Ask Dathomir How've You Been?

Veles

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Dathomir
2034 local time

Black wax dripped onto the ebony wooden floor with a weak slap. There was silence in the shack, save for the occasional beating of wind outside. The only source of lighting--the candle, held in Cinere's hands at chest-level--was struggling to illuminate the room, but just barely failed, instead sending flicking shadows dancing on the walls and ceiling. His eyes were closed and he was wordless, his breathing rhythmic and constant. It required some strain, but not as much as it had that first time channeling the Shadow. By now, they were like old friends. Cinere knew how to search for the power, how to sift through the useless white-noise of the Force. It came almost naturally at this point.

Green mist covered the floor and seemed to be pouring gently out of his hands, encasing the candle and his knuckles in it as it fell. Cinere opened his eyes and put out the candle. Taking a small obsidian dagger from the floor at his feet, he looked once more at the circle he'd painted into the ground with soil. It was barely visible, but he knew where'd put it. He channeled the Shadow into the blade of the dagger and made a small cutting gesture, opening a slit in the dirt. He stepped outside and then put the dirt back.

The Sith paced around the room, organizing materials he'd used for the protection ritual--one that he repeated daily, just in case--and set books back onto the rickety bookshelf. Much of the room was black, a byproduct of Dathomir's wood being the same color. He'd built the shack himself and had spent quite some time there, though he truly had no idea how much. Time passed seemed to pass differently when one was completely unconnected from the Holonet grid and occupying their time with research into the occult and performing rituals. His experience with magick had grown exponentially--he was a daily user at this point. Cinere had not interacted with many others on the planet, finding that he'd been left alone for the most part by the nightsisters around. He'd also not seen his parents and they likely had no idea he was on-world, but that was for the better. No distractions had interrupted him, and that had been greatly beneficial.

Well, no disruptions until now. He could feel the presence in the Force approaching slowly, could sense the raw power and darkness making its way over. He had no reason to be on edge because it was a familiar presence--although they'd only met once--and he knew that this was not to be a hostile visit, most likely. Rather than scramble to bolster the defenses, he set a kettle on the stove. Then, he looked through the cupboard and brought out a small bag with herbs in it. As the kettle whistled, he dumped the tea inside and left it to cool a bit. Because there was someone at the door.

The Sith took off his helmet, which was part of the outfit he wore in rituals. White hair spilled out onto his shoulders. After months of strain experimenting with the dark side, his appearance had changed accordingly. The stress and intense emotion had caused his hair to whiten, and he'd let it grow, not cutting it at all since he'd moved to the shack. It was long but not unkempt, catching a bit of light from outside, glimmering. His face was a tad skinnier and paler, the capillaries near his eyes bruised and blackened, giving him an appearance similar to a panda. Such was the consequence of convening with the Shadow in such a great volume. It was unavoidable, but he wore the marks with pride, and he knew that the nightsisters could appreciate them best out of anyone else in the Galaxy.

He set the helmet down on a chair and went to the door, opening it without looking through to see who it was. He knew already.

The door swung open and he bowed. "I was not expecting visitors, but I hope you find it welcoming, my Lady," he remarked, motioning to the small home behind him. It was tidy because he was a tidy person, and truth be told, there was nothing the Empress would find displeasing within. If anything, she might like the abode--cozy and clean, teeming with darkness and full of tomes, magical supplies, and shelves lined with potions.

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Renfry

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After surviving his expedition out of the bowels of Taris, the young man had returned to her. He showed promise, and he had already learned much, but to truly learn the ways of the Fanged Spirit, one had to become an extension of Dathomir itself. That was how she saw herself. She was a single piece of the entire world: a defense against everything outside.

It had been several weeks since she had sent him into the jungles of Dathomir where he would either learn to meld with the planet, conquering as a predator and living in harmony, or he would die. It was not so different from expeditions she had made when she was far younger than him as First of the Forgotten Valley Clan. It felt like a lifetime ago and she barely recognized that girl anymore.

She had decided it was time to reacquaint herself with her roots. She had dressed in a set of red and black robes, grabbed her saber, hunting knife, energy bow, and a small pack and started making her way through the wilds, tracking him.

Once she had feared what was in the jungle and then learned to love it. Now, she understood that the Fanged Spirit had made her the most potent predator in the jungles of Dathomir and she was fearless.

