The Witch and the Nether

[Vereshin]

Theme Music​

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As Vereshin stirred beneath a blanket on the chaise in the center of his living room, the fleeting movement of imagery caused him to jolt between the vague barrier between sleep and wake. The shapes morphing in the corner of the room took the shape of a woman's figure. Closing his eyes, he smiled in his unconscious state as he welcomed her calming smile. A sun muted by rolling clouds disappeared behind the hills of Nathema and summoned the call of evening. Thousands of years ago, Nathema had been destroyed during the Sith Emperor's ritual. The Sith Empire had rebuilt it into an agricultural world in modern times and Vereshin had chosen the planet as his home.

With the gust of a draft from the poorly secured windows, the last candle on the altar blew out. Not that Vereshin minded. The frigid air did little to deter him as he pulled the edge of the blanket over his nose and lost himself in the midst of the stranger who continued to visit him during his afternoon nap. Drifting away, he fell further into the depths of sleep as the image became increasingly real. A bell tolled from behind the hill where the woman ran further into the distance

She was beautiful, like a timeless doll sculpted in porcelain. Straining his ears to listen, Vereshin heard her call a string of words, although they sounded very far away. The scope of the vision broadened, pulling the her silhouette further across the murky border of dreams and reality. As Vereshin watched her disappear, she extended a hand, almost begging him to stay with her. Her lips parted to express the soft agony of a farewell as an unknown Force ripped her from his mind.

"No!" Jolting in his sleep, Vereshin called out to the shadows. Entrapped in a cold sweat, he tossed beneath the blanket and came to his senses. On the coffee table, he saw his Venus fly-trap staring back at him with his little gaping mouths. "Oh, it's only you." The dark mage said to the plant. Pulling himself off the chaise, he kicked back the blanket and stood upright in a pair of boxer shorts and an old Sith robe which he was using as a dressing gown. He arched his neck and stretched, then stumbled as he tried to remember his balance.

"Dum de dum." He hummed to himself as he walked to the bathroom. He flicked on a light switch and looked at himself in the mirror, then cringed in disgust as he realized that he needed to shave. Having slept for hours without relieving himself, he used the toilet, then ran the taps to the fill the bath. Becoming increasingly eager to analyze his dream, he undressed in haste and dipped a toe into the running water. Recoiling at the heat, he hovered a palm above the surface and manipulated the temperature with the Force, lowering the heat to a comfortable warmth.

As the water rose, Vereshin lowered his ankle beneath the service and submerged himself. Welcoming the feeling of the water against his sleep-covered face, he reclined and sighed in a brief moment of ecstasy. Runes danced above his head as stared at the ceiling, attempting to decipher the mechanics of the dream in his mind. He set up a mirror and quickly shaved, then washed his face. Washing away the shaving cream with a cloth, he gave himself a once over with a bar of soap, then rinsed.

Vereshin stood slowly and tried not to slip. He wrapped a towel around himself and stood on the bath mat, then slicked back his hair. With the towel wrapped around his shoulders, he rubbed a cream into his dry lips and walked to the bedroom. After dressing in a dark, grey shirt and pants which fell to his knee, he pulled on a pair of bold socks with black and white, horizontal stripes. On top of his shirt, he wore a black, button-up jumper. Shivering, he made his way to the living room.

The wooden floor creaked beneath Vereshin's feet as he crept through the shadows. He had bought the house cheap because it was so old, not that he minded. Vereshin did not trust technology. He had no great desire to have the house refurbished and where electricity was lacking, magic succeeded. As he knelt down by the fireplace, Vereshin snapped his fingers and sent a small nova flying into the pile of wood. The logs ignited immediately, illuminating the dark room and warming Vereshin's hands.

"Now, where were we?" He said to the Venus fly-trap as he backed away from the fire. He walked into his study, which was adjoined to the living room and sat down at his desk. Preparing a new sheet of paper, he dipped his raven quill in a pot of ink and set the tip to the page. The runes swirled beneath his grip as he disassembled the mechanics of the dream in attempt to source any kind of tangible element. Representing each element of the dream with a rune, he applied operators and organized the runes into an equation.

​The differential language explained a happening not yet told by the bounds of reality. Isolating several variables, he crossed out operators and deduced the rate at which the dreams had changed over time. Upon rounding up the equation to a unifying solution, he held the piece of paper up the light of the candle and cocked his head to one side. In the event that he had misinterpreted the mathematics, he would need to rely on interpretation during the ritual. Satisfied, Vereshin rose to his feet and carried the piece of paper up the stairs.

