Telperiën Ar-Pharazon

Would the boy ever stop being insolent? She struck him again in anger as he said nothing in response to her, and there was a murmur in the force that seemed entirely self indulgent. She cocked her head as if she was listening to the wind and let a grim smile cross her cracked lips. Was the boy force sensitive? She considered it. It was true that most of the Sith lords of Memory were male, and though she did not carry the traditional nightsister prejudice towards men she let the anger of it slip into her mind. So she struck him again, hard enough for a jolt of pain to shiver up her arm. “Speak boy. Tell me what the force whispers.” Damn him for hearing it so easily She struck with a foot that would connect with his ribs with jarring force and looked up to his men. Daring them with her eyes to intervene. “Speak you fool!” Then she turned to Awenydd and gestured a shrug. She motioned to the two Sith soldiers and indicated them to join the other Sith Lord before leaning down and hauling Shiro to his feet. "If you carry the force in you, then we have a task for you. A test as it were." And her yellow eyes gazed at the two Sith Soldiers. A smile on her lips.

Telperien stepped to the side as the Sithari girl vomited a stream of what looked like blood near where the other nightsisters were drawing runic circles in salt. She leaned down and pulled the girls hair away from the puddle as she vomited again and with a soft hand wiped at her mouth with a scrap of linen. Then she pulled the girl out of the seafoam and watched as the force moved without the girl even trying. Telperien sighed and sat her down in the centre of the runes, letting her continue her powerful spell, free of the inhibitions of the planet itself. No foam or bile would touch her, and the runes would amplify her power a hundred fold. It was then that the Sith solder appeared, coming like a dog to its vomit. To lap again at the font of power of which he had no right. She would have struck him then if he had not mumbled something. A slew of words that caused her to pause as she tried to sort them out. Basic was not her mother language, and the words he spoke made no sense. A blooded drexl? What? She slapped him upside the head. Hard. Hard enough for her girls to giggle. “You speak nonsense boy. Speak when spoken to, or when you pipe up say something that makes sense.”

Telperien followed the girl as she concentrated, holding her scrying stick in front of her like it was a wand. It was in this configuration that they walked, for what felt like many miles but was very likely no more than a kilometer over wet and gripping sand that clung to their bare feet like grasping hands. Amethyst eyes never wavered from that stick until it dipped, then flew from the girls hands into a large expanse of red coloured sand. The girl went after it at first but Telperien shooed her back and knelt, reaching her hand slowly towards the sand, letting the force flow through her to guide her path. There is blood in this sand. Maybe it was a visual or spiritual expression, but when she dug the tips of her fingers into the wet sand they came back a crimson black. Curiosity overcame her stupor for a moment and she pushed her hand fully into the sand and felt the watery blood creep up her arm as she pressed even farther into it. And when she withdrew her strong arm, the mixture sucked at it, attempting to bring her back into itself. Perhaps the sand, being so diluted with the wellspring and oxygenated from some kind of decomposition was playing at a type of quicksand. Not a dangerous mixture, like the swamps of home, but a curiosity to be sure. She reached once more into the depths of that blood red sand, until her fingers chanced upon a hard object. She withdrew as fast as she dared before plunging her arms in again to prize the object from its grips. It was a knife. The long wicked blade had no handle, the wood, bone, or bakelite grip having long ago withered against the aggressive motion of time. But the blade itself, forged of mandalorian Iron, was warped and bent, the metal having been bubbled away in a section. So it was here. She let the knife drop back into the sand. The point fell first, then red muck slowly swallowed it again until it was lost from her sight. She looked back to her exhausted sister, her voice kindly. “Now go grab the Sand that you have dropped and bring it here.” Telperien reached into her belt and fished a flare gun from her survival pouch. She thumbed the colour wheel on the crude mini datapad at the rear end of the device until she selected and emerald green. With one hand raised to the falling night sky she depressed the trigger and sent a signal flare up, and up, and up until it starburst into green flame. Like a turbolaser falling through a boiling atmosphere. Whatever the other two had found was of no interest. For she had found the- Massacre