The trip had brought out a part of her that she had nearly forgotten. The young, primal, wild girl who had left Dathomir all those years ago threatened to break free, but it clashed with a now far-older, harsher, and more deadly discipline that she had honed over the last several years.

Finally, she came upon the hut she had been following in the Shadow. She could sense the way the darkness here swirled and stepped across the threshold without hesitation. Her eyes settled first on him and how he had changed. It had clearly begun to affect him and she smiled coldly as she saw the darkness around his eyes.

You're learning, she said. She moved over and took a seat crosslegged on the floor and let her eyes continue to scan over the hut. Tell me about it, she said. Even her tone was different than when they had first met. A harsher more wild side to her was now in charge, and there was the faintest hint that this was where she was most comfortable. Where she really belonged.

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Veles

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He had honestly forgotten he was sent here by the Empress. Time made no sense here, and reality sometimes felt like a bad trip, so Cin had forgotten some recent memories in the past. Perhaps it was Dathomir's mystifying presence this deep in the forest, or perhaps it was the dark side corruption, but something was clearly warping his mind. Time would tell what.

Regardless, it didn't matter who sent him here, because the moment Cin stepped foot into his shack after building it, he felt like he was home. He would not have left if someone had told him, not until he felt he was ready. If the Empress had sent him, it would be who chooses to stay. Recently, he'd come to terms with the fact that he'll have to leave soon, and was merely holding out on the last days of his trip to Dathomir, the way one does when trying to draw a vacation out.

The Empress' arrival only confirmed what he already knew. He would have to leave soon, to be back on the Galactic stage, to rejoin society. He'd spent too long here, away from where he was needed and from the responsibilities he had. Still, he knew he was returning far more powerful and well equipped, so it was all good in the end.

Rather than take a seat at the table, she chose to sit cross-legged on the floor, on his rancor-skin carpet. That was fine by him, and the Sith headed shortly to grab the kettle from the kitchen, then bring it over along with a tray and two cups, which he set between them before he sat.

"This is the--and only--fine china in the house," he declared, a tinge of humor on his voice that maybe she'd pick up on. "Only for you, my Queen," he added, driving the joke home.

He poured tea into the two cups as she asked about what he'd learned. Looking up, he took a breath.

"It's been a dark time, though I find that darkness is the most welcoming, and things were not at all negative. I've come to learn many things, and I've spent long introspecting and analyzing myself at my core, as well as analyzing the world around me. The realizations I've had about the Shadow and the dark side and the Galaxy truly have changed my outlook as a being." He smiled. "I've performed unimaginable feats," he added, in a lower tone, his eyes set off into the distance in memory. "I've torn trees from the ground with my mind. I've skinned beasts alive with the flick of a finger. I've protected against brutal attacks against my home, done mentally."

It was a lot of information, and perhaps a bit heavy to digest, but he knew the Queen. He knew she was a direct person who valued bluntness and he also decided that it would be better to answer the question completely.

"Soothsayer's root tea," he commented, lifting a cup up. "With a bit of honey. Tastes like any other tea but has mild psychic and psychoactive properties. Helps with meditation, thinking, discussing, and other things and enables an individual to feel with more senses than those we have." He took a sip. It was an interesting tea, one he'd learned to make here on Dathomir, that was imbued with the Shadow's power. It was a great drink for any practicing dark sider on Dathomir or anywhere else--but certainly with those that felt the Shadow and used its power. This was just one of the many herbology tasks he'd given himself over the last few months.

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Renfry sat and listened, not quite looking the Queen or Empress as she sat in simply clothes and on the floor. Yet in many ways she was far more comfortable in this role than in her others.

Yes, the pinnacle of luxury, she said with a smirk as he talked about the fine china that he was using. I'm sure you could sell it for a small fortune, she said sarcastically.

As he spoke about the things he had done out here, she listened silently, judging it for herself. What he had really learned. He had grown in power, but was it Dathomir's power or just the off-worlder's power.

She looked down at the tea he poured, but didn't drink any. She was seldom a fan of altering substances, and rarely found that it helped her in meditation.

What ritual were you performing outside? she asked. The Nightbrothers had long been warriors and fighters and it was long believed that malelings couldn't learn the true power of magick as Nightsisters could. Renfry had a more progressive view than most and understood that training, discipline, and blood had a greater role to play. She had yet to determine the real role he would play.

How has your communion with the dead gone? she asked. It was what made Dathomir so special: it was one of the key passage points between living and dead. The Shaman of Dathomir were its protectors.

