Private You're Who?

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Dathomir

Dusk​

Pom Stych Tivé has returned to her home after an extensive stay abroad. Much had not changed regarding her coven members, but she certainly has experienced some change of mind because of venturing out. She left with the greatest ambitions to get off this planet and learn something new and useful. She returned after learning that the only thing useful, is that there is nothing useful to be found anywhere out there. Darkside artifacts are nothing to play with. In fact many don't even have a useful purpose beyond torture and inciting mayhem. Who would dare desire to bring something so volatile back to her coven members? Such would be far too dangerous. She had tried to be inclusive with people offworld, but her culture simply seems to have its facts correct. There are reasons her people don't mingle. Most she found to be inhospitable. Her sister does quite well with offworlders, but with what the Ashla tried to do to Pom, she could not be more happy to be home and see her cottage again. After four years being away from her coven, this has been a day long anticipated…especially after what the Ashla tried to do to her!

The Winged Goddess tried to redeem her. A Nightsister! She got hooked into it somehow. Perhaps she was mesmerized by…it had to be a man. Could it have been that simple? NAH! Definitely not! But damn! Whatever it had been, she is sure over that now. Her Fanged God had eventually swooped down to save her, and he made her vomit the goodness right out of her Soul. He presented her back with the demons she had come to know personally all throughout her lifetime. She is so very happy that she can trust her god to be true to his obsessive nature. How good it feels to finally be home once again, safe inside his boundaries! It became tiresome to draw him to herself in order to garner his Spirit of Ichor necessary to generate magick out there all the way across the galaxy. Other gods had obviously gotten pissed with what Pom had done, and tried to put a stop to her bringing the Fanged God out of his confined grid and into the Galaxy at large.

The Potions Mistress walked along the path to her residence to find her herb garden wildly overgrown. She stopped to examine the flowers that would not require too tedious tending, for they are wildflowers after all. The walk from the landing pad was not too long before she first saw her home, for she hadn't much money before she left, so her prime real estate isn't much to be desired by those covetous of a place all their own. It is the first cottage anyone would find when they come to seek guidance from the coven, and the most noisy location out of anyone's.

She grabbed the latch to open the front door for the first time in four years as a feeling of purposefulness washed over her. This is her place, all her own. She knew that the moment she should plop down upon her bed, she would realize just how much she missed it all along! It appears dusty within, but nothing she could not address over the next few days. Everything that she saw inside, drove home the feeling that she truly missed Dathomir. She always had everything here, all in one place, her place. There is nothing she needs that is not found right within her reach. Out there, offworld, she did without alot very often.

The Nightsister has returned with an ample trunk stocked with tinctures which she had brewed while away, to store in her apothecary. She walked along the wood floor planks, their creak familiar to her memory. The sustenance to the wildlife chirped just outside her window, in her garden, and wilder beasts lay awaiting them to trespass amidst the swamplands. She moved throughout her home intending first to store her potions, before she would dress for bed.




Kyrel Ren

 

[Kyrel Ren]

It had been weeks since Kyrel was driven out of Mustafar.. There a great battle was fought between himself and what remained of the Knights of Ren. As well as those invading... The Jedi Knights and the Outer Planets Alliance. Since then he traveled deep into Exegol an ancient Sith World. Where he discovered in the form of a failed creation of Palpatine. A decrepit creation of the dark side who gave Kyrel a new purpose. First and foremost to rebuild the Knights of Ren, not bound to one man but to that of an idea alone. One that would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies where one was no longer bound to the likes of Order and Unity. But that of Chaos and destruction. He would be the man of vision to bring that about upon the galaxy as the new Master of the Knights of Ren walking in the footsteps of Kylo Ren long before him. His own name an homage to that of the second Master in the history of the Ren.

He had come to Dathomir to the world of red mist and witches. Learning and seeking more about the dark side. As the magicks used by the Nightsisters while nothing compared to the power of the Force had brought some slight curiosity to him. An ancient amulet was grasped in his hands glowed brightly as he made his way through the red lands. Eyes watching him such as the Zabrak Nightbrothers all around. Vader's Bane clung tightly to his other hand as he looked through his mask.

Moving carefully spotting what looked to be a primitive home of sorts. The amulet that had been steadily glowing. Had been glowing brighter. He moved slowly. The beasts roaring as he approached sensing his own dark aura in the Force. With little force he knocked the door down. Looking around it was a primitive dweling adequate for one person no doubt. The red eyes of his mask sighting one woman in front of him. No doubt to his assumption a witch of the mist.

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

The Nightsister could feel someone approach, his essence different than what darkness emanates from the world around her. She could even tell the one on approach to be a man. He stood out like a sore thumb and she imagined with no doubt that his ego matches his steady focus on approach. He trailed straight to her little magick fortress, perhaps to just pass on through and out the back window! She discretely selected potions and slipped them into her cuff. The witch not often needing to protect herself upon her own homeworld. She did not start when a man entered like some common buffoon.

At first she wondered if perhaps this gentleman had made her home his way station while she had been gone. He clearly is not recognized as one who had ever been here to entertain her in her past. She received a familiar sting, like a jolt of electricity sparking directly within her mind. Her Legion, demons who long ago became a part of the Sorceress, spoke what they derived of the unusual situation.

"You be glad that the Fanged God actually delivered you here," she announced with her indigenous cultural drawl. The small woman scowled as she flouted, sweeping up the Amulet from the man's fingertips, ignoring his cylindrical toy toted in his other hand. If she must tug the amulet to grasp it, she would so with a hiss of indignation. Her god already making patriarchal demands, and she has not been home for so much as an hour! She lightly tossed the amulet in the air, and levitated it before her eyes. It glowed with Fate, but she would not entertain one so unbelievably sure of himself without a little nudging from her god. And for the moment, the deity only sat back and laughed like he does, often amusing himself at the expense of his girls.

"You bring it here like a servant to such things! Foolish man to make such a journey for little purpose. This can mean nothing to you. In fact you come here because it is mine," she told him, lying about the trinket's worth to her guest. In fact his find stands for something not only she secretly respects, but it stands as an amulet to assist man over a woman. Such realization stung the Nightsister, in silence she nursed wounds that only every other system in the galaxy could bestow upon a woman's worth. She refused to say another word about it, merely turned her back on her guest as she reached up to the mantle, extending her arm to place it upon the cold stone there.

