Faction The Family Reunion

[Pom Stych Tivé]

For CIS Mandragora & the Nightsisters Coven

For months the Witch sect of the Sith led a crusade to eradicate all of Dathomir who did not bend to the governance of the Sith, after the Empire reclaimed the world from the Mandalorian infestation. Those of Dathomir who directly joined forces against the Empire's presence were destroyed.​

There exists a coven who held to the ideal of a purist culture, and while they did not oppose the presence of the Sith, as not many women would, these would not be swayed to integration into the Empire as a State for the sake of cultural survival. They are called the Epimoní.​

During delegation to restore peace to Dathomir to benefit all parties involved, the omnipotent Darth Carnifex explained the necessity for the continued presence of the Sith as a means to explore the Warlock's Gate which exists on the planet. It was no doubt to the Nightsister that he sought power in its great secrets. While the Empire currently suffers internal strife, members of the Epimoní Coven met with the Emperor to assuage justifiable fears and mend misunderstanding. Those Nightsisters who opposed the Empire preferring Mandalorian rule were preposterous in their choice, and the Epimoní which meant no disrespect, only aims for survival amidst the uneventful uprising.​

Mistress Pom Stych Tivé was called upon to appear as the representative voice. The Emperor spoke of his awareness of the clans struggle. The meeting went well and resulted in The Mistress being designated Gerent of Dathomir. The Sith promised protection in return for continued experiments of the Warlock's Gate. Provisions were set down by the Emperor, that peace shall exist in return for allowing the remaining Sith to remain undisturbed in their studies. The Rift, their garrison, and the Gate fall under strict Sith sovereignty alone, and are not to be disturbed by the Nightsisters of Dathomir. Assurances were made to the continued safety of Dathomiri during the exploration of the mysterious Gate by the Sith.​

Pom Stych Tivé had been to and from Dathomir, as had her family, but the promise of peace coexistence was beyond unexpected. The designation as overseer as well, a most generous offer. Her home-world, her main love, which life on no other could imitate. She sent straight away to share the unprecedented development with her extended family, the Mandragora.​

Nightsisters evolve into their strengths, and some branch out from their Mother Coven and cross the land building strength in expansion; the name of the Alter, which unifies those across the Galaxy is the Epimoní, the Persistent. The goal of the Gerent is to build upon the vast knowledge of Magick known and yet unexplored, and to instill every morsel upon the inquiring youth.​

"I believe in Magick, and I believe in the Force."​

On the ancient grounds this Holy Temple stands. How many off-worlders appalled by the sheer existence of it set out to destroy it, only to have their bones added to the foundation which makes up the building itself! How many have died here, not worthy of resurrection. No Nightsister would want to see their faces again or smell their stench to walk upon the Holy soil, even to fight for us. We know them not by their worldly given names.​

Who cares at all for what they had been in life? They are only joined in glory now! We grant them a far better eternal existence on Dathomir than that which some overrated afterlife ever could.​

They are dead, mere energy adde to the life-force of this planet. Their bodies flesh for the animals, long turned into the fodder we walk upon today. Their bones the Temple structure. She stands as Epimoní, her eternal erected state, —sure we must toil from time to time, when there are new victims to embalm to her. Her expansion is ever ongoing. She is a testimony to our persistence. The great spirit of the Fanged God rounded up those here sacrificed to him, by every manner in which they were rendered over into his ownership. They are gifted to his Legion to command. They were those who he unleashed to prove his existence to non-believers, which he always found beneath him to do personally.​

Cries. Screaming. More cries.​

Pom yawned. They never shut-up actually. It was indeed a Kodak moment. She was immensely pleased by the Emperor's offer. She hadn't been by this way in so very long. She heard tell long ago of the Temple literally building itself! She found it soothing and it became the perfect choice to establish as her own with the blessing of the elders she left behind to come here.​

Pom watched the skies overhead, awaiting her extended family to welcome them. The Emperor had extended his invitation to those kindred of Dathomir residing near and far reaching, freedom to return home in peace. This day would be one she would designate a feast day!​

The courtyard connected to the bone Temple overshadowed its dreariness with an abundance of herbs and wild flowers. The stone path before her feet led to a pavilion where a feast was being prepared by servants who had graciously been lent by the Empire itself, in honor of this momentous reunion.​

Spoiler: TAGS

NC Gaia Sunaris Cadera | Adilya Solveig | Janick Beauchamp | Petra Cavataio | Celeste Cavataio | Lakura Salim | Elayne Hawk | Nezira Viresh | Rach'ta | Sicarius Hekate | Mira Cavataio ||| Darth Metus & CIS Mandragora who I hope Vytal Noctura will tag for me.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Nightmother Vytal Noctura of the Mandragora held the purpose of their coven and their family was to study the depths of Creation, and to learn the hidden truths that surrounded them. This pursuit transcended political boundaries, but it was not blind to them. Much as Vytal rather such material impediments did not impede their research and protection of the Balance between Life and Death, she was at times forced to confront the realities of the Living.