Kaiseng the olive skinned beauty in her early twenties watched the plight of the Sith Lord with an increasing feeling of dread. Did she not know that the force was so dangerous? Were they all to be swept up into some foolish endeavour that would release gods and demons without thought? And if they were trying to summon something didn’t they need a circle of fire and totems? Were these people mad? She had long been told to stray away from the inherited ignorance of her people but this seemed insane. There were very real demons here. She could hear their whispers! But her curiosity, not yet tamed by the years of ritualistic abuse that had plagued the old sisters kept her feet walking her closer to the stream. To sister Awenydd and the man Shiro. Then they were seized bodily by the demonic and her pale blue eyes went wider still. They began to falter in the water, the forces there pulling upon them like a thousand arms dragging them to their deaths. Did they not know how to swim? The man attempted a rescue but faltered as well and Kaiseng stripped off her hide outerclothes and dove in after them. Keeping her connection to the spiritual realm very much closed. She seized the man and dragged him and the sister out of the waters onto the relatively unmuddy bank. There she sat, silent, judging, and nearly naked. She pulled three fibrous towels from Sister Ar-Pharazon’s pack and wrapped them around each of them. The man too of course, she couldn’t be that rude to someone she didn’t know. Her soft finally spoke. Addressing the two of them like a mother would address a disobedient child. "Are you mad? The river is full of them." She wiped at the brackish water with her towel and scowled at no one in particular. _______________________ The force roiled in the stench of the planet. There had been massacre here, the mass death called from the edges of her subconscious. Beckoning to be called upon, to be used, abused, brought under the dominion of someone strong. Was it really so bad to take and sup from such a cup? The question was an honest one, for there existed such a divine power that needed only to be used, what was the harm in doing so? Could it be utilized to help her people? She held out her hand to her companion. Breaking the girl’s concentration. “Enough of this, return and retrieve the salt for a circle.” The girl gave a grin and took off running towards the camp as fast as her bare feet could take her in the mud. Tel watched her leave and then knelt back down in the sand and water. Letting her mind settle. Even as the cries in the force came beckoning over the waters to her over the centuries and millennia. It was a cold furor, colder than the water that lapped at her thighs, colder than the cries of Halyee in her struggle against its power. But suddenly there was pain, a whole lot of pain, delicious agony, that furled out like a banner in the wind from the Sith near the stream’s head. But almost as soon as the problem surfaced it had been solved, leaving the agony that remained that of the ancient dead. But as her apprentice came at a dead run Telperien considered the wisdom in drawing such agony from the planet. It would be worth it. She knew it. She reached into the silt and sand and grabbed an old stick, fossilized now by the wind and salt, but it had been here. Her touch on the old grey wood brought a shock of pain in the force. Perfect Wiping the water from her knees she stood and awaited the young girl’s return. She held up the ‘Y’ shaped stick and tossed it underhanded to the girl who gasped and dropped the bag of amber coloured salt. “Scry.”

Adun-Levennia, the mottled stump of what had once been the home of some ten thousand light furred cathari. The intermittent rains, the heat from the reflected sand, had left the old tree’s base not much more than a charred and rock-like preserved stump. The life-giving waters of the the river, which had once been called the Ibel-Luinë in the half remaining language of the old Cathar, was now not much more than a stream of brackish mud. Either the Mando’ade had been especially good at “salting the earth” of their enemies, or the lack of any vegetation and animals betrayed the reality of this place. The dark side was here, present, in the very waters that the nomadic people had once called their home tree. She stood at the edge of the mud, watching Hailey beginning to search for its power, then she gestured to her Dathomiri and they began to set up camp. She could not bring herself to meditate, not in a place like this, the shadows were unknown, too ancient, and it betrayed her attempts to grasp at it. She would leave such investigations for the much more competent Darth Awenydd. Taking only Lilia as her companion, she walked towards the beach, crossing through the dark delta that carried no life. Only thick, disgusting mud. But their eyes were watchful, having been raised in such mud to seek for prey, they watched the eddies and flows for any sign of wistful and innocent life. But found none at all, not even an insect could be found, and they walked in silence to the beach whose white sand was being drenched by the resurgent river. It was there, out of the mud that Telperiën and Lilia knelt. The brackish water lapping at their knees. “Let your mind slowly drop away the peripherals Lilia, concentrate only on what you feel, then peel away each sense until you can only feel the force.” The girl nodded and Telperiën began to do the same.