She watched her trespasser from the corner of her eye and she suddenly wondered where she had seen his face before. She lit the fire in the hearth with a snap of her fingers.


Kyrel Ren

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel burst down the door open only to scan the room with his eyes and see the likes of a woman, a witch of all else. He had heard while entering Sith space that the Nightsisters were forced to serve the Sith on pain of death, and while Kyrel himself had worked and built a rapport with the Sith, even adopting the practices and teachings of a long dead Sith Lord. He himself strode to be something that stood out from them, and now here he found himself staring down what was it... A nightsister all by herself on this world, someone not of the Sith. Looking at him, as if annoyed that he broke inside what he would assume her home.

The amulet is taken from his hand into her own, the other hand clenching the saber tightly, activating it and the crimson blade appearing from the emitter, casting downwards. Speaking with anger rising in his tone, staring at her as if he had deadly intent. "If it meant nothing then why did it lead me to you witch!? Here I stand in this primitive hovel, and yet you mock me... I can end your life with a mere thought, or even better slowly.." Clearly anger has often gotten the better of Kyrel, with Vader's Bane in his hand, and when provoked if only slightly. He dd not take kindly to such a mysterious woman insulting him, or at least what he thought was insulting was how she said that the trinket in his hand, or should he say now her hand had led him all this way for nothing.

Perhaps, he himself should know better than to draw his saber, but when spoken to in such a way the Master of Ren was often prone to rage, he himself had questions. He had more pressing matters to attend to such as rebuilding the Knights... To make his plans a reality, yet as of this moment, he had been led here to this house. To this woman. Was there something at work here, what would the trinket allow him to accomplish over this woman. Speaking once more he said, keeping his saber lowered. "Well, why would this trinket lead me to you?"

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Sometimes Pom’s bastard demon legion lies to her and she finds herself having to recover a blunder. What can she expect while her very god is a son of a queen towards his worshippers himself? But for both spiritual enforcers, they always, always come through for Pom when it truly counts. They are behind her magick and the Darkside of the Force which manifests it.

A little sleight of hand, child's play, and the sacred amulet which he seemed so drawn to covet, became replaced with a forgery upon the mantel.

She wondered what in the heck can her god possibly see in this man! He is a man. A hothead in no control of his hormones. How childlike they all were, only good for creating life and taking it. She had heard of civilizations that tossed out children of one sex upon the moment they were born. All that labor birthing them and that was the end result. Of course men rule the galaxy and her own god is male. But Dathomir prevails for one reason alone...the women here are fortified by centuries of knowledge, secrets, and were ever pushed to extend their understanding and physical existence beyond all measure and reason of mental conditioning and physics.

'Why do men always think themselves immediately worthy because they arrived on Dathomir's surface alive? Is that actually what men believe to be sound logic? Is he a what? A gift? Maybe? Dropped into my lap from my god? Possession is nine tenths of the law and he is inside my house. I ought stamp him with the Blood Trail and be finished with him already. He would benefit from such a curse, quite highly,' she imagined. He would be forced to have his thoughts forged by her own. He would be cured of rashness and ignorance.

The Amulet is sacred. It is a token that grants its bearer direction towards attaining something he wants or requires. She knows it. He stood in his ignorance which he brought with him, likely throughout his life, and made demands, having no inkling regarding to whom he makes demands, nor what he is even demanding. She slid her palm down one side of her face in sheer astonishment. She shook her head, eventually, and merely snickered in amusement of it all. She never does expect anything more! Men have never given her hope that they could overcome being themselves for even a millisecond. There is no humbling them. He might make an entertaining pet, a plaything. Did he truly come to learn something phenomenal? Why ever would he believe he would actually gain anything by acting like a man?

She turned and faced him squarely on, stepping towards him and sizing him up. “Fancy feather ruffling and your typical dance of dominance will merit you nothing among the Nightsisters of Dathomir. Acting like a man only begets one what he wants, death. If it is death you prefer to ally with, then go about the galaxy and earn it. It is rampant out there. But if you truly seek what curiosities the Amulet brewed out of your soul, then forget you are man and be civilized henceforth. Your quest will proceed as you create it. You are led to me. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no need of you as you are.” He didn't come all this way to threaten her into relinquishing Centuries of secrets to her Craft, —which he does not understand,— only to make a move to kill the source of that which he seeks? How does a man imagine he would actually kill someone who masters powers of which he has no idea what they even are? Pom on the other hand knows what to expect. She has studied beyond what other Nightsisters have even imagined to explore. She has studied the Force, Light and Dark.

She turned her back on him once again, and hung the tea kettle over the fire.

Shadows which danced about the room overcame the brilliant red glow of his ignited lightsaber, thickened and fashioned to reveal themselves as living entities. They would begin to foretell events of his past. That is, if he opens himself up to truly evolve after coming so very far, enchanted by a magick of the Amulet he does not yet comprehend. Everyone has failures that can be studied, and learn from them how to mold the future to generate proper success. Nightsisters however are not about the galaxy-wide business of battling the Dark against the Light. She has met Ashla; the people under her rule seem to understand her. Nightsisters are about perfecting themselves. 'What is it this man would prefer to perfect?'

She turned towards him again as she slinked down into a comfortable chair by the hearth, watching to learn what the spirits might reveal. "You honestly must know why it is you are here. Many believe themselves worthy, while few truly actually are. What is your name, blessed one?" She gestured for him to sit across from her, unless he is so uptight he prefers to remain standing by the entryway, his nearest escape route should he find himself overwhelmed.

What utter humility it is for the Nightsisters to worship a god who is all male, the living and spiritual embodiment, and power to the creation and the current manifestations of the superior Darkside of the Magick of the Force!! The Ones!! She knows that the Ashla isn't particularly fond of this development either.




