The Witches of Dathomir

[Malon]

(Intro-Post theme)

Location:

Dathomir || Quelli sector || Outer Rim Territories​

Dathomir hung like a specter outside of Tau Lu's viewport.

The sector surrounding the planet was devoid of traffic and Tau got the creeping suspicion it had always been that way—which made the latest report broadcast on the HoloNet all the more puzzling. She studied the instruments in the cockpit of her starfighter with a cautious eye. There were settlements down there, she'd determined. Not big ones—perhaps not even advanced ones—but settlements nonetheless. Stroking her chin, she punched a few buttons into her HoloNet transceiver and replayed the message.

The glimmering, holographic image of a cave flickered into existence above her dashboard. But this image was of just any ordinary cave; this cave was filled with treasures both historic and valuable. With a casual sweep of the projection, Tau spotted what appeared to be the rusted handle of a lightsaber—perhaps old, almost ancient in design—and a crystal she suspected was kyber, but which dwarfed any kyber she had ever seen. Moreover, she had suspicions that there was more to the cave than what the message show. Even stranger than the footage, however, was the voice that accompanied it:

A light, rasping voice, speaking a language unintelligible to the Mandalorian woman. Was it Dathomiri? Sith? Both languages sounded similar to the whispers on the recording, but Tau could not be sure. Yet she couldn't help but admit her interests had been piqued.

Yes, she thought, the planet Dathomir would be a good test of her warrior-skills; and she might get a prize at the end if she located the cave. Perhaps she would even find who recorded it and why. Punching in the coordinates for the nearest settlement, Tau veered down towards the Dathomiri atmosphere and tried to ignore the overwhelming sensation of cold dread that washed over her as the black backdrop of space vanished and the blood-red of Dathomir's atmosphere became dominant.

@Captain Canuck @The Living Daylights @Green Ranger @Eternix @Versok

 

[Captain Canuck]

Reese hated the surface of Dathomir much more than its view from space.

The planet was awesome from space; it looked like was glowing a dull red. One of the crew on the ship had noted that it looked that way due to the red star that it orbited. Even though it looked like its dirt was used in Sith lightsabers, it had a very calming feel to it. The planet surface was consistently blank, and even fewer inhabitants lay around the planet. Reese's ship was most likely the only one here. He had sat on the window of that lonely ship, staring at the planet as they prepared their approach. It's dull glow drew him in almost as much as the holonet video had. Those treasures were to die for, and the planet was nearly empty! What incredible luck he had! After Coruscant, things were finally looking up.

Of course, that was all in space.

The surface of Dathomir was a lot less fun. From the surface everything looked a lot more gray than red, other than the ominous, looming, red sun. When the ground managed not to be swampy muck, dead grass grew in patches around short, twisted trees. Reese was currently sitting on the firmest surface around, a lone rock, while trying to clean he mud off his boots with a scowl.

 

[Eternix]

(Let's set the mood)
This was a miserable village, made even more so by the calm drizzle that had, until recently, been a downpour. Houses and businesses made of worn and cracked concrete lined the main thoroughfare. Vines rose up from the ground and grew tall on certain buildings, as if threatening to pull them into the damp earth. Broken neon signs hung from dilapidated stores in what was once a thriving commercial sector now half reclaimed by the thick Dathomiri bush. Miserable people went about their miserable business, thick hoods pulled over their heads, half-concealing worn and tired faces. The hawkers cry had been silenced. Hushed whispers and the occasional squawk of a jungle bird were all that remained. Wet air carried the stench of rotting produce from a nearby stall, now abandoned. This was a cursed place, or so the locals had taken to believing.

The curse of the credit, Xander mused. The results of Dathomir's economic crisis were all on exposition here, far from the capital in some long forgotten outpost on the wrong side of the planet. Like most of the locals Xander wore a simple cloak that covered most of his camouflage jumpsuit and armor but remained slightly open in the front. He was now completely soaked, having rode in from the local spaceport during the worst of the torrent. An open air cantina seemed to be the only available cover. Xander locked his speeder-bike and made his way towards it. The village may be destitute but he hoped they could still serve a stiff drink.

Xander swung his rifle from his shoulder and rested the muzzle against the bar counter. The fat bartender rose suddenly from his chair at the far end of the cantina, obviously excited and surprised to find a patron sitting at his bar, and waddled over. "Need something that'll burn on its way down," Xander told him, removing his drenched cloak and placing it on a nearby stool. The barkeep responded with a toothless smile and pulled up a label-less clear bottle filled with a dark green liquid from the bottom shelf. He poured a shot and slid the glass to Xander, expectantly smiling and gazing at the outsider. Xander downed the drink without a second thought, it sure as hell burned, and he couldn't help but grunt and cough. The barkeep uttered a guttural laugh and waddled back to his seat. Slightly woozy, Xander produced a datapad and opened to a bookmarked page.