When her Sister, Pom, offered an opportunity for the Mandragora to visit Dathomir, the Nightmother was understandably excited and cautious. Perhaps Pom had been made Gerent of Dathomir, but Vytal had never trusted the Sith Lords. She had watched as the Sith sought to take advantage of the Clan Mothers -- women that should be wise beyond a young Sister's comprehension -- so that they might learn the secrets of the Nightsisters. They were a cunning adversary. Now they had seemingly ceded authority over to one of their own. Vytal was pleased, but would be mindful of the Empire's gaze. Not so mindful that she would ignore an invitation to visit her home, however, and to test the offer extended to them.

After all, the covens could learn much from one another. How much would be a matter negotiated over time by word and deed alike. Ideally, the politics of man would not sully their spiritual efforts.

Before setting out, the Nightmother had informed the Lord Commander Kyyrk of the Knights Obsidian of her course. Not because she answered to him -- though obviously in the Confederate hierarchy such was to be the case -- but because she respected him. How many perils had they braved together? And his offering of The Rest in the Nether was no small gift to their cause.

The vessel charted for this expedition across the galaxy dropped out of hyperspace at a distance from Dathomir. It would be counterproductive should any planetary defense system begin firing on them because they had appeared too close to the planet before identifying themselves.

After following the approach instructions, the ship would begin its descent toward the planet to the appointed location.

Whomever was present aboard the ship, the pale Witch stood at the ramp before it lowered. "It is best that I disembark first," Vytal explained to those assembled, "to ensure there is no miscommunication of our intent." They had invited more than the Nightmother, so it be no surprise more came; nevertheless, should any security be on their guard for an invasion Vytal at the lead should help avoid the dance beginning on the wrong foot.

Dressed in the red armor crafted to honor her lineage as a Daughter of Dathomir, Vytal waited for the ramp to lower before she descended to the planet below. It was a welcome relief to find the deep glow of the red sun cast upon the soil. Far too many yellow stars in the galaxy for her personal tastes. Not to mention the spirits that prowled this world... What was a suitable offworlder metaphor? Walking into a store surrounded by familiar decor and products? There was a feel or knowing of being home.

As for those that accompanied the Nightmother, well she'd provided them Rings of Self for their own safety. The spirits should not be so eager to attempt possessing them, as that would necessitate a ritual or tear in the Veil for it to be that easy. Nevertheless, the place the feast would be held at was far from a humble Clan village. There might be danger for those unacquainted with such places.

Tag: Kyyrk | Taiia Locke | Julra Repraj | Alluria Ivalice | Shamira Karuto | Haven | Sabine Delacroix | Telula Vale

 

[Ashla Vella]

If this was hundred years ago, the idea of dealing with other Dathomirian clans would have been handled with war. However, the Great Desert Clan started to have elders question their hate towards Dathomir. Their books of old that were written on the kwa skins with the blood of first exiles documented their hatred for all the clans. Their ways were designed to build them up to take over their home world. Yet, the nomadic life in their ships worn them down.

Those that questioned caught wind of change. They saw a chance to settle down and practice their ways on the soil that birthed them in the beginning. Speaking among themselves, it was known they needed one they could manipulate and use without their Clan Mother finding out. So, Ashla got pulled into the mess. Newly made member of the sirens, she knew and seen life outside of their ships while keeping honor to the elders.

Not every detail was given to the woman. It left Ashla wondering what she had gotten herself into. Still went where the elders told her to travel. It was normal to be told go fight on the lines for the CIS; however, arriving felt off to her. It had all familiar senses of doing work for them, but something was tilted at an odd angle of sorts. She could not place her finger on it.

Skipping along in her hooded, sleeveless coat that allowed her right arm to bare the four pieces of plastoid armor on the leather padded sleeve, and her left arm to bare her skin and kwa swen skin. Standard baggy, pocket loaded pants hung over the large boots that were two sizes too big for her.

Ashla went over how she was going to greet people. That rehearsal in her head disappeared when she arrived. The sight of food threw everything out of the door. Ignoring everyone and everything, she was over at the food as she teleported. It did not happen like that, but she did run fast. Even if the food was still being prepared, some of it magically found its way into her mouth. Even blue ichor reached out from her sewn skin to grab and pull more food to her.

Sirens worked hard for the health of the clan. All their earnings go to the clan to take care of their ships and the children of the clan. So, her meals came rarely. It was for the clan and nothing was more honorable then serving the clan.

Tags: Pom Stych Tivé Vytal Noctura

 

[Nezira Viresh]

By now, Nezira knew Pom fairly well and enough to be invited to this gathering of witches from all over the galaxy. A few from her clan accompanied her on the journey to the bone temple, all with massive gaping spiders like they were riding for war. The Clan Mother had been busy and so it was just the four of them travelling the red planet of old.

The journey took a couple of days as they had no ships to fly nor owned any. Besides, living in the many cavern systems of Singing Mountains, made it particularly hard for them to own ship. Not to mention, they didn't really saw any benefit in having spaceships.

