This is why you need a Sword

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Cylaeria Samshij Kamari, alias Pom Stych Tivé, planned on remaining with her newly discovered Grandfather ([member="Lord Depravious"]) at his grand estate for as long as it took her to learn about her Late father's significant heritage. During her first moments in his presence, his security team had stricken her of her entire apothecary supply that she hid inside the pockets of her outer cloak. The deed she accepted, as she understands her Grandfather to be a highly important military man. She knew he would learn to trust her. Besides, she still has her Sorcery…if necessary. Proving that there is no question that he too should work to gain her trust in return.
As she was lead through the halls for her first night stay, she noticed an increasing sensation of silence. It grew eerier still until it boxed her ears, as she was shown into a lovely, quite elegantly furnished room. A portrait of her Grandmother hung high on the far wall, which could be gazed upon from those standing within the hall. She knew that this room was saved for her. As soon as she stepped across the threshold, the door was instantly shut behind her and locked.

Then it became blatantly obvious to Pomsty, the reason for such thick silence. Silence she can practically cut with a knife, like standing outside during a snowfall. She felt a panic wash over her being. "Amulets! Amulets everywhere!" she cried out while pounding on the door, praying for release.

Nightsisters are born among a Force wielding community. They can indeed use the Force, only limitations to their ability are instilled within their mind. They believe that they require Potions, audible Spells, rituals, amulets and props. They believe their planet harbors a great power, when it may be in fact so, because they make it manifest through their united simple will that the power exists. Pomsty is no different in her beliefs. The Amulets have removed her of her demon minions, and she is unable to wield her power of Sorcery at this point. She feels destitute.

"Don't worry, Miss. I am to remain with you during the night," called out the voice of a little servant girl as she rounded the bath, drying her hands on a cleaning towel draped through her belt. "I won't hurt you." The girl stopped dead in her tracks as she looked up into Pomsty's face. "Found you, he has," she marveled. The servant girl needed a moment before she could animate once again. "I'll mix you a tincture to help calm your nerves," she announced as she walked over to a carved cabinet and opened it with a key.

"What is your name?" asked Pomsty, looking just about as pale as her servant.

"My name is insignificant. But if you must, I suppose you can call me Shadow, for that is where you shall find me whenever you require me."

Pom followed the servant's every move at the bar. She thought herself silly, distrusting a house servant, and her suspicion entirely uncalled for.

Shadow noticed the gaze, and she was very careful as she mixed the drink. She brought a drink over to Pomsty and placed it in her quivering hand, and watched intently as instructed by her Master, while Pomsty downed the full drink glass quickly, and in no time at all regardless of the unfamiliar silence, the new heiress found herself drawn into a much welcomed dreamy state of sleep.

She did not feel so very alone throughout the entire night. Profound images of Shaidin monopolized the focus of her lucid dreams, which seemed to be directly inspired from the spirit of her paternal grandmother, for Pomsty felt more endeared to the virile man as the night progressed through the hours.

In no time at all it seemed, the sun broke into a new morning and she awoke again alone in her dreaded silence, but believing she had touched the hand of her goddess, while in nightly prayer as she dreamt.



Shadow gathered up her Master's long anticipated guest, refreshed and early. The young girl drew Pomsty a hot bath, and after her partaking of it, lead her over to the tall carved wardrobe. "I am instructed that you may freely choose any garment you like."

Pomsty felt an uneasiness looking about her, noting her garments from the day before removed from her room. She figured the wardrobe held outfits which belonged to her whose portrait followed every move that she made herein. She thought the clothing styles herein to be mature, dated, but absolutely stunning in every aspect. She chose an all white, free flowing jumpsuit.



Walking through the halls again, she found the rooms she freely passed through yesterday, to be adorned with hidden Amulets this day as well. 'The staff has been busy during the night hours, I see.'

Her breakfast was fruit and tea. Alone and in silence she partook to her delight in the arboretum. Afterwards she was lead to a room void of all furnishings. It had a familiar feeling to it, like a hint of the presence on Dathomir. She felt a longing to explore more of it, anything but the feeling of existing without her minions and spirits who always chattered to her in the background of her thoughts. She anticipated it to be Shaidin's meditation room, or a training room.


Then he entered wearing his swords at his sides, she could not help but notice the intense look which stole over his countenance, just as it had the moment they locked eyes for the first time just yesterday. And this, just as that moment, Pomsty's gaze dropped away from his in her shyness. She found his gaze slaying. "Pata Mitunkasila," my cherished Grandfather she greeted him. "What do you have in store here?" She fought to not let on how she felt, her being cut off from the spiritual realm, because it is a feeling of absolute vulnerability.

 

[Lord Depravious]

It seemed to have been eons since he had seen that face. Something he had thought he would never see again after so many years of looking past the ghosts that haunted the halls of his estate. He could not bare the thought of his brother slaughtering his most beloved wife. He could no longer bare the thoughts of her dead corpse staring directly through him as he reached the top of the citadel that night. These things.. That he could no longer speak of, and swore to never speak of again still haunted him to this day - and yet here was that face looking directly at him.

After a long night of horrifying nightmares tormenting his very soul he awoke and couldn't help but to believe the entire day before had simply been apart of the frightful dreams that he had the night before. A servant had approached him and brought him some silk robes that he lightly cinched over his body; although, the majority of his chest still showed since the robes were slightly loose around his body.

"Fetch me two of my swords.. It's time to teach my guest something she should have learned long ago."

The servant quickly obeyed with a bow of his head. And, within a moments time returned with both swords helping his lord secure them on either side, only being held up by the belt of the robe he had on.

As he walked to his meditation room that the servants informed him she was left in, he simply nodded in response to them. "That will be all" he followed up with.

Upon entering the room he was greeted with "Pata Mitunkasila" which undeniably made him crack a smile. Her next question was exactly what he had hoped though. But as he spoke, his voice seemed deep and worn - with yet a fire still hidden somewhere deep within it.

"For many years you have been studying the arts of Sorcery under the Nightsisters of Dathomir.. A trade that i'm sure has served you well and made you a force to be feared in a way. But one as beautiful as yourself can not survive on mere sorcery alone as much as i'm sure you believe that you can."

With that he extended the butt of one of the swords hilts to the woman. "You must also now learn to defend yourself in close combat, because any true warrior will know exactly how to counter all of your alchemy and sorcery. And I will not have you taken from me again."

All the while even though the man put on a good front the dress that she wore struck a chord within him, memories that flooded through his mind could not he stopped by any measure of will power, and so this was something that he would have to come to live with if he was to allow this woman into his home.

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom felt the sting of the reality of his declaration. She felt rendered helpless by the alchemy placed hidden throughout the fortress, that none of her incantations would hold any weight, as her demonic influences would not trespass through these walls to lend her their assistance. On Dathomir, such an attempt would never have been successful, but here Pom is merely one, and her power lies deep in the core on Dathomir in its purest form. She has definitely channeled her goddess beyond her planetary system before, only never been faced with such determined opposition all in one concentrated area.

’He is a smart one. He is quite sly.’ Had he not voiced his intentions as a training lesson, she would have feared his precautions taken, even though she understood them entirely. On Dathomir, strangers don’t get the freedom to simply walk around either. Shaidin [member="Lord Depravious"] is merely guarding his possessions, his life.