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"Just a simple protection spell I like to use," he replied. "Nothing too spectacular."

He smiled as she asked about the communion with the dead. It had been an interesting event, with elder spirits yelling and shouting about him being an off-worlder and arguing with others. Eventually, he proved himself and they imparted some knowledge with him. It was, however, far too long of a story to tell and either way, it was his story to keep to himself. Communion with the dead is far too personal a matter to press.

"Chaotic, but needed. Very eye-opening." It had, indeed marked one of the first signs of his coming maturity. "Speaking of rituals..."

He rose and turned, heading toward the back of the room to a heavy chest. He took out something from there, a thin box. Cin put it down on the table, and gently opened it. He took the object inside and placed it in front of the queen--a blue mask, with two unassuming circular eyeholes and a few lines on the face. Cin took a seat.

"I performed a sort of "ritual" with this mask here on Dathomir. It was the mask of an ancient Sith Lord who's essence became trapped within and was unleashed by Darth Vader, who was almost killed putting it back."

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Smart, she said with a nod, pushing herself up and heading toward a window to look out at the runes that marked the ritual. Ah, Mother Santini's ritual, she said, smiling and nodding in appreciation, recognizing the ritual from a tome she had once studied as well.

She didn't press him on the nature of his communion with the dead, but she had a feeling that none of his experiences with them would be easy. And yet they were important nonetheless. It was what it meant to be of Dathomir. And that was what he had sworn himself to now.

She moved back toward the center of the room as he fetched a helmet from a large crate, setting it in the center of the room.

She could immediately feel the darkness that surrounded it, attempting to invade her mind with even the faintest of probes. In its presence, she was suddenly quite thankful for the mental defenses she had learned from Kravos's holocron.

She stiffened ever so slightly as she looked at it, but didn't reach out to touch it. Even someone of her power recognized just how dangerous the object was even if she didn't yet know what exactly it was.

What ritual? And how did you acquire this helmet? she asked. She wondered if he had used the proper protective runes, but then he had been studying, clearly. Still, he was new, and she had her hesitation. Toying with powers like this meant that even the slightest error could be lethal... or worse.

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Veles

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The Empress seemed unsettled by the mask, but he didn't blame her. It was an object of pure, unfiltered evil, an artifact steeped in darkness. What made it all the more dangerous, however, was that it had one thing many others did not--intelligence.

"Well, I talked with Lord Momin," he said, as if it was the most normal thing in the Galaxy. "Though a rocky endeavor at first, by giving respect where it is due and not underestimating the power of the dark side, I was able to speak to the spirit within and convince it to impart its knowledge with me. I have defanged the beast after a psychic war. The spirit of Lord Momin--the one with sentience--is locked deep down, and I intend to exorcise it completely once I am done with him. The mask, however, now acts like a sort of Sith holocron, possessing all the information without the danger of communing with an ancient Sith Lord." The mask was too valuable to use for combat, considering its educational potential, so Cin simply carried it around with him, making sure it never stayed too far. Though the spirit was caged, he didn't want to test fate and see what happened when the one who caged it walked away from the mask for too long. Lord Momin was nothing if not cunning.

"I acquired it on Ord Mantell from the wreck of Darth Sidious' Imperialis, after having to fight a Jedi who was patrolling the junkyard for some reason." He idly wondered if the Jedi ended up dying due to exposure or if he was eventually rescued. Regardless, he did not regret not killing the Wookie; the death of any creature disturbed the Force, but the death of a Jedi at the hands of a dark sider would not have gone unnoticed. "As it was when I retrieved it, the mask was able to possess the weak willed for a short time and even perform basic Force abilities like pushing and pulling small objects. The spirit inside was untamed and had been festering in its own malice for centuries, if not millennia."

He'd done the hard work, so now he had a good conversation piece for visitors. The fact that the mask could speak had even prevented him from boredom some days.

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To say that Andruil was highly skeptical of his declaration that he had tamed, exorcised, trapped, or otherwise dealt with Momin was an understatement. Vader was reputably more powerful than most any Sith alive today or at least on par with the most powerful, and even he hadn't managed that. The claim that a Champion had done it left her very wary. Had he already been possessed by Momin?

No, she would have sensed that. Interesting, she thought to herself. And what has it taught you? she asked. She once again pushed herself to her feet, feeling more restless than normal as she headed for the door and stepped outside.

