Unity Among Shadows

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal had accepted the spirits acquiescence. Perhaps they would choose their words more carefully in the future -- though they had intentionally provoked the Nightsister to see her worth. It was then the man at her back let loose a commanding roar and no idle threat. A shimmering eye looked over one shoulder back at Hevn with his pronouncement. His command. Perhaps -- just perhaps -- there was something to Pomsty's interest in him after all.

Not that Hevn would be commanding Vytal any time in the foreseeable future.

And he did not stop. It was not enough to reach an accord or strike an understanding with the spirits; Hevn sought to subjugate them to his will. Force them to acknowledge his strength. It was an impressive display, but not one Vytal necessarily agreed with. Dark as the Nightsisters were, they communed with spirits. While it was unlikely she would teach all the secrets of her people, there was one that people like Hevn would benefit from. Perhaps the most dangerous secret of them all. One that might not be possible to teach, but if truly worthy enough to garner instruction it was the most crucial and overlooked of them all -- the ability to restrain the dark impulses that came with overwhelming power.

Yes, the darkness rolled off Hevn and his sword. Vytal could feel it reaching out. Its hunger. Hevn seemed to resist it well, but his boisterous command of his environment suggested Sith influence. Passion. Domination. Control. It served him well, but she knew he could become that which he sought with the right instruction.

She extended a hand forth at the spirits that were conjured by Hevn's command of the Force. "Return to your places of rest. Let the dead remain buried. Let not the past trouble the living." The fingers of her hand snapped closed into a fist as she worked to put at ease the stirring of the dead among them. Such spirits could be dangerous especially if there were others watching from within the Cathedral fortress of the Mandragora.

And then the spirits abruptly vanished. A magickal influence swept over the area and Vytal's eyes turned toward this... Spirit? "Hevn," she breathed to draw the man's attention in case his was where his captives might have been. What was no longer matter, and what lay before them was far stronger than troublesome or playful spirits come to test their mettle.

The strange aura about this one had Vytal uneasy from the start. It did not feel...right. It did not feel wrong either. It was not either like the Fanged God or Winged Goddess. What was it? Vytal found herself drawing a trickle of ichor from her pouch into her right hand as she stood there. Such power this spirit possessed. If it struck, she wondered if either she or Hevn could muster a spell strong enough faster enough to counter. Fanged God protect them, she thought.

Pomsty's words captured her Sister's gaze then. 'Mom?' This then was a familiar spirit? Not one she commanded, or that happened to prowl the grounds, but one she respected enough to consider it... Where then did it stand in relation to the gods of Dathomir? Equal? Beneath them?

"I am Vytal Noctura, Nightsister of Dathomir, Child of the Fanged God, Hunter, Sister, and Moirai of the Fates of Midnight," she declared herself before this overwhelming presence, head high and shoulders back. She would not be intimidated by its very existence. Would she show such brazenness before her own god? Until she knew Him, most certainly. Likely such would earn reproach, but it would be a glorious torture to be in His dark presence.

And yet she had never basked in His presence. In the shadow of it, on Dathormir, certainly. What then was this that came before them? Surely it was not a god. Yet Vytal had no correlary to answer this question. Only Pomsty's surprising reference and acceptance the three of them -- the spirit, Hevn, and Vytal -- would work things out.

Soon afterward, Vytal declared her intentions before this entity, "I come here to learn the secrets of all worlds. To protect my Sisters, and give them strength against our enemies. To that end I will do what must be done." With two very important exceptions. The first of which was Vytal would never betray her Sisters. The second, she would never betray the Fanged God -- for the Book of Shadows was the source of her power, and she could not imagine something stronger being found that would ever replace it. Supplement it, perhaps, and expand her understanding of the wider galaxy almost certainly, but relegate everything she knew to a child's understanding? Never crossed her mind.

This spirit did not take overt action, nor aggressive movements. If anything it seemed to be...listening. Vytal glanced over at Hevn, curious how he would respond to this sudden turn.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

First trivia and now a game of ghosts in the graveyard? What in the exact hell was going on here? These were supposed to be Knights?! Poisonous thoughts grip Hevn’s mind deadly tight. Mistress Pom had made it obvious she had no qualms disrespecting him. This was strike three. Idling here while the galaxy turned was enough cause alone to bury them under this excuse for a castle and raise a goblet to their end. This was a playground to keep them quiet and occupied while apparently the archivists did the real work.

The spirits vanish, save for one standing behind him. He turns to face Vytal’s closed fist and solemn dismissal of those who emerged by his doing. The wisp creeps slowly up behind him. This was not his doing. His very thoughts were enough to challenge the spirit of the Mandragora further. The Gauntlet was cast and he was going to learn a steep lesson on the grounds of sacred power he did not understand.

Unaware of the approaching figure, Hevn rounds on Mistress Vytal, the only one there with him now as far as his enraged state of mind could perceive. The tip of his sword begins to tilt toward her belly and visions of plunging it through her flood his mind’s eye. “ I am to understand that frolicking among spirits is necessary?! I will not be convinced that befriending spirits-“

“Is that.....all I am to you now?” A woman’s voice whispered in his ear, and as her fingers squeezed his shoulder his arm puts the sword away. Dread. A waterfall of freezing cold dread pours over the top of his head. Obliterates his heart, his will, his courage. Fractures his spirit. Digging into an infinite abyss all to pluck at the man. The man he was before he was.....this.

“Goliath,” it coos softly into his ear. No. No he screamed as loud as he could, but his lips wouldn’t open to make the sound. Please, no! “

“You loved me.” His stomach and chest turn into a grinder cycling his organs in a painful twist.

The red color drains from his eyes, and the icy blue circles fall away from Vytal to the ground. Tears fall free and fast, pouring from his face to the ground.

This was not an attack on Bedrovelse Hevn. It was a gift beyond the scope of his imagination. It was impossible. It was a miracle. He had forgotten how sweet the sound of Crystal’s voice was. How it made his heart sing like a thousand birds in unison. There was a time in his life when every scrap of power and knowledge he collected was to see her again. He did unspeakable things to innocent and wicked alike in every possible effort to conquer the realm of death. He never told a soul that, living or dead. He never told anyone how he tried, and what that failure did to him. It broke him that she was beyond any scope he could ever reach. It gave him peace that she had passed on to somewhere he could not reach, for his domain was over the darkness. If that shadow could not touch her, she was truly safe.

He had accepted that she was gone. There was no bringing her back. So the shock to his system was an overload of brain crippling magnitude. His brain shut off and his emotions ran free. Now that his shroud had been utterly destroyed he could feel it. Her? It? The presence was in everything. All around them. This ground belonged to nothing but it.

The display of power might seem simple enough to the witches, but to Hevn it was everything. The ghost said nothing more. A pair of smaller spirits grabbed her by the hands and they phased out of his field of view, and he strained with every last ounce of strength he had to watch her pass into the Light. He never saw it though. Only the tsunami of black as he snaps his eyes back shut.

The world was gone. He was alone on an island. Feeling empty, heavy, completely destroyed. “I beg forgiveness. My insults were grievous and foolish.” His mouth barely vocalized it. His eyes did not raise from the ground as his feet carried him toward the exit, and away from the fortress. The defenses he encountered on the way in did not trouble him now. A fact he failed to realize whatsoever as his legs suddenly froze. Something was holding him still. It did not hurt. A warmth blankets his spirit that his soul utterly rejects. Not because he wanted to refuse, but because he was not capable. His connection to others in general was so severely damaged that he could not be brought to rest.

“Stay.” The voice was disembodied. It didn’t come from anywhere around him, but inside. Hevn turns toward the fortress. Toward Vytal lingering at the spectacle before her. Towards the door Pom had disappeared through. “Why?” He utters quietly to himself. “There is much to do, now that you’re here with us.”

Under normal circumstances Hevn would have been convinced of trickery of some grand level. He would have marched off or killed them both for being threatened by whatever this thing was. Stronger than him to be certain. That was enough to convince him to try. Maybe there was something he could learn from it, or about entities of such incredible power.

His steps are slow. His eyes, weary and red look towards Mistress Vytal. He clears his throat and frowns at her. “Your blessing is the last I require.”