Pom stared at the sword, as it is quite an alien object to behold. The only sharp tool she ever held to date had been a vegetable knife to slice potion herbs before tossing them into the mortar. She felt ill at ease with it being so casually passed into her grasp. Couldn't she hurt him? It felt like a careless trust he had, to place this sword into her care. He has to realize how deeply effected she is, being lead deep into the protections of the amulets throughout his estate, even though she hoped not to let on, her weakness feeling like utter shame. What good can she possibly be without the use of her power? Why these Force Sensitives always insist that the Nightsisters can use the Force like they do if they only try hard enough, she will never understand!

’But surely he must understand; why else would he be offering to do this?’

”I am honored that you would intend to teach me this,” she said, but she is also entirely terrified. She never witnessed a primitive sword fight in her life! Although, she would never accuse her blood of being primitive! Swords must stir some form of great fear among the commoners, the countless otherworldly underlings. Why else would the Sith utilize such tools?

She did not know what to do with his sword. She gripped it tight in her slender palms, it’s weight requiring both arms for support. She felt surprised as she noted that it gave her an immediate impression of him. Amulets everywhere...and she can still perceive something outside her physical limitations? Pom marveled at the unexpected occurrence. Her eyes locked on his as through Psychometry she stood on the cusp of mentally figuring him out.

 

[Lord Depravious]

Lord Depravious was extremely well aware of the Nightsister customs and beliefs and had studied their practices for some time. For a long time he had been allied with them when he controlled an Empire of his own, they were given special ranks among the Sith and were revered above all except for himself. They held many secrets to rituals of his family, that none other than the Nightsisters and Depravious could perform, and as by sacred law, only a Priestess (Nightsister) could perform such ritual in the Empire. In that regard he had also been their enemy at one time and knew exactly what it took to destroy everything they loved. He knew that while on their homeworld of Dathomir they were near untouchable. But that meant very little in regards to [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]. Little did she realize that it wasn't her amulets or her godess that could provide her the greatest source of strength she had - but the blood that flowed through her very veins. He found it almost humorous that she felt the need to rely on such items.

Yes at one time the Kamari were known as some of the greatest warriors in the galaxy. Men and women to be feared because of their prowess with a sword, able to cut through entire armies like a slice of cake without ever blinking an eye. But that word.. Warrior to the Kamari meant so much more than just being able to wield a sword with ferocity. To them the core of a warrior lied in the heart. You were only a true warrior, no matter the pursuit of power you took, if you truly dedicated yourself to that art and it consumed every breath you took. If you dedicated yourself to something, whether it was Sorcery, the Sword, or even creating armor, weapons, or recording of lore. That is what made you a true warrior.

The Bloodline of Kamari had boasted some of the greatest sorcerers in the galaxy at one point, with even Lord Depravious himself being adept at many things in the force. In fact, Shaidins other grand daughter that he had disappeared to slaughter many years ago was one of the most feared sorcerer's in the galaxy at one time. She had the power to become the very embodiment of Depravious, channeling all of her blood and the spirits of her ancestors to go from a mere Sorcerer to one of the most feared beings in the galaxy before the return of Shaidin. But we all know, that a fake is never the real thing and in the end she could not stand up to the might of her Grandfather. Cylaeria was no different.

"The honor is all mine, my dear." The moment she grasped the sword he could tell that some things were returning to her in his mind. As if she had some underlying knowledge of how to wield the sword. And yet, he knew that she would still be no challenge to him in pure combat, so he had no intent on training her the way that he would have trained any of his apprentices.

"First we will start of with some more well known Lightsaber forms. I assume if nothing else you have heard of them before but never practiced any of them." In normal teachings one would start off with the first form which was Shii-Cho, but instead he decided to start off with his departed beloved's favorite form to see if she showed any true skill in said form. It was also a form that none-the-less a Sorcerer would love to use.

"This form is called Niman, it is known as the Sixth form of Lightsaber wielding." The Sith Lord slowly brought the blade down to his right side, both hands clasped firmly on the hilt, and the blade took a relaxed diagonal posture at his side. "This is typically the starting stance, but bladework in this form is relatively relaxed, it has more of a focus on using your blade work while combining the force and weaving it into your attacks."

"If I was to charge at you right now, show me in what way would you hold the blade to defend your neck?"

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

'Eek!' she thought. 'Actually do stuff?' But she cannot do anything else but spar by physical means with [member="Lord Depravious"], so it makes perfect sense to her now why people use swords. For all the other days of her life, including yesterday, it never was a necessity that ever crossed her mind. She did not need it before, like she never needed Calculus until the day she wanted to concoct that one absolutely tedious Potion…

Were Pom able to raise her demons like the capable Sorceress she is, she would merely Apparate into a puff of smoke and reanimate behind her attacker. Her ability entirely subdued by the amulets routinely spaced all over the premises, Pom accepted that she must think up some unique action on her own accord.

She quietly exhaled as she closed her eyes, focussing. Then she became intent to heed imposing whispers from unidentifiable voices, deeds imprinted upon the sword. She opened her eyes once again, but saw a battlefield unfold before her eyes. The clash of swords and screams of death echoed from all around. Smoke filled her lungs from nearby fire to the encampment, not thick enough to overcome the smell of sinew from the fallen.

Pom stood frozen in the training room, fixated in the imagery she witnessed, her jaw fell only slightly ajar, but just for the briefest of moments. “More phantasms,” she whispered.

She raised the sword in both hands, straight up and over her head. With the sword vertical along her backside, she took two steps to spin around counter clockwise full circle. As she reinforced her stance for stability, she twisted her torso as she rapidly brought down her arms together over her right shoulder, slashing the blade downward and across to her left foot. Her eyes focussed on the etherial plane.

She felt the instinct of her next motion unfold in her mind, and her body naturally unleashed the following movements. Pivoting back again, raising the blade tip from the ground, she drew the sword back horizontal at her right hip. Pom shuffles and lunges forward thrusting the sword straight out before her, at the height of her imagined opponent’s abdomen, as a shrill kiai vehemently exiting her lungs.

The first words of a foreign language began to echo inside her mind, demanding to be uttered. Her lips quivered, until sudden proof of a presence burst forth through her being, furthermore. “J'us zinot kian nyâsh vaises nenx dar krataimas kia xauti nun. Nu sekleti galia zhol priaet j'us. Dary j'us dar imyeji nun stai?” she spat in reproach, her visage morphed to depict deep anguish.

It was likely only seconds, but felt like an eternity before Pom found herself again. She is now standing close to Shaidin with the sword clenched in her fists. Her grip so tight on the hilt that her flesh had turned white. In a moment, her eyes exuded an unprecedented fear hid behind them.

She studied his eyes for anything she could decipher, as she wondered, 'Had I given him cause to jump out of the way?' Mortified, she held out the sword by the tip of the hilt, hoping he would take it back.

She felt that she understood snippets what she had spoken to him, yet not having ever studied the Sith language. ‘You have had too much fun…while not even searching to find me. I should hold it against you. Do you even perceive me here?’

Pom hadn’t prior anticipation of any possession taking over her, which in itself NEVER happens. She determined the only logical reason for such an intense intrusion could be that her grandfather’s Late wife harbors some grievance with him and sought an outlet through the only one who could provide it. She felt ashamed by how dangerous it had progressed, and rapidly so.