The arrival of Nezira and her sisters didn't go unnoticed, as they rode massive gaping spiders, five times that size of a Bantha. The Imperials preparing the food almost kriffed their pants, when seeing the Nightsisters on the Spiders. It became quite clear, why the clan had the name Spider Clan as it did, as the massive spiders did exactly what they were told.

Seeing the Imperials didn't exactly make Nezira and her fellow clan Sisters happy, trust in the Imperials were non-existing. However, Nezira trusted in Pom's judgement and Nezira's Sisters trusted in Nezira, so they tolerated them. Though, they did have to command their spiders to not attack the Imperials, much to the spider's displeasure.

Sliding off her spider, Nezira scratched the large animal as if it was a pet, "see you later Vex" said the pale Nightsister, like her Sisters, did to their spiders, before the pack of spiders left the area to go out hunting. Turning back, Nezira along with her Sisters, entered the courtyard to get a look at the place.

Pom Stych Tivé Vytal Noctura Ashla Vella

 

[Nimue]

Pom Stych Tivé | Vytal Noctura | Ashla Vella | Nezira Viresh
​

The Silmä were not well known for their affinity to diplomatic relationships.

Their ways were often distrusting, and egotistical beyond words, but their heritage as a coven also played a large part in their nature. Many other covens found shared roots in the birthplace of witches and magik, but not the Silmä. They were born of a different nature. A Sith Lord who left behind his practices to be discovered in what is now their ancient and hollowed temple. Did that make them any less of a coven than the rest of the witches, who could trace their lineage back to Dathomir without much effort?

No. It did not. Not in the eyes of the Silmä, and certainly not in the eyes of their high priestess. However, it was the rest of the covens they would have to convince. Nimue was determined to do just that.

Her ship came to land, a piston like hiss signifying the landing ramp lowering and revealing the dark world of Dathomir. Before she even stepped off the ship, she could feel the disturbance of souls long departed. They shifted like ethereal shadows, in every nook and cranny of the planet. A power unmatched and untamed by many, and mysterious to those who hadn’t the mind to comprehend, but Nimue was not one those minds.

Stepping out into the shadow of the temple, Nimue cast her gaze to the structure of bones. Impressive, if a little outlandish. Her gaze did not linger long, instead travelling from the prowess of the temple down to the woman who stood waiting to greet her guests. Nimue had met her only once, at a gathering hosted by the Mandragora, but she was pleasantly surprised to receive an invitation to join this particular congregation. She was also more than pleased to feel the presence of Vytal Noctura on the planet. At least there would be someone there she recognized beyond a brief meeting. There were other witches present too, but Nimue neither knew nor cared to know them.

Striding down the path, confidence oozing from every step as she approached Pom Stych Tivé . When she was close enough, she offered the woman a soft, yet friendly, smile. “A pleasure to see you once again.” Nimue nodded her head by way of greeting. “The Silmä thank you for your gracious invitation, and I apologies that the rest of my sisters are unable to attend.”​

​

​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom greeted Vytal Noctura as she arrived. The hostess' face contorted to one of surprise at seeing her sister don her armor to attend dinner. Such things were never this Mistress' way. How many times had they come and gone in their magickal manner undetected and done as they pleased, without care of discovery? Dathomir is surely a very big and volatile place on its own accord, that very square inch of her could not possibly be under surveillance! Only now that the witches had been invited and the Emperor himself produced a contract, Vytal dons her armor. Pom contemplated the situation. She imagined armor being the thing that actually stops an unsuspecting curse, over the ancient art of protection through Nightsister talismans and amulets, or demons utilized through relics.

'Preposterous,' she thought, keeping it to herself. But had the Mandragora truly expected Pom Stych Tivé would invite them as her guests and not lodge them under an umbrella of adequate magickal protection?

Whether it be ignorance, willingness, or just plain old notorious Nightsister prowess that strong men admired, Pom recently dove at the opportunity to trust the Sith Emperor and meet with him. She had no reason not to. She had never met him before personally. As it stood to this day she never advanced the Sith agenda, but somehow he had heard of her, and he made a move to sway her already neutral opinions. Who else could legitimately claim to have tried? No other leaders ever approached. She knew nothing about the Sith internally, for his underlings never spoke with her at all to this very day. There was chatter here and there, now and again of aggression voiced from the Sith witches, against those of Dathomir who ignored all law outside of their culture, while the Emperor only retaliated against enemy clans. Should Nightsisters be forced to give up their long developed culture and die out completely, for that of the Sith? The reason behind the whispered accusations that her people meant any harm or insult by retaining the uniqueness of who they are, eludes the Witch. Shall not anyone among the Sith, other than the supreme Emperor, extend a hand of unity? The gesture that it came from the Emperor himself actually touched her. Why? Likely because it involved Dathomir, her one true love! Even her mate Kyrel, greets her with his lightsword extended like a snake for her throat. This Mistress is a bit more elegant in her demeanor, and her desire as to how she should prefer to be approached is such with respect. Emperor Carnifex above all people, has treated her better. Would the others come around at some point and in unity make Dathomir again be all she has been? How many feared to step foot upon her soil! It is this mere ideal the Mistress longed to reestablish. She stood as the voice of her people as kindred first, over and regardless of the numerous factions her family ran to live amongst however long ago.