Kyrel Ren

 

[Kyrel Ren]

The woman that stood before him was not intimidated, if rather a little more annoyed, and intrigued. Claiming to know things, especially of the trinket in her hands than Kyrel did. He himself had seen, and been through too much in a span of ten years. He would not so easily be intimidated by her. She claimed that his quest had led him to her, and yet he didn't know how to fully answer that of course. The amulet glowed yes, but did that really bring him to her. Was there some purpose that he didn't know about, something at work that even he didn't foreseen. He deactivated his lightsaber, hooking it to his belt. Listening to her words closely, as she looked to make a pot of tea. Gesturing for him to sit, he was hesitant at first slowly moving towards her, then the seat that she was gesturing to.

Still remaining on his guard, he was not afraid of a fight. Fighting was one of his strongsuits and would gladly engage her if need be. She asked for his name, as he took a seat. "What they call me is Kyrel Ren... My name is or was lost long ago... I am the Master of the Knights of Ren..." He said as he sat down in front of her, slowly moving his hands to his face. Taking off his mask with a snap-hiss.. The mask is removed slowly to reveal a Human male in his thirties, handsome some would say by the looks of him. But underneath that face was a monster, a brute force of nature used before and now as an agent of chaos, a tool of destruction. His hazel eyes looking upon hers. As if he had questions to ask, and was even impatient for answers.

When he saw shadows from his own ignited lightsaber, living entities. It did not scare him. Shadows did not scare him, ghosts did not scare him, monsters did not scare him. For he himself was a monster. A monster born out of dark and light and was consumed completely by the darkness. Now here he sat before a witch that called him blessed one. As if he had an idea of what that meant. Speaking more as if impatient, as if curiosity was getting the better of him.

"Why call me blessed one, what answers do you hold witch? What do you see that I have to offer, or what brings me to you?"

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

To call life slow on Dathomir could be an understatement, and also an undercurrent. While daily life seems to be well beyond the term outdated, a Nightsister doesn't just sit around and do nothing throughout her lifetime. She is very well educated about what matters, and keeps her tasks secret from outsiders. Now what matters to most, is not the same that matters to the Nightsisters. It might be said that they transcend the need for technology or even modern machines. It might be said…and that would most certainly hold true.

Pom watched the shadows dance about the room to reveal secrets hidden deep under the surface of her guest. To follow their story is most similar to a child's game of reading tea leaves. It can occur even without their awareness that it is even happening.

He told her his name, which she can recall having read about the Knights of Ren in passing texts from the mandragora library. Behind the brand is a particular notoriety, dedication and loyalty to his cause, to his people. In a manner of speaking, the strictness of his ways are not much unlike her own heritage. Theirs' is far different than most would understand, members adhere to a joint conquest, with unity and an admiration for nostalgia. It is not like the Sith or the Jedi, who learn as individuals on the basis of their unique capabilities, and between the lot of them they must combine to acquire a vast knowledge of all that exists about their craft. For a few sects among the galaxy, many members aspire to learn all that their predecessors had gathered, press beyond individual limitations, and not stop until every last one of their members has learned all there is to know.

Kyrel Ren truly did not seem to have an inkling about why he was lead here. She needed to consult the spirits to learn why for herself. It couldn't possibly be he was driven by the need to return an amulet to her possession. Well, it could have been, because it was obviously taken from someone on Dathomir. But such is highly unlikely.

The Mistress blushed as she watched him try to figure out his purpose. She gave him a little nudge, "Well, most people find themselves drawn to Dathomir as if by some mystical force for only one of two reasons. One, is to produce powerful heirs. The second is to come away with something magical, whether a skill or some item they require to utilize. Such are generated specifically for their unique purpose with the bearer's intentions in mind, to substantially increase one's success regarding some specific task, or typically epic life changing future event." The second answer is sometimes far easier to accept for most men, than the first! Certainly even she would prefer the second! Fate and gods shall have their way! They tend to have a sick sense of humor. Sometimes men want both, or at least the fun of taking a shot at it.

She suddenly flashed a brilliant but fleeting smile in his direction at the mere thought, and wondered what he would next reveal brewing inside his precious head.

He asked her to define her meaning regarding him. "You are different; yes? Are we not blessed, those of us who have a sense of our gods, over those who feel they walk through life being mostly just comprised of individual energy sparks, pertaining of no true consciousness? Clearly we are interconnected, those of us who possess such an awareness."

The sound of the teapot as it began its slow rise to a boil, she allowed to distract her thoughts.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel sat amongst her, as the tea started to slowly boil, unaware if the witch had heard of the Knights of Ren or not. The group was largely clandestine and not well known, perhaps known through the old legends that was told in the Unknown Regions. He himself, however, did not know what had mostly drawn Kyrel to her home, what the amulet was trying to tell him. Perhaps her guidance would clear the matter up. As she spoke, she brought up two reasons that might have drawn him to her. The first being breeding, he knew the customs of Dathomiri witches and most of them would seek to find a specimen worthy to mate with and carry the best offspring. That was mostly left to the Nightbrothers, although for the males it would cost them their life in the process.

There was something tantalizing about the first thought she said, about breeding. The way she looked, there was something animalistic that called to him. That made such a thought tempting. As if like an animal it would be a struggle for dominance. Trying to shake such thoughts from his mind, the second she spoke of. Was more about being on a quest. To come away with a skill, or something to learn. Like the trinket, she had in her hand. To which to no end he still did not know, if it was either the former or the latter that brought him here. Hoping that she didn't notice his thoughts on the former, his thoughts stuck to the latter.

"I see, and which one do you desire I wonder.... A male to breed with, or simply to learn from... I cannot tell you what has brought me before you. Perhaps you can tell me, or help me find out what I wish and seek to know." He said the pot boiling, unaware of what could happen next. Yet filled with questions, and the witch before him hoping to help answer the questions that he had come to seek. He was no longer filled with anger, but that of a burning curiosity. Especially with where all of this would eventually lead.

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Having just returned to her home after a four year adventure, its late and she is terribly tired, and she had been inside her domicile all of five minutes before he kicked in her font door like a madman with a purpose only to find he possesses absolutely none…she hasn't even unpacked yet, her visitor finally asks her what she wants.

No…
That is not the case exactly.