Her mind went fleeting for a way to explain to Shaidin what she just experienced, but all she could think of is that maybe it honestly would not have happened at all had there been no amulets binding her natural abilities, for it also hindered her defenses! Nevertheless, she felt what occurred has caused her to overstep the line in a most grotesque manner.

"I am so sorry. You must forgive me,” is all she could muster, feeling a desperation to be understood, that she had no control over whatever had just happened.

 

[Lord Depravious]

She flourished the blade in a way that struck Shaidin. In a moment of Dejavu he let his guard down and simply admired from afar as she wielded the blade with a talent he hadn't seen in ages. It wasn't until she lashed out at him in a tongue he hadn't spoken in what seemed like centuries that his suspicious were confirmed. In her own clothing, and wielding a sword that Shaidin had long kept to himself - of course her spirit would reach out and touch him.

Contrary to what [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] probably thought, The Sith Lord did not budge an inch, nor did he flinch as the blade came at him. This was due to a number of different reasons. Not only was he a feared Blademaster in his own right, and so a strike with a blade did not phase him - but he also in a certain way was willing to let his befallen wife strike him down if she so pleased. He had tormented himself for decades after she fell and never truly forgave himself. So if this was something that she wished upon him - he would accept it whole heartedly.

"Nu zinot xisad krataji nuo j'us. Ir dabar nu zinot sylaesrar lieti tu." He said back to the girl - knowing that while Pom may not understand what he had to say to her, the spirit would most definitely understand the phrase. " have always searched for you. And now I have finally found you."

Shaidin did not however, take the blade from her as she may have wanted. Instead he embraced her fully - both arms wrapping around her as he stood there in only his casual robes. And for a moment he just sat there - it didn't matter if the girl embraced him back or not - to him he had found what he had searched so long for.

He of course knew that to a Witch she may have taken this as a possession, a Spirit that maybe lingered in the palace for a long enough time that without her own defenses was an easy target for the phantom of his dead wife; however, to him it was so much more then that. When his wifes spire was destroyed on their home world by his brother he had always thought that she wouldn't allow that to be the end of her; however, to his dismay he had never found any remnant of her except for her body.

"You have no need to apologize, my beloved Grand-daughter, you were simply taking your true form for a moment. I will explain to you in due time how to harness that and learn from it." He sat there pondering for a moment after speaking - deciding what to do next.

"I think that before we have true lessons in how to wield a blade - I should teach you how to use the Force - outside of your amulets, goddess, and trinkets.. But for now I will let you decide what to do. If you would like to take a break and simply discuss what happened we can."

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom was born on the anniversary date her Grandmother had been murdered, right down to the very minute. Her name had been bestowed upon her during her mother’s seance with her father. How the woman had been murdered caused the old ghost’s scorn. For she had lost her head to his brother, and it was [member="Lord Depravious"] ’s statement which had bruised the unsettled spirit’s ego, when he had said to Pom, “show me how you would hold a sword to save your neck.” Understandable.

Pom did not possess any understanding of the foreign tongue Shaidin had spoken to her just now, but she read his eyes and felt their meaning. When he held her, she felt an unexpected sense of release and she knew it to be just what the spirit who haunted her needed. She felt an intense love wash over her, love which aside from her connection between herself and her mother, even her clan, she had never developed for anyone. She just identified it as different than she had ever experienced. Aside from her emotional attachment to the memory of her father, she has only known fondness toward men. Nightbrothers who came to her for services, they were immature, not seasoned like Shaidin. She felt a spike of jealousy which perplexed her; she knew it was illogical to be jealous of Shaidin’s past relationship with his ghost. Why it is practically morbid to feel so! She felt her connection with any strong male figure to be long overdue, while the ghost which hid within her dying to be heard felt a similar emotion, that being apart from Shaidin has been too long. Pom closed her eyes and lowered her head upon his broad chest and allowed herself to be a conduit between them. At least, that is how she understood her situation. What would give Shaidin cause to believe anything otherwise? She would never suspect he might understand the situation differently, when he offered to speak about it. As she stood still, catching the scent of his robes, she fought back the intense urge to portray the ghost’s deepest emotions, to the point where she trembled.



The Sith Lord spoke his mind while offering his guidance, referring to her practice as a Nightsister. “My goddess strike me down for listening to such heresy!” She recoiled from his words, and hopes he will not speak any such things further. She hoped to change the subject. “Well, I cannot help but think you prefer me possessed, with all these Amulets you have around here.” Although, she also figures if there is a truth to his Force, then this would be the most scientific way of reasoning his proof of it to her; for if she can discover it now, then it certainly shall be proof enough, as she can do nothing by her own merit while being stricken from her demonic minions without something grandly mystical backing her up.

He mentioned he would allow her to choose in what direction they would move next. “It’s best to perhaps get it out of the way first,” she stated, preferring they talk. While she longs to learn about what he calls the Force, she will wait another few minutes more in order to first speak with him regarding what she just suffered.

 

[Lord Depravious]

His understanding was more than likely less scientific then a simple possession. When she hugged him Shaidin could only rest there, memories flooding through his mind. Things that brought the eternal wound and pain that had been inflicted upon him back. His body completely froze for a moment while the emotions and memories flooded his mind. In on final squeeze he let her body go before speaking to her.

"Possession is not what's happening here." He spoke plainly to her preferring to cut directly to the point. "You are the embodiment of your grandmother - my wife, for a lack of better terms." He sat for a moment pondering how to explain this exactly to her to the point that she would truly understand what she is not only as a being but also to him.

"Her spirit has laid dormant in you since Birth, possibly knowing that one day I would find my way to you, and now that you are in my presence she has awoken. But it is not a possession in any sense of the word.. In fact it would be more accurate to say that you are her."

At this moment, even the stance that he took while standing seemed more relaxed and peaceful even in front of her. He walked over to the wall and pressed a few buttons in a sequence on the panel and two seats sat across from each other came up from the mechanized floor. While the seats weren't thrones by any means they were comfortable enough to sit in and relax. And with that Shaidin turned, his robes swaying in the air behind him and took a seat in the chair directly across from her. He placed his right elbow on to the chairs arm rest and folded his knuckles under his chin as if in deep thought.

"I'm not exactly sure how she did it though.. Your father, my son, always preferred his mother to me. I'm sure he loved me in his own way - but upon hearing of his mothers death was never the same. Perhaps he sought contact with her and found a way to create you.. Maybe as a way to consul himself, or perhaps as a way to torment me in the future." He rambled through his thoughts trying to find out exactly what could have happened - but feared that he may never know exactly how she performed such a ritual from beyond the grave - not without her telling him herself.. She was always more adept in the arcane arts than he was.

As that happened lightning cracked in the skies above the palace while a storm raged out side.

"Tell me, what are your thoughts?"

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

What he was saying gave Pom just cause to freeze. He sounded insane, and she suddenly felt a pity begin to surface. It was a terrible sight to see such a strong man fall apart so quickly, especially when she had hoped for so much more out of him. Choking back tears probably cannot hide her intensifying sense of fear.

She could not sit when she felt such terror boiling in her blood. She hasn’t her own ship. His brought her here, not even on his own ship, but on a commissioned fleet vessel! She has no where to run to, except maybe her room, but there are Amulets there as well as everywhere else.

Realizing her predicament, Pom slumped down upon the edge of the chair he provided. Her eyes wide in thought and absolutely none of them good.

He wants her to speak?! ‘Is that what he said?’

