When one means to create life, the ingredients required should be collected with the utmost of care.
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Blood, thick and oozing, still hot from the vein - that was the quarry the White Witch sought. Not just any blood, however. Having spent the better part of a month working with those on the fringes of society in the Southern systems to try and locate a specific sub-species of Rancor, the wraith had come up empty-handed. There was a particular flavour of murderous that suited her purpose, and the garden variety of bone-crunching monster simply would not do.
After exhausting her prospects in and around Confederate space, the pale specter had turned her sights to the one place she knew she was certain to find what she sought… Though the acquisition of such a thing would likely prove difficult, for a number of reasons.
The Sith Empire was, if nothing else, a stickler for protocol when it came to the security of the assets that fell under the banner of its… Protection. When Dathomir had passed from the Madolorian clans to the Sith as part of the terms for peace between them, it had moved even further from reach for any errant nightsisters who, for whatever reason, may not have been welcomed with open arms back to their world. It presented Jenmae with a unique problem, but the White Witch of Cularin felt certain she was up to the task.
Passing into Empire space had required a level of stealth on the witch’s part that was not something she was accustomed to. Passing in and out of Confederate space unnoticed was as easy as making one’s self appear harmless - but the Sith were not so kind to those who were unable to produce proof of their citizenship. As such, the White Witch had needed to take her time, taking routes that made no sense from an expediency standpoint but resulted in safe passage to Dathomir itself.
The landing would be another matter. Following the acquisition of the planet, the amiable nature of the Sith’s relationship with the Mandolorian clans had seemingly evaporated, and it appeared that the Empire may have been concerned for the security of their recent addition. Massive ships surrounded the planet itself, and it had necessitated the requirement to leave her own transport vessel in orbit, instead opting for a much smaller drop pod that would hopefully go unnoticed during her descent to the planet.
As the pod settled into the muck of the swamplands she’d selected for her drop zone, the gentle whir of the ramp was followed by the sharp clack of booted heels along the durasteel. The witch had selected clothing that would not mark her as alien from a distance, and to be certain, as a denizen of Dathomir herself, she was unlikely to be bothered should anyone come across her regardless. The thick black travelling jacket that swept around her knees as she walked, and the cowl hood deep enough to shield her cascading white hair as it pooled across her shoulders would do, she assumed. Heavy black boots carried her clear of the pod, the ramp retracting as she set out in the direction of what her topographical scans had shown was the entrance to an underground cavern.
The young witch had left Dathomir long enough ago that it wasn’t much of a home to her now, but even she knew the histories of the area she was headed towards. Niko Ilnayia Kanyon was forged when rivers bore deep into the earth, creating a void where the canyon’s yawning maw sat, a place where no creatures dared to tread, and where only orchids seemed to grow… But there was something that lived in the caverns that fed those ancient rivers.
She would need a creature of considerable size or strength for her experiment - and time was unlikely to be her ally in this particular venture.