Telperiën nodded brusquely to Corporal Armegedon, he had avoided her question and it had peaked her fury enough to make her wish that she could lash out. Maybe strike for his neck? Gut him from throat to groin? Or perhaps she could possess him. Take his very soul from him, drive it out, and then inhabit him? No, not yet. He still had uses, but her patience was at its thinnest, dealing with his insolence. If the man expected to survive much longer he would need to learn the lesson quickly and without complaining. Otherwise it would be a much more miserable death for him down the road, and the Sith were as a whole much less forgiving than Telperiën Ar-Pharazôn. But Hailey was beckoning her and the others planetside, and Armegedon’s flogging would need to wait until after whatever they found on Cathar. The planet reeked of rot, deluge and disease. The natural smells of a seaside, but something that Telperiën was hardly used to. The salt at least cut through the putrid air with a stiff breeze that made it somewhat breathable. The Nightsisters grimaced in unison as the mounted the landing ramp, and shading their eyes against the bright overcast light of day, the terrain was nearly hilless and flat save a few peaked dunes that bled away their fine trails of sand over the wild grassland. But behind it all, behind all the smell of the world was the smell of desolation. It tingled at her nostrils, cutting through the distractions of her mind, forcing her to concentrate. She took another deep breath, glanced at the maps that were being displayed by Kaiseng’s datapad, then looked back at Hailey. “South of here is the ruins of old Adun-Levennia. The shattered world stem.” She pointed to the gorge and canyons that stretched away to the south, white brown rock, from which ran a black river.

Telperiën brought her hand down on the table with a resounding ‘crack.’ The durasteel slap dented in result and the screech of durasteel supports from the blow filled the cabin for a nanosecond before she stood up. But he was already gone. She glanced at Hailey for a moment and then followed him aft. Seeing him and his first mate assembled, she knocked on the bulkhead to get his attention as the klaxons faded from earshot. “Mr Armegedon, you and your men have been pressed into the service of the Sith Lords. There is but only one exit here for you and yours. Death. If you give myself or Lord Awenydd any more lip or defiance, I promise you I will pluck your tongue from your mouth by its roots.” Her voice was an eerie calm as the ship emerged from hyperspace with a tremble. “Understood?” The process of landing and clearance was of little consequence to such a vessel as this and as the ships computer emitted a flight plan and landing codes to the small defensive garrison, Telperiën could begin to feel the faint vestiges of the ancient horror of the mandalorian wars. There was a profound uneasiness in the force in the space around the planet, and its horror called to her. She looked to the dark skinned humanoid, then grinned. “Tell me Mr Armegedon, can you feel it?”

Telperiën’s nose twitched at the smell permeating the ship, she took a deep breath and savoured it. Bathing in the refreshing smell of that sweet memory-inducing Caf. Memories came flooding back, time spent onboard the Marie, time at Korriban’s Academy, almost everywhere but the din of battle and Dathomir. It hurt her heart to think of that backwater, even with how devastated it had become, even from the relief missions. The backwardness of her people persisted. Some would never touch the energy stim out of tradition, some from distain of offworlders, many reasons that made her people weaker. But in reflection, that stern rejection of the outside galaxy was a strength. That was hatred to be harnessed, something that the Nightsisters could exploit in the normal witches. But Telperiën reminded herself to order a crateload of Caf beans to be shipped to Coven Myrkengodi before the week was out anyway. Mostly for herself, and any Sith that might come to the cradle of the children of night. She tread softly from the room that she shared with her Sisters into the ships galley, where Hailey and Shiro were conversing. Or more that they were not conversing, and the man was brooding about something pointless no doubt. Her Sisters followed her and she swooped up a cup of Caf a ration pack. Pointedly she plopped herself down to the only seat next to Shiro and there gave him a baleful look as she opened the ration packet with her teeth. “Are you going to use that anger for something? Or are you going to let it stir in you until you become a bitter old husk?” She dumped her caf into the packet, resealed it, and squished it between her hands as the bread, now heavily dosed with caf instead of water, rose and congealed into something relatively edible with the bitterness of stimcaf mixed in.

Telperiën relaxed her control of the force with a satisfied sigh, letting the connection taper off to nothingness as the crystal above her breasts lost its satisfying crimson glow. She looked inquisitively at Shiro, noting his attitude. This was always the problem with those that did not see the vision. They did not even imagine how grasp at the power. Their lives were filled with monotony, guard drills and menial jobs. Only interrupted by spats of combat and the loving arms of a wife. They could not but glimpse the power of the force. The true joy of fulfillment that came from its eddies and flows. Instead they resented being subject to its whims. And the resentment glowed deep in his crimson eyes, he despised her, and with little thought she despised him back. He was weakness embodied. And weakness was something to be scorned. Not something to be nurtured. “Good.” Came her harsh voice. “Bask in that envy you feel. Bask in that rage. And in time perhaps that spark will fan to a flame.” She smiled wanly. “Or be snuffed out.” She looked at her cuticles, searching in vain for the black specs of corruption that could be starting there. She glanced back up upon finding nothing. “Oh I will remember this day. Don’t worry.” She spoke like one might reprimand a disobedient child. “This is the day you chose against your will to be strong.” She turned to her companion. “Where to first my Lady?”