Was it echoes of Vytal’s answer that resonated from within? Or the being that invigorated this place? A spark of life starts back up inside of him. His brain was desperate to take the wheel from his heart. He needed to get as far away from those feelings as he could. The somber mood would not save him from this embarrassment. He would have gladly killed him self before letting anyone see that happen. Thousands of times over.

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

‘Deception.’

Pom froze within the halls of the Mandragora fortress, as she could feel the malevolent intent pouring off [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] from where she was. “NO!” she screamed as she pivoted upon her heels and dashed back to the lobby where [member="Vytal Noctura"] had been left alone with him. He intended her harm.

‘What was I thinking?!’ If anything happened to Vytal, and Pom was to blame, Pom would surely die too! Tears flooded her eyes as she ran. Darkness brewed within. A desperate scowl cast across her stiffening jaw as she shook her arm and her wand appeared in her hand. She drew in deep, her breath readied to cast her curse to stop whatever awakened within their new brother recruit.

She felt his remorse follow, just as she reentered through the lobby doors, ready to let her fury flow. Hevn felt like how she feels when she thinks of Kæstyl, her Late son from her past life. She found his name roll off her lips as her steps freeze. She stood in the lobby with wand outstretched before her, aimed at Hevn, and witnessed a coming to terms of sorts effect Hevn. ‘Most preferable to the alternative.’ Pom’s eyes a sheen of glowing gold, returned to their powder blue. She returned from the edge of casting him to oblivion.

Pom lowered her wand slightly, her chest heaving from exertion, and she took a deep breath.

She stood and watched the display as it unfolded, uncertain. ‘What if Mom can be wrong about this one?’

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Vytal frowned slightly at Hevn's words, the Nightsister defiant yet expectant gaze torn from the Great Spirit before her. Before them, but Hevn seemed not to care. If anything the tone of his voice and where he stood sword in hand spoke of treacherous ground. Ichor poured into her fist, but that close there was no way should could stop the blade if he meant to slay here for 'frolicking' among spirits. However, if she could not save herself, she would make sure to take the man with her into the next world. Ensuring the safety of Pomsty and any other within those walls was the least she could do if she was to die here.

Although, Vytal would not die with a smile of satisfaction on her lips. Such a senseless death. To come so close to finding a place for her Sisters to live away from the perils of the many Offworlders and their bastions of depravity, only to die at its doorstep... To leave her Sisters behind, alone, among people that would kill or enslave them. For her reunion with Pomsty to be cut so short. To never return home with power and technology to defend her Clan, and her world, and to be welcomed despite her transgression... How could she have allowed her guard to drop because of some spirit that tried to pass itself as a god?

As Hevn's countenance changed, the Nightsister stepped back. Adrenaline coursed through her veins and the mists remain at her command if the tide turned once more.

Soon enough the man turned to retreat from the courtyard, out toward the bridge across the abyss that separated the Cathedral from the rest of the world. The towering wall lay on the other side with a massive parting to allow person or vehicle across that bridge, and beyond that the long road that only the worthy or invited could find among the wilds of the surrounding forest. Part of her wanted to lash out for what he seemed prepared to do moments ago, but the Nightsister remained silent. Slowly the mists faded from her grasp and Vytal watched him go.

Then just as abruptly, the man stopped. He turned and looked at her and where Pomsty had suddenly reappeared in a flurry.

"You ask a great deal, Hevn," Vytal replied sternly as the man slowly made his way back to her. It was a serious matter to ask forgiveness after bracing yourself to kill another. The quickening of the heart had yet to fade, and already he had returned. She stood before him then, head held high despite the towering man's seven inch height advantage. "Know that by accepting this place you will be asked a great deal more." While she had yet to become any more a part of the group than Hevn himself, Vytal knew what would follow. Rather, she had high expectations of those that inhabited those walls.

Her right hand rose and was extended out toward him with an open palm. "But if you are prepared to put aside your preconceptions of us, I will offer you to join me in becoming part of this family." She knew not what his words about spirits had truly meant, but if he was to learn anything in these walls he would need to accept the spirits among them. It was a far deeper world than most were prepared to accept. Even those that knew well the power of this 'Force' they wielded so freely.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn didn’t belong here. He knew it. They knew it. There were no flares left to fire at them. No red flags left to raise up and wave in their faces. Even the imminent threat of his attack did nothing to drive them toward his refusal.

What he found in the absence of their mutual lack of common sense was something more brave and beautiful than he could have anticipated. Pom had come at a scurrying pace, her weapon of choice at the ready. He can feel her worries encircle the pair as she saw the mistake in leaving her sister with a beast. So you have a heart, he thought to himself. He had guessed that ones weakness would be her sister, but this was enough to escalate it from assumption to fact. It was lucky for her then that “Mom” had pacified his venomous impulse.

Vytal’s courage did not waver. Without a doubt her heart slammed into her breastplate like a war drum. Ichor coiled at the ready around her closed fist. That he did not make her jump, act, slip in any way was impressive. She steeled herself against his aura, his energy, against all of him. He spares a moment to wonder if this quality, however impressive, would be her doom. He was sure that among her own she was strong. Perhaps they both were. Did they have the sharpness or senses to determine when to fight and when to flee? Would he find their limp defeated corpses crushed under the heel of some monster they did not have the capacity to understand?

Hevn accepts Mistress Vytal’s hand into his own. He is careful to be gentle with her hand. His fingers and palm cannot feel anything more than the pressure that something is there, and the desire to harm her had faded. “Mistress, I am sorry for losing control. I cannot accept this place, and I do not think it can accept me. My existence is a stain upon the galaxy. A hole through which darkness can pour into the universe.”

Could they even understand that he was an actual crime against nature? Against science and religion as well. He was a creation of things that should not be. Hevn releases his soft grip on her palm, “ you said it yourself. Let the dead remain buried. Not a choice I was given.”

I hope you witches know what you’re doing. I’m a danger to you. Both of you. And your little gods too.

[member="Vytal Noctura"][member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

'Stop crying or you’ll rust…you clinking clanking clattering collection of collagenous junk!' The Mistress Pomst did not shake her ill feelings towards their newly designated brother so easily.

‘Love is by far still the worst of the two extremes.’ If there were a choice between love and dysfunction, —and apparently there is in this case,— Pomsty chose the latter hands down. Dysfunction is ever easy to anticipate. One can become so pissed off with another that they manipulate the outcome; the participants are entirely in control! Whenever one person desires dysfunction, he may beget it. When one person wants love however, his goal may evade him with a passion. Also regarding love, when it’s destroyed there is no ginormous sense of victory as with dysfunction, here is in love's wake is a much more immobilizing sense of loss. Maybe for Pomsty, the idea of living with herself after knowing what she is, was easier than walking away from Shaidin. Her eyes trained upon Hevn, she almost spoke up. She almost let it slip her sense of kinship with [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] having once been dead like he is, but she refused…because the dysfunction is easier to navigate.

Pom does not yet understand the goddess here, if she someday returns to her belief in gods at all. Gods are alot of work, even more than love demands. Yet with the turning away from a god, one experiences a sense of death. At least with love, people are typically permitted to continue breathing, just anywhere else but in the presence of the scorned; but to our dismay god covers a lot of ground, and people have to discover where it is that gods don’t exist exactly, in order to hide from them. Pomsty would defy her goddess, if [member="Vytal Noctura"] remained imperil.

'Men! Such snobs. I’m bigger than you. I’m stronger than you. I could kill you frail woman. Not amused. Do they even realize that it’s through woman they are even alive at all? How easy it would be to remedy that one technicality...at the source.' The Nightsisters don’t mess around when it comes to eternal peace in the home.

Her concentration upon Hevn became distracted when the server droid warbled it’s arrival. If these things ran any more quietly, Pom would never be aware of their presence at all. She slipped her wand back up her sleeve. “Food,” she bluntly announced, still caught in indecision. The droid stopped at her side, the tray attached, filled with all manner of options.

The goddess pressed its impressions upon Pom, she both defied its demands and accepted them…nobody got hurt. She stood with her head held high and waited for the others to join her. On the inside, she was not at ease.

As they followed her, she began the tour, her mind went through a series of fantasies. In each of them, Hevn was consumed by the darkness within the walls of Mandragora. Her goddess pressed still its intentions. ‘We are all just playthings to you,’ she chastised in reciprocation. ‘Over my dead body is any Nightsister going to train him!’ Besides wanting to kill Vytal, Hevn hadn’t even answered her test questions yet.

