anger at the sudden date with sorcery, she might sense that the act of it had nigh depleted Qui's reserves.

...to him. Now.

 

[Aver Brand]

Oh, Aver sensed it alright.

Her hands were curled into fists at her sides as she marched after the Acolytes. Petty satisfaction rumbled behind her ribs at the nervous glances they would send them over their shoulders every few turns. When they filed into the lift, the merc slammed her back against the wall, crossed her arms, and continued to not-look at Quietus.

If she were just a degree less pissed, she might’ve found the elevator music amusing.

By the time they reached the top floor, Aver was ready to crush the hidden speaker in the palm of her hand. Instead she forced a grounding exhale from her lungs; a reminder to conserve that ire in case Arathul required subjugation.

As they stopped in front of the carved door, Aver expelled another breath. Her mind screamed like a live wire as she sought out Qui, eyes still straight ahead.

Let me.

It was a good day for confessions, and hers was this: she could not watch Desdemona suffer.

 

[Quietus]

She made no effort during the journey up the levels of the Citadel to reach out to Aver. Half due in part to her own distracting anger, another fraction to Aver's anger, and the last simply of out prudence to conserve what energy she had left. The Eldest of the Acolytes walked with her, guiding the blind Master and easing the strain on her body by allowing Quietus to lean against his arm.

"We've had several of Iziz' best Doctors see to him. The Shamans of the nearby clans have been. Even a Healer has seen him. None were able to wake him, his fever has persisted," they arrived at the door where Aver paused.

Quietus held herself together, still standing, by sheer force of will. She didn't turn to look at Aver but offered the woman a nod as the youngest Acolyte opened the door to lead them in.

"There is a strange substance ... " the Acolyte continued, "it smells of ... decay."

Leave us.

"Master? I am happy to help-"

Now.

"Of course, Master Quietus." The three bowed out, closing the door behind them.

Quietus set her dark sights on where she felt the presence of her son to be, comatose on his bed, and stared for several moments across the room as if it meant crossing the entire galaxy to get there. Exhaustion claws at every fiber of her being, physical and not, but her purpose and resolve were stronger than ever. With a deep breath and the reassurance of Aver there with her, she made her way to the bed and carefully set herself down at Arathul's side.

The heat of her palm smoothed over the warmth of his brow, growing warmer as she began the slow process of internalized incantations that would lift the hold of the dead curse from him.

 

[Sunblade]

The long black.

No air.

No warmth.

No dawn.

No day.

Then twilight.

Flashes of light; gold and red. Never anything else. Searing heat gnawing at ribs; a rabid beast wanting to pry them open, to crawl out of his chest. But ice, ice, ice in his skull. Shards of crystal memory floating past through the void, digging into skin, prickling muscle. Doing a jig like a marionette with wires for strings; his body twitched, then stood still.

Twitched, then stood still.

Over,

and over,

and over again.

Pictures began to press against his eyelids. Like washed-out holograms of old, full of static and corrupted data. Faces; more often still, the shadows of faces, defined only by sentiment attached to the smear of color.

Merovign was the first. Unfamiliar warmth flooded him at the sight of a familiar face. Words and jokes they’d shared; alchemy secrets, too, and quieter lessons over a cup of blood.

But this fondness was not his.

He pushed on, and more black ichor crawled out of his skin.

Then Lore. Mother… Mother?!

Arathul wrenched on the bed and keeled over the edge. Pain seized him with long claws, and the darkness settled over him again like a heavy blanket.

 

[Quietus]

She persisted, hand lifting as the boy twitched and writhed. Quietus knew the pain of this process, having experienced it herself, but she also knew it would be over with soon enough. The unspoken incantation continue, driven by a knowledge gleaned through the blood of Ereza. Just a drop in a vast sea shared through the feeding: of the ages of the Mette Masenre Nivira Lore.