In the attic, a geometric chart was built into the floorboard, which Vereshin would use to conjure his plane. Closing the door, he opened the window and allowed the country breeze to blow inside. With the spell in hand, he cleared his throat and prepared his voice for singing. A flash of imagery escaped his eyes. He recognized the face from the woman in his dream, appearing amidst a fleeting second in his lucid state, almost as though she was trying to contact him as well. A pause held the air and Vereshin inhaled deeply. A note rolled off his tongue as he uttered the first syllable. The space above the chart began to distort.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

It feels so good to be back on Dathomir, this like every visit before. For the past five years Pom Stych Tivé had been off-world in the care of Shaidin Kamari, struggling to channel the Force by the way known of the Sith, and it seems unusual still. Dathomir just beholds a most astounding connection to a living presence that no true Nightsister can deny, which no Force Sensitive may either. It entirely refreshed her now, and she found it easy to focus, which helped her to see the little wisps of lifeforce working throughout her life by way of her choices, her past, present, and even of her future if she is intent enough upon so hearing it.

Her son, an adorable bundle of fury today, held firmly upon Pom's mother's knee as she enthusiastically rocked, humming the same tune for him which she had for Pom decades ago, evoked from Pom a fond smile. She never missed a visit during any festival of the full moons, nor a religious anniversary. Wether he liked her religious excursions or not, such freedom to travel so far out of his protection was Shaidin's gift to her, an example of his trust. There is one lie however, a well kept secret which earned the endearment of Shaidin's guards, one everyone had to swear to uphold. Pom would permit nothing to stand in her way of visitation! The guards had been strictly ordered to watch over Pom, every move for every minute. However, once on Dathomir for the first time, they found they could not fulfill their orders, which Pom, knowing the hunger brewing within her kindred clan made up of solely women, entirely understands. These were not Nightbrothers who have their own agenda to fulfill. These are military men, who have never seen the like of what they had befall them, as had the first day they stepped foot on Dathomir. The very first day she had returned to Dathomir, the women incapacitated and abused the men for their…specific services, which most would never complain about, at least she assumes, having heard many a memory from them in a drunken stupor. Perhaps enough is enough however, for her chaperones seemed different once they were released again, and they feared what Shaidin might suffer them should he ever be told. They vowed to never step foot upon Dathomir again, lest they never be able to step off of her again!

Pom had never left Dathomir for more than a single day at a time before she met Shaidin. Her ability to keep away from the power of her goddess on the planet was made possible only by Shaidin's devotion to her in return. She felt like her goddess might chastise her for heresy. After her initial struggle to unlearn her imposed limitations on accessing the Force, she tried to learn everything he offered to teach. Her son lit up whenever Shaidin set aside time for him, and he was offered the best of both cultures at the start, his being at the tender age of four today, a benefit of multiculturalism Pom insists upon. Shaidin monopolizes the boy's time under his wing, which never bothered Pom in the least, for her son will honor his family by becoming an amazing force with which to be reckoned when he becomes of age!

Pom drew the wooden spoon and stirred their cauldron which hung over the fire of the hearth. It is something she missed doing while under Shaidin's roof with all his servants doting on her day and night. She went from a woman highly capable, to being discovered an heiress. Some of his servants say she is the first heiress incarnate. All her prior knowledge of magick brought about by her goddess has since been broken down, and she needed to relearn things in a way she never thought she would even dream, through obtaining knowledge of the Darkside of the Force. She never told her mother about what she learned about this Force Shaidin wields. Thankfully, neither did her mother ever dare to ask. Pom only hopes her new discovery doesn't show. She hopes to never seem impatient for results of the ways of magick which could never be as immediate as when the power of the Force is stirred. She hopes to never judge her kindred, knowing that the limitations of the one's who wield only magick exist only inside their heads. All the things she ever believed, she has since been shown to be in error. Yet, these people are still her people, as they shall forever be.

Outside the little hut the altar is being prepared for the sacred ritual. A strange sensation washed over her being, like someone walked through the door. Pom walked over to it and opened it up, only to see nobody there; but that did not cause the sensation to subside. While the village of multiple clans drew together for their unification incantation, Pom withdrew and listened for the presence, if it would speak. Spiritual intruders are often drawn to Dathomir during the festival of the full moons which lend power to potion brewing of all manner everywhere. Just, never before had the presence of one monopolized her focus such as this one in particular. While her family went outside to work their magick for her brew, she closed her eyes and focussed instead on the curious presence.

The fire of the hearth raged and magnified its heat in random bursts of colored flames. Pom wondered how anyone could ever deny the existence of her goddess, whom by the sheer will of these people has come into her very life. She thought, just maybe this is why the magick works here so profoundly; so long as there are believers, she lives on.

"[member="Vereshin"]," rolled off her tongue.

 

[Vereshin]

Clouds parted to reveal a moon, full in it's glory beyond the circular window in Vereshin's attic. A beam of light poured through the pane and guided him across the floorboards, where a chair and small dresser were waiting. Sitting down, he removed his striped socks and left them on top of the dresser, allowing the dark energy seething from the surface of Nathema to properly connect with his vessel. He stood upright and welcomed the feeling of the floorboards beneath the bare soles of his feet. Snapping his fingers, he created a brilliant, orange flame which hovered above the tips and walked around to each corner of the ritual chart where a candle was placed.