"Any forethought to how your appearance might be perceived amidst the dawn of my recent treaty with the Sith?" she finally asked in a smooth tone, although deep inside she stifled the sensation of feeling affronted. "They might think I am organizing a coup, rather than hosting a simple dinner, my dear." She thought maybe Vytal should be encouraged to wrestle the Sleeper for sport, to fit how she is dressed in her armor in order to not be perceived as hostile, especially as a leader representing her distant faction cluster.

Luckily for Pom, nobody is lodged nearby who could bear witness to this gathering and form any wild conjecture. While the tech minded have their drones, Pom has her eye upon the sparrows to surveil the land at large. She literally sees a transparent visual overlay of that which the flock witnesses.



Every dish served were local beasts, reestablished since bastard poachers had almost eradicated the natural order of life across the vast terrain. The Nightsisters had taken to fencing in species to advance their population. Pom was brushed aside while a visiting sister dove straight for the feast. A brow rose by habit, and she formed the idea that she would send her sister Ashla Vella home with a starter flock or a herd of her own to benefit her people.



Pom's concentration was broken when the vines which laid stretched across the path rustled before her feet. A severed arm entangled within the vine was drawn across the path before the group, and pulled towards the Bone Temple. Millennia after millennia, Magick had been cast upon this world, Pom felt safest being here than upon any other planet in the entire galaxy. The Warlock's Gate experimented upon by the Sith, granted hope that Dathomir as she has long existed, could evolve to hold so much more! Regardless of all her mystery Pom understood Dathomir, and her gods, and they in turn understood their Mistress.

As she made her way towards the seating at the long wood carved table shielded under a pavilion, she knew the rest of the body of some tortured trespasser would soon follow to be joined to the Temple bones, and cause a distraction amongst her guests. Such a sight should however set her guests at ease. "Dathomir protects her faithful." Pom immediately moved to stand at the head of the table.

"I appreciate all who have come," she returned as Nimue made her greeting, and extended a hand towards, Nezira Viresh in acknowledgement. "Please sit," she invited with a smile, her voice raised so that all could hear. The servants began approaching the table with serving carts as Pom sat. They would serve those nearest them first with what was set out before them, then move around the table to serve others their specific dish. Wine was also poured for all.

Shortly the weekly phenomenon which surrounds this place, is to transpire. Pom eagerly anticipates the occurrence.

 

[Mira Cavataio]

Centuries ago, the Cavataio had been a formidable force of Dathomir. They were Morte Clan, the Morte Mountain their own. They were dangerous Witches, with an ambitious Clan Ma'tra leading them. She was dangerous, powerful. She was Dea to many, in her building Cult of Petra. Generations that came after would not know much of their history, the bloodline that had once, so long ago, ruled the planet. Perhaps traces had remained, passed down from mothers to daughters, of the Superior Mother and her endless bloodline. Perhaps the darkness that followed was written on the parchments and in ancient books. One by one, the Cavataio had perished in service of their Dea, of their progenitor.

Some at them at her behest, others against their will. Those that were among the most loyal were given new life. The most faithful were not only returned to life but were made better, they were made in the image of the Dea herself. Petra Cavataio. Mira Cavataio was one of those. She was Optivus Res to her Goddess.

Now, the threads of magic had begun to trickle and dance against the Sith that commanded the planet. The Nightsister rose, the planet waking up in their presence. Far and wide, the Cavataio could feel the changes to their world, in the very fabric of magic. There had been stories of the Sith who proclaimed themselves Sith Witches, who called for the killing of their kind. Blood boiled at the very thought that these charlatans would name themselves so or attempt even...

The day of retribution was coming.

Mira had kept an eye on the events of her homeworld, even as she faithfully served her Goddes. She had informed her of the relevant details even when she knew her Goddess knew already. The Sith Emperor had allowed for accords with the Witches, given them a sense of liberty. A Nightsister had been made Gerent. The threads turned from soft melody to a dance of ages. Something was coming, from the very heart of the planet - something was brewing.

A summon had been made. Mira would travel, having arrived at her ancestral home the night before. The Morte Stronghold, their Castello di Chaos possessed life still, though Cavataio were legend now. Petra had dwelled in these corridors, perhaps decades ago. The Optivus Res could still feel her Dead's presence. They knew Mira despite it, she had been reborn on the planet where Lauda had once given her and Mirus life, so very long ago. The thought of her twin brother would have once brought a longing, the connection of the two unique, and strong. Such longing now existed for the Dea only. And her precious La'Ca. She missed her now, calling out to her through the very threads of magic that bound them. She was hers as much as she belonged to Dea. They would reunite soon, her favorite pet.

Come close to the appointed hour, the Witch had been among the remaining rancors, bonding with them. They recognize their own, but only one of them approach her. Mira observed the Bull-rancor, dark gaze facing the beautiful beast. He was kin, as rancor could be kin. His blood, his presence; he was descendant of Lauda's Pervicax. She remembered Ma'dri's precious companion all too well. Now, this one, he too was of the same bloodline. "Gioco, permittimi," the Witch whispered before he had lowered himself, allowing her to sit on his back for the journey.