A monstrous face stared back at him, a row of razor sharp teeth protruded from a closed but massive jaw with massive nostrils rising far above the sunken eyes of the creature. This was the reason for Xander's visit to Dathomir, this was his prey. This was no ordinary Rancor , however, this was a Dathomir Rancor. These beasts had torn and devoured their way into legend and right into Xander's sights. Semi-intelligent, ruthless, and empowered with a seething dark power from millennia of evolution on this corrupt world. It's skull would make a fine decoration in the Shaak's trophy room, or perhaps he would fashion it into a throne. Xander chuckled at the thought and motioned for the bartender serve another of whatever he had just drank.

 

[The Living Daylights]

As the Icarus-class Star Courier rode through the cylinder of blue that was hyperspace, Karnhal watched the holomessage play again. A cave, filled with splendors - a lightsaber of clearly ancient design, a monumental kyber crystal, almost certainly more - accompanied by a rasping voice speaking in a strange tongue. It sounded similar to the language of the Ancient Sith, which Karnhal had some familiarity with, yet he couldn't make out any of the words spoken. No doubt, then, that it was Dathomiri - the ancient language of the Nightsisters. After all, the cave itself was located on Dathomir. Karnhal ruminated for several long minutes about whether his decision to go to the planet - alone - had been the right one. He settled on yes.

Then the ship lurched out of hyperspace, and a blood-red planet came into view. Through the viewport, Karnhal could make out some thick bands of clouds obscuring most of the planet's landmass. Certainly a mysterious world. The Sith had once set foot on the world, long ago, but they were driven off by the mysterious cult of dark side sorcerers known as the Nightsisters. One of the more shameful episodes of Sith history. Now, Dathomir was aligned with the Republic, though Karnhal had little doubt that its ties to the Republic were... limited, at best. Certainly not anywhere near as strong as that of the Core Worlds. Fortunately.

Karnhal punched in the coordinates for the nearest settlement he could find - he didn't fancy the idea of wandering for days or weeks on the mysterious planet, lost and without a clue as to where he was heading. He would need directions. As the Star Courier began to hurtle towards the red planet, Karnhal noticed another ship streaking down to the planet's surface, before him. It was too distant to make out the exact model, but its approximate dimensions and its speed suggested that it was a starfighter of some sort. Karnhal reached out with the Force to get a grasp of who was piloting the ship, but he found little to discern the person's identity. He did, however, feel a curious sense of attachment, as if.... Ah. There it was. The Sith Sorcerer picked up something of the Force from them. Whoever it was, they were Force-sensitive. Interesting. Karnhal felt something else, too - the person's destiny was somehow intertwined with his. He had not come to the planet at almost the same time as them for nothing; the Force had brought them together, for whatever reason. Karnhal suspected that they were also searching for the cave and its treasures.

The Sith Sorcerer attempted to bring his ship closer to the starfighter. Unfortunately, a yacht-class ship was no match for the speed of a starfighter, and by the time Karnhal had reached Dathomir's atmosphere, the other ship was lost in the planet's thick mist. Quickly, he tried again to peruse the Force in an effort to get a glimpse of where they were headed, but the person, whoever it was, was now lost in the mist of the Force. Though strong in the dark side, Dathomir also seemed to be a veil that could easily obscure things from one's Force senses. Worse, the presence of the dark side on the planet was oddly unsettling, unlike any other dark side nexus Karnhal had encountered. The usual exhilaration and awe of coming to a place strong in the dark side was absent, replaced by a cold sensation of apprehension. Despite his misgivings, Karnhal brought his ship down for its landing. He hadn't come here for nothing. As for the other ship that had eluded him... perhaps they, too, were headed towards the local settlement. If the Force had brought up him and the other ship's occupant together, then it had not been for just a few seconds of cursory sensing in the Force. Their paths would cross again. Of that, he had no doubt.

Reminding himself that he could trust nothing on this world, Karnhal stepped out of his ship and began to tread the planet's surface. The ground was moist, and the trees were hideously twisted into strange, disfigured aberrations. The physical landscape of Dathomir matched its landscape in the Force - dark, brooding, mysterious. Unsettling. Karnhal tightened his grip on his bident. With his other hand, he pulled his hood over his head, and began to walk towards the nearby village.