He had asked her specifically which of the limited two choices it is that she wants.

The Nightsister froze in her place. Does his body language determined he has just gone docile on her? What wild hunger he could incite! A gift from her god, for returning home where she belongs and into his care! Certainly she considers the option.

Kyrel Ren continued to play the game of having no clue why he is here, yet still he came, still he sat, still he spoke with her. Nor does he even pretend to have any preference for what transpires next, so long as it is one of the two things she had just mentioned as the usual reasons. She fancied taking the Amulet that brought him here in a tiff, and burning it into the skull upon his very forehead! Let him forever walk the earth in future unrest! Her eyes narrowed a bit, 'MEN!' she thought, her temper a tad on the tantrum side, a burst of hot air burst inward from the fireplace, stretching the flames into the openness of the room only for a second or two; yet she smiled evenly. She rose instantly from her chair as the whistle of the kettle screeched, like she had so wanted to scream! Its sudden interruption, she could not but be grateful for.

The herbalist, stood before the option of a nice soothing cup of hot tea. It would be salve for her soul. Then she shall have her rest. The one fascinating thing about herbal remedies is that over a long period of time one becomes immune to their own concoction, when at first just a tad had been well enough. The Potions Mistress reached for the nearest shelf and removed the dried spices she sought. A pinch here and a dash there, into her mortar. She rubbed her pestle round the stone's edge and brought the mortar closer for inspection. She inhaled the sweet intermingling aroma. It had been a very long time since she had been home, working with the best ingredients the galaxy had to offer.

The Potions Mistress smiled as she inhaled the aroma yet again, a coo of satisfaction emitting from her throat as she walked past her guest to drop her mixture into two awaiting cups. The look which crept across her features could only be read as one of sheer uneasiness, maybe surrender. She stirred both teacups and set down the spoon upon the lid of her base herbal mix upon the shelf.

She held out a cup to her guest and sat again across from him. A shyness emitting from her eyes, a hint of a placid smile as she wondered if she ought climb into his lap.

Patience..

She raised her cup to her lips, hiding her subtle smile behind the blown glass, her mind reeling in violent attempt to decide. Scenarios played out in her thoughts. She wondered if he is afraid of her, like so many off-worlders truly are, so much that they do not indulge in her offered gifts of tinctures. If this man would not, she would have her answer that he could make up his mind which task he came to her to complete after all. If he could not even finish her offer of tea, respectfully, she would understand that it must be the second option he is after.

She would not speak a word, neither would her eyes be true to her wants. The Nightsister would have her tea now.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel was all the more curious of what the witch was planning. Was it possible that she lured him to her home for the purpose of mating with her. Yes it was entirely possible. Perhaps he was all but curious to play her game. Willing to see what her plans were. How far things would go. He was surprised himself that he didn't kill her. That he ripped her apart out of the sheer annoyance the journey to the red mist world was.

Now here he was, watching as she put ingredients into a pot of boiling concoction. The Master of Ren was ultimately unaware of what it was. When he was handed the cup, he leaned forward into the drink. As if trying to find a scent to the drink that she gave him, but ultimately not finding any. His eyes locked onto hers suspiciously. As if trying to feel her mind through the Force for any danger, any deception. But to his surprise he found none.

With some caution and nervousness. He raised the small cup to his lips. Drinking it slowly. Not sure what would happen. What he would feel. If she was poisoninghim, or if she was placing a spell on him. He ultimately led it up to chance and to the Force to decide what might come from drinking her offering. He also did it As he did not want to seem rude in turning her down.

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

As she watched her uninvited guest make his way to the bottom of her teacup, she felt a strange sense of…some crap she was taught by Ashla. It is definitely guilt. She watched him slump over, his arms grow limp as the cup settled upon his lap while the sweetly scented nectar spilled out over his pants. Pom reached for the teacup as it slipped from his fingertips but missed catching hold of it. It crashed to the floor shattering into a million shards. Even magick would not return it to flawless perfection now.

"Did you really?" she asked aloud in utter awe, leaning in towards him as if she could see her answer more clearly to do so. "How rare you are. Did you really trust me?" She sighed. Tired.

She stood up from her chair. 'Now what to do with him? Send him over to…?'

Just then another Nightsister appeared in Pom's doorway. "Pom! I came because I smelled the smoke from your fireplace. You're finally home!" her coven sister cried out excitedly, casting a very odd look downward while she found she had to step over the toppled doorway. The big woman rushed over to hug Pom in a bone gripping bear hug, which Pom returned rather lightly and with an added awkward smile, as she found herself walked in on during a rather private moment.

Her friend and neighbor glanced down at Kyrel Ren as she stood over the arm of his chair. "I hadn't noticed anyone here. Oh, I see what you did," she said glancing back to the door laying on the floor of Pom's parlor. "What are you planning to do with your gentleman caller, Pom? Bury him in the swamp?"

"I don't know yet, Bijburfa. I mean…I feel kind of weird now. He may have actually trusted me. Nobody ever drinks the tea I hand them! They feel awkward and then they leave me alone! He and I don't even know one another!" Pom said as her guest groaned. To her added terror his eyes followed her as she moved. "He can still hear me! I don't know what to do now? Either he is truly brave or overwhelmingly stupid. I cannot mate with a stupid man, Bij! What am I gonna do now?!"

"Well you know," her sister began, offering the voice of reason, "all men are led here by the Fanged God. You probably have to keep him…you know…until…he's…done with you."

Pom's mouth dropped in sheer embarrassment, the reaction her sister clearly wanted to see. "I-I-I have t-to what? Him?" she asked peering down at the man. "D-d-do you want him?"

Her sister cocked her head in disappointment. "That's not how his matchmaking works and you know it."

"Well help me lift him then," Pom said, her sister much larger and stronger.

As the two women lifted the Knight of Ren out of the chair, the tiny Pom huffed under his weight. His lightsaber slipped onto the floor and rolled silently under the chair. Bijburfa did most of the work.

Pom stated, "I don't know which ship is even his?"