The nightsisters exchanged a look and Lilia flipped the arrow around and lay it softly back into the bag at her hip. At little less than a meter in length, the arrow was not the most fitnesse solution for close quarters combat, but should the confrontation with this Shiro had gone differently, it would have greedily drank he and his crippled companions life blood. The short Dathmiri stepped back at the order from Darth Awenydd and grinned maniacally at the pair of Sith Troopers. “The Lamb looks on us with defiance!” She cackled a laugh and sprang back as if to distance herself from a plague. Her mistress’s eyes flashed from a pure amethyst colouring to a pale yellow. And Telperiën Ar-Pharazon strode forward, no grace, mirth, or laughter on her lips. The crystal at her neck glowed a dark crimson as she muttered a curse under her breath. The Two Dathomri behind her mimicking her words. The Force moved heavily, surrounding the two men with it’s grasp, tightening on their necks like a slave collar. Telperiën’s stretched out her hand and made a fist, tightening the grip upon their bodies and necks, her eyes flashing. Her voice echoed through the hallways, filling the ship with her words of command. “Imperial command means nothing to the will of the force. Corporal you and your men are being pressed into service. You have no option. Submit or die.”

How could she so easily draw upon the energies that surrounded her? Frustration at the ease the young woman was able to handle the force coursed down her spine in a tingle. It was not directed at her of course, merely at the myriad of curses that had been laid upon the Dathomiri people since their fall. Cursed to only summon the force through spoken word or talismans like the dark crystal at her own neck. The blood the Sith coursed so finely upon the decking smelled thicky of pride, and Telperiën nearly stood up to take challenge of adding her own blood to the mix but a small voice echoed behind her. Lilia’s soft voice spoke the bitter tongue of the Dathomiri with a grace uncommon to the native speakers of that backwater world. van egie követõnk. férfi. jóképű A watcher. A male. One plus two. Could she pursue? Telperiën grinned widely and nodded before stepping up to take Hailey into a warm and strong embrace before walking the both of them to the doorway where they could witness the youngest of the Dathomiri ply her trade. Telperiën’s voice matched the softness of Lilias as the strode the few meters to the door. “We seek the wounds of the Mandalorian wars. To craft and consume. To bring our blood strength.” Lilia sprang from the doorway, her lithe form landing beside the Sithari Marine and his hobbled friend with ease. Her hand held the long thin form of a bodkin arrow, praised between the man’s collar bone and his neck. Her eyes looking to her mistress for further order. Telperiën’s voice was a bark of command. And she pointed to the two marines. “Have you come to spy on the trades of your betters? Or perhaps you came in the chance of seeing a beautiful form in much undress?” Her voice was a growl as she strode towards the pair of men. Her tongue tracing her lips. Until she was right in front of them. “Speak swiftly.”