The weight of her death had yet to fully settle, fully realize. It would eventually, once they were past everything else. Past the awakening of Arathul and the coming to terms of who and what he was. Quietus was grateful now, more than ever, for Aver's brooding presence.

Her hand drifted after him as he rolled to the side, her other hand now clasping his shoulder to keep him from taking a tumble off the edge.

Almost there. Almost awake.

 

[Sunblade]

Beyond the oily shadows writhing about his skull, something moved.

A presence washed over him now, as soothing as a steady stream of water. In an instant he felt the weight lift off his chest; his next breath no longer whistled as he drew it deep into his lungs.

And then he retched again. More of the ochre, scratching his throat and leaking down his chin as if he were a slobbering baby once more. His fists curled into the stained sheets, the tendons of his neck straining against bronzed skin as he struggled to expel the last of the black mar.

...mother—

A desperate mind foundering in the dark, fingers seeking out the shape of that warm presence that he knew both now and before. It was like a ray of light in a black cave, and he stumbled after its weak flicker, faster and faster with each word of the ritual that never fell from Qui’s lips.

 

[Quietus]

The fingers clutching his shoulder wrapped tighter, partially in response to the desperate searching she could sense within him and partially as a means to ground her in the moment as the ritual came to a close. Silent mantra filtering off through her subconscious, Quietus felt the sludge of the seven-century-old curse sift away from his own mind, like a spiderweb cutting free in the wind.

Arathul would not experience the same lingering side effects she did. He would not be blind, nor would his natural senses be dulled. The pain that plagued him would subside come day's end like a bad migraine finally fading. But the memories? They would only return to him stronger and clearer as the days went on.

Days of a life from hundreds of years ago, of a woman who had tormented the galaxy with her silence and her cruelty.

Perhaps, she thought as she drew her hand back to let her son waken, she could block them again when she had her strength back.

Ma wena salai, Arathul.

 

[Sunblade]

Breaking the waves of the black sea that had tried to consume him, Arathul gasped awake.

His lungs were on fire. His lips burned as if sewn shut; he couldn’t— no, wouldn’t open them. Something ugly and twisted slithered at the base of his spine, like a snake coiling around his mind, stifling every thought until he could do naught but grasp for new breath.

“Vhud kar avai ka.”

He moved like a streak of lightning, faster than either woman could react. His fingers dug into the throat of the woman who was not his mother (my mother is dead). In a single stride he slammed Quietus into the shelves. Priceless scrolls plummeted to the floor in a waterfall of dust.

Arathul made to lift her higher when his gut wrenched again. He grunted and spat the black stuff all over her front, then wiped his mouth clean.

The ichor still dripped from his fist as he raised it to strike—

a whirlwind of black and red shoved him aside. The Beasten came to a staggered halt, hand shot out to steady himself against the wall. His back curled, knees low as the man dropped into a fighting stance that mother taught him (NOT our mother).

Aver stood between Quietus and her raging offspring, teeth bared right back at the man. “Back the kark down,” the mercenary growled, her back hand drifting closer to Sa Sevai on her belt.

But Arathul was faster. Her fingers had only just closed around the handle when the garhan caught her chin with his foot. Her head cracked back; she stumbled, and the man followed, pressing his advantage with a barrage of fists.

 

[Quietus]

There was nothing to be done to stop the sprung trap of an angry Arathul. Not in her state, anyway. Eyes screwed shut, the ex-Beastia gasped for breath as his hand tightened around her throat. Her own strength failing her utterly, physically and mentally, she almost welcomed the reprieve of a blackout. The feeling of weightlessness, numbness, listelessness.

Back into a state of dreamless sleep.

Except it wouldn't be dreamless anymore.

Ari- she tried at his mind, cut off as Aver bodily threw him off her. Quietus dropped to the ground and crumpled on the spot, heaving for breath in haggard gasps. Blind to what was happening visually, she could only follow them furious pair by other senses. One hand pushed beneath her, followed by the other in the most difficult struggle to stand on her own two feet Quietus could remember.

Ari ... stop...