The droid followed them everywhere. It was not usual for the woman to eat while she strolled through the castle, but this day was an exception afterall. Being grumpy, and plotting someone’s demise often plays-out better when one’s brain is fed.

"Kitchen," she announced as she passed. "It's incredibly adequate and filled with everything anyone could desire." "Dining hall. Dinner is at 6." She pointed, "Refreshers."

Pomsty walked on, still keeping her senses trained upon Hevn. Taking him on a grand tour was against her better judgement, but he would receive a surprise if he did attempt anything immoral or illegal here. It is Mom's domain afterall.

"Wait till you see this, Vytal!" —Pomsty flung open the doors to,— "The library." Within the Library one cannot see any boarder walls. It is literally without any corners, seemingly endless. It’s containment is magickal. “You see why I need you here. There is so much stored here. And this is even more amazing, you cannot steal from this or even burn it to the ground. If you try then everything inside this room will kill you. Now let me think. I want to study...what’s that word…?” 172 books flew out of their place upon the shelves to land upon the stone desks before them. “I don’t even need to know what it’s called. Something in here just knows!” The librarian is ethereal. Thank goodness she doesn’t mind a small server droid bearing lunch in the library. “Somehow these books just show up here too. I mean, it’s like somebody charmed the galaxy and the just arrive here. You will see them early in the morning piled up and uncategorized. Don't even think of touching them until they are catalogued. I can’t say I think it’s even safe to read them, before the spirits charm them.”

There were no more doors to pass through but one. Pom walked to the end of the hall and opened a single narrow closet door. “Closet,” she announced with little excitement. After a moment a door appeared. “Notice there are no stairs. A few minutes ago all either of you would have remained seeing is the inside of a closet. The door only appears to Mandragora, never amidst the presence of any outsiders. Lightsiders go to their wing, Darksiders their's, neutral are in between. This is the little room with the door, obviously. You can do anywhere within the fortress with a thought.'" Pomsty thought, 'My bedroom,' and she opened the door, and there it was, her tower suite, all the way up, including the cupola. She thought how, sadly that’s too easy. She closes the door again.

‘I can put your tuchus right back outside from here,’ she thought while she placidly looked at Hevn. She didn’t even care to slap him, that’s how distant she had suddenly become.

"The Ritual Grounds, Conjuring Hall, Potions Grounds, Ingredients Store, Apothecary, levels all reached through this door. Each level has this one specific little room with the door, at the end of its hall."

 

[Vytal Noctura]

If Hevn's pressure plating could sense degrees, it would know Vytal's grip hardened when the man sought to dismiss himself. "And what is it you think the Mandragora do, Hevn? We," granted Vytal was practically just as new, "delve into the deepest abyss to find lost and new knowledge every day. The terror within you is nothing Sisters have not seen before." And Brothers. Well, Vytal wasn't going to stammer correcting herself. "And you will find the Nightsisters commune with spirits regularly. Your very existence is not offensive to me. Is it to you?"

Some complained and fretted about the 'Natural Order' or the 'Will of the Force.' Vytal was not one of them. Everything any sentient being did was part of the 'Order' or the 'Will.' Any claims otherwise were people trying to shoehorn others into decadent, comfortable boxes -- preferably ones they themselves held in high esteem. If Vytal could conjure an Ancient Sith 'Demon' and command it to lay siege to the enemy why shouldn't she?

Oh, but the suffering Hevn must endure being forced to continue living in his half-life existence. Forced to remain apart of his loved ones that had become one with the-- The flowery, romantic nonsense about how everyone could surrender themselves to the placid currents of the all wonderful Force sicked Vytal. Some people were so terribly concerned with what happened after they died they forgot to live. Nightsisters did not murmur in dark corners about how their bodies might end up in cocoons suspended from the twisted trees of Dathomir to be resurrected by Clans in need of them. They sought to survive each and every day, and when they did not need to hunt, or to craft, or to weave magick they would celebrate another day they would return to their beds among their loved ones. Eternity could take care of itself.

Pomsty's dull declaration of food caused Vytal's eyes to narrow just a hair in disbelief. Which of them had been an inch from death, and which of them had the cold heart of hades in their hand eager to pluck out Hevn's heart (or whatever remained of it)?

"Let us join her, before she conjures a Terentatek," Vytal said at last. Yes, food, how positively delightful at their splendid initiation.

A lingering glance at the Great Spirit followed as Vytal -- and Hevn, even if a Sister had to drag his metal ass along -- strode forth to join her Sister of Darkness.

As the incredibly abbreviated description of food services passed, there was only one comment that was passed along to Hevn in a whisper, "This is your fault." Some men complained women did not say things plainly. Vytal was happy to say it plainly why Pom was bull-rushing her way deeper into the Cathedral. Just in case, you know, he was especially dense.

However, soon enough they came upon a room that had Pomsty's spirits righted -- even if briefly. Vytal stepped inside after the doors had been thrown wide before them. Her eyes widened as they scanned the rows upon rows of tomes all around them. The holonet and its wealth of information had been impressive until Vytal found most of it less than intellectually stimulating. But this... a library with books. Things she had only heard of. Where rare and secret knowledge was kept so prying, unworthy eyes did not stumble across it on the net. It was absolutely gorgeous.

Pom said something about not stealing from the library. Certain death, whatever. Only when Pom decided to show off did the Nightsister's gaze swing back around to watch several piles of books appear. "The spirits do this?" It was a question of pure curiosity; and behind it wonderment and pained disbelief in equal measure. Why had the Nightsisters never thought of such a thing? Probably because they had only one Book -- technically two -- and that was good enough. Obviously a horrible miscalculation.

After they departed the library, Vytal was left wondering what else they might now see with Pomsty's disposition lifted once more.

Until they arrived at a closet.

Vytal turned to stare at Pomsty ever so patiently with just a faint lifting of an eyebrow.

And then a door appeared and spare them all a very uncomfortable talk. Her words explained the purpose of this 'little room with the door,' and it made sense in a fashion. Vytal wasn't quite sold on it being a little room, but the Mandragora must have had ways to transport larger items without hauling them about. Mystical means, no doubt.

An Assembly Hall, a room for the Great Mother or Nightmother as Scherezade described her, perhaps even a place to meditate or reflect in peace... Because the Common Area Vytal expected could become rowdy at times. Not to mention the gardens -- surely a place with an enchanted forest would have a lush garden full of a variety of herbs, spices, and many other organic ingredients.

With her arms crossed beneath her breasts, Vytal looked to Pom and then over to Hevn. "Well?" As the one that felt unworthy of being there, she would hear his thoughts. She hoped they had changed even in such short a time, but if they had to beat acceptance into him that could be done in time.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Mistress Vytal’s increased grip pressure as he released gave him cause for grounding his thoughts. The empty drifting balloon of his mind was elsewhere for the moment, and the witch pulled him firmly to the earth at their feet. His dazed wandering eyes fix firmly upon her fierce gaze. He listens intently to her, finding both humor and relief in her words.

What do I think the Mandragora do? Deceive willing and able minds into traipsing about your playground. Dancing with ghosts. Feeding your pet lizard. Child’s play! I see no training. No study. No work of any kind. She echoed the creed of the Knights Obsidian he had heard before, to his dismay. There was nothing in front of his face to reach such a conclusion, yet this Nightsister had faith. Certainly her surety in the situation resides in her sister and not the lines the Confederacy fed them both.

Her declaration that his existence did not offend her was a grand realization. To others, he simply did. He was an alien even among aliens in the wide span of the universe and those who did not flinch at the very look of him, found his presence nauseating if not down right repulsive. He thought for a moment about how the witches had winced, as they all do, but searching their feelings....it was irritation with his demeanor, and not anything more.

His jaw slacks into an actual sliver of a smile. A fleeting ray of hope. Vytal was fuming and so was her sister, and in the face of it he finally grasped it. The persecution, and avoidance was no doubt something the Nightsisters had experienced. Their pale flesh and tattoos a tell tale sign of who they are and where they come from. That prejudice was something they shared, not something they needed to impose on one another. The witch made it clear it didn’t matter. A prospect of some comfort to the revenant.