She can see she had been right! He prefers she become possessed by the spirit of his Late wife! A million terrible thoughts bubbling over inside her mind and she cannot articulate a single one of them aloud. She felt herself on the verge of hyperventilating.

She looked at him so long and unmoving, and hardly breathing, that the image of him began to become burned into her retinas until is form whited out. Had he not moved at all, she would have thought he vanished into the surrounding wall; and she would have felt it absolutely normal a thing for him, considering recent development.

A strange energy she could not define encompasses her, or maybe, she thought, it emanated through her...until it simply had to escape. When the lightning cracked outside, raw Force energy surged out of Pom’s fingertips towards the floor, a little witch’s conniption, after hearing news she probably isn’t ready to hear. If his babbling ideas weren’t possible, perhaps it would not have effected her as much.

But does she believe a word of it? “ABSO-KERFING-LUTELY NOT!!”

 

[Lord Depravious]

All Shaidin could do was watch her crumble to the news into the chair. None of her thoughts on the subject were clear to him but ultimately it didn't quite matter. While his arm was on the arm rest his eyes were pinned on her. Each movement she said he analyzed and judged.

When she fell into the chair he watched as something mentally in her broke. It was small things that gave it away to him, the stare that he had received from her - after he had tried to explain what was happening. A stare that he had received many times before this moment, something of pity.

This man was nothing if not a true Sith Lord. Forged in the blood of those whom looked down upon him, and the fire of his raw emotion. And then the crack of lightning and the energy encased her. The only movement he made was bringing his other hand under his chin - wrap his left hand around the hand that had already been there. He tucked his thumbs under his chin - having the other 8 fingers cover his mouth as his head dropped slightly, eyes still burning through her very soul.

"Abso-kerfing-lutely not!!" Rang from her mouth and echoed through the halls as the force shot out from her finger-tips. And for a moment he was un-moving after the phrase uttered from her mouth. There was a silence in the room like when you look up to the sky and see you're in the eye of the storm.

Depravious slowly stood, as if an entire Empire of nothing but ash sat behind him. Immediately an oppressive aura of bogan energies shot out from where his figure stood. To those untrained in the force they would get the intense sense of a predator being near them - an entirely primal feeling that struck fear into anything not at the top of the food chain. The servants that were listening on the ground out side of the door immediately ran at the feeling.

His fiery crimson eyes locked on her and his jaw clenched slightly before speaking. "Sit down." He intended on explaining to her exactly what his theory was. But no matter who it was a spirit of his dead wife, or merely a girl in front of him that he cared for - Shaidin Kamari a man who single handedly had befallen Empires and forged his own that encased the galaxy in pure darkness for decades. Would not be disrespected by a single soul in existence.

"There is no external force being used on you here." He finally said after a long silence of him looking at her. "You are her, simply reborn. Think about it as if you had lived a past life - that was tragically ended before it's time had come. Memories of the past come to you from your previous life at certain triggers. But it's not as if you were born with all of the knowledge you had in your previous life. You had a very different upbringing to what she did. So you have formed thoughts and ideals of your own."

His voice had quieted slightly now, and his muscles slightly less tense as he waited for her reply.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

’Where is the girl with the sleeping drought tinctures when you need her?’

Pom would not sit back in the chair simply because he bellowed. In fact her eyes narrowed all the more as she watched him. How could she tell him that she wished she could know him even after he lost all his marbles, while he is trying to force her see whatever it is he sees, just because he says so? No proof. Nothing. Just his declaration. How could she tell him that he doesn’t need to make up things just to convince her to stay, that she will stay with him for a few days until he feels better, while he is being a jerk? She can’t! She has ethics.

But Pom also has brains...maybe, and maybe she can even keep what she has. Self serving as they are. She knows he sits on a fortune. “Why, you are correct,” she said in a tone gushing with absolute deception, praying she can soothe him over, before he pops something. “I see it now!” She was always told by the Nightsisters that human men need to hear they are right alot! “I don’t know where my head was...before.” Again with the headless-ness reference.

“So how about we skip the swords and stuff and just go take a nice walk in the courtyard?” ’Get the swords far away.’ “We can even hold hands...” She looked at him with a smile that looked painted on. If she can only get outside these walls!

 

[Lord Depravious]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g8OgI3lYd9s[/media]​

Nothing trumps experience. Absolutely nothing could get past this man in this state. His experiences from wielding an empire at the tip of his blade, and dealing with the Nightsisters on Dathomir meant one thing. He knew that his petty attempt to explain to her what he knew would be rejected. He also knew that pity was not something he would wipe off of her face with simple words and a mediocre show of power.

So he would show her something he kept buried beneath the burning gates of the Empire behind him. Within the blink of an eye, his muscles had tensed once more. And in another blink all that could be seen is the blur of the black house robes he had draped over his body. And he was now inches from her face. Now, normally in this moment people who stood across from this man would look down only to see a sword buried in their gut. And the face of a vicious predator claiming the glory of his hunt. But this time - there was no sword in her stomach. There was his index finger on her head, his body slightly hunched over and his elbow arched to behind him making a C with his arm - the tip of it his finger on her forehead.

Before he showed her this - she could hear a low whisper coming from the face she could no longer see as he stared to the floor. The voice was in no way soft, and in a way it was almost.. Used.. "Deciet.." Was the singular word that slithered out of his mouth.

And in that moment the room around them was covered in darkness, as if it was only Shaidin and Pom standing in pure nothingness in this stance. Shaidin had poured all of the darkside he had at his disposal into her mind ripping and tearing his way through any barriers she had in her mind and ultimately piercing her mind.

For the briefest of moments the pain of all of the memories he was about to show her flooded into her psyche. The pain in that briefest of moment could only be felt or described as a lobotomy. And when the pain had passed deep in her psyche the pure nothingness in her mind was only filled with her - Shaidin had simply vanished before her eyes. And the scene slowly began to set around her.

As clearly as she had just seen him there in front of her - she saw a river in front of her lightly flowing - the trickling of the water across the rocks could only barely be heard. Nothing but grass and cherry blossom trees surrounded the rest of the field she was now in. To her left she could hear a woman - the voice sounded oddly familiar to her. Upon turning to look it was seemingly an image of her running towards her - and then straight through Pom.

When turning to see where the girl had come from an Image of Shaidin stood nothing but pure depravity spread across his face. As if his entire life had come to an end in that one single moment - he stood there with a curved lightsaber hilt clutched in his hand just watching her run off.

Instantly the scene around her had changed. The scene around her had become much more dark. Cold stone lay at her feet, and a single window behind the Shadow that stood in front of it. The only light in the room were torches that lined the walls, and the occasional crack of lightning outside that illuminated the entire room. To the left of the shadow in front of the mirror was a cage - it was lifted off of the ground resembling a bird cage. Inside it she could only hear the small whimper every now and then that emanated from the cage and she could only see a woman stripped off all of her clothes on her hands and knees..

The woman in the cage looked up slightly and it was as if Pom stared directly into her own eyes for a moment. Then she heard a scream echo through the citadel that came from directly behind her. Behind the image of Pom was the image of a younger Shaidin Kamari on the ground, both of his knees firmly planted on the stones. A collar laid around his neck with some type of electrical energy flowing through it. It was as if he was helpless simply sitting there on the floor.