She had traveled, the magnificent creature marching through the forests of their world; the very oldest way of transport. Befitting of an ancient Witch of her Clan. Mira would however not bring Gioco with her all the way, Temple a short track away now; a gentle pet against his fur stopping him. He lowered himself so the Witch could dismount and Mira kissed the side of his head. "Grazie, fratello," she had muttered before letting him wander away. She would walk the remainder of the way. A Cavataio did not put any one of their Rancors in harm's way. Especially not the blood of the one she had grown up next to. Mira would not heave it.

Ahead, the Temple rose; the presence of the gathered strong. The Witch kept walking on. She noted the large spiders on her way. Spider Clan, she would vague a guess, from the very depths of the Singing Mountain. Nightsisters in their own right. The next, she had spotted the Imperials present. Unwelcomed guests but following the accords, one would wonder of their purpose. Still, Mira had no intention of backing down, she would find the purpose of this feast, she would discover the new generation of Witches upon this world. Perhaps, Dathomir could truly be free again, return to its former glory. Long had the lightsiders insisted on peace and union, and failed at it. Now, perhaps, in the hands of the darkness present ahead, their power would raise again.

Mira had approached, adorned in gentle fabrics upon her flesh. The Cavataio were not known for their affection of clothing but when required, they would dress for the occasion, even when they did not do so willingly or completely. Her bare feet naturally touched against the ground, feeling the vibrations of the death that had to awaken their world. It was powerful, welcoming.

Her eyes turned to the one who had spoken Pom Stych Tivé , addressing those had arrived before her. The Gerent of Dathomir, undoubtedly."Gerent," Mira spoke once the other one had been finished. "Mira Cavataio, on behalf of Morte Clan," the Witch spoke briefly. Morte Clan had always classified itself Neutral yet the Cavataio, each and every one of them was undeniably darksiders. They had all adorned the title of a Nightsiter more than once, even when they held their own clan, their own Ma'tra. "The threads of magic have begun its song, Dathomir awakens. We welcome this change." It was undoubtedly a change, a rebirth of ancient powers. The Sith, the Jedi; none of them would understand the Witches of Dathomir.

Chocolate brown irises, with their flickers of yellow and red, observed the faces present. Unfamiliar, all of them; to the woman.

Vytal Noctura Ashla Vella Nezira Viresh Nimue

 

[Nezira Viresh]

Giving Pom a small smile of acknowledgement, as she sat down by the temple alone with her two Sisters, flanking Nezira as food was being served along with... this strange liquid. Her Sister to the right, "what is this?" whispered the Sister, "don't know" whispered Nezira back, sniffing to the wine in her glass. The third Sister, left of Nezira, took a small sip of the wine and made a small grimace and placed the glass back on the table. "You there, yes you. Bring us some water" ordered the Sister.

Nezira took a small sip as well, just to taste and see if she would have a different experience. Sadly no, as she tasted the wine and frown upon swallowing the liquid. So instead, they started eating the food that was prepared and placed in front of them by the Imperial servants. Quite a few other witches from no-doubt all over the galaxy.

While Nezira was very much not one to initiate conversations. Nezira was actually rather awkward when it came to strangers, even if it was other Dathomirians and clans. The pale Nightsister was very much an introvert, though Pom Stych Tivé seemed very much the talkative person, noticed Nezira, hearing her address Mira Cavataio when the woman arrived.

There were many other clans who have arrived, some of these had Nezira met before, though only once. Nonetheless, it was good to see so many clans gathering here.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal smiled as she greeted her Sister, Pom Stych Tivé . The surprise in Pom's expression momentarily bewildered Vytal, but it quickly became apparent as to the cause. "I wear this almost everywhere I go, Sister. Rarely is it because I am concerned for my own protection. As for the Sith," a smile turned her black lips up at the corners. "Still, I am relieved to hear of their treaty with you. There was a time when I had to offer escape to a number from home because of... ideological disputes." An attempted purge on Dathomir, to put it simply; but they were they were not hear to complain about any past grievances were they? It was a celebration. A reunion.

The vine and even the body that might follow would not perturb Vytal in the slightest. So long as those that had accompanied her hadn't done something foolish, Dathomir could protect itself. The Nightsisters were just caretakers of its majesty; students of the darkness which it embodied. Those that added their own touch to the canvas over many generations. All was as it should be, it seemed. A welcome relief in a galaxy plagued with battle and bloodshed.

Soon the vampiress and High Priestess Nimue strode up to the gathering, which solicited a smile from the Nightmother. "The Spirits bless us with your presence," Vytal replied politely. Perhaps the Silma were of their own lineage and tradition, but the Solanaceae (Mandragora) were open to all that studied magick. The two pale women from the Southern reaches of the galaxy conversed often and at length on matters. For why should they not? With Pom's treaty with the Emperor, perhaps there would be greater conversation with those of Dathomir as well now.