He could have thanked them, welcomed them in warm embrace, in this moment of weakness and reflection he saw things anew. His smiling softened lips part to answer her as a sudden and electric single races over his body. Mistress Pom’s intensity and attention alert themselves to his senses. Her ire traces over his skin like tiny fingers, tickling everything from his toes up his spine. He nods to Vytal instead, following in tow behind the pair. He thought of how her monster of choice would look right at home in this courtyard, but chose to keep quiet at the risk of spurning their tour guide further.

What he laid eyes upon was absolutely impossible. They were surrounded by enchantment unlike any he had ever seen. Intertwined so subtlety with the state of the art technology that his boggled mind rolled inside of his skull.

As they passed the food, Vytal muttered something about it being his fault. He exchanged with her a simple glance that replied, I know. His eyes dart towards the food afterward, and he silently vows never to eat a morsel of food made within these walls. He would not be pleased to find some bewitched item of his liking swallowed to find himself victim to whatever mischief the witches cooked up. He had made enough of an ass of himself without any help from the ladies.

The library was a thing of wonder. He could not resist the impulse to gasp as they entered. The sheer size of it made him giddy. As the times begin to float of their own accord his hands instinctively reach for weapons. The sight of it was unnatural and his reflex could not be helped. His instincts calm as Pom continues to explain the workings of it, and how it defies even her understanding of both magic and technology.

Unsatisfied with simply watching, Hevn takes his own try at the little door. Sure enough, each of the mentioned areas appeared on the other side of his opening and shutting spree. Perplexity dominates every one of his tiniest facial features. He did not do it to spite Pom or question her, but to see it for himself. All with the simplest thought. This place was incredible. Like something from a dream.

Pom’s electric ire still tingles over his skin. Her glaring essence was ready for any step out of line. Vytal was less wound up, and he found the witch with her arms folded, addressing him.

“A good start.” Hevn’s eyes are full of wonder and his thoughts race toward the possibilities the facility had to offer. He touches the door again, wishing for his own quarters, testing to see how well it knew him. As the door hisses open, a gust of skin rending, bone cleaving cold swallows him. A sigh of pleasure slides through his lips as he gazes into the dimly lit room. Holograms of snowflakes fall softly from the ceiling. His bed is large, low, and buried in various white furs. He gives it a satisfactory smile before closing it.

Bedrovelse Hevn had few joys left in the world. The cold and snow were among them. The chill of winter was a sweet kiss he often missed trudging between sandy sun beaten planet to the next. Hell. Some of them had more than one sun! With the sand, humidity, and raw heat always oppressing him, he liked to keep his personal quarters well below freezing. It doubles as a defense that only his Ensolican blood can withstand, or those of similar anatomy, as it was cold enough to kill someone unacclimated to such an extreme. The second joy was the fall of snow. Not the whipping blizzard kind. The slow, romantic, swaying angel feathers that sang and danced every twist of their fall. It took their combined efforts to bring the roiling soul of Hevn to anything resembling a stand still. He was not one for rest or relaxation.

Hevn turns toward Pom, as the tour guide he could only assume she had spent some time here. “The garden,” he begins carefully. “Does this facility keep the growing conditions ideal for your ingredients?” He was considering his people, the Ensolicans, and how they had mastered hydroponic technology to grow crops on their icy home world. If the magic and technology at hand kept their flowers in pristine condition that knowledge would not be necessary to employ here, and would simplify things substantially.

Now appease the lady, you salty scoundrel. He remembers her questions clearly, though his mind had drifted from the answers. “As for your earlier inquiry...”

What was the best ingredient for an antidote? His mind could scarcely fathom her meaning. Healing as he knew it was only administered by a handful of means all throughout the galaxy. Bacta was a cure all, for everything that had been around long enough to squash whatever means and methods came before it. Kolto was the alternative if you were allergic to the first. Beyond those options of conventional science, he had only ever seen healing alternatively done through the use of the force. Dark siders could twist life to prolong their own, light siders somehow mimicked the skill in service of life’s preservation. He was not sure how they could perverse the will of their so called force if death was indeed natural. “Antidotes as I know them are only achieved through bacta and kolto, Mistress. I am at a loss for the answer you seek unless it is the legendary....goat’s throat. I once read of it coming from some obscure world deep in the unknown regions. Of potion making, I have much to learn.”

If it was success she demanded with her quiz, the possibility existed that he already failed. What archaic knowledge she had of drafting potion was beyond him, and possibly belonged to the covens of Night alone. There was a chance though that he could be right, or she would accept his admission of failure as answer enough. He could control. He could destroy. He could not create. Anything manufactured by Hevn that had ever been called a potion was a bastardized version of the substance modified, and never anything original in of itself.

“The reverse of a swelling potion,” he said aloud. ‘Is a woman,’ he thought to himself. But if swelling lasted longer than four hours, and you couldn’t call a doctor...”is a deflation draught.” He figures it wasn’t so much an antidote, as it’s opposite. Hard to tell how finely she would comb through his answers for wording or comprehension.

“Peppermint....” He rumbles a low chuckle. “Does nothing for Euphoria. Ruins the best parts if you ask me. Some find that it calms the effects, but if you’re dreadful enough to need the potion in the first place.” He offers each of them a raised eyebrow and pans a hand down each side of his own figure humorously implicating himself. “You should probably relish the revelry.”


[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom could not withhold a smile from [member="Vytal Noctura"] when she took delight at the effects years of charms have on the Library. Her sister hit it on the nose, quickly coming to understand just how much alive this castle is.

She witnessed [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] suffer a personality change yet again, the moment he opened the door, and she guessed the spirits produced him private quarters satisfactory to his private tastes. He absolutely must be Gemini.

"Everything here was put in place long ago. I cannot say many of us know the exact extent we are served or protected here; but I do have every confidence that we are. I have seen Nymphs in the garden."

Pom was about to reply to his answers to her questions, when he suddenly got cheeky. His actions stopped her, and she unconsciously took a step backwards, away from him, her cheeks heated. His ostentatious presumption however deserved a strict retort.

The Nightsister first glanced over at Vytal with a playful look, and finally back to Hevn as she decided she would give him a lesson correcting where his beliefs were just a tad off. Her hips swayed as she sauntered close to him, pressing her body against his, she rested her chin upon his chest and peered straight up towards his face. Her doe eyes focussed upon his and darted between them.

"Don't offer to dance with a Nightsister unless you are prepared to experience her conjoin with her goddess. We've no qualms, for there is a Potion for everything," she drawled, dripping with suggestive satisfaction, while turning her back on him and stepping away.

"As for you, you can play at the bar, which men like to do." To Pom there are men, and then there are the Nightbrothers, and a man simply is not a Nightbrother. Pom opened the door within the little room, and it opened up to the lounge. The smell of burning spice filled the air as a few members of the Mandragora congregated therein.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

"Ha," Vytal barked when all the man had to say was it was a 'good start.' Was that all this was? Well, he wasn't wrong. They'd barely seen much of the grounds if the towering stories of spires seen from the courtyard were anything to judge by; or the stretch of corridors and the wing of a library in their possession. Just a few 'rooms' had been presented so far. There much be much more to be explored on these grounds.

Which evidently the man had no intention to wait in discovering. And his first foray given the opportunity to seize control... was to locate an ice box. Vytal glanced over at Pom for a moment. If that was how the man kept uninvited guests out of his room, it was damn effective. The Winged Goddess herself would be challenged to force the Nightsister through that door.

Shadows fell over Vytal's bright gaze as Hevn suggestive gestured for their mutual amusement, or... However. before she mustered much of a response -- not certain whether to laugh, roll her eyes, or stab him -- Pom recovered her one step and colored cheeks. That alone was mildly surprising, though the Nightsister refused to show it in solidarity with her Sister. Given the way Pom had acted before the attempt at murder such an offer should have been welcome. Though it did lack tact. He was a man; at least he was being honest.

That look Pom threw first bode ill for where things would fall. No matter how much her Sister's hips swayed, or how she pressed against his body, Hevn was not wearing the tender affection of the Nightsister well within his reach tonight. Vytal sighed, her head tilted slightly to the right as she watched the drama unfold. Potion? Pom didn't need a potion to 'conjoin with her goddess' whether in the company of a man or otherwise. That woman better not try playing chaste out here among the stars.

