Private The Witching Hour

[Kaila Irons]

It was late in the night after an eventful Memoria Festival, the grounds having since closed and the nearby sith church locked for the time being. Kaila stood alone outside the shrine, golden eyes shining in the utter darkness as she stared up at the full moon. A lot had happened earlier that day, and there was much to consider. She and Tamsin Graves had discovered much about the spirit who had attached itself to the girl, and now it seemed that witchcraft may be involved. There were big things in store for them, Fate had decreed it so, whether they liked it or not.

Yet Kaila was no witch. There were no answers to glean from her mind no matter how many tomes she owned.

She sighed at the thought, her breath turning to mist in the cool night air. Perhaps it was best not to dwell on such things, after all these small hours of the night were some of the only peaceful moments left to sith like herself. It was hard to explain, but seeing the moon so large overhead, despite it's daunting size, brought a certain comfort to her. The city lights drowned out all starlight, but at this time of year, the moon refused to go unseen, a piece of cosmic nature enduring even as the works of man tried so desperately to overtake all. She was no moon, and she could never quite tell if this affinity towards nature was a memory trying to resurface despite her injury or simply a desire to escape from the claustrophobia of imperial servitude, but she derived a strange sense of courage from lunar objects wherever she found them. They were beaten by meteors, their surface often left barren and, like her, shackled by an oppressive gravity to the long shadow of grander things. And yet they endured, in their own way.

She looked down at the lightsaber in her hand, tracing her thumb over the red nightsister wrappings which crisscrossed over the hilt, wondering it's maker once thought similarly of the full moon when it shone over Dathomir.

Had they too taken inspiration from the stone resolve of the moon as she had? Had it too been weaved to clothe a soldier against fate, just as the cloak about her shoulders, or the cortosis mask cradled in her other arm? Kaila smiled softly, looking back up at the moon. She liked the idea of a people who, despite the efforts of sith and jedi alike throughout history, endured even now despite these hardships. If they could do this, perhaps she and Tamsin could survive in this harsh new world themselves.

Perhaps she would meditate on it amidst the chilled air of this perfect night.

Darth Moskvin

 

[Darth Moskvin]

XXX​

Gear: Staff of the Damned / Talisman of the Witch / Magical Gems / Fainne na Biotaille / Staid Athraithe / Basic Lghtsabers x2
Familiar: Archimedes
Tags: Kaila Irons​

As I perched atop a roof ledge near the shrine, I struggled to expel the taste of bitterness from the day's events. If I was the gambling type, the odds of victory on this horrendous day were fifty - fifty. Fifty in favor that Fate had found it endearing to drag that poisonous traitor into my path, where once my progeny now lay strewn in a dark alley, the headless corpse of vengeance sated. Had memory resurrected itself earlier as I fed, I would have bled her dry, watching the embers of her life slowly extinguish from fear-stricken eyes. Though, killing her didn't have the desire effect as I dreamt it would, but murder as many as I have, and you risk losing the thrilling sensation from time to time.

The other fifty was unfavorable, a complete disaster by no other name. My severed head offering to Ajunta Pall fell on deaf ears. My dark hero, my idol, my love had saw fit to leave me standing at the altar, quite literally, and I was crushed like a child's dream. The anger I felt dripped like venom from a retracting dagger from flesh, had I been a lesser based monster with morals, I would have gone Warform and laid waste to the shrine and to the memory of the dead Lord, but that is what Archie is for, my conscience of reasoning and patience. Speaking of that fowl, where was he? Through our connection, I sought him out and discovered he was hovering around the detestable church whose structural arms cradled that shrine like its newborn baby. Oh, I loathed that place!

But wait, what do our eyes spy, but an individual who seems captivated by, something? Whilst Arcie swooped down to perch himself upon one the church's arches, I saw this individual was female and holding a well-crafted lightsaber with.....Nightsister wrappings! My black heart spit in two. One half in feverish pitch of joy at the prospect of another Sister amongst these ranks of Sith, one half in feverish pitch of adult rated murder at the prospect those wrappings were claimed by the death of a Sister. We were going to challenge this girl for answers.