The fresh air of the world was soothing, and she almost wanted to simply sit back on the top of a cliff and soak in the red sun's rays. But down here in the swamps there was no such direct rays.

Have you put the helmet on? she asked, her mind continuing to turn over the helmet in her mind. It was an incredibly dangerous artifact, but also something that was quite curious. Just the type of thing she enjoyed collecting herself. A means of unlocking new knowledge.

And what does your new friend make of Dathomir? she asked. She knew the helmet - even in death - was still a threat to the planet. If she were honest, she didn't actually know much of Momin. Only what Cinere had told her, but what he had told her was enough to raise her attention.

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What it had taught him was a complicated matter, as the mask not only gave him concrete information but also helped shape his thinking in a certain way, serving moreso like philosophical advice--drawn from a lifetime of education--spoken through the mind. It was interesting, but he doubted the Empress would understand if he tried to explain it, so Cinere went with the simple.

"How to use the Force to crush any pressure point on the human body, the geography of Sith worlds, etcetera etcetra. It also dispensed philosophical advice, complete with socratic debates. Very interesting stuff." He talked as they walked outside, the Empress seemingly uncomfortable. He followed, cup of tea in hand. Cinere took a sip as they stopped.

"Once. Nothing happened. Weeks after I last felt the Sith Lord, of course." He'd been very tense during the days leading up to trying on the mask, but the rollercoaster of emotions plummeted to an anti-climatic ending. It was for the better, since it beat the alternatives.

"The mask doesn't really have emotions or opinions, though it does make a snarky remark every now and then. I don't think it really cares for what planet it's on, but it does keep saying ''Mmm...dark side...unnatural powers...he...he...'' Not quite sure what that's supposed to mean, so I ignore it. The technology was clearly still primitive and so there are occasional 'bugs' in the system."

Cinere took another sip of the tea and reached for his pocket to grab the cigarette. He stopped midway, however, startled by a sudden realization. Oh, how time flew here.

"I have to water my plants!" He dashed inside and came back out with a bucket of a strange concoction and heading around the house. "Sorry!" he yelled from the other side of the house. If she followed, she could see him as he put the concoction into several cups and then poured it in the bed of the garden he had, filled with plants native to Dathomir. Black leaves were choked by black vines and even the trunk of a small tree could be seen. Cinere was pouring the liquid evenly around each plant, feeling their leaves for the texture as he did and analyzing them. When he was done, he set the bucket and cups aside and turned around.

"Very, very delicate operation I've got back here. The plants must be watered at an exact second with a special brew in order to grow well in these conditions." Herbology was basic in any arcane intellectual's knowledge, and it interested Cinere regardless. Many potions and food were made from plants, and many plants were used in rituals--it was good to know all of them.

"Are you hungry by any chance?" he asked, mostly feeling bad because he was being a bad host. Also, he was absolutely ravenous and didn't want to feel like an asshole because he was eating in front of the Empress and she was not. He was pretty sure there was some ancient royal rule about that somewhere in the law, and he didn't intend to be the first to break it in centuries.

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She listened as he spoke about what had happened in his time out here, the things he had learned from the mask, and even his experience trying it on. While she was typically the expert in the arcane, she couldn't argue that he knew more on this topic than her, and it seemed that he had come to some sort of terms with the helmet. She wondered silently if it was playing the long con and then wondered when exactly she had become such a skeptic. Well, she had been warning Malicia and Stolas about the dangers of Spirits for a long time now, so perhaps this part of her skepticism was always there.

Sounds interesting, she said in a voice that said she was being quite sincere.

He quickly ran off yelling something about his flowers and she frowned in puzzlement, following him back to find him watering a set of plants he had placed in a small garden area.

For perhaps the first time since he had met her, her face broke into a broad, warm smile and she laughed a little bit.

Well, well, I didn't expect you to be running a garden, she said, looking over the plants he had been nurturing there. I approve, she added.

Perhaps over dinner we can discuss the other reason I came out here, she said. Her face darkened ever-so-slightly when she said it, but it passed like a shadow.

She headed inside and rather than waiting to be served, would promptly begin helping him with preparing whatever they were eating. She hoped it was some sort of meat given the primarily carnivorous diet of Dathomirians, but she'd eaten many, many things on this world in her younger years.

As she sat down to the table, she took her first bite.