...Which Goddess?

Pom distracted them with yet another room on display. Vytal looked through the portal into the lounge. "Just tell me they don't brawl in there," she sighed. If there was one thing that could be lived without it was the 'experience' of offworlder cantinas within this sanctuary. Alcohol was fine. The endless struggle for "dominance" or to be left alone that the Fates had to deal with daily, however, had been utterly exhausting. It had demanded they adapt and do so quickly when first they left Dathomir.

"By the Fanged God," Vytal snorted, "do these 'Light' Wielders find sanctuary here, Pom? We share openly among one another, yes?" A place of learning, studying, and understanding of everything Force and Mystical -- that's what the Mandragora were. Rather, what Vytal hoped they were. While they of Dathomir were born of the darkness it was knowledge that had called to the young Nightsister to come to the stars. To brave the perils of the bright worlds. A home away from home would be comfortably familiar, but might be trapped in the same comfort of home -- too accepting of a status quo to delve into the unknown.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

The heat in Pom’s cheeks is a delightful sight. Her pale features filling with a passionate red. So there is some fire in your cold heart! Her eyes dart to Vytal before a change takes place. It was more than sauntering up to Hevn once she began her enchanting dance. As her body pressed to his, a thunder rolled inside of his spirit. A warm electricity grips and stuns every muscle in his body. His heart started to hammer as heart chin came to a rest upon him and her eyes widened sweetly. Her words dripped of of her lips like honey and whatever spell he was under wanted to pull her up and in. A relaxing high begins to dig his brain rapidly.

To dance with a goddess sounded divine on every level. Desire coils around his mind, his body, and his soul. His hands subconsciously lift from his sides to reach, and he utters soft passionate words against his will, “Anything for the honor of dancing with the Winged Goddess.”

Then she turned and dismissed him to the bar, and the dream dropped like a planet on top of him. The emptiness left after being so warm was like being microwaved. If he could blush he would, and was instead left stupefied with s slack jaw. He shakes his head, embarrassed and confused coming free from the summery warmth crawling over him.

How did she do that?! Hevn is a titan of willpower and to be seduced so easily meant one of a few things. She was willing and capable of enchanting him. Perhaps some detail he divulged earlier led her to some weakness she could exploit. A loathsome prospect to a man who had spent a lifetime smiting his vulnerabilities.

The second possibility was that his hormones were raging unchecked. Whether by their enchantments or nature itself, it would explain the flood of tension and ferocity that had ebbed and flowed inside of him since setting foot here. He often kept females at a distance because his deeper, truer nature knew the danger they posed to his disposition. To someone who meant enough, he would do unspeakable things for. He could be blinded by even fleeting glimpses of love, because the black hole in his soul craves it above all.

He shook his head silently at Pom’s last sentence. It inspires a sadness in him looking into her future, and potentially that of her sister. I am no man, darling witches, I am a monster. Not knowing the difference could bring them to harm one day, and it was important that they began to err toward the more dangerous of the two if they intended to survive.

Between the hollow feeling, the shame, and his dismissal, he only bothered by glancing Vytal a short vacant look and Pom a wince before walking away. The front doors open, and he reflects on the strangeness of this place. It would take a great deal of getting used to if he was going to stay. That growth would probably be incrementally experimented with. It was a far cry from anything he’d ever seen in the galaxy.

He didn’t bother to meander the grounds further or even inspect them really. His path was simple. Out of this wild ass place and back to something he knew. As he approaches the hangar something seems off. The guards were missing or off duty, and he’d given them specific instructions to watch over his ship, intending to return shortly. Open the doors himself gave way to a vision of great fury.

Eight hooded figures in black cloaks, and skull masks facing him. The skulls were of gleaming steel and only the blacks of their eyes were visible through the tiny slits. Two more were trying to cut the ramp open in a hail of sparks and fire.

It only took a second for him to snap, but when he did it went too far. As he gave way to his immediate rage, blinding red glyphs sear the walls in a roar of flame. He had experienced this spell once before, in his final trial as a Dark Jedi, but this time, he could fight. He wouldn’t be able to use the sword for fear of what may happen a second time, and so it was his lightsaber that he called to hand. The dragon’s mouth enclosing the emitter snaps open and his pearly white blade hisses to life.

The hooded figures respond by beginning to circle him, and each one of them unleashes a burning red blade of their own. “Careful, he’s one of the half that thwarted us earlier.”

Earlier? The god damn courtyard! SABTOAGE!

The members of the circle begin to chant loudly, and he didn’t intend to let that continue. The magic beginning to summon a storm around the hangar. They were trying to trap and isolate him, but were using enough magic to easily alert the mandragora. They would probably assume him up to no good and with any luck, hurry to help him deal. The two who were cutting into his ship abandon their attempt and charge at him, sabers ready. They were trying to buy time for the casters.

Reaching out with the force he seizes one, and with the wave of his hand slams him into the other, and into a third. The circle was broken and their spell struggles momentarily before a bolt of lightning cracks down from the ceiling. He lifts his lightsaber to intercept and braces himself, getting slammed into a kneeling position. He reaches his right arm out and sends a flurry of blaster bolts pounding into the three on the ground. They die on their bellies trying to recover and the seven left in the circle close it tighter, chanting louder.

Hevn hurls his lightsaber at the nearest one to find it deflected to the ground. A dome of energy had been summoned around him. He walks up to it, retrieving his saber from the ground and holstering it. They were content to sideline him while a single caster was left to finish the storm. Six were occupied by his containment field. A throws a hard right hook into the energy field. It was like punching a wall, but it causes a course of energy to ripple. The saber had not done that. Could he exhaust or slow them through physical means?

With a roar culled from leaving the bubble by its power, he begins to hammer it with everything he’s got. The sword was not an option, and so his fists would have to do. The first few seconds were just warming up, and after that they became a jack hammer of strikes blurring with speed and ferocity. The hooded figures keep their cool, but cast glances at one another as for what to do about him.

As far as his options went being imprisoned, it was the most he could do to buy his reinforcements time.

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom shook her head when [member="Vytal Noctura"] asked if the Mandragora brawl in the lounge. It was a funny thing to ask, which if Hevn's face hadn't caught her eyes, she would have snickered at Vytal's question. She quickly nodded at Vytal's other question about wether Jedi come to the Mandragora. Some do, not many has she ever seen though, because to a Jedi they find fulfillment out there in the galaxy, not being cooped up inside studying the Craft.

She had not anticipated that transparent look on [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]'s face.

No, she hadn’t enchanted him, not with magick outside of any basic human physiology. When she sensed she stirred him, she could not deny that she delighted in the prospect. It’s been a long, long, long, long time; a little longer wouldn’t kill either of them. The game is the most fun, afterall she would never entrap one for long. She always sets them free. Pom plays, but not for keeps!

As Hevn went for the front door instead of the lounge, she found herself left wondering if he might return, even hoping. She felt strange concerning him, all because of her own archaic origins that she kept secret. She and Hevn have a most strangest thing in common, their morbid identity. How many others shall she meet who can lay claim to the same anguish? Out through the door walked the only person who can, not only understand, but identify with her own turmoil. And yet, he still feels alone in the galaxy. He left. If he never returns, she can keep her secret perhaps forever without feeling obligated to share in such a vile kinship with another being.

He left.

It actually hurt. She envisioned herself excusing herself from Vytal and chasing after him, just to tell him, and ask him to stay. Why does she desire this kinship? Does she need him? Maybe he could help her come to terms with herself. To become what, exactly as sorrowful as he is? Or would it all end in discovering even he can find some worthy, maybe even pleasant reason to keep pressing on?

‘Fool! Don’t be stupid,’ she told herself, her stare in his direction and her breath giving her away to Vytal for certain.‘Should I share something as critical as that, he can destroy me.’ The ivy cold of aloneness filled her soul once again, the passion to which she is most accustomed.

‘You are kriffing cruel, Mom,’ she cursed to the Mandragora goddess.‘Kriffing cruel,’ but Mom's signature was also vacant from the castle. It left with him.

In the back of her mind, Pom began to feel Mom calling. She felt Hevn calling too. It was a particularly odd sensation. How would he receive her if Pom did follow after him? Chastise her for her teasing? She did deserve it, if he were to.