A single tear flowed down his face as he looked up to the man in front of the window. "Shadow please.." The tone of his voice sounded as if he was begging before this man.. What a pitiful way for a Sith Lord to look. But he was simply helpless on the floor before this man. And then a dark monstrous voice emanated from the image in front of the window. "If you only knew, how long i've waited for this moment." The reflection of light that came from his robes showed that he had pulled it out.

The blood vessels on Shaidin's head began to bulge as it looked like he was pushing a Star Cruiser through the desert sands. The ding of the blade hitting each of the bars on the cage, and the light footsteps of the man walking around it were the only noise in the room. And then the blade stopped, as it was plunged into the flesh of the woman in the cage.

All at once it was as if the noise on her movie had been muted and she could only see images of the woman who looked identical to her screaming, as blood dripped from the bottom of the cage. Another image flashed before her eyes, this was of Shaidin - tears streaming down his face, his complexion was as red as a blood moon on Dathomir. The next images showed the lifeless body being mutilated inside of the cage. Nothing but a husk of what had just been there. The next image showed the collar around Shaidins neck shattering into a million peaces. And the next image was of a Lavasaber, the crimson orange beam stuck through the mans chest - lava dropping from the tip of the blade. Finally an image flashed into her mind of a man dead on the floor, another next to him on his knees reaching into the cage, holding his dead wife's forehead against his own - her dead lifeless eyes looking into his face that was full of tears.

What came next could only be described as a flurry of images rushing through her mind. Images of beautiful planets frozen over entirely, war, chaos, death, entire mountains of gold melting. All with one image staying constant, the look on Shaidin's face - pure despair, anger, fury, rage - all lumped in to one expression. The final image that flashed through her mind was the image of Lord Depravious sitting atop a throne of nothing but ash.

Finally her mind was able to snap back in to reality where Shaidin stood upright, his eyes beaming with fire pinning her against the chair. "That was simply a glimpse, of the pain and torture I went through." He said, his voice low almost like a deep growl. "If nothing else it will put that 'spirit' you believe is inside of you to rest." He said as he turned his back to the woman. "You will have a shuttle waiting outside for you within the next hour. Take it back to Dathomir if you wish. I have no further need of you." He said as he wafted his hand dismissively and the doors behind her opened. With that he took a seat back in his chair awaiting her response.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Loose ends slowly tied together as he showed her his memories. Feeling his presence wash through her very essence instantly endeared her to him more than memories could. She felt déjà vu when she saw the places he created within her mind. ’I remember this planet.’ Why had she left his side again? She should have stayed by his side.

She growled at the sight of the animal that calls himself a man keeping a woman naked in a cage. But that's just the thing, he isn't exactly a man. She wanted to kill him. She would love to do it. Nightsisters will kill a man for the smallest of gender transgressions.

When Pom saw Shaidin tied up like a dog and bound on his knees next, she uttered, "You do get away. You have to!"

She watched the scene unfold, a look of anguish cast over her visage. She spoke through her own tears. "I was the woman in the cage! I hadn’t understood why you could not come to help me. It's alright…I wasn't entirely coherent."

As their captor taunted her likeness with the sword, running it over the metal bars one at a time, Pom looked over her attire for her Potions and none were on her. She was not wearing her own cloak. Shaidin's servants had taken them from her during the night. She hissed in fury, vehemently calling for Shadow's death.

She threw her arms over Shadow's desktop to search for a weapon, toppling a glass onto the stone floor, and she watched the man turn momentarily to look her way as it shattered.

Seeing Shaidin's reaction to his wife's death caused Pom to slide down the wall and slowly drop to her knees. 'If he loses hope, then all are lost.' She could not bear to see him weep for her. "I must see you again."

She crawled over in front of Shaidin while he was looking right through her. She gripped his collar and the sensation of the persistent shock caused her to cry out in anger and desperation. She felt weakness takeover her, as she channeled into him all the Force energy she had to help him overload the circuits and fight himself free.

It all did not exactly feel like a mere replay of images to Pom, it felt entirely interactive, like she had actually been there, twice. Or, as Pom reacted, it was exactly as her discorporated soul has done, before leaving that horrible place on that fateful day.

* * *​

Then he was finished. The whites of her eyes had bled out while Shaidin had gripped her mind. She probably won’t be too fond of the look of it when she sees her reflection in the mirror, but it will be a momentary lasting memory of what he shared with her, and quite humbling, a trait Pom Stych Tivé typically does not emulate. She knows too much of success in her craft of Potions and Sorcery that she never compared herself against those who utilize foreign or barbaric skills, therefore she would never harbor any sense of internal inadequacy...until today.

“Anas buti nuyak isatre ari.”

She needed exactly what he had chosen to provide, and that is substance. Talk is hollow. It’s also everywhere, between anyone and if willed, everyone. There is nothing special about it if even non-force sensitive babies can do it. Shaidin is the first Sith Pom ever met and she tested his determination. He came out on top and she admired him for it. She could not resist his intrusion into her mind and her lack of ability to protect herself against him concerned her greatly. Who knows what she could have done to fight back, with her usual access to her Apothecary and her connection to the otherworld. She needs to work on her defenses if she is going to survive out there in the galaxy; had [member="Lord Depravious"] not did what he did to her, she never would have even thought it possible to sever a Nightsister from her abilities.

Neither did his presence nor his vision terrify her. Through him she felt a familiar weight. She called it by the name of Abeloth, and Shaidin was capable of everything he did, in spite of the Amulets used to control her magick. She hopes it is true when he said her limits are all in her own head, and when the Sith say they receive their ability through their bloodline. She wants her mental limits eradicated. She hopes he would not try to make Dathomir a sour spot between them. If it weren’t for Her, they would perhaps never have met up again in the physical world.

There is no more pity seeded behind her now placid gaze. There is now utter admiration and absolute satisfaction for the extent of his revenge. That took some true dedication, she realizes. It felt entirely pleasing to know how far he went to feel satiated in his rage. How many people can say that of their lover? And yet, Cylaeria too has overcome some extreme hurdles in order to return to him.

In the tongue of the Sith Cylaeria spoke to him once again: “Death could not keep me away.” She smiled most subtly for a brief moment. Her gaze fixated upon him, intense and penetrating, while her tone rang smoothe with assurance that comes with maturity, someone having a deep connection to and a long history with another, unlike the timid, indecisive, and charming etiquette as of the young Pom Stych Tivé. “You would need to run me off with more than mere words to be free of me. How dare you tell me to leave for I am home. If you want me gone…if you truly need me gone…then you must kill me, because I am as hooked with you as ever and intent on...building upon your present misery. I rather think you enjoy how your predicament intensifies your connection with the Darkside. If you desire no more pleasures with me in your life, then will I understand. You are meant for far more than most Sith accomplish. You can believe that I am not your captive, but it’s not about physical walls; there is something about you I gave up my eternal unrest for. If you’re not going to kill me, let’s promise to try and not screw it up this time. If you please to do so, then let’s get on with it.”

She rose and sauntered over to him dragging his sword behind her, the tip of the blade scraping across the stone floor. She placed it into his grasp, gently lacing his fingers around the hilt. Cylaeria looked upon his face with tenderness, fully aware that she may still receive a sword in her spine based on his preference. She cupped his chin with her hand and studied the lines in his face, each forged by his hardships, those they shared and those she caused. His form held against her slender body, she always thought him stunningly strong, but now time and events have rendered him so much moreso than she had ever witnessed. She lovingly stroked his face, before wrapping her arms around his shoulders while he sat. Cylaeria closed her eyes tight as she rested her chin atop his head. Intense emotion stirred within her, joy and torment from their past. She lowered her lips to press a kiss against his forehead.