One of the Clans is rebelling. I've called for a force to attack them and I want your assistance, she said. Whether it would be a full purging of the Clan or something more targeted remained to be seen, though she was beginning to suspect it would be the former.

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Veles

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She approved. Good. This was the first time he'd ever seen her smile, and his mind raced to figure out reasons. Nevertheless, it was a nice moment they had that were followed by business. He finished gardening and lead the Empress back inside to the kitchen. He bent down and brought out a few pots and pans and unrolled a set of knives.

"Rancor meat brew, served with a small game broth," he declared over his shoulder as he retrieved a few boxes from the fridge, using the Force to set everything in place as he moved. Soon, the kitchen was set up, and he was telling her things she could do to help, making sure they're not too crucial.

As they sat for dinner, they got to business. He nodded as she talked, taking a sip. "You know you have my support, politically and militarily, my Lady." Obviously he was in. "Let me know when and I'm there."

Cinere was quite itching for a mission, not having had seen much action since that tournament before his leave. The details of who won were fuzzy at best, but perhaps he would remember later. His thoughts shifted to the meal before them.

He'd worked in kitchens before, making his way from line cook to chef in mid-level Coruscanti restaurants, so he knew a thing or two about cooking, and the dish was a personal twist on traditional Dathomirian cuisine--something that nightsisters could appreciate, while at the same time being a sort of fine dining. The rancor meat--a dark, blackish red meat--was charred to perfection and medium rare, just enough to be able to chomp into it, served in a buttery sauce, smoky and dark. The broth was light, a liquid that tasted vaguely of small game meat gathered from Dathomir, but breaking up the harsh and deep tastes of the rancor. The dish proved Cinere's cooking prowess.

"Do you like the food?" he asked.

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The attack will take place tomorrow, she said. She would likely travel with him to the location, though it was not yet time to leave. She never loved shedding the blood of even rival Clans, but she would do it without blinking as she had when she took the throne of Dathomir.

She took several bites of food and had a rather nostalgic smile on her face as she sat there. It tasted like home and she didn't even realize how much she had missed it. She'd spent so much time being Empress and traveling the galaxy that she almost forgot what it felt like to be back here among her people. The faintest part of her wondered if she had made a mistake in stepping up, but no, she didn't think so.

As she took another bite it hit her just how good this was as well. As if he had been masterfully cooking this all his life. Her face went from confused to delighted in the course of a few seconds.

This is so good, she said, suddenly wanting to devour all of it and massively overeat. And that was pretty much what she started to do.

Mmm, she hummed contentedly as she took a bite of the soup as well. Maybe I can hire you as a full time chef instead, she said in jest. She may have been a tough exterior to crack, but there were glimpses of someone inside who wasn't quite so serious.

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Very short notice, but that was no problem to him. In fact, it was better this way. The bandage would be ripped off quickly. He nodded, and finished his plate. He hadn't realized how hungry he'd been. He tended to skip meals sometimes, and to drink too much caf on an empty stomach. He was sure the cigarettes didn't help his diet either, but oh well.

"Wouldn't be so bad," he admitted. He was comfortable in the kitchen. "Though I suspect a Sith kitchen would be very heated, and not because of the stoves."

"Ah, one more thing," he added, getting up and turning to the fridge. He brought out some ice cream made from fruit native to Dathomir. He'd found some with the flavor of caramel, and that was what he put in plates in front of them.

"Cracklenut, a nut from Dathomir. It tastes like caramel when crushed, so I made ice cream out of it." He coughed. "With rancor milk cream," he added, disguised in coughs. Not many people took the addition peacefully.

Cinere took a large spoonful and shoved it into his mouth without issue, almost as if trying to make Andruil understand that it was safe to eat.

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Hmph, probably right, she said as he mentioned how heated the Sith kitchen would be. But isn't that the way with everything we do? she asked. Many of the Sith were more volatile than she would like. Most of those in a leadership role had tempered that with time, but others had not. It made virtually everything the Empire did... precarious.

She was surprised when he brought out ice cream, not expecting him to be able to keep things cool out here in the wilds or have any sort of technology. Her eyebrows rose slightly as he set it in front of her and she took a bite and let out a satisfied hum.

How'd you manage to get rancor milk? she asked. Even for those who had tamed rancors, she wasn't aware of most milking them. that was... interesting.

I'm not sure it'll become an instant classic with ingredients so hard to come by, she said, but happily bounced slightly as she munched away, momentarily presenting a different picture than most saw of her.
 
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