"Just keep him here, and in the morning when he wakes, play along like he swept you away," Bij advised. "He will only come back if you don't. I had one once who just seemed that he couldn't leave until I agreed." Bij carried Kyrel into Pom's bedroom while Pom frowned and stammered to protest. She let the man fall down upon Pom mattress.

Pom's face contorted to utter mortification at such a statement. "Aaaah. Bite your tongue, Bij."

Bij lifted Kyrel's legs upon the bed as well as she said, "He is certainly going to need to be found…" and she twirled her fingers in a circle to give Pom a clue.

The Nightsister plopped her back against the door frame as she groaned in dismay.

*. *. *​

In the morning Pom's guest would awaken to the sound of the wild birds. He would find his attire strewn over the back of a wooden chair in her bedroom. The Nightsister would not be found in the same room with him, in fact she had not entered the room again since Bijburfa left. Pom hadn't slept at all, but she tried to put on a facade like she had, and that they had,— and that everything is great.

She fixed her front door during the early morning hours, and attempted to fix the teacup but it put so many splinters in her hand. When she knew her guest would not sleep much longer through the ruckus of the birds, she started cooking breakfast over the hearth, terrified that Kyrel would come out of the room, remembering everything. She hopes to be able to shove him out the door and that he would be far away from Dathomir before he should start to remember…if he should remember anything she did to him at all!

 

[Kyrel Ren]

He was overcome not long after drinking the offering, by a heavy feeling of drowsiness... In that moment he attempted to call to the Force to no avail to stave off what was affecting him. Even looking at the Nightsister in a scowl before he could even react. He found himself passed out on the floor. Darkness taking him. While in his mind dreams had crept in, of his past in his 10 years as a Knight to Sieger Ren, his numerous conquests for the First Order, his clone daughter Varas... The Fall of the First Order, of Mustafar, of his journeys on Mortis. All of his past, even his Mother coming to drive the dark sider mad, his past driving him mad. All the whil it was a restless sleep.

When awakening again, he found himself stripped of his armor, his basic black tunic that he wore, resown. Much to his anger his lightsaber was missing. Laying his head up, he could smell food being prepared. Grabbing his boots, and making his way out of bed, he moved towards the next room. To where the Nightsister had greeted his gaze. A scowl went his eyes, clearly if only slightly angered.. The events of yesterday slowly flooding his mind. As he looked at her. As if infuriated. His hand reached up, as if making a grip, imagining his hand squeezed tightly around her throat, not entirely to deprive her of oxygen. But just enough to the point where he had a firm grasp on her. Speaking slowly, the venom sinking into his voice. Kyrel was not one to be made a fool of, and he of all especially hated being drugged. For all he knew she could have slit his throat in his sleep and he was to have none of that.

"Tell me what was your intentions? What did you do with that tea, and why did you strip me of my armor, and led me into your room... Most of all did you steal my lightsaber... Vader's Bane would be quite upset if it was lost." He added as he himself had a sentimental attachment to the weapon, not only was it powerful and helped him immensely in combat. The two had a bond that was unbroken. Releasing his hold enough for her to speak, he was in no mood for games, and he himself would dare not to be made a fool of again.

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Her home is steeped in Amulets, Relics and Talismans. Her personage, no different. Her location glowered in her Magick and emulsified with that of her coven and then Dathomir itself, finally of her god. Pom's Talisman of Counterspell received the jolt of the Force cast forth from the Knight of Ren and it responded appropriately. The Nightsister's countenance dropped at his ruthless actions yet a second time.

A lot of Sith somewhere along the way fell into misunderstanding that their Force Powers learned are superior to all power everywhere. Pom was raised to understand the Darksiders as those having taken a different route of study. Her people have for thousands upon thousands of years developed a unique direction in the Force which many would never fathom. Because of her unique direction, what Magick was utilized throughout her abode, she did not succumb to the movement of the Force, so rendered by her guest.

She had all night to think. The look on his face made her stop what she was doing. She took a deep breath and set the iron pan aside. Raising her hand to the stone hung over her heart, she rubbed the smooth surface of the gem, and received a visual image of the location of Kyrel's Lightsaber. She realized she had let it slip under the chair when he was moved into the other room. She waved a hand and pointed, figuring him likely to flaunt it before her eyes, also yet a second time.

'He drank my tea,' echoed in her mind. 'That means something about him.'

She began very calmly. "You barge into my home at night by kicking in my front door like a madman because a tiny piece of metal is glowing. You ignite your lightsaber. You didn't even introduce yourself until I asked your name. You made demands about why does the thing, a little stamped piece of metal, cause you to feel something? I mean, I just walked into my home for the first time in years. You didn't think to ask what I might want to do with my time in my own home. You could not even decide if you want to ask me to give you offspring. The asking isn't typically done the same as one places an order for a drink at a bar. What makes you think any Nightsister must serve you? Whatever preconceived notions about Nightsisters you heard from across the galaxy before you came here, you need to forget those and just let me be me." Should any of this truly need to be said?

"I know you had unwarranted suspicions about me before you even saw me. Of course I tested you in return. If there is any woman you believe wouldn't have," her tone and the pace of her delivery both picked up, "then she is clearly still a child! Most men just run away when I hand them the teacup. Nobody ever drinks anything a Nightsister makes for them! That is the only one here-say you should believe about us! How am I responsible for what you freely chose to do? It was stupiiid!!!!" Her face contorted into annoyance, before she turned and flung her arms in the air, her hair wildly cascaded around her body. She further cursed the whole situation aloud in her native tongue.

"But today I think that maybe you are not stupid, that you are brave." She grew ever agitated even at herself for her developing such awareness of her own feelings. "Why did you drink the tea?! It makes you worth getting to know! And I don't yet know how I feel about that! I am sure it cannot reflect kindly on myself as a respectable woman. And I have no idea why I feel I want to tell you any of this!" It is far easier for her to live with herself wanting to kill him for being an arse, rather than having discovered that she indeed finds him intriguing. The unexpected awakening of her conscience directly involving him, surely lay at the root of it all. Regardless of how irritating and pompous he is, there may be something about him she is drawn to. That, plus the fact that she cannot ignore her feelings regarding him since his gesture of drinking the cup of tea, makes her hate herself equally as much as she can hate him for causing her to feel something unexpected for him.

