Witchking
LOCATION: Dathomir
The Venator Class Star Destroyer came out of hyperspace above Dathomir. There it was poised as vessel to bring The King to the Kingdom of Witches in this galaxy. Here the Mothers of Peridea had long ago come and establsihed their covens, with the Nightbrothers forming their own clans. The world was potent with the Magicks, which Wight felt as he sat with one leg slung over his arm rest. Aboard the ship was a Dead Man's Crew of those who had once in life been Nightsisters and Nightbrothers. They walking the decks in slow gates, their flesh rotten, and doing everything that their Captain, The Witchking did command. Looking down on the swirling vermillion world from the view screen, The Son of Peridea yawned, his white locks which folded over on one side swaying a little. Standing up he in his leather trenchcoat of shadow with its markings of magenta that matched his eyes came close to the screen as he held his hands and arms behind his back,
Scans uncovered some ruins in the North, the concentration of the Covens was at the Falls, and in the South, where the forests were abundant and Mount Arcanis dominated the hotizon. The Ruins were of interest to this Wight who with his crew of reanimated corpses would flood. He commanding the Destroyer to enter atmosphere with a mere thought, the Undead doing his bidding and piloting the great vessel into the vermillion world. There piercing through the cloud cover his ship's rib cage patterns on the haul below would be seen, a message to any who beheld the Great Star Destroyer his intent. For The Son of Peridea had come to Dathomir not merely to grave rob, but rather to assert his mantle of Witchking, the first in a millenia or so the prophecy foretold on Peridea. A dropship of bone shape and white came out of the hangar and did descend on the ruins, there tombs and structure most ancient did await, the shuttle coming to the threshold of these seemingly empty houses of the Dathomiri. The ramp fell and smoke poured out as incense, rushing out in a dozen was the Corpses with their glowing green eyes, and garments of scarlet, their faces of flesh pale and flaking, the moved as if one, a heart beat between them all when stepping off the vessel was The Wight, who in his trenchcoat of black leather began to walk among the tombs and structures, his eyes aflame with the pinkish gene that had passed down to him from his Nightsister Mother. He had hoped she could see this day, see him ascent to the throne of all Dathomiri, and yet in her grief she was bound to another galaxy. And so he would have to carry only his memory of her to this place, her very home world itself.
He had a double right to be here, first as Witchking and second as Son of the Night. He had rejected his Sith Bloodline, killed it even. He had no intrerested in hocus pocus of the Force, he was bound to the Magicks, and they had given him strength to even slay a great Sith Lord. What Dathomir had needed was vision, the covens divided and lost in their tribal ways, they needed to remember the Ancients, Ther Perideans who had created a Witchkingdom and made their realm a terror to the Jedi. Yes, it was time for the Dark Magick, not the Dark Side to have supremacy, to stretch forth and remind the galaxy the power of Witchcraft!