After a minute however, the tugging did not relent, it only got stronger. “Vytal, Mom wants him back here, and I have to go get him.” Vytal could stay and explore the castle if she desired, but Pom felt she would come along too. Back on Dathomir she and Vytal were always together, until the day Pom left with the agents of Shaidin Kamari, her husband of her pastlife who had discovered her whereabouts from across the galaxy.

Pom went for the main door, preparing what she would say to convince Hevn to stay, and imagine what he could surely retort. Once she flung open the doors, a change filled her senses.

Pom sneered as she immediately Apparated into thin air to seek out the issue. All she knew is that it involved Hevn, someone Mom has already blessed. That makes him family, and one whom she is obligated to aid.

Something caused Mom to become very angry, and Pom allowed her possession privileges. She instinctively flew towards the hangar, her form nothing more than a visual stream of smoke. As she rematerialized amidst the scene, she emits a focussed electron disturbance. As she does so, the energy creating the bubble which imprisoned Hevn, is refocussed upon one of the intruders who is the most repulsive to Mom's disposition. The man spontaneously combusts into a mere cooked blood stain upon the stone floor. Only his boots and smoldering ankles are left behind.

Pom clenches her fist to choke the others, and stop them from speaking to reinitiate their incantation against Hevn. "I don't believe you know where you are, nor whose presence you are in," she seethed with a growl, a demonic tone to her voice not many have ever heard.

'They will bow!'

Pom however started at the ferocity rendered by her goddess. It was most unexpected a decision. At Pom's wavering, her goddess left her body. 'Well thanks for nothing, Mom!' Pom suddenly shrieked in anguish as an extreme burning sensation seized her after the sickening display of raw lightside power. She quickly fumbled for a Potion inside her vest pocket, needing to revitalize her energies, before their enemies could close their slack jaws.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

Through it all, Vytal's mouth had remained closed, but her eyes hadn't blinked once. In fact, the Nightsister hadn't moved. Perhaps she had turned to stone out of shock. Pom's ways were flirtatious to be sure, but Hevn's reaction was nothing short of smitten. And he invoked the Winged Goddess? What absolute depth of deprave humor-- they had just met! As someone that did not believe in 'love' at first sight this was just beyond words.

Even after managing to remark on the bar, Hevn's reaction was difficult to miss. Pom had somehow shoved a heart back into the man's cold soul, and seemingly ripped it out in less than a minute's time. The two of them were captivated by the man's silence, and the pained look. Part of Vytal wanted to seize the power of Darkness, wrap it around him, and throw him into the lounge; but even as the thought came upon her, so too did her actions in the courtyard.

As Pom stared after the man, conflicted how to respond, her Sister moved behind her to lean against the wall for a moment. She did so by leaning with her shoulder rather than collapsing against it as she might like. The adrenaline had gone, and now the speed tour or excitement from it had drawn down. Perhaps she had overreacted. Perhaps. Insulting her beliefs, however, was a fast track to getting sent into the netherrealm. There were certain realities since coming to the stars that did not sit well with the Nightsister. Knowledge of how vast and diverse the galaxy was. Teachings of other worlds and other gods. Yet there was no Book that truly spoke of the grander picture, and why was that? No, Vytal sighed, it was not worth dwelling on. It was not worth hearing someone suggest the Fanged God was 'dead' or 'absent.' She had found a way to commune with him; how else could she call upon the Darkness?

As the seconds went on, Vytal rolled her eyes behind Pomsty's back. "What are you waiting for? Men are more stubborn than rancor." Obviously her Sister needed a little reminder how socializing worked. Not that Vytal should talk. "Or is the hallway really so enchanting?" What did Pom see in Hevn? Not that he was an abomination as he seemed to think of himself. Obviously he had problems. They all had problems. Demons even. He wore his on his body for all to see. His soul was one made of scars. If Vytal had the energy she would have brought him to his knees and held him prisoner until he learned how to talk and not brood all the time. Men.

"Mom wants him?" There was an obvious sharp quality to Vytal's words. 'Mom,' not Pom, wanted him. Was she really going to try passing off her interest in Hevn? And what was it with calling that spirit 'Mom' at all? They would need to speak of this soon. Whatever that spirit was it was worth...considering, but the living led the living, and the living conjured the dead. There was no room to become subservient to the dead in Vytal's world. Then again, she'd never had to deal with people that believed themselves living dead before. The galaxy forced Vytal to come to terms with many new concepts and reevaluate many old beliefs. It was most infuriating.

After she pushed off from the wall, Vytal followed though not at a brisky pace at first. Couldn't let Pom do this alone. Especially if that spirit was meddling; was she going to be doing this often? The Nightsister was several feet back when Pom threw open the front doors. "Pom," she cried when her Sister abruptly vanished.

That's when her eyes were drawn in the direction of the hanger. Magick. And not the low level or even mid-tier spells that Vytal sensed within the Cathedral. In fact, her bright eyes caught sight of others beginning to surface behind in the common room curious what was going on. Another round with the spirits in the courtyard? Yes that might be an amusing story if she didn't immediately share concern over Pom's sudden departure coinciding with this surge in power.

The doors banged closed before Vytal rushed back through the common area. "Defend the courtyard," she snapped with no regard for being a relative newcomer.

Her feet carried her swiftly down the hall where she threw open the closet and skewered the wall with her eyes. Her right hand thrust out toward the portal that would appear at her call. "Take me to Pom. Now!"

In short order the pale woman stepped into a hallway near the entrance to the hanger. Her eyes immediately land on the sight of Hevn trapped in a field of energy, and with Pom letting out a shriek. Strange robed figures with gaudy skull masks -- why compliment the enemy? -- stood nearby along with signs of fewer number than they'd arrived with. Intruders. And they had come for Hevn? Well, no one messed with the Fates of Midnight or its allies.

The pouch at her side opened and out poured the green mists of death that quickly entwined about Vytal's body. It hurt to draw forth such power so soon, but what was pain when her Sister's life was on the line? And Hevn, if he chose to stop running. "Your words are hallow. Your spell of lesser gods. Tremble, for now comes the Fanged God." The green mists soon joined the storm the outsiders sought to bring; a bright green glow shot out through the dark clouds circling within the hanger. Pale blue lightning would soon strike out at the masked figures with a loud clap of torn air reverberating throughout the enclosed space.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

Hevn’s punches against the force field clang like metal on metal. His disturbance proved to be enough to give the witches the upper hand. A long, long time ago Bedrovelse was the eldest of three brothers. He knew what they’d do to his enemies if they ever caught him in such s predicament, but the witches went far beyond a ruthless beating. They were utterly merciless. He had no idea how intense their response would be.

As Pom materializes within the hangar Hevn ceases his assault, and steps backward into the center of the dome. His arms arm thrown wide in a taunting gesture toward the masked enemies of the Mandragora and he shouts a mockery toward them that cannot be heard, “You messed up now!” That was when an absolute surge of power rolled across the dome and one of these assailants popped like a bag of blood smeared across the floor. His mouth makes an “o” shape as obnoxious laughter booms from his sheer surprise.

Green ichor swirls around and above. Vytal’s divine invocation hijacking the cultists efforts to conjure a storm. Pom’s victorious clenched fist raises the remaining, choking, enemies up for Vytal to utterly annihilate with bolts of electricity that echo thunderously throughout the hangar. Hevn ignites his saber again, and with a elegant twirl he releases it to carve a circle of white spinning light around him. The choking, electrocuted, and now severely maimed bodies fell to the ground with heavy plops.

Imagining this wrath on the heels of his enemies was a pleasant thought. They could be his Sisters, if they wished, if they would accept him. He disengages the saber and holsters it again. He offers each woman a separate and equally deep bow of gratitude. A great leap from his initial introduction, as he genuinely humbles himself. “My thanks Mistresses. This has been a day I will never forget.”

He reaches a hand out, compressing his powers over death into a spiraling black ball in his hand. It spins faster and faster until a whistling or screeching sound is achieved. The souls of the vanquished are torn in violent increments. Their spirits jerking erratically from their mouths and once completely severed from the physical form are swept up into his little spinning ball. It only took a few seconds for them to to be claimed. Each one that passed into the ball was analyzed. Memories and relevant information combed over in a matter of a moment. Because he was searching for the culprits.