As they gathered about the table -- even those that may have begun in earnest already -- Vytal paused to note another approaching. Glowing, green rings regarded Mira Cavataio as she drew up to address Pom. "Morte Oya'Te? Ho'hahe. Allya tanan kici un," [Morte Clan? Welcome. May Allya bless you.] she replied in their native tongue with a respectful bow of her head. It was as much respect as it was a test, of course. One that showed up claiming to be of the Cavataio would be expected to know certain things and act certain ways. The traditions of Dathomir were alive and well among the Nightsisters, and Vytal had far from forgotten them; even if they involved Witches that preferred to identify apart.

As they settled in, Vytal turned to regard those present. A small smile and nod to Nezira Viresh and the ravenous Ashla Vella soon followed. "And you, Sisters; I am pleased to see the Clans of Dathomir prosper, and by the Gerent's efforts will continue to do so." Perhaps, between each other, Vytal would address her affectionately, but before a crowd at least first she would recognize Pom's official position. The Confederacy wasn't here to take Dathomir away; it was solidly within the Empire's borders. Thankfully, however, it was not cut off from other Witches that could once more feel the magick of the red world around them.

 

[Mira Cavataio]

They were all quite lovely, worthy of being enslaved. The Optivus Res thought of the Goddess before she thought of others... such was the fate of the chosen. Dea was close, there was no doubt about it, the mind of Mira reacted the way it did in proximity. Petra could show, easily, if the goddess chose to. Only if she did, she would; of course. Until then, Mira would represent their clan. First, the Witch had heard voices, brown gaze shifting just enough to notice the movements of Nezira Viresh , a tiny smile spreading across her beautiful gaze.

Mira Cavataio was born of the chosen daughter and a slave, she had been chosen by her goddess, reborn in the image of her Dea. She was second to perfection, close to the gene of her Goddess, cloned to be perfect. Though Mira knew who her first Mother was, she knew she beloved to Dea before anyone else. Even when she loved; and Mira was permitted ot love, she loved her Dea first before she loved another. Second, Mira loved her La'Ca, her precious pet. But the desire to love Dea above all others was far stronger than anything else. Mira was Mistress to her pets but to her Dea, she was Optivus Res. Most devoted, most fateful. Even where Mirus failed, Mira remained faithful, loving, true. Forever.

Her words were first followed by Vytal Noctura . Peacean in their true form. Chocolate gaze with red and yellow flashes in their irises observed the woman addressing her, listening to the world she recognized. Except, Cavataio was different, unique. "Ya Ta Say," Mira spoke first. Paecean, the ancient language of their people, the Witch could truly speak it. Yet, it was not the pure language of the Morte Clan, not the language of their spells, not the language of their Dea. Their dialect was their own. "Saluti, Ma'dri di Notte." Nightmother, Mother of Night. The Morte Clan had words for Mother and Night. Mira was Cavataio and Cavataio was involved in the dealings of the Confederacy. Though the remained faithful to the beliefs of the Dea, they observed the behavior of the galaxy of still. Mira knew who the woman was, even if the family remained loyal to their own Goddess, beyond the beliefs of the Dathomiri clans. Beyond Allya, beyond the Wingless Goddess, there was Dea; in the Cult of Petra. Morte Clan had ascended throughout the generations. "Honor Allya we do, but our deity remains in one." She had been their creator, they acknowledged; the first to lead them in their path. And yet...

"Onoriamo la Dea, adoriamo la Dea," Mira insisted, staring down at the Nightmother. There was but one, eternal. Petra Cavataio. Mira had been descendent of hers, pure now than ever before, sprung of her genes and now reborn in her name, she was Optivus Res. The Nightmother could not challenge the belief; not now, not ever. The Morte Clan had remained prior to the plague and now, forever, faithful to the Goddess. Long ago, when the Superior Mother had reigned, they had followed, now the Clan had worshiped. The Nightmoehr to the Cavataio, she was regarded as Ma'dri to a distant clan. Though they did not see Petra as the Goddess, perhaps someday, they too would see the truth. Perhaps..., or they would perish foolishly... Time would tell; the Optivus Res would see it...

Vytal Noctura Nezira Viresh Pom Stych Tivé Nimue Ashla Vella

Spoiler

Ya ta Say - Hello
Greetings, Mother of the Night - Saluti, Ma'dri di Notte.
We honor the Goddess, we love the Goddess. - Onoriamo la Dea, adoriamo la Dea,

 

[Ashla Vella]

Arms balanced plates of food, Ashla found a spot to park her rear as Pom nicely asked. She had to get situated with her food. Then went right back to stuffing her mouth with different items. If there was a shovel, the young witch might have used it to help get the food into her mouth.

Ashla might have been eyeing the food on the plates. She was still listening. Everything was fine until hearing Allya’s name spoken. Turning away from her food, she spit at the ground and mumbled, “curse Allya and those that follow the lie”. Even her kwa skin on her left arm began to glow its blue shine.