Her thoughts become more collected. "I have a very difficult time with offworlder customs even after four years of going around the galaxy, but I am sure of one thing; you Sir, are ill-mannered and conceited. But then again so am I, so we have that for one in common." Nobody ever lands on Dathomir thinking, these people have a culture all their own; maybe we should try and be polite.

Pom had altogether stopped ranting and just gazed upon him for a moment. Her ire began to quickly slip away. She knew he would leave her soon and she would try and sleep for the first time since she arrived home, if she can settle her mind after all of this and forget everything he might represent.

'Will he ever return?'
'Do I actually want him to?'
After fatefully determining that she does indeed, she wondered, 'Why do I want him to?'

Last night while the Mistress was too unsettled to sleep, she studied the article Kyrel Ren had brought to her during his rampageous state. What she learned about it only made her fret more about this moment, and how he will likely leave her before she ever gains answers about him.

In a far calmer and solemn tone she concluded what she wanted him to know. The Nightsister drew the small forged metal object from her pocket and she displayed it in her palm. "The artifact you found is a Talisman of Finding. I don't know why either, that you felt you needed to find me. I just know that you wouldn't have found me, if you hadn't really wanted to."

'Whom did he seek out? A friend? Teacher? His greatest nemesis? A lover?'

"Only you can know for whom you sought."

What she would already be or become to him, she could help determine. The Nightsister approached and held out the Talisman to Kyrel. She could finally bring her eyes to lock with his, searching his for any connection she might have with him. She is well aware how she happens to feel. To sleep would be nice. To be slept with, even better. She didn't happen to like the fact that she has started to feel this way, but she couldn't even begin to fight it. If it does happen, she hopes she won’t immediately regret it. Wouldn't that be just ducky! It would probably be best just to die instead.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

As his attack in the Force was shaken off by the magicks of the Nightsister, she had pointed out where Vader's Bane was, reaching out in the Force to take hold of the Lightsaber to his hand. Hooking the saber to his belt. He was soon bombarded with a monologue, or he should precisely say a rant from the Nightsister. Wondering if all Witches were like this. He remained silent, as if letting the Nightsister blow off some steam. Last time he checked Dathomir was under Sith control, and all that did not bow to the wishes of Emperor Carnifex and most of the Sith. They would all meet a gruesome death. He had even thought Dathomir was abandoned ever since falling under Sith Occupation, but alas it appeared that wasn't entirely the case of course.

She would think of him perhaps as like any other man. He wasn't. He was far from any man that she has ever encountered. For the past 10 years he had encountered close calls with death more time then he could count. Conquered worlds and led armies of the dark side upon his enemies. He did not fear anything anymore. For if he did fear anything was what lied beyond the physical plain. Seeing Jedi pass into the Force and his own discoveries on Mortis had made that fear more known. But while he lived he was determined to carry out his plans, his ideals, his vision. If anyone would dare come into that path he would cut them down, as he had always did.

He remained silent as she carried on, until bringing the trinket that he had before to him. The one that glowed brightly when he was upon this world. And it had only stopped when he encountered her. For he only surmised that it was the will of the Force that brought the two together. Be it or not the two shared similar goals, or even a vision it did not matter. Out of everything she said, before he spoke one thing he found perplexing and most curious was how she said. "Breeding" And "Mate" He did not deny that he found nightsisters to be attractive. But he also did not imagine for her to have such intentions to be so forward.

As she approached him. He finally began to speak. "To the contrary, I have had little experiences with Nightsisters, Dathomiri witches of any kind besides what I have studied of the dark side. I have come here seeking answers. Not to subjugate you in any specific manner. But if there is something I do desire. I take it, for my dear. I am not any man. I wield great power, I have encountered great mysteries in the Force... I have encountered more brushes with death than I could care to count. I have even killed far more than I could keep count as well... What I desire I take, just as the shadow wishes for that is the way of the shadow, for that is the way of the Ren. Not like it particularly cares what it takes. Perhaps I desire to take you."

He said, moving inches close to her, a smirk gracing his lips, eyeing her as if a predator had cornered his prey. Knowing that she had a desire to breed. She expressed as much, and it seems some interest in him. It could be beneficial to them both. So in one bold move. The Master of Ren moved upon the Nightsister locking his lips with her's kissing her deeply. Lasting a moment before pulling away. "I fear nothing least of all you... I am not lesser men you have encountered and what I desire is you... I will take what I wish."

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

When Kyrel Ren finally spoke, for the first time he sounded like a man, and one who actually wants to actively be here. No Nightsister would beg a man to stay, least of all to satisfy himself through her. Her gifts were not to fall upon lackluster hearts. Such attitude and lack of self respect are for the young girls. She would not dictate to any man what he ought want or what he ought to do with his time. If he could not get a clue, then she did not want him nor need him. The Nightbrothers satisfy every desire a woman could want, in exchange for tutoring. No Nightsister ever needs an offworlder to show up for anything. Her attraction to him must include that he earns her attention. He must at least come to realize he has some intention. Dathomiri women are no weaklings, nor do they ever train their eyes towards a weak sub-man, one lacking true prowess. This woman becomes quickly bored with most men, especially those who don't even respect themselves enough to try to lay claim to what they seek when it stands right in front of them. She would barely give him five minutes attention or a second chance at it. That damn Talisman and how it relates to her, seemed to hold her curiosity enough from the start, far longer than she normally would have tolerated from a man who held no idea why he even came. In her mind, Kyrel earned keeping it for himself. Most would jump at a lesson in magick at least!

Pom discovered something about herself in all of a matter of seconds, as he stood with his gaze bearing down upon her with a liveliness she sensed brewing deep within him. She had not planned on this day ever arriving, stressing ever. Just a few months ago she was telling little Elimond that she had no time, nor will, nor love enough to give a child. The boy took to her instantly when she helped out at his orphanage. He stole her heart somehow, never torn away from her side, so fond of her, that he wanted her to be his mother. It was before her soul had been split into two separate entities, between the part of her which Ashla fought to reform, and she here who the Fanged God laid claim to master over. The boy was later murdered and his spirit possessed Pom until she needed to be cruel to him and force him to pass on. She could not tolerate his affections in life nor his incessant doting in his spirit form. Pom had not realized until that moment that maybe she did truly miss the boy. His discorporated spirit had been so restless, maybe he would take another opportunity at life. Pom had been lying to herself, for when he was living she knew she loved him. Maybe she is willing, because she seeks to fill that specific void. Maybe that is why Kyrel has been led to her. As she determined, only he would know why.