The presence of the Sith Lord without her consort of a Hutt in whom resided the power to devour worlds gave Telperiën enough pause that she did look behind the girl to check if the noxious bulk was hiding among the refresher stalls. Seeing no trail of white worms, or legion of slime borne parasites wriggling in the distance behind her, Telperiën gladly took her arm in the traditional greeting. The Sith’s muscles were not as developed as her own, having not drawn upon a long bow for the past years, but she still carried with her a strength of grace, strangely unspoilt for one that had been a consort of a Hutt. Perhaps his hunger had not extended to all things. But the girl's greeting was filled with a barb that seeped with Pride. A not unwelcome trait in a Sith lord, but it took Telperiën aback and caused her amethyst coloured eyes to narrow for a moment as she tried to find the jest in the words. It was true enough that Hailey was younger now, at least in frame and curve of breast, muscle, and raw power. But maybe that statement was more of a question into itself instead of a barb of to hook into a sensitive chink in Telperiën’s psychic armour. When she had deduced this she let her mouth grow into a wide smile and she barked a laugh that caused a tittering in the women behind her. “Why yes!” She stepped back as if to show off her body. “I was cursed foully, to wander the mortal plane jumping from flesh to flesh like a parasite. Seeking forever what I cannot achieve.” She laughed again and stepped fully forward to embrace Hailey, trying to make the best of an awkward moment. She was well enough aware that she was young and inexperienced, even if she had supped deeply on the memories of her victims, like some vampyre of legends long past. “But it is good to see you friend, you are full grown into your splendour, a full rite Krath, how marvelous! Do you mind if I but for a moment clean up?” She indicated her dust covered features with a wave of her hand. She stepped past the Sith Lord and walked to the sink and mirror where she analysed her face after a thorough scrubbing with soap and a towel. She looked in the corners of her eyes, her gums, under her tongue. Carefully watching for any sign of the Decay. Finding none, she perched herself on the stool next to the refresher as Lilia also washed her face. “I am searching for companions outside my order, as you know we carry with us a weakness in our blood.” She looked back at Aweydd, her eyes searching for hers. “For a mission of sorts. Are you free for an adventure?”

The smell was exquisite. The force moved heavily behind the door, and the trail of fear that had led them here was just beginning to ebb. Soldiers that normally would stare death in the face, had parted and pointed like schoolmarms hoping that whatever this group was, they would take the Daemon away. Their fear was intoxicating, and Telperiën, or Darth Annwn as the Sith now called her, drank deeply from their cup of sorrow. She placed her hand upon the door and the door opened with a groan. To the young girl behind the door, Darth Annwn would look very normal, if oddly dressed and oddly armed. Her beautiful face was covered in a smear of blood that formed into a runic curse, and her leathered armour also carried the stench of blood and ash. Beside the Heir to Ar-Pharazon there stood in company three others in dark leathers. All with lightsabres on their hips, but antique weapons beside. Thenra, her dark hair lank over her shoulders scratched at the wound that crossed her almost perfect face. A long trail of blood had marked the wound and had traced down her long neck to disappear in a smear between her meagre breasts. She wore a manifold of knives in sheaths that traversed from her thin hips to the end of her thighs. Beside the knives were also spikes of sharpened durasteel, in clusters oh the reverse of her shoulders. The sharp edges peeking from above her thin leather covered shoulders. Kaiseng, olive skinned, her normally curled hair held in plaits that stretched down to her belt. She wore a short sword at her hip beside the ornate sabre. She was the most armoured, and that did well to hide her dark complexion in the company of so many light skinned ladies. She had ascended from the ranks of the slave class, and her back, if exposed, still carried the scars of wips. Her smile was a sneer, and her beautiful full lips betrayed a heart as black as sin. Lilia, by far the youngest, copied her mistress, holding a recurve bow, whose white feathered arrows hung from a bag at her hip, the fingers of her left hand caressing the well worn bone carved notches. Her red hair was tied back betheat a cap of black leather, that matched the armour her sisters wore. Her freckles covered by the white ash of Coruscant's burning. Telperien grinned widely. For it was a face that she recognized. Hailey Fieldgrey, the once servant to the Master Sheog the Great Devourer, who had been such a friend to Delta her adoptive father. It was a face out of time and place for Telperien, bringing her back years of feelings and thoughts in a flash. She reached out her hand in greeting. “Darth Awenydd I presume?”

It was strange how easily that silent fear of rejection and disappointment came creeping back into her heart. She pushed against those thoughts as she looked upon her mother. So much had changed but her mother had stayed the same beautiful woman who had left her behind at Dathomir. She nodded to her mother’s quiet praise and strode with her to the abandoned benches near where Delta was talking to some Imperial officer. Sitting down, Telperien adjusted the maille shirt she wore over her dark leather tunic and looked her mother in the eye. A nervous finger idly wrapped and unwrapped itself around one of her dathomiri braids. “I have chosen the lonely path of a Sith. I have not sworn to any order other than the Dathomiri, though perhaps that’ll come in time. For now they need all the help they can be to become strong.” She looked down at a discarded cup of mead and with a shrug downed it. She looked back at her mother. “And you mother? How have you been? I can’t imagine you feel any different having been on Korriban.”