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

P A R T 2​

DARKNESS​

There is a Spell for everything. It’s the dogma by which she was raised.How could she get her mother to talk about how she was conceived? She wanted to learn of her origins as much as [member="Lord Depravious"] does, and she hopes she can find out before he should ever plan to confront her mother about it. Cylaeria feared what he might do to get the truth out of her. She wants to know, and yet she fears why she might learn equally as much, but not exactly wanting to know won't change the facts. However her existence came to be fashioned, she is grateful to be among the living, and to finally unlock the truth connecting her ethereal self and her mind.

“Who am I truly?” feeling the truth behind the strange scenario Shaidin spoke to her, Cylaeria wondered in desperation. Tears streamed down her cheeks. A sudden onset and mixture of intense emotions surrounding events in her past life boiled within her, which she found to be entirely incapacitating. She did not know how to harness them to regain control. Cylaeria’s eyes rolled back in her head as she slapped a palm to her temple and immediately hunched over. She steadied herself with her other trembling hand braced on the arm of the chair. Extreme anguish stole her expression.

As all of Cylaeria’s memories good and bad unleashed within her mind at once, she had no choice but to cling to Shaidin for his emotional support. Some memories she recognized having received before as visions and were believed to be only dreams in this incarnation. It broke her like she had never known before. Pom Stych Tivé is still a very young incarnation, and the events she recollects involve much more mature experiences in which she has never delved in life quite as deeply. She had lived strictly carefree and unattached. Now intense and very real passions began exploding violently within her, unleashing the same pain which Shaidin harvested for his connection with the power of the Darkside of the Force. She feels more alive this very minute than during her past two decades of life, but entirely out of control. What she does not remember is how she can feel as intensely as Shaidin himself while still retaining her self control, thus turning her pain into a positive building block as a wielder of this Force of Darkness. She needs his help more than ever, if she is to evolve away from the fracture of a person she feels rendered at this very moment. She walked in a notable Nightsister, and now her head is unlocking snippets of knowledge of this Force Power. On the inside, Cylaeria is already to the point of screaming in frustration!

The Darkness emanating from behind his eyes drew her to him like a moth to a flame. She would become devoured just the same by him. Her final undoing would be resulted by her own will to be near him.

While she experienced a great delight to rediscover she had developed a true connection to Shaidin in her pastlife, at that same instant a terrible realization finally made its way to the surface, “Kaestyl?” she looked at him, her eyes pleading. She remembered joyous events of he, her husband, interacting with their precious son, for whom he openly mourns. Are her surfacing memories true? For through the recollections of Pom Stych Tivé she learned that Kaestyl had been long ago defeated. He died a hero. What a terrible realization, one no parent should be made to suffer. Her mind suddenly revealed past events surrounding Kaestyl, long locked up suspicions. He is not here now. How she loves him…loved him. Cylaeria’s jaw dropped and she fell onto her knees before Shaidin. The anguish of connecting the recollections of her two lifetimes stung hard. She awoke to none such expectations for the day. Her suspected distant family member, is her husband of her past incarnation. Now look, or try and stop these revelations, she cannot. Her hands trembled as she took hold of his fingertips lightly and pressed her forehead against the back of his hands, dropping her head down upon his knee and her body shuddered as she wept for Kaestyl. The man was no longer the personification of a faceless father Pom had never known; he had actually been her very own begotten son. Her son who sought out the witches of Dathomir after her, his mother's initial demise, in order to return his mother to the galaxy. The belief that Kaestyl was ever her father is a sheer falsity, and he was also her re-creator, giving life to her just as she had to him. Life felt like it just fell apart for her just then. Then it only got worse.

'This is happening, and there is no turning back to yesterday's naivety.'

No matter how genuine his embrace to console her, she could not withstand Shaidin's emotion. His very touch to the back of her head stung. Her senses heightened by the slightest touch he rendered. It was a simple misaligned tilt of his head as he leaned in to kiss her, momentarily as it were, which he immediately adjusted that lead her mind down an even more tormenting path of awareness. Cylaeria stiffened as her mind fell victim to a whirlwind of thought, concluding that she is not mistaken in her suspicions. Because of her very deep attachment, magically forged with her husband in the past, Cylaeria sensed the presence of other women invading their sacred circle. She knew it was true that he must have delved his affections onto others, even perhaps fancied a few as lovers during her absence, as it was understandable entirely, especially over two decades of her having been gone from his life, but it did not help her adjustment to receive images of the faces of his conquests within her own mind, and certainly not just then. Cylaeria received a vision right then as she stood and withdrew from him, as another woman fondly recollected her time with Shaidin. Who is she? Why is this woman not living in the Castle and yet she is bonded to his mind? Visions surfaced within Cylaeria’s mind that are not of herself, but were of her husband in the act with this other woman. She withdrew from his grasp as she wondered if he is involved with any of them today; does she still rule his heart? The Darkside of the Force thrived through her being, and she could not control the insecurities it incited. An intense jealousy flourished within her. A mirror to their past was presented to her as a possible future, and is now immediately yanked away from her without warning? His desire to show her affection only added to her raging turmoil. None of her memories had any semblance of a happy ending. She couldn’t handle the truth of it all, tapping into her true power so quickly and uncontrollably. Her heart began pounding unconsolably.

Cylaeria harnessed the Force as she darted away from Shaidin. “Please, I need time,” her voice cracked, as she begged as she turned to race out of the room, afraid he would try and stop her before she could succeed in reaching the doorway. She sought solace and release from these suffocating emotions. She could not bare Shaidin’s gaze upon her while in her state of absolute weakness. All these dark feelings, a mental knowledge of the Force, and no idea how to physically control it. His touch as he quickly reached out in one last grab to turn her around, only compiled more desperate emotion into the mix. They stirred past memories, moments of sorrow, joy, anger, surrender, frustration, rage, confidence, doubt, contentedness, fear, happiness, loss, mourning, and now stirring jealousy, unbounded love, seduction, desire, and ecstasy. He unknowingly commands each to pour out from her very essence, along with the lingering helplessness of falling by the repeated strikes of the sword as she met her death! Each feeling igniting her senses and raging within her thoughts at the same time. She was seething. It was a traumatic endurance, quite destructive, and in the end incredibly mentally and emotionally damaging, unless and until she can figure out how to manage to handle it.

That he reached for her in desperate attempt to try and stop her, she was not aware. She escaped and ran through the halls of the fortress and continued on past her wing, unable to bare another glance at her very own memorial portrait. She went on till the corridors got tighter and tighter and finally she ascended the stairs to a tower. She discovered it very tranquil inside the cupola, unlike Pom ever knew or would accept, a feeling of sensory immersion which Cylaeria requires right now. It had long ago been her meditation chamber. Remembering this place as holy, she closed her eyes and struggled to slow her panicked breathing.