There was no love lost between her people and all witches that followed Allya’s teachings. After all, the Great Desert Clan had spent its life span on Dathomir in constant war with clans of Allya. Then it ended with their exile from their home world. They became forgotten to Dathomir’s history; however, they never forgot. Ashla could not hide the hatred towards the Daughters of Allya. It was taught since she could remember. Still she knew being nice and behaving had to happen for the time being.

So back to fulling her belly with food.

 

[Petra Cavataio]

Short and sweet. That was how it was going to be. Time did not matter. Like the trees, rivers, dirty, and the mountains, Petra had seen every version of Dathomir. Having arrived weeks ago for her short walk that was still happening, she perked up when feeling energies flow towards her familiar. Then again, hearing two songs of blood singing to her also helped perk that interest. One was of course her Mira’s song; however, the other was one she had not heard in some time. It could have easily been close to eight hundred years since that song was allowed to be sung.

Her dear Serva, a daughter that had a dumb moment and met up with a deWinter. The deWinter were not bad in her eyes. They had their uses like other families from that era; however, the man that her daughter slept with was trash. Petra found it amusing that blood line of the two still existed. She knew she got Serva and Natalie, but she was pretty sure she got Effera too. Now it appeared that child survived and had a family.

Even though she wanted the whole bloodline purged for the ritual, Ava and Serva blood lines had continued on meant another ritual in the future. It would like the last one seven/ eight hundred years, and the one or two thousand years ago that was her eldest’s child bloodline.

Petra changed her path. Instead of returning to her mountain, she went towards the songs and group that was gathering. The witch was a little sad her short walk was ending. There was a little enjoyment in finding out what all was there.

Approaching, no words where share. A voice was not heard. Petra walked in her traditional outfit. Beads that hung from her neck, metal and bone of worlds she bonded with, and cracking, worn, flaking paints from the plants of Dathomir that had Paecean Empire symbols with ancient Sith ones on her arms, stomach and legs. She had nothing to hide, and she had nothing to fear.

Petra only made her way to Mira to settled in next to her. There were things she could have reacted to. From the Allya blessing to Mira’s response; however, silence was her answer for the moment. Moment was time, and time did not matter. Everything happen when it was the right time. The old witch took in all she heard and saw with no care of what this was all about.

Mira Cavataio | Pom Stych Tivé | Vytal Noctura | Nezira Viresh | Nimue

 

[Vytal Noctura]

The Nightmother smiled as it would seem Mira Cavataio and herself would abide one another's company. Not that Vytal had anything against any Sister that held a fervent belief in a deity other than the Fanged God and Winged Goddess. No, in fact the Solanaceae enjoyed hearing all about the deities worshiped by others. For it was only through the acquisition and understanding of knowledge they could better understand Creation itself.

That said, Vytal did not bat an eye nor avert her gaze at Mira's passionate intonation of her devotion. Creation itself was seemingly infinite, with the Nether realm being ever more expansive than that of the Living, and the Source being truly limitless in power and scope. Who were those that commanded it? Who were the eldest and most powerful? These were questions the Solanaceae sought to learn even if it turned out to be deities other than those they venerated every day. Until the Truth was known, however, Vytal was a strong adherent to the ways of the Nightsisters and the history of the Coven she now led shared in that tradition. Mira was passionate, but whether she was right was a matter for the gods to decide.

"I would love to hear more of what our Sisters believe, and how their Clans fare these days," the Nightmother said at last with her eyes slowly pivoting back to Pom. "You know what options exist outside of our world, though I temper my expectations so the Empire does not mistake our actions as anything but ensuring the well-being of our family. Whatever would benefit the Clans, the Solanaceae shall provide." Vytal would love to provide Dathomir technology to protect themselves from the weapons of offworlders -- including the Sith -- but it was unlikely they'd let a person from the Confederacy provide the Nightsisters shield generators. Knowledge and ingredients for rites, rituals, and potions, however, should be safe enough and not stir up trouble between the two governments.

Tag: Mira Cavataio | Nezira Viresh | Pom Stych Tivé | Nimue | Ashla Vella

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

As much as the Nightsister had studied the Force, so too does she believe in learning about people. Such is for her, her newest interest. She never held any such interest before. While the galaxy burned amidst it's war with the Sith, she feels the bombardment may likewise befall Dathomir as it had once before, and therefore the Nightsister developed her mindset for more tactical interests. Her people are numbered, so sad as it is. They spread out across the galaxy for sure, but how many are bearing children as nature often demands unplanned? So far, there aren't many younglings to be found as noteworthy students, and there exists even less younglings among her own coven.

As much as she studies the off-world cultures, the Nightsister long labors to also understand the unique quirkiness of those who sit around her table. She is not too vain to understand, that as much as she raises a brow in regards to the off-worlders, so too do they render similar critical opinion in return, regarding the vast eccentricities of those who are cultured off Dathomir.