Vereshin walked silently as he made his way around the chart, lighting the four candles placed on each corner in almost poetic symmetry. The discrete, orange lights barely illuminated the dark room, drawing shadows to the fragile beams which they emitted. Beneath the window stood an altar, where he inserted a stick of incense into the holder. Upon lighting the end, a trail of smoke floated lightly across the room and pleased his senses with the smell of sage. He selected a lavender crystal from the altar of rocks and tiny amulets, then backed away slowly to the center of the chart. With his hands wrapped around the crystal, he felt the surface heat as the energy of the planet seeped through the geometric shapes carved into the floor.

Parting his lips, Vereshin recited a chant which began softly before evolving into a melody. Holding up the crystal in his hand, the glow of the iridescent stone shone amidst the darkness and activated the incantation. The soles of his feet padded softly around the chart. He extended a hand and applied force to the space occupying the markings, which began to merge with the shadows. Imagery distorted above the chart, pinpointing locations lost in space and time to direct his spell to the elements in his dream. The indiscernible lyrics rolled of his tongue as the spell grew louder, calling on the dark properties of Nathema which empowered his ritual.

The verse Vereshin sung became loud. Enforcing his will upon the space, he implanted the elements from his dream and used them to tear through time. He closed his eyes and continued to sing, before a voice disrupted the lyrics. The voice was undoubtedly female and sounded as though they were calling him from outside of the window. One thing was for certain, the name they had called belonged to him. As he looked up, he watched the circular plane form the shape of a woman's face, the same face which he recognized from his dream. If he had heard her speak, then she must have heard him singing. Mortified, Vereshin slammed his lips shut and blushed deeply.

"You..." With his hand outstretched, Vereshin penetrated the space even deeper and transmitted his voice through the plane. The woman looked down on him like a goddess surveying a loyal subject. "You're the woman from my dreams." As he heard the flames erupt from the woman's own ritual, he stared at her with deep intent, both perplexed and intimidated by the notion that somebody very real had managed to invade his dreams.

"How did you appear in my dreams when I've never met you before?" Vereshin asked, his voice still and concerned for his own privacy. "More to the question, how do you know my name?" Looking downward, he furrowed his brow in confusion and directed the question at the visage, all the while rubbing the crystal in his palm. He reached forward and opened his fingers, then wrapped the Force around the crystal, which he levitated into the center of the plane. Uttering an extension of the spell, he splayed his fingers fiercely and transported the crystal into the plane, beyond the boundaries of space and time. Should the woman receive what he had sent her, he would know for certain if she was real.

"Tell me who you are and where you come from." As he watched the crystal disappear into the plane, Vereshin requested more answers as he backed away. Hands limp by his side, he raised a wrist and altered the vision to grasp a clearer image of the woman's face. "Have you been watching me all of this time?" Eyes squinting in suspicion, Vereshin spoke with monotonous intent, now becoming paranoid that he was under some sort of spell.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

"Honey, I am the woman starring amidst every man's dreams," she replied quite drolly as she raised her head from her mother's rocker. The Nightbrothers of Dathomir still hold to the title they gave her years ago regardless of her desires. Then she was just a young girl, too young to realize just how selfish were their attentions. Her mere presence among them at their alter, their connection to the goddess who made all their magical desires come to fruition. But she has never been left empty-handed from her deeds, neither then, nor today!

He asked her then how it is he dreamt of her when they never had even met before. Honestly, she does not know. Yet she can offer possibilities. Before she could answer, he asked her how she knew his name.

She answered him, "Is that your name? It is scribbled on a sliver of paper stuffed under yon candelabra." Pom wrangled a finger and watched as he might look on. "There. That way,' she tried to give him direction, which she figured would be fruitless, due to her not bearing on any fixed location, save within his mind.

"Your planet undergoes a full moon while Dathomir has her’s? An interesting connection if so, and quite strange if not. I believe it is you that have found me, as I have not avidly sought you out, nor searched for anyone recently." It is true, she had not even sought any wayward servants through the Blood Trail. "Perhaps you have hope to concoct a problematic brew? This would be the best time to be involved in your Potions. Most sacred is our moon phase. I doubt it should be confined just to glorify us Dathomiri, as our goddess is a galactic ruler!" To her dismay Shaidin would not let a statement such as this fall from her lips without instant and utter retort! How she loves to exercise her freedoms, never before thinking her speech would require permissions, before coming to know him!

"My name is Pom Stych Tivé," she declares, her alias only, as she held her true name a secret from almost everyone whom she does not consider close family, lest she find herself cursed from across the galaxy by one wishing harm to befall her or her precious boy.

Still, she wonders how such an unplanned event approached undetected, past Shaidin's own guarding hands and her coven during mid holy incantation.

Pom rose to stand in front of her brew, which requires tending.