Efforts to sustain her stance futile, her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed upon the wood floorboards, her energy spent from running through the fortress. Yet there exists a different form of energy in abundance here, one quite defined with a desire to be channelled. She recognized it immediately. She latched onto the feeling of it and absorbed it into her essence. 'Like Abeloth lives on Dathomir, does this Dark Force Power emanate from the heart of Mygeeto too?' She concentrated on nothing but the flourishing Darkness, allowing everything else to fall away for a time, knowing she can face her predicament better after she collects herself. She silenced Shaidin whose passion raged from his being within these castle walls and thus surged through her mind. She silenced all other outside influence. She finally silenced herself. It’s something she as a Nightsister never before did so well, as she had never been entirely alone. For typically the silence would end up seeming monotonous after length and seem to eat at her soul; but for this moment it is quite welcome.

In time she shall discover her solace, while her body exhibits proof of her evolution as she levitates effortlessly above the floor boards. To her delight there are no Amulets here. The demons which thrive on serving their Sorceress' purpose swarm around and through her once again, delighted in their reunion.

MURDER​

Every being among the fortress had felt her within the tower where she dwelled. Respectfully, they allowed her freedom to return to them on her own terms. Not so much as a whisper disturbed her concentration. Once she felt her very foundation rebuilt once again, Cylaeria had already passed the rest of the morning and afternoon away in her meditation room. She decided a solitary deed necessary to solidify her transformation. As she rose to leave the solace of the tower cupola, she opened her mouth and the black smoky trails of her demons entered through, into her body, reuniting with her soul once again as one, eagerly waiting a sinister command be given. Her attentiveness engulfed in a daze but her stride determined as she descended the long spiral staircase. Darkness swarmed through her mind as her thoughts remained stuck on the heart wrenching fact that her son is long dead. Reaching the end of the hall, she sauntered into her room intent upon confronting the maidservant who told her just last night to call her by the name of Shadow. Why of all names would the girl choose to be called the name of her killer during her past life? Is this girl the embodiment of the actual Shadow, Cylaeria's killer?

Cylaeria entered her private chamber undisturbed and locked the tall doors behind her. To her eye, there is no one else within the room. "Stand before me," she commanded. Shadow, the maidservant, stepped out of the darkness hung along the far corner of the room. Cylaeria said nothing more to the girl as she reached out with the Force to Choke and drag the girl in front of the raging hearth. She did not even intrude into the girl’s mind, just made her the embodiment of her murderer. She then lifted the girl up off her feet before the lit hearth, dangling her dangerously close to the flames. Cylaeria rapidly approached and allowed her gaze to completely frost over as she stared emotionless into the girl’s tearing eyes as she strangled her life from her body. The only expression change to be seen in Cylaeria, would be the sudden haughty sneer twitch across her upper lip when she tightened her fist, and thusly her grip around the girl’s neck through the Force. "Fight back, Knight!" she seethed. Shadow's countenance was not one of alarm but exuded the unexpected sense of sheer honor to be chosen to aid her Mistress in the forging of her soul to the Darkside. Cylaeria only scowled for she sought heightened rage, yet she could not bring herself to release the Knight to incite it. The fire caught Shadow's garment, she wailed aloud in pain. Her Mistress finally found the delight in the act, which the maidservant had hoped. When she was through, as the maidservant fell motionless, Cylaeria tossed her lifeless form into the flames of the large stone hearth. The fire blazed. Its light danced around the room creating an illusion of clashing evil spirits…or was it only an illusion?
The stench protruding from the hearth not alien to the physical senses of Pom nor to the memories bound to the soul of Cylaeria, yet never inspiring one to harbor regret or pity for the damned. Her eyes momentarily reflected a glowing hue of brilliant gold, a reflection of sweet Darkness. The redness suffered unto her Sclera, caused by Shaidin's previous mind intrusion faded completely.

Strangling the maidservant was a welcome release, if only temporary for Cylaeria, however a permanent loss for Shadow. So sad that its emotional satisfaction for Cylaeria could not have lasted equally as long. Could she bring the girl back to life to do it again and again, she would, endlessly. And if she truly had been the same Shadow who killed Cylaeria in her past life, considering the satisfaction the deed would render felt most compelling to consider with calculated seriousness.

NIGHTFALL​

Cylaeria hopes to succumb to exhaustion, but found none of it. She had passed the evening away in her chambers. Knowing Shaidin was so close by, tormented her mind as equally as her worst recollection. “Oh Kaestyl...” she sobbed. In her arms she held neither.

Cylaeria, washed and dressed in a silk nightgown, straddled the corner post of her bed and stared out the open double doors which lead to the balcony. She rested her cheek against the wood post and had her arms wrapped around it to steady her. She stayed this way for hours not finding rest at all during the night. She could sense the unsettled presence of Shaidin within the fortress walls. 'Time has been cruel to him perhaps most of all.' He knew everything and had to deal with it alone. Each of Mygeeto’s two moons full, on a night like tonight a Nightsister is always up tending to Potions and participating with their Arts as a whole community, family. Such a stellar event always stirs the anticipation of receiving blessings in great abundance. Cylaeria felt a stinging irony, as the Nightsister existing inside her is challenged.

She suddenly animated and climbed up out of the bed and walked toward the glass doors which lead to the balcony. The air of Mygeeto is always chilled. She looked up at the stars, so alien, so distant. Not Dathomir. She stared up at the night sky, her palms pressed against the frosted glass. Then it felt as if her two lifetimes were working to fill in holes in her memories. All at once tears began again streaming down her temples.

The energy dome glistened in the distance, as it fought to hold the heat of the empire inside it's casing. Past the dome the terrain was littered with natural gigantic crystals still imbedded in the ground that were harnessed to power the city. Farther in the distance a glacier rested, threatening that it shall someday cover and level the entire landscape. For now, it merely gave the city a flowing river.

THE TRANSMISSION​

The Nightsisters of Dathomir sent an encrypted message to awaiting staff who received the transmission, with instruction to take it straight to her Kamari host regardless of the hour. It was brought to Shaidin that night in his private chambers. Translation into Galactic Basic from the Dathomiri tongue of Pæcean, was autogenerated. Some words have translated to their closest definitions and may not be precise. The correspondence explains how everything Pom had been told up to this point regarding her family history was fabricated and intended to normalize her life among the Nightsisters, yet her life began out of a mere business deal.

We know you have brought our Pom Stych Tivé to you. We have been ordered to open our archives and interviewed witnesses to inform you that Pom Stych Tivé is not thy Granddaughter. You should be pleased to learn that she is presented to you as much more.

The record shows that a Sith warrior named Kaestyl Kamari came to Dathomir immediately following his mother's death with the intent on utilizing extensive magick to reincarnate her. He paid an impressive price to our Late Priestess, who rallied the covens to scheme along with him to generate the rarest magick we ever would perform on a discorporated yet willing soul. The physical focus was on your original Late Mistress’s own bones, where minimal components of Kaestyl’s living blood cells were incorporated to generate life and fill any gaps in building blocks.

Our very own beloved Priestess then, had been surrogate to the clone fetus. This unit began deteriorating at the moment of conception, and by her forth month gestation was on complete life support during the duration of pregnancy. Childbirth was orchestrated to the exact minute of the anniversary of the original soul's death. We expect Cylaeria to be a replica of the original vessel, and the true embodiment of her soul.