'Do I want children? Your children? I don’t know! Aren’t children supposed to be far worse than the adults they were cut from?' Does Pom need another five minutes to think it over? Such a thing would indeed solidify her devotion to where she now is, and hold her soul steeped in the Darkness she has wholeheartedly returned to, for Kyrel too reaps from it.

The moment he caught her up she knew she did not need any time to think to determine her choice. She immediately drank in the sensation which radiated forth out of his essence, the whole of him. He was not parading to be someone she could respect and admire; he justly commands those things from anyone he meets. She found him quite refreshing to be near. She had not returned a word, but she spoke without them. Regarding what would soon transpire between them, she practically went limp after her drawing her arms around his neck in and returning his kiss.

He would stay? She would be granted the ability to get to know him? She already felt a budding interest in his Way, for the Ren he spoke of. If he would not honor her to remain, she would survive as she always has. Men come and go. Maybe he will be as different as he promises to be. Maybe she would bear another like Elimond, gifted to her to satiate her true longing.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Ren had embraced her within his grasp. His hands exploring her back and her waist. Keeping a firm yet gentle grip on her. Keeping her in place as they shared a passionate kiss. Kyrel was not much for the romantic type. He always thought of something like this as primal, animalistic. Passion was a way of the dark side. He himself knew that much, and gladly nourished his own desire or passion. It had been years though since he had been around a woman. His hands exploring her, her native scent tickling his nostrils. A woman was something he had not had the luxury of being around in quite some time. Not since the reign of the First Order had he become accustomed to it.

Now here he was, not bowing to the whims of a nightsister. He was strong in the dark side. Strong of will, mind, and body. She would submit to him. He would make sure of it. So much so that she wouldn't even dare to look at another male without incurring his wrath. Perhaps she would bear offspring. He himself had tried his hand at making offspring before. In hopes of molding a young mind to walk in his footsteps. To embrace the dark legacy he had created. He had done so with cloning himself and the likes of a scientist who had worked within the cloning facilities on Kamino. The creation that was spawned was the daughter known as Varas Kyrel. He was close with her, teaching her what he could in the dark side, even seeing her to be promoted to a Knight of Ren under the servitude of Sieger Ren.

It was not to last, his daughter was unstable. He wondered if it was the cloning process, or when in the opening stages of the Great Galactic War. During a battle against the alliance and as Kyrel struck down the Jedi Master known as Zark. Varas turned on him with his own saber, resulting in a hand being severed from her. From then on she was a thorn in his side. He surmised that she had died, or became mad from the cloning process. With the Nightsister, perhaps he had another chance at reforging his dark legacy.. To try again and to forge a new heir to the Ren.

Nothing was said in the silence. Passion gripped him, his hands going so bold as to explore her body. Keeping her in a firm hold, as the lips locked before breaking. Looking at her with a smirk, whispering into her ear. "I break all barriers in my path, anyone that dares deny what is mine for the taking.... I take you.... I claim you as mine!"

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

Powerful allies are definitely something this Mistress has ever craved. She has been born into a family of not just strong ties, but incredible power. No lesser would she accept for her mate. Kyrel Ren 's commitment not only surprised her but she found him endearing. A shy but delighted energy burst from her eyes. She has a lot to learn about this man, but he simply feels like a perfect fit. He could in no way be wrong in determining the true intention of the Talisman.

'He would play for keeps? Not just drink his fill and go?' Force her to call upon the Nightbrothers to raise his son into manhood, should she bear him a son someday.

'My Magus knows how to speak to me,' words she never thought she would ever affirm. Her Magus must be someone who can encourage her to react when she should act, to cease when she ought withdraw, to guide her as needed as only he is capable, earning respect only he is due. 'I've truly found him!' The mere idea astounded her. Could Kyrel even understand his purpose to her? He would benefit that his arsenal for attack and defense against his enemies expands exponentially in her promising to stand by him in return.

Her god has been good to her after all she has suffered having been pulled from her coven amongst the Mandragora by the Ashla, held captive by the goddess through mental manipulation, forced to learn a way unnatural to her disposition. After all that, this man seems as if he represents an abundance of restitution owed to her by the Fates. 'Her Magus!' She marveled at the development.

Surely he must respect a strong woman! If he wanted a child, he could possess any from anywhere, but here he is crooning into the ear of a Nightsister. To his declaration, she returned, "I accept the challenge of satisfying your decree, and reciprocate." She reciprocates the threat. Yet such is not really a threat per say. It is merely a promise. Jealousy only fortifies commitment. Without such passion, what would any relationship entail? She understands men, and that most will themselves to be put down like the dogs which they so treat their women to be, and she would be having none of such mayhem. How refreshing to meet a man who did not unleash such nature from the start, for those she knew in her past most certainly had!

She wondered for this Ren what any such ceremony must entail. The Nightsisters most certainly take such intention of bonding quite seriously, on risk of death which Magick itself would deliver. Of course not in any way stealing such satisfaction of rendering from the injured party. There is no taking back what was just vowed, and for some mystical reason, neither did she fret over any word at all.

Her return home had been met by….well him, which at first was insane, and now somehow concludes with satisfaction and hope for the future, their future.

She might just promise to make him a real cup of tea later on, to inspire some much anticipated conversation. But there is something much more she looks forward to just now. As she held onto him she began memorizing his Force Signature, and thought of him once again as being blessed.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

Kyrel was enthralled by the primitive witch he saw before her. The talisman He found had led him to her. It only meant that the will of the Force had played a role in this he gave a grin when she accepted his reaping of her. She was strong in the Force. The power that she possessed was native to the world of red mist and witches. Perhaps they had mutual gains with her power she would bore him many powerful children. Ones that were not faulty. Prone to rebelling against him. Instead what he saw in the swirling currents of the Force were children strong enough in the dark side perhaps more powerful then either of them.