"There are pressing matters to discuss. These stretch beyond our comprehension and our control for the moment. It would not serve us to ignore these pressing matters, lest they forever remain out of our control." Pom waved a hand and the servers approached. "They are mutes," she said referring to them. "If you are thinking that someone can still read their thoughts, I've got that covered; I've rendered them addicts." She would no longer enslave employ those of intellect, a recent mistake that cost her the once arrogantly believed unabridged and unbridled devotion of her mate. She continued, "We each in our innate gifts, possess a unique skillset to form a coven worthy of respect and fear from across the galaxy. These times require us to come together moreso now than ever before." She paused as her plate was set down before her. "Word has reached you by now that the Emperor himself has met with me. I did not find him to be at all as I perceived he should be. He has not lost his mind to insanity as we often see of the Sith. I am likewise fully aware I had not met with him long enough to form an adequate opinion on his hidden nature or true intent. It is highly likely his hospitality has an agenda. Why would it not? While he is hospitable towards us, I surely hope to delve into its depths while I may." Pom at least believed that their new pact shall be honored without insubordination or rejection. "I think in the meeting I saw why he is respected as he is." Emperor Carnifex happens to be a mountain of a man. Adding to this, his complete control of the Darkside of the Force, he might be properly considered to rule the Forces practically neck and neck with her Fanged God…although this Nightsister fully laments that he is in fact a man; for his elevated station only gives men an inflated ego to aspire beyond their rightful place among nature. Although women are the creators, this misandrist would consider accepting the fact that men are necessary to exist, if just to satisfy the opposing nature of destruction.

"But we too as a people have our own lineage to safeguard. If we are to become assured of our continuance, we need to understand ways different from our own; this is where most of my past mistakes stem." Pom held absolutely no interest in other cultures during the few years she walked among others from across the galaxy.

A thud was heard, then scratching under the table as the vines tugged the remainder of the recently deceased trespasser across the earth beneath their lavish feast. Having expected the fiasco, she paid it no mind. How this Temple lives!

"The magick that evolved forth from our ancestors has always inspired more and more creative witchcraft throughout time, and no magick, even far beneath our skills should be left unexplored, lest we find ourselves taken by surprise resorting in a critical error. We each should know how to enact a counter defense for every spell or item we can possibly be aware exists. I hope everyone can share in my intrigue," she said.

Dathomir had long undergone evolutionary environmental changes as it suffered numerous conquests and infestations over the decades. Each party unleashed their preference of livestock and game to satisfy their personal means of sustenance and sport. To have her be claimed by Sith hands Pom can accept, feeling this far more tolerable than Dathomir to remain the domicile of the Mandalorians. Her viewpoint strengthened especially since she had made the acquaintance of the Emperor, himself. Even before that meeting Pom held no unfavorable opinion aside from her personal prejudices to see her own people prosper. Their meeting promised to settle popular well warranted fears, but had indeed brewed some new among the witches and possibly across the galaxy!

"One amusing study, in my opinion, is ysalamiri. We have set them to brew, only to discover that we simply need them alive to enact their properties. I am most thankful to understand that not many magickal creatures are as intricately and delicately fashioned as they."

Their hostess explained and shared, listening when required, engaging the Nightsisters who graced her company. In the back of her mind, she eagerly awaited the hour which the Warlock's Gate would activate under the mysterious and falsely believed controlled experiments of the Sith Scientists.

The Mistress first heard the rushing of the foliage across the land, uplifted in the sudden gush of the wind which also strung up her long black hair into tendrils carried to whip across her pale face. She closed her eyes before a sudden cold breeze hit, avoiding its stinging sensation, while she rendered a subtle satisfied smile in it all. 'Just like clockwork.' Pom Stych Tivé chose this sacred location without breaking her pact with Emperor Carnifex, as the Bone Temple rests along the outskirts nearest the forbidden zone established by him. This area of land is under her jurisdiction and along with the magick of the Bone Temple is witnessed to succumb to the effects of his secret study. How elated she is to rightfully witness a taste of what transpires here.

"I was in the Nether with Nezira Viresh when I first saw this phenomenon," she began. "It happens every night the Sith perform their experiments. Luckily I am correct in my suspicions that you have to be in just the right spot on Dathomir to actually witness what transpires!" her tone grew excited. "Never in my life had I ever witnessed anything like it. As to see all of Dathomir exist at once inside the Nether, like she exists as the heart of it's darkness!"

The Mistress' drink glass frosted over all at once. Her breath fogged the air immediately before her face. As Pom moved her hands from the tablecloth, it momentarily stuck molded to her palms. She rose from her seat at the head of the table. The sky transformed overhead into that familiar shadow of the Netherrealm. Sudden darkness engulfed the planet. Soon, as far as the eye could witness transformed into this ethereal state.

Pom stepped away from the table, the foliage crumpling under her ginger steps. Instinctively she headed farther away from the boundary decreed by the Emperor. All at once she found herself crossing out of the anomaly, and her surroundings appear completely normal. Glancing back towards the table where she left her people, she saw absolutely no one sitting around it where she had left them.

Pom retreated her last steps, backwards and again crossed the threshold into the Nether. All returned transformed again just how it had been moments before, herself and her guests truly hidden from physical detection, just inside the mysterious effects of the Sith experiment.

"Jackpot," she proclaimed.





Vytal Noctura
Ashla Vella
Nimue
Mira Cavataio
Petra Cavataio