The dark scale mail felt heavy on her shoulders after the first hour of talking her way in circles around the Dark Lord’s company. It marked her clearly apart from the Rest of the Sith except for her own dark haired mother. In physical age, Telperien was not much younger than her mother, for the body she had devoured and assumed was of a woman in her early twenties. But inside she was still quite young, trapped in the ever changing outward corpse. This form was one that she had assumed and kept the longest as an adult body had its own distinct set of advantages. She was quite happy not being treated as a young little girl anymore, but the other look in men’s eyes, those made her distinctly nervous. She shrugged off another man’s advances with a laugh and drained her class to the dregs. Breathe, burn it off. It’s not worth the intoxication. Another breath and the alcohol burned away in her stomach, leaving her feeling warm but otherwise unaffected. She circled the room again, gold flecked amethyst eyes flicking between her mother and her adopted father. Why did they both seem so lonely? Was there something in the quest for power that left everyone with such torn souls? She didn’t feel lonely. Was there something wrong with her? She decided it was time to find out exactly that and stepped up to her mother. She opened her strong arms wide and placed a crooked smile on her lips that she had learned from Delta during her time in the body of the young girl. She was very different now in appearance, strong, beautiful even, but her spirit was the same. And deep inside she yearned for her mother to be proud of her. “Mother” Came the strangled and emotional whisper.

Telperien touched the center of her forehead with a bloody finger and bowed. First to the Spider, then to the Darth Nyrys. Then the Dathomiri spun on her heel and marched from the room. She walked the long corridors of the Super Star Destroyer with little focus as she searched for a barracks that was not occupied with troops or pilots. She had quarters, but they were kilometers away through many levels of turbolifts so when the next barrack quarters appeared on her left she turned in. It was relatively quiet. A pilot’s dormitory whose crew was not yet back. She waved hello to the mouse droid that scurried around the room and placed her satchel down. She withdrew from it her dathomiri war garb and frowned slightly at the lack of polish on the interlocking darkmetal scales. She growled and rubbed the suit over with one of the rags found on the counter, then stripped herself of her robe and uniform. She stepped into the refresher and let the warm water run through her hair. Blood from her arm pooled in the water currents that ran through her toes to circle the drain at her feet. A liberal application of soap from the dispenser on the wall, more water, then she toweled off and sat down in front of the mirror. Unlike the Sith Lady some distance away, she did not partake in transformation into beast but nervously looked for signs of decay. Inside the eyelid, gums, ears, tongue. No bleeding, no sign of the disease that she was terrified would waste her away again. The last gift as a child she had been given from the Dathomiri she had so recently overthrown. With no sign of that wasting disease she sat back and looked at the sheepishly grinning face in the mirror. Pretty, if a bit plain. Chapped lips and a wide grin over a tan and slightly freckled face. Dark hair that her strong fingers were pulling into braids. When the hair was finished, she dressed, finishing with her boots, she looked again at the armour she wore. Leather jerkin with a scale maille vest of sith darkmetal, a bare left arm, which she had covered with a thick leather vambrace. Pants of leather, boots, and a belt. She looked all the part of an archer from millennia ago. So I represent my people well. And she strode to where the brawl was beginning.

“I would hope so Lord, all tools have their purpose until they break and must be discarded.” The lazy hatefulness she let slip with those words betrayed her true feelings for her father. The hate was too thickly laid on and the lie was laid bare to anyone who had a nose enough to smell through the lies. Weakness was something her race struggled with from birth. And compared to the Lady before her, she was at the disadvantage. But she had earned her rank nonetheless. She smiled softly at the Dark Lord before turning to the Lady. “A pleasure Lady Nyrys.” She looked the woman in the eyes and curtsied slightly. It was an honour to finally meet the woman who had fought so well over Dark Sun, some troopers had whispered about an all devouring power. And Telperien could almost taste the power and bristling defense radiating off the woman so Telperien took another approach. One of honesty. She had no desire to see this woman as an enemy, it would only serve the Jedi if they were. “A cut from my bowstring, Unfortunately the Jedi prove themselves cowards and did not assault us here. As for the why, as you can tell by my accent I am Dathomiri.” She crooked a familiar conspiratorial smile that she had picked up from her non biological father. “You see we were bred with a handicap, a foil to keep us from reaching our full potential. We need a totem to concentrate on the force, something to pump the power through. Some use pain and blood magic, some use circles drawn on the ground and chanting. So I use a mix of all. ” Was it wise to broadcast her inability to this woman? Not at all. But perhaps it would buy her a friend, something she was in deadly need of in the Sith Empire. And if that didn't work, there was always the sabre and the bow.