“Damn it,” he curses. “Nobodies.” That was frustrating. Their plan hadn’t been bad, though their execution had been a thing of epic blunder. “They tampered with the initiation and seemed to be well aware of my susceptibility for provocation.” The spirit of the Mandragora was so much stronger now that they had passed on. He could feel it swimming through the air around them in a renewed vigor. He was still uneasy of it. Pom had screamed, without any of these peons having time to touch her. What happened to her? An overexertion of the dark side in response to an emotional reaction?

[member="Pom Stych Tivé"] [member="Vytal Noctura"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Her best friend, her sister [member="Vytal Noctura"] understands her well. Even if Pom fights her instincts, the reality of her Physiology cannot be circumvented.

The bell-tower tolled a never once before heard chime, intent on alarming the inhabitants of the Mandragora of the most unexpected event of infiltration, or most unbelievable, a siege. Her coven out in abounds to round up the remaining trespassers.

The dragon roared not far off in the distance, and screams were heard echoing throughout the hangar as the dragon rendered his own sense of judgement for the mistreatment the invading coven had suffered unto him.

The entire charm sequence resting over the Mandragora estate had to have been disrupted by an enormous amount of hours of focus for anyone to have come so close to even approach uninvited. Pom knew it would require days of insistently casting spells to reinstitute the protections long held in place. The reinforcing of such would become a routine chore from henceforth!

The ferocious sensation of fire she had suffered raging over her body due to the choice of magick the goddess of the Mandragora had chosen, now snuffed out and she completely recovered from it.

[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] bows and Pomsty curtsies in return. Her eyes fall past him to his ship. “What a shame. Your ship, your crew. You must stay until all the necessary repairs and preparations have been made. Won’t you?” she asked, full of hope for his affirmation.

She watched him claim the souls of the dead, just like she would, only she traps them within their own bones. Even though one of them belongs to herself, well to the goddess really, Pom courteously allowed Hevn to keep them all. She has plenty minions already.

The Mandragora shall hold an interrogation tonight. She doesn’t know anybody who doesn’t love to stay for those!

 

[Vytal Noctura]

After their enemies had been dispatched, the pale Dathomiri woman stumbled slightly, but quickly straightened up once more. She had poured everything into conjuring the storm in the courtyard to defy those that railed against her. Had these cultists known they would receive such a visceral response? Perhaps they left that to the spirits that could see into the woman they hounded. However it had come to pass, Vytal had plunged her hand into the fire to turn their own spell back on them. Exhaustion had given way to pain that gnawed on her every nerve. Yet the Nightsister's pride would not let other see her collapse into a heap. Not even down to a knee. It hurt to breathe, but she would endure.

To Hevn's bow, Vytal simply nodded. Not that she would have curtsied if her body weren't stiff from a mix of exhaustion and excruciating pain, but she might have bowed slightly under better circumstances. His contribution hadn't gone unnoticed by the pale Sister that stood there. Much as the man had ended up captured at the start, any might have shared that fate with a prepared adversary.

Their souls were collected to feed Hevn's dark inquisition, which Vytal watched carefully in silence. That seemed akin to what Pomsty might have done given the chance. A thread of commonality between them that her SIster had picked up on earlier? It would explain her interest in him. But her body burned and now was not the time for such contemplation.

"He will," Vytal's voice was even, but brokered no alternative. Her eyes turned upon the man expectant of his answer.

It would be a terrible shame if the whirling maelstrom overhead were to knock the man unconscious. A stray bolt. Oh dear, a trap the cultists had laid and Vytal's command could not foresee! Poor, poor Hevn. Yes, this would be how it would go if the man continued to run. Their little monster would be hauled off to a comfortable bed, tucked into the sheets, and fawned over until he tried to escape; and then Vytal would stab him with a mystical anchor that would have him remain until she got through his thick, metal-plated head.

Or the man could smile once more as he had, accept their generous offer, and make an important life decision after getting to know them. Mostly Pom as her Sister seemed keen on having Hevn around. Vytal wouldn't mind holding conversation with his socially, mind, but if he thought every woman in the Mandragora was going to fawn over him, cooing and purring about how wonderful he was... Vytal would happily use an illusion to replay the scene outside the lounge again. Over, and over, and over... Perhaps in front of a large audience.

A smile turned up the corners of the Dathomiri's black lips. Because she looked forward to Hevn staying. Or perhaps she would make his life a living nightmare if he didn't.

"Do either of you know who these creatures were, or what they belonged to?" Talking was as painful as breathing, but Vytal could not ignore what had happened. And how it might happen again. They should be prepared.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

So this was more than just a trap for him, or Vytal, or both if the one sentence he overheard had anything to do with it. The scale in which they launched their attack covered the entire Mandragora base, and in every corner of that battle their victory sounded through one means or another. Hevn himself felt akin to Morrok. His intensifying roar much like the one Hevn felt building inside of his chest. His ship was defiled, he couldn’t be sure what had come of the crew. They knew what to do in such events, and Hevn imagined them bunkered within the hull silently waiting to strike if they had not been rendered unconscious somehow.

At Pom’s question he scowls. If he didn’t know better he’d have assumed this their doing, just to keep him hostage to their shenanigans longer. Not so unlike how the commotion could have drawn their blame to him. Vytal’s adjunct to the question furthered his disdain. Twisting his frown tighter as he assessed the situation.

The ship needed attention. He needed rest. All three of them needed answers. He wondered if any pocket of the Mandragora had left survivors to spare for questioning. Such an effort might be useless if his try at necromancy had failed him. The dead could not hide their knowledge or wisdom from him. Yet from the combatants he could reap none. Pawns crushed by the black queen and white queen respectively.

“It would seem I have no choice, but I cannot linger where traces of light reside.” He avoids Pom’s gaze entirely, focusing the blizzard of his fury instead on Mistress Vytal. Moderation and temperance may suit her skill set, but Hevn’s warning was dire. Both people and spirits in this place harnessed the only power in the universe that could bring him to great harm, or total erasure from existence for that matter. Her command was overstepping by a landslide, but she had been half the rescue effort. He was grateful and humble to both of them, and that only furthered his discomfort. Hevn pulls his coat off and tosses it to the base of the ramp, turning to focus on the ship.

::Hevn to Charon II. Do you copy.::

The silence drew on for only a couple seconds before Hevn steps up to the awkwardly cut ramp, sealed off against the rest of the world. He digs his fingers in, the synthetic flesh peeling and cutting over his metal fingers and they force into the sharp and jagged crevice. His great arms flex and rip it free, slamming to the ground as his paces dance backward. At the top of the ramp two gattling blasters thrum to life, Roarshen and Claws each posted at a gun. Upon seeing Hevn they disengage.

They peek out to see the witches and point accusingly. Hevn raises a hand for silence before their tongues can get them into trouble with the Sisters. “They saved our lives. The enemy is defeated. Thank them, and get to work.”

The great Shistavanen and the small Catharian pace to the bottom of the ramp and stare pridefully at Pom and Vytal. Quite like Hevn had upon entering their fold. Then they bent, albeit not without their eyes leaving either witch, but they bowed. “Good,” Hevn spat after he was satisfied. “Claws you’re on the hull, and comms. Alpha, get me the Sernpidalian Sage. We need to cleanse the hangar of this rage trap and grounding spell.”

Claws nods and rushes inside the ship for his tinted goggles and toolset. Alpha goes into Hevn’s alchemy stash for the sage, and returns with it already burning for him. He pauses to squash his insufferable frown and answers the last question with no effort to conceal his frustration. “All I could gather is that they came to capture, but were content to kill. I will see to it that the hangar is cleansed.”

He pauses for a second, holding the burning sage. He looked like he was being hog piled by cacti, but he forces the words from his mouth anyways. “If you ever need me. I will come.” In the silence he makes meaningful eye contact with Pom at last, and Vytal with a softer expression. Perhaps it was a useless gesture or choice of words. They were plenty capable without him and made that intensely clear. He doubted he’d ever see the day they called that favor in, but at least they knew he owed them one. He begins to fan the sage in front of him, muttering in High Sith as he paces slowly towards the wall. The fiery red glyphs rage with fury. His chanting begins to slowly quell them. This was going to take a while.

