The Queen of Dathomir was not summoned for her insolence. There was no call or demand for her to go anywhere. There was no one waiting behind a desk to let her in. There was no quiet and polite setting to allow for explanations and small talk.
Instead the Queen would learn about the panic in her lands on Dathomir. The Queen would learn about the bloodshed. The Queen would learn about death. The Queen would know an entire tribe had been devastated. The Queen would learn that many women and young girls laid dead and strewn about on the ground. The Queen would learn of their charred bodies left unceremoniously on the ground for wild animals to pick at.
The Queen would feel that sense of dread through the Force, the twisted poison that permeated so thick that it was almost tangible. She could almost taste the coppery blood, she could almost smell the stench of fear, she could almost hear the dying, anguished cries of her people as they were butchered like animals.
There was a sick and twisted method to the pattern of slaughter. It was the path that led to the Queen. Any villages and tribes that existed on that path were decimated. Any life that could be sensed was butchered and cast aside.
It was the path the Eternal took to make its way to the Queen of Dathomir in her temple.
The masked figure climbed the steps as two Nightsisters were grasping at their throats while they were lifted in the air. Without a second thought, they were hurled in opposite directions, each having their heads collide against lateral columns. With a resounding and sick crunch their heads smashed against the stone, smearing their blood as they slid down and fell into dead heaps.
“I grow tired,” The rattling, dreadful voice of the Eternal would pierce into Renfry’s mind wherever she was as the Eternal climbed those last steps, “Of continued disobedience.”
@Phoenix