Fingers tapped absentmindedly on the bronzium hilt of her lightsaber as Telperien walked from shadow to shadow, navigating by feeling until she stood in the doorway of where the Spider and his Beautiful new lordling were standing. Telperien licked her lips apprehensively then bowed low to the Spider. She could sense the tension in the air as she strode forward, her bloody fingers playing with the emitter switch on the ancient blade slung at her waist. She took a steady breath and smiled, knowing she was obviously interrupting some kind of romantic event. This form that Telperien now wore was indeed beautiful, but she did not have the grace that this new Sith Lord carried with her with every step. “Has my dear father Ca’Aran disappointed you my Lord?” Her eagerness to kill spilled with her words, coating them with a thick helping of desire. Ar-Pharazon had been her biological sire, but she had only ever experienced Delta as a father figure and so referred to him as such. Even if he was a weakling in the eyes of the Emperor. Her yellow-purple eyes found Nyrys and she smiled again and bowed her head to the woman. “I do not believe I have made your acquaintance Mistress, I am Darth Annwn, or Telperien Ar-Pharazon.” If her Dathomiri accent did not give away who her mother had been she did not need to know. Qaela was seeming out of favour in the court so Telpeirien would not bring up any of her lineage further. Not that she needed it, her actions against the Wolf had spoken enough for her. But Telperien was eager to have something to do. The lack of Jedi assault on the Scarab made her fingers twitch.

Strong arms flexed, muscles bunching as they pulled back the hemp cord that was attached to the long durasteel infused yew bow staff. The staff ‘creaked’ audibly as it reached its furthest point of bend, the maximum amount of power concentrated in the compression along the spine of the bow. Exhale. Then release. The black feather fletchings brushed by Telperien’s mouth as they guided the arrow towards the duraloid plate a hundred feet away in the hanger. The cord itself slapped along the woman’s arm tearing at the calluses and scabs that streaked from base of wrist to curve of elbow. The wicked bite of that bow gave the woman power, the pain amplifying the force she used to guide and help the arrow. She was Dathomiri after all, and the curse of those people was present in her as well. They needed...things to concentrate their force. They could not just summon the power at will, perhaps it was in their blood, a weakness that made them the ‘lesser’ of the Sith. Many of them could barely be described as a feral dark jedi, damned by their blood to using totems, lines of chalk, and as in Telperien’s case, Pain to focus herself. The arrow streaked through the hanger in a blur, the passage of the arrow causing a snap in the arrow as it punctured the sound barrier, then another snap as it impacted the thick lamellated plate, of the kind the poorer mandalorians wore. The wicked bodkin point of the arrow, a darksteel spike some five inches long, easily shattered the plate, dragging the heavy dark ash shaft through the hole it made until the fletching stopped the arrow. Three more arrows found their mark alongside the first hole and Telperien was satisfied with her work. Her amethyst eyes searched the hanger for the returning starfighters and she spat on the decking as a wave of undamaged fighters made their return. The Jedi had not assaulted the Black Scarab, and her time in the hanger had been wasted. She cursed and placed the horn tip of the bow against her boot and pulled with all her strength on the other end to destring the bow. The bow returned to its straight staff appearance and she knelt to wrap it in its leather sling. Unlike most holofilm producers, she knew that bows left strung for even hours without battlefield use would lose their power. The staff forming a permanent curve and losing its superior strength. Only after the bow was slung onto her back and the hemp string tucked away in an oiled pouch did she look at her bleeding arm. She smiled and as she walked into the turbolift to the bridge ignoring the flight officer who gave her a wide berth. When he departed the lift she lifted her arm and licked the blood from her weeping wounds. The taste was as sweet as it ever was. Plus she needed to clean up to see the Spider.

So you yet live child? Darksteel arrowheads slid across a wetstone, guided by the precision of the force as the pair walked together towards the boarding shuttles for the dreadnaught. Another dark arrow slid into the bag that was tied to Telperien’s thin waist. Why do you desire to follow in such troublesome venture? Do you not see that you will end in decay and death? The golden eyes turned amethyst in hue and the corners of her lips trembled into a soft smile. Boot gracefully set foot onto the decking of the Scarab as the servant of the Spider led her apprentice to the bridge. Find that part of you that wishes to do evil and explain it to me. Do not go into this darkness without forethought. You can gain power in other ways than sacrificing yourself to the wiles of the darkside. They were home. They were in the master's service, and they would be used for his will.