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Pom tossed [member="Vytal Noctura"] the same potion she used. Mom was cruel to her to just use her body to generate a Lightside Force Power.

"I don't know who they are; but we are going to find out!"

After all that happened this day, Hevn still had suspicions, Pom could feel it like a virus. She leered. The culture shock was beyond her ability to comprehend. ‘What Force brought him here anyhow?!’ His eyes read that he suspects Pom herself, and [member="Vytal Noctura"] had deliberately orchestrated this whole thing to harm him.

“If your quarters,” ‘your god granted quarters...or our company...’ “don’t suit you, then you can take my ship in place of your own until your repairs are completed,” she proposed with all lack of passion, pointing towards the luxurious ship she stole from her Shaidin. “Your crew will be treated as our guests, and our technicians will be at your service,” ‘day and night...’

Pom mockingly performed a rushed curtesy, and with a fling of her hair turned to trod off to the fortress. She cursed [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"] in her native tongue of Paecean. When she heard him speak in Sith, her own tongue then also changed to Sith! If only he heard!

Life is easier when one simply welcomes the dysfunction, because it is there, especially among family!

She fancied that she might lock a litter of snow leopards in his private room, lock them in without a litter box!

At the Castle there would be a formal interrogation, formal for the Mandragora inhabitants, that is. After they are finished, the CIS prison system can claim the offenders, with an offer for permanent residency which they cannot refuse…if they live!

Pom would see to it that she would try to push any thought of Hevn out of her mind. If he stayed for the night to learn who is truly behind the attack, or if he does not, it's no skin off her back. She would try to convince herself not to care about his fickleness.

The Mistress flung open the doors of the Mandragora and saw that there are six survivors of the attack being drug by the resident Warlocks to the secret entrance which leads to the sacrificial altar. They toppled a statue of a dragon and the hearth rolled to the side with a scraping sound that resonated throughout the lobby. A stone staircase was exposed as the floor turned. The only members permitted to enter are those attuned to Darkness.

When they waved her over to follow them, she skipped like a little girl across the cold stone floor.

 

[Vytal Noctura]

If Hevn thought his scathing look would have the Nightsister step back in fear for her life, or even soften her features contemplating a despite bid for forgiveness, then he was going to be waiting a while. Tactically, she was in a bad state. A throw down with the man wouldn't end well for her, but strategically bowing her head would be more troublesome going forward. That and she was simply not going to apologize for stating a fact. If they had to bind every limb to the corner of a four post bed then that was simply what they would do until Hevn thought this through from their -- mostly Vytal's -- perspective.

Besides, was the man honestly going to lay a hand on her after threatening to kill her not long ago? That would not be a terrible good show of a man that seemed mindful of what rage had nearly drove him to.

Wrath. "Passion" as so many of them called it. The source of those that basked in the 'Dark Side.' Vytal was not impressed. It could conjure considerable power -- she would not refute the patently obvious -- but it so easily and among most frequently exposed several weaknesses. Most crucial of which was losing all semblance of control over their own actions. Nightsisters could teach them how to better harness it, but they would never be quite equal with their Dathomiri counterparts.

In secret truth, it was likely any single Sister might not equal the full power of the most ardent passion-drowned Dark Sider either. Vytal would never say that aloud, but it was quite possible the unbridled rage removed certain inhibitors most sentient creatures possessed. Fortunately, the Nightsisters made up for the lack of any one Sister's ability by joining together as one. What one could not accomplish, the group could.

As Hevn wrestled with his ship, Pom tossed -- a half-lidded stare leveled at her Sister -- a potion to Vytal. She consumed it quickly before need to excuse herself and collapse out of sight over took her.

Vytal's gaze fell on Hevn then. The man seemed of interest to ensure the trap would not be sprung again. Wise. Though Pom did not stay to witness the cleansing. With a silent sigh, Vytal snapped her fingers and the green mists that held the storm at bay overhead swept toward the heart of the storm, utterly consuming it.

"By the Fanged God, you two are impossible. I can only hope the rest of the Fates arrive swiftly, and perhaps then I will know peace." She pivoted on the spot, but stayed her feet. "Hevn," Vytal turned her head slightly to indicate she spoke to the man over her shoulder, "whatever you think you are, however strong you might be, every creature needs a den. A place it can return to knowing relative safety. In the case of the Mandragora, a place of knowledge. You are welcome to stay as long as you like." Declarations like this would perhaps become a hallmark of Noctura's stay with these Witches and Warlocks. She should consult with the Nightmother or this Great Spirit on such matters, if she had a mind to follow protocol. Perhaps she'd become accustomed to being the authority, shielding the other four Fates from the galaxy, and it was habit to make proclamations for the whole.

"As are your...crew." The pale woman looked to 'Claws' and 'Alpha,' creatures that had bowed in appreciation for the Witches' assistance earlier.

Part of her wanted to run off with Pom, but Hevn was...well, Hevn. Vytal wanted to make sure the man knew he was welcome even if he thought it some trap, or they dainty flowers before his terrible storm.

Tag: [member="Pom Stych Tivé"] | [member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]​

 

[Bedrovelse Hevn]

What I do owe these two is greater than this petty squabbling incessant tongue wagging! A life! A battle! A fight! They demand compliance and comfort in a place and ways I cannot fathom. I have stepped into these halls a Sorcerer, and they demand a witch.

At Mistress Pom he was relieved to ignore her as she dismissed herself. Your pleasantries have shown thus far to be fake at best. Your mouth is full of scathing sarcasm and your courtesies must only serve to amuse yourself as you tread with full weight across the patience of those who’ve come to lend aid.

I did as asked. I endured the same trial you say that all are asked to perform. I have seen your walls. Sharing a bed with light siders was insane by itself without adding the fact that these witches seemed to be willing to wield it in measures that would induce self harm. The light, and the zealotry required to perform such a feat made them far more unpredictable than they could possibly accuse Hevn’s mood of being. He was consistently foul until prompted otherwise. These witches seemed able to wield the power of the so called benevolent light in moments of wrath as well as simple focus. Even if it could be explained made these allies even more skeptical than openly treacherous tomb raiding treasure thrives.

Mistress Vytal was keen to repeat the words lost on him by her sister, and he was not having it. Inevitably his circle of cleansing cane back to her. His attitude obvious and abundant, he pauses the task of cleansing. As his chanting halts the glyphs on the walls return to their blazing glory, if not intensifying outright. It was not a scare tactic, but the work of the cultists. The witches were still ignoring the rage trap laid for him and the deep talons it’s had lodged in his bones since setting foot in this very hangar earlier that day.

“Mistress, whatever illusion of safety you’d like to cling to after this, is a deception you will only feed yourself. Feed your sisters even, but spare me the obvious lie. Look around you!” Hevn did not need to gesture at the ethereal flames engulfing the walls. His voice rose to a reverberated shout. “I came here and demanded nothing of the witches of Dathomir. In fact I offered an exchange. On what grounds do either of you see fit to command me? Gods do not pollute my thoughts or sway my judgment. They do not fuel my power or save our souls, They tremble, they weep, and they die, as monsters like me destroy the faith in their divinity.!”

The flames were roaring. He couldn’t even hear his own thoughts any more. Just the overwhelming impulse for violence. To obliterate her physical form and desecrate her spirit beyond the reach of the Winged Goddess and the Fanged God. Hevn extends a pointed finder toward his ship. “That is my den.” His extended hand wanders from the ship to the Catharian and Shistavanen. “Those are my Fates. How desperate are the times that you would so easily accept this as your home? That you would trust the lives of your kin to Gods false even to yourself. To enemies of a faction that spans half a galaxy. How could you ask it of someone you do not care for or desire to understand?”

Hevn stands bewildered, and frustrated with his arms crossed before her. “My tone may be out of line, Mistress, but look upon me. One time, in full.” His arms extend. “What you see is a result of depending on the likes of people who walk these halls. Treachery. There is power in magic, and there are those who will go to any length to claim it. Including crush you beneath the stones you pray every night will keep you safe. Some day, if you survive long, you’ll look just like me. Hate, just like me. Your sisters blood will be on your hands as their corpses litter these grounds and those hoods stand where we are now. It won’t be because you were weak. It’ll be because you were stupid.”

[member="Vytal Noctura"] [member="Pom Stych Tivé"]