When it was determined that Master Kamari would not return to claim his creation, because of his own untimely death, Pom Stych Tivé was raised among the Nightsisters as one of our own. Her story of true origin was never revealed to her, because we did not know if she would ever be discovered by others whom she was meant for. Neither was it known what unique gifts she would inherit. We graciously allowed her to flourish as naturally among us as possible. She was given to the one she calls mother to be raised, who requested the honor of possessing her own daughter. Pom and her mother have undergone a sacred Nightsister bonding ritual, and their status as mother and daughter shall continue to be honored among us. We do demand they continue an uninterrupted relationship, so long as they both desire. She is always welcome among the Nightsisters as she is legally one of our kindred.

We hope you are satisfied with the development of Pom Stych Tivé. The terms of our original business deal shall still be honored by us. We guarantee that the soul which possesses the unit is that of thy Late Mistress. We expect that her awakening has begun as intended. Please be patient and exercise caution during the restoration of her pastlife memories. The finalization of her evolution process is indeterminable. Interaction with you should inspire completion. However, note that due to the age of the individual, the environmental factors and personal history cannot be force-eradicated from her current personality. If you require any assistance please notify us and we will assign someone to assist you with the final stages.

If for any reason you are in doubt of the authenticity or dissatisfied with the experiment, please return her to us and we will refund the original charges. Offer of full payment is only warranted provided she retains mental stability upon exchange.

We exchange with you details not shared between most, because we discovered records of dealings with you before. Our most recent Priestess inducted since Pom Stych Tivé was generated. Know these records had been locked away in our archives by the elders for two decades and details are unknown to most among the covens.

We seek only to be direct that we do not inspire vindication at having lost contact with the distinguished Sith Kamari known throughout our history. Please understand these negative circumstances surrounding this incident have been utmost extreme, neither had we any way of knowing the intentions of Kaestyl Kamari, or beheld information on his next of kin so that we could make contact with you sooner. Could we have located you, we would have sooner rendered unto you what is your’s. Please understand Pom Stych Tivé's predicament and your's, Honorable Shaidin Kamari, is not what we intended and has been out of our hands from the start. She belongs in both cultures until she so chooses otherwise. We seek no retaliation on your part as to the lateness of her delivery, and if necessary will do everything in our power to assure the healthy continuance of the lifeform Pom Stych Tivé, daughter of Abeloth.

This information would not be directed to Pom by her coven. They could not justify informing her of her true origin, because of how much their heritage means among them. They left the disclosure of the information solely at Shaidin’s discretion. Pom's mother would brace herself for the impending confrontation.

SURRENDER​

Cylaeria felt so very alone in her chambers as the night drew on. The double full moons hung lowly in the night sky, now at the horizon line and threatening to vanish from sight. The heat of the dome spent, snow fell continuously over the city for the past few hours. She thought of her coven and how they are her family, a status servants like those found here can never replace. She did not desire to be alone anylonger. She realized she needed Shaidin in so many ways. Memories of her Late son simply would not cease their assault on her mind. She had wept bitterly and she had wept some more for the loss of her boy. Cylaeria's life story came to life with so much detail, she could not deny the truth of her origin, but she thought of so many questions to direct toward her mother. 'Am I a clone? A result of unholy Magick?' Natural conception seemed far fetched now in light of her new suspicions. She realized what she has left remaining of her old life, and the sheer value of discovering her husband again among the vastness of the galaxy, and still vibrant with life. Her circumstance is a blessing afterall, to get a second chance?

In all of her memories surfacing, Shaidin used to seem to want to be enough for her, and he ought to be; he suffered enough that he earned some type of finality to it all. She did not prefer to push him away especially now. Cylaeria reached out and touched upon him lurking lucidly where he dwelled. He seems as tormented as she felt. She felt something magnified emanating from within Shaidin, feelings of overwhelming conclusiveness. She knew that like her, he could not sleep as she is finally returned home to him. Her presence here tortured them both. She preferred his consolation tonight. She had never committed her heart to anyone on Dathomir. Not only is monogamy not a popular aspect in her culture, but now she understands that she had actually been unknowingly searching for Shaidin all this time. None lived up to the standard he set for her. Fearing she might soon discover walls erected between them which stunt further bonding. She made the sudden conviction to go see him.

Cylaeria grabbed a long chiffon robe as she stole into the cold stone hall, somehow remembering the path leading directly to the tall carved wooden doors of Shaidin's private chambers. Touching upon the handle gingerly, she received vibrant passionate visions of them both entwined in heated embrace within. Psychometry, not one of Pom’s weaker skills which she now wished she could turn off, as it just would not cease. In remembrance of what they once had, she knew he had declared her irreplaceable to him; likewise he would ever be to her, regardless of whatever happened in between, during the past two decades apart. The thought occurred to her, that of all Shaidin’s romantic conquests, the truth rang through, that of course he did not love any of those women he had bonded with, even if he believed he had at one time. How could she even suspect him of such? None of his other women ever moved into this home, her’s and his, even if they had been here in his room. He may have tried to replace Cylaeria, but he never actually succeeded after two decades of her absence. The tribute he raised for her was proof of his devotion. She will be damned if she would permit anyone to remain wedged between them. "Let any of them just try now." He loved his others no more than she herself committed to any Nightbrother on Dathomir.

She stood there outside of his room, caught in her thoughts momentarily, barely breathing. When was the last time she felt a desire so pure and so natural wrought such a girlish tension; butterflies perhaps? She swooped in on Shaidin without announcing her presence, knowing full well that he can feel her presence near. Flinging the tall doors open in unison, she rushed straight into his arms as the doors swung shut with a loud crack behind her; she had almost forgotten it as his failsafe alert of any who should dare enter unannounced.

She latched onto him, and at that moment she drank into herself all the emotion that stirred wildly within him and she reveled in the sensation which made up his essence, so familiar and so comforting, finding a place still designated for herself within his heart. Cylaeria gripped hold of him by the back of his neck, and in return pushed everything that she felt which defines her spirit in that very moment into him, like a spiritual Vampiress receptive and feasting on his emotion and also feeding a long insatiable hunger. The words of a never uttered incantation flowed through her thoughts, and she initiated a sacred cognitive bonding, never shared between her and any other man during her life as a Nightsister.

[media]https://youtu.be/eOFok6-Tpt8[/media]​

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

It was the memories he incited that she could not handle emotionally. She mourned for her Late son so very deeply. Shaidin simply could not fill this void she felt at this time. The thoughts of Pom Stych Tivé and Cylaeria intermingled insistently day and night. Dreams while asleep as well as waking took a turn towards feelings of emptiness. Had Pom not believed the story of her origins she would have thought herself utterly mad or wickedly possessed. Worse was the sheer urgency born in Shaidin’s eyes that proved how much he pleaded for her to achieve some cosmic transformation into fully evolving into the replica of his Late wife whom she is cloned after. She was not ready to receive his unbridled love. This look he wielded never left him whenever she were near, and closer to him he did draw her. The fact that she was caught between both personifications lead Pom to slip away from his bed one night and seek to leave him. She secretly felt she would be his undoing, as much as she felt him to be her’s.

Pom did not return to the Nightsisters of Dathomir. She could not face them for keeping their secrets just yet. She simply punched random coordinates into the transport shuttle console and went wherever Fate lead her. It lead her into the heart of Confederate Space.

She concluded that life’s chapters close while new ones are opened. Sometimes we reread the book twice. Sometimes we hurt deeply when we are through with them. Sometimes we pick them up again, regardless of knowing the outcome, for we just cannot help ourselves when we feel such an emotional connection.

END CHAPTER​