Mirus Hi'ija
Undying Blade
It had been a long, arduous and extremely tiring process to negotiate and deal with the other Clans of Dathomir. Actually, negotiate was the wrong word for it, in hindsight; they were being told what to do, and their continued toleration and even existence hinged on their pledged loyalty and support. This was the way of things, for there was only one true way for life to continue under the aegis of the Nightmother. They had to ensure that they were true, good, and faithful subjects. This sworn allegiance afforded protection and the promise of further knowledge and power, as well as the benefit of being amongst other like-minded people that could assist you with your issues, whether that be seeking forbidden deep lore or executing an enemy long thought to be dead.
Well. Unless you were a male, then you sort of just existed amongst the sisters. Males, in Dathomiri culture, were generally considered breeding stock at best. For one to be considered even slightly above such, then you had to demonstrate not only incredible power, but also be willing to accept subservience to a woman in all things. For most male egoes, this was an unacceptable turn of events; the propensity of life to be alpha in all things meant that this way of thinking ran against the grain and could not be processed naturally. However, for some - especially for those who grew up in that culture - it seemed like a natural thing. In the case of Mirus Hi’ija, it was simply life.
Coming back to Necropolis, and by extension the throne of the Nightmother, had been a means to an end. He did not just want power any longer; power was already his. He had fought long and hard to become a master of the Force, an alchemical powerhouse, so far that he had done unspeakable things in its pursuit. He had ascended the summit, procured plenty of allies and enemies along the way, and now wished to live out the rest of his extended life seeking knowledge at his own pace. It seemed the reasonable thing to do, after all. He was no longer interested in politics on the Galactic scale. Maybe a spot of torment for fun, sometimes, sure, but he was simply happy to lend his talents to a worthy cause.
She was that cause.
After it had all died down, where he had seen some incredibly interesting things and felt such emotions as he had not in quite some time upon the realisation that all things were no longer equal amongst his people, he looked over at his companion. She, his newly sworn liege, had likely experienced the same emotional rollercoaster as he had only shortly before, yet far worse when he considered that she was so emotionally invested in their cause that she was likely suffering an inner turmoil that put Kamino’s greatest storms to shame. A darkened heart, cursed by years of atrocity, tempered only with the knowledge that her birthright would soon enough be returned to her. Santeria was certainly a woman who was sitting upon the cusp of power, and had done so for as long as they had known one another. Here and now, however, she was a woman, and he a man, with a storied history. Books could have been written about them, if they tried hard enough; these trifles mattered not in a moment where the fury and frustration of existing in a world where the things they desired sat so close and were just that little bit out of reach.
”Come on. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere,” he offered to her, gazing upon the mistress sitting astride her throne. It did not matter where, or when, or how, or what they did. Only that they went somewhere decidedly not this throne room, where the exigence of rulership was not on her shoulders alone. It was not his place to assist with her decisions of leadership; he could not and would not ever be permitted to hold any position of command or rule amongst their people. Mirus wished only to help her carry the great weight she bore.
And it was the heaviest of all.
Santeria Decuir
Well. Unless you were a male, then you sort of just existed amongst the sisters. Males, in Dathomiri culture, were generally considered breeding stock at best. For one to be considered even slightly above such, then you had to demonstrate not only incredible power, but also be willing to accept subservience to a woman in all things. For most male egoes, this was an unacceptable turn of events; the propensity of life to be alpha in all things meant that this way of thinking ran against the grain and could not be processed naturally. However, for some - especially for those who grew up in that culture - it seemed like a natural thing. In the case of Mirus Hi’ija, it was simply life.
Coming back to Necropolis, and by extension the throne of the Nightmother, had been a means to an end. He did not just want power any longer; power was already his. He had fought long and hard to become a master of the Force, an alchemical powerhouse, so far that he had done unspeakable things in its pursuit. He had ascended the summit, procured plenty of allies and enemies along the way, and now wished to live out the rest of his extended life seeking knowledge at his own pace. It seemed the reasonable thing to do, after all. He was no longer interested in politics on the Galactic scale. Maybe a spot of torment for fun, sometimes, sure, but he was simply happy to lend his talents to a worthy cause.
She was that cause.
After it had all died down, where he had seen some incredibly interesting things and felt such emotions as he had not in quite some time upon the realisation that all things were no longer equal amongst his people, he looked over at his companion. She, his newly sworn liege, had likely experienced the same emotional rollercoaster as he had only shortly before, yet far worse when he considered that she was so emotionally invested in their cause that she was likely suffering an inner turmoil that put Kamino’s greatest storms to shame. A darkened heart, cursed by years of atrocity, tempered only with the knowledge that her birthright would soon enough be returned to her. Santeria was certainly a woman who was sitting upon the cusp of power, and had done so for as long as they had known one another. Here and now, however, she was a woman, and he a man, with a storied history. Books could have been written about them, if they tried hard enough; these trifles mattered not in a moment where the fury and frustration of existing in a world where the things they desired sat so close and were just that little bit out of reach.
”Come on. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere,” he offered to her, gazing upon the mistress sitting astride her throne. It did not matter where, or when, or how, or what they did. Only that they went somewhere decidedly not this throne room, where the exigence of rulership was not on her shoulders alone. It was not his place to assist with her decisions of leadership; he could not and would not ever be permitted to hold any position of command or rule amongst their people. Mirus wished only to help her carry the great weight she bore.
And it was the heaviest of all.
Santeria Decuir