Like the Fanged God himself, I descended from above to the world of mortals and marched toward this girl, my staff signing echos throughout the cold, dark night that something wicked this way comes. "You, girl," I said drawing closer, my vampiric eyes shimmering with their undead golden hue, "Your lightsaber, one simply doesn't appropriate such sacred wrappings in any stores I'm aware of. So, either you stolen them or you murdered for them. Either way, they do not belong in the hands of one that is not a Nightsister. To take from us is judged under the penalty of death."

 

[Kaila Irons]

The crisp night air was soured in an instant by the voice of a woman Kaila did not recognize, cold against her ear as the youngest darth of this new age spun towards the source, silken cloak whipping behind her as she faced down this older power.

Golden eyes met gold in kind, widening, then narrowing.

"To take from us is judged under the penalty of death."

A nightsister? Here? Gloved fingers wrapped tightly around the lightsaber on instinct.

There were few practices that the ever studious apprentice of Darth Carnifex did not have satisfactory experience with, and the witches were one of those rare exceptions. But she knew well enough to be wary of their magicks.

"Then I have played well the part of Executioner" she said with equal parts fear and pride, her observant stare never parting from the witch.


"Beyond the thorny swamps of Dathomir, dug into a cliffside reclaimed by nature, there lay a tomb. Not Dathomiri, but a Sith tomb, a monument to the obsessions of a wraith. A thing that perverted the land, harassed the local clan. I have since dispatched the spirit, and it is from his now empty tomb that I claimed these wrappings, and the crystal therein"

With her thumb, she tapped the enclosed casing of the crystal's housing.

"A memento of victory, yes, but not over your sisters. I have carried out the sentence which they could not"

She had heard the Witches of Dathomir could be reasoned with, not often as adverse to cooperation as other Sith might be, and she hoped it were true. There was reason to believe it of course, Pom Stych Tivé of the Wanica Coven often worked with her lord and master often. If this one was on Jutrand, then she too must surely work with sith. Perhaps then, her story may be of interest to the witch.



Darth Moskvin

 

[Darth Moskvin]

"Death Has But One Terror, That It Has No Tomorrow"​

​

My gaze, that of Death incarnate, had cast an invisible spell, leeching itself to the soul of this girl, and feasting like a gluttonous pig as she spoke. I didn't possess the physical structure, though I am tall for my age, or muscular mass to impose intimidation onto anyone, especially another Sith. I rely on the greatest weapon a Sith or any monster could wield, and I did it with complete perfection: fear.

From my near tattered garments resembling that they were once laid to rest in a coffin and stolen with dark happiness, to my alabaster white skin symbolizing the corpse of Death's touch, to my lips stained with dried blood from tonight's earlier feeding, to my shadow's refusal to dance under the full moon light, to my barring fangs dripping with angered saliva, I am the story of nightmares, the boogeyman little children fear living under their bed and opt to drench themselves in the safe haven of their warm, cozy beds over risking my outstretched hand grasping their innocent ankles, dragging them under into the throes of darkness as they attempt to flee to relieve themselves in the proper accommodations.

Strangely I discovered as her words flew from her mouth, and I could begin to hear the weaving of her tale drawing to a close, I sensed no deception from this girl. Words and even the Force could be manipulated to prove one's truthful or untruthful nature, but body language never lies. Even as she held her saber hilt tight in her hand, her body remained calm and relaxed, easing even as she spoke from her heart, and I too slowly resided back into my concept of normalcy. "'Which they could not'", I uttered the words back to her. Dathomir was changing, and this change I long suspected was infecting the Covens and Clans. If a mere outsider did what they could not, more likely would not, was a testimony to the stirrings of troubled times ahead.

"Painful as it is to utter such horrendous words, you have my thanks. But I am curious and so is Archie," I said pointing up to the Raven starring down upon us, "Why are you standing out here in front of this wretched structure in the cold of night? And more importantly, who are you?"

Kaila Irons​