"Good, I claim you as mine and yes I do intend to breed you." He said with a wicked sense of glee. He was unaware of what could happen next was laid out and planned before him and even her. All he knew was that hopefully she would be by his side if she was worthy she could even be a Ren. But now was not the time for that. He had just claimed her. He was all but curious of what customs she would do now.

He only knew a little of the Nightsisters they were largely of no use to him. Besides the strange magic they used. A question was burning in his mind. He wondered what her next step would be? What she was planning and what she would do. "So, Witch what may I do now? Or what I should say what will we do now?"

Pom Stych Tivé

 

[Pom Stych Tivé]

The lady most certainly accustomed to taking the lead, popped the clasp of her locket ring and flung the contents into the hearth. The smoke filled the room. The Sorceress stepped back out of the embrace of the Ren. Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Her Legion crept out of her body and spread out into the room. The sun no longer broke through the windows, but sheer darkness spread to every inch of where they stood, snuffed out by her demon horde. The flames of the fire turned deep navy blue, sparks erupted, crackling chaotically, from the medicinal powder she had tossed into the flames. The smell is sweet like Lilly of the Valley, mixed with whiffs the unmistakable scent of blood.

Pom and Kyrel Ren did not stand within her cottage any longer, but between realms. Her demons wholly surrounded the two, and the Sorceress exists as no one but a single solitary Soul, her life sustained outside of her demons' bonded with her. She laid herself bare in this action. A strange sense of trepidation crept into her thoughts, and yet she refused to take heed of it. She realized her true fear is not this moment, but if he stays. If he stays life changes yet again. But she had already made the pact with him and begun the spell of bonding. There is no turning back.

Pom took hold of Kyrel's hands into her own, the effects of the smoke taking full control of her will which she freely relented. She saw the light of his life within his eyes and became utterly caught up in them. She drew near him and the magick began.

Chanting could be heard as a whisper at first. These spells cast not from her lips, for she was dedicated to the physical world, no power did she wield, but her unadulterated womanhood. The voices then seemed to call out from all around the two. The voices of her coven grew. The Nightmother's resounded the loudest, repetitive and authoritative, demanding. The alter was stone cold, and the power lent to appease her god was raw and beautiful. None of it mattered, only he mattered, doting on him for fair exchange until finally he settled. The voices grew excited. The Fanged God reached out from above and waved his scepter over his faithful, lending his holy power to grant their every beseeched desire. Her demons gathered close once again, transforming their surroundings.

* * *​

As the fire had burnt down to embers and the smoke cleared, the sacred ritual that had transpired hours before could have been thought just a dream. Her mind slipped slowly away from the dreamlike state and she had fought the will to sleep for the longest time. Now settled in the comfort of her bed, and her Legion nestled once again in her Soul, she came to rest her head down into the crook of Kyrel's shoulder. She gave herself permission to finally succumb to her exhaustion from having not slept the whole night before.

If he vanished before she awoke, she would go about the rest of her day as always. For a Darksider, considering the ways to which they are accustomed, to be desired such as he proclaimed is in no way belittling. Love only begets misery, and the dishonesty which it inspires upon waning is truly unfair. There are far more negative passions incited by love that is withdrawn, than just starting off at those passions less charming. I crave for your touch. I will be loyal. But you are not yet my heart and soul's addiction. Honesty does not bore holes in one's entire essence, such as does love grown cold to hatred. There is no need for lies, when the truth is easier to bear. Would he become her addiction he would clearly be the first to know, maybe even before she herself would realize it. The first time she might lash out in jealousy, it would take little insight on his part to determine her rage, his amusement. But for their son, she shall indeed truly love him.

 

[Kyrel Ren]

The events that had played out were strange in a sense, Kyrel was soon swept in the witch's embrace, and what he had seen, heard, and felt on many levels felt unique. Something of which he did not and would not expect in any normal copulation he has experienced before. What was it that he saw, some Dathomiri Magicks. Was it that he saw in their own bare skin was the two souls of them joining he couldn't really say or tell. Caught in the emotions, and the wild passion of it all. He soon found himself in her bed with her, and in his sleep visions crept into his mind. Past, Present, even the future. His Mother constantly speaking into his tone, the dark passenger that had accompanied him since the fall of the First Order. Even the voice of Sieger Ren.

Tossing and turning, he saw a child. His mother's own voice often telling him in a loving way. That it was never too late to turn from the dark side. Yet it was what all he knew since he began this path. Now he had mated with a Nightsister... Perhaps both of them equally powerful, he through battle-hardened days and the fruitful efforts of survival. She through her wanderings into the galaxy and thus managing to stay one step ahead of the Sith. He awakened slowly from his stirrings. Seeing her head finally rested in slumber upon his shoulder. Filling Kyrel with a sense of an odd peace. Something he had not felt in the years of surviving.

They lied there, as if time had stood still between the two. As if all the cares in the galaxy, want, or need just was with them together in that moment. Yet he couldn't say if he loved her or not. It was natural that the dark side was apart of who they are. Two practicing similar ideologies, and differing on what goals they had. Be it personal, or perhaps looking outwards at the wide galaxy itself. As he had, as he had once been at the beck and call of the most powerful man in the galaxy. Destined to bring about peace through a unified legacy of what the Empire of old had done so very long ago. Now here he was, a free man. No longer bound to a Master, he was the master now. Something did feel odd in the Force. Reaching out, he could feel her, as if mentally held by threads to his own mind. It was as if the mating not only was an act in of itself, but had connected the two through the Force.

He looked at her, finding her primitive, and also some attraction, perhaps even fondness for her. He had thought of perhaps taking her offworld. There was some fear of the Sith finding her and executing her. They had begun relentlessly in their purges as what the Sith do best. 'Join or Die.' He felt a desire to keep her close, and that if the Sith got a hold of her, he even feared his connection with the Emperor would not be enough to save her. Yet he himself had to try and keep her with him.

Pom Stych Tivé