 

[Green Ranger]

"Charms, wards, spells for sale. Charms, wards, spells for sale. Charms, wards, spells for sale."

On and on, the old crone droned, her wearied and aged voice more like the ramblings of a madwoman than the offer of the services of a hedge witch. As the old woman pushed her wooden cart along the muddied road, the combination of stony gravel and soft earth making the trek both slippery and painful against her calloused feet, she continued her wandering chant as she entered the fringes of the town, making her way slowly towards the center of the small gathering of buildings as the rain relentlessly showered down, causing her haggard, labored breaths to steam out from beneath her hat - conical and well corn, the peak bent over itself in a jagged hook, burdened by the weight of the water and mimicking the crone's jagged and crooked beak of a nose.

"Charms, wards, spells for sale."

Few paid the woman mind as she went about her walk - it was a path she had tread many times, and her bare feet had marked the path with blood long ago. It was like a scent she could follow now - and though her eyes had failed and clouded long ago, her steps, though slow and labored, remained as sure of the path as ever, despite her other senses attempts to deceive and betray her. This was all that was left to her.

"Charms, wards, spells for sale."

North and south was the route she walked. East lay the Barrens - the people there spoke only the old Dathomiri, and rejected culture in all forms. They lived a hard life of tribal magics, wars, feuds, short lives and hard living. And they envied and hated the people of the West - the civilized folk who dared touch the stars and live in cities grown from the roots of the earth with magics ancient and terrible. She had lived among them once, and been loved and feared as any Sorceress should. But that was a lifetime ago. Her magics failed her, and she was replaced. Another called her great manor home, and now the woman's magics were so weak that she barely scratched out a living selling luck charms on the edge of civilization.

"Charms, wards, spells for sale," she muttered, rolling her cart into the local cantina. The bartender she knew all too well - he gave a disapproving glare at the hedge witch, but held his tongue. Even the oldest crone was worthy of fear and respect to those who did not have a talent for magic. The woman hobbled over towards a seat before straightening out her curved, hunched back from the handles of the cart, and pulled out a walking cane from amongst the dozens of contraptions and baubles that littered the surface of her travelling stall. Transferring the weight of her aching bones from the cart to her stick, she snatched a flask of glowing green liquid from the cart before pulling out a nearby seat from another table to sit down.

Beneath her crooked hat, milky eyes shone with the light of the green flask she held before her lips before she took a swift, jerking swig of the concoction. Her eyes continued to observe, unblinkingly.

"Charms, wards, spells for sale," she murmured one more time, her voice drifting and wandering before she even finished the sentence, only solidifying the belief of any nearby spectators that the woman had truly lost her senses - or had so few left to her that she was still not worth any more than a second glance.

 

[Versok]

Dathomir,the dark,corrupted planet,and once,his home. Gareth landed in a village located in a region where their habitants spoke the variant of Dathomiri he knew,but at the same time far from the sorcery house he was raised in. He remembered his childhood,as a nightbrother,being the least respected of them all for not being a real Dathomirian but just a Zabrak slave from Iridonia that they tried to train as another nightbrother, how he was threated like trash for everyone but one nightbrother that actually helped him, the one that taught him to defend himself and introduced him to the beautyful sport known as hunt, he was the only reason why he doubted to escape the planet once,but it didn´t matter,in the end, he did leave the world. But now, he was back.

But he didn´t come without a reason,it was because of an holomessage that he kept playing, he could see a lightsaber, an ancient one,so ancient it could even be from a jedi or sith that was once involved with the witches,it could even be the lightsaber of the founder of the first houses of witches,he wanted it for three reasons, to use it with honor as a weapon, to take it away from the witches,since he thought that they were slaving the nightbrothers after escaping the planet,after seeing how vast the universe was and how everyone could move on his own freely, he concluded that they were brainwashed by their culture to serve the witches as slaves,and because it was obviously a trap and whatever the witches wanted from people that came here for riches,it was not good

Gareth left his Yatch entirely covered by his red and silver armor, he didn´t want to be recognized by anyone since the witches may want to bring him back,he kept playing the holomessage again and again...It was Dathomiri,clearly,but he didnt know that variant of the language.The village was a poor one,like almost every other village in the planet,but at least,with the help of the republic it seemed that they were advancing,but deep inside he knew that the witches would have to be eliminated if the people in this planet wanted to move forward.The Zabrak sat over a big rock and started to replay the message over and over,trying to understand it and failing.