Amethyst eyes narrowed in anticipation The Apprentice listened to her master’s words. The pale pink eyes flickered from his dark ominous form to that of the girl that knelt beside her. She was underwhelming and wholly untested. With a firm nod, she drew her knife from its slim leather sheath and flicked it across the other girl’s neck, letting the blood mist across her fingers. It did not cut vital arteries but slashed through throat and vocal cords with ease. She put a pale hand on the girls head and shoved her to the ground. Speaking without a voice. Your first lesson is this young Melodie. Do not die. Fix yourself up and learn to speak without words. If you have questions you will ask them of me telepathically or not at all. She enunciated these words with a savage kick, before tossing a strip of medical gauze and the cauterizer from the kit on her belt which landed in the pooling blood. Follow us then. Or don’t. “Thank you My Lord.” She spoke for the first time, acknowledging the promotion before striding after the Spider. She had what she needed, her wits, her bow, and her sabre.

The great doors opened before Telperien, the hinges whining against the strain of the heavy doors as the wto women walked through the high arch of the dark doorway. Telperien’s eyes were wide and amethyst as she brought the woman before her King, and when she felt his presence before her she fell to one knee, dragging the girl down beside her. Her voice was thick with accent and gravel like. The last vestige of the disease that had claimed so many of her previous bodies. “My lord, all Dathomir bows before you. My people, once lost, now have begun their journey into your shadow.” She upturned her face and opened her eyes. “I bring you one I would wish as my apprentice should you allow it.” She turned her head to Eve. “Speak child.”

“He is master of this universe and his ships carry his visage to the ends of the Galactic Rim.” With speed that came from coild muscles and the force, Telperien grabbed the wrist of the Melodie and brought the Bodkin down until its razor sharp tip caressed the soft white skin of the girl’s palm. Then it lowered a centimeter to bite in with a horrid mix of pain and blood. A slash, then the daughter of Ar-Pharazon did the same to her own palm and grasped the girls hand in hers. Their blood mixing as it bubbled between their fingers. “Then I will make you such a weapon, and you will become a scourge on this galaxy.” The Ship settled down on its landing struts and she smiled at the girl as she pulled her towards the boarding ramp. “But first you must meet my Master. The Spider in all his glory. “ And she pulled hte girl down the ramp towards the palace of the Dark Lord.

"Dathomir as it was is a shambles of a once great community, its denizens subjugated and starving, and now with the aide of the Sith and the rule of a blessed patriarch such as the Spider we will see them return to greatness." The Sith shuttle hurtled through hyperspace, Tel having quite consciously kidnapped the clueless Melodie and had decided to whisk her off into service of the Dark lord. A gift much as it was, alongside the news of the subjugation of the Nightsisters. Telperien stood in front of the Melodie, her hands clasping hard the bow of yew that she held, destrung so that the bow did not follow the cord and thus become the weaker for it. A precurved bow being the weaker bow beside a bow as straight as its first forming. And Telperien was proud of that black yew bow and so carried it with her wherever she went. A powerful weapon besides being a talisman of sorts to focus through. She looked at the young girl, her smile carrying no joy. "We go to see the ruler of this galaxy, the Spider, the King Beyond the stars. You have potential within you, and I will exploit that to form you into a weapon as powerful as I am. But you must still choose." She withdrew a bodkin with its wicked point ground to a molecular edge and pointed it to the younger girl, the tip a mere inch from her nose. "You can choose the life of a weapon, or die. That is your choice, and you have no other. Take the arrow or be taken by it. Embrace your destiny and or I will not let such a powerful tool find its way into the hands of the Jedi." And as that horrible choice was presented, the sith shuttle arrived over Onderon.

Telperiën placed her bare foot against the withered skull of Talketa, the leader of the coven. With a quick pull of her hand and a push of her foot, the long wicked arrow withdrew itself from the left eyesocket of the fallen nightsister. The grinding slurp of the arrow against eyesocket and brain echoed in the small antichamber and the Herald of the King Beyond the Stars finished her work. The coven had been defeated, their leader felled, and with that done the Sith would begin their force civilization of these brutes. _______________________________ Some time later, the Apprentice walked on bare feet through the forest, her Amethyst eyes catching sight of Eve. Her voice was like gravel as she hailed the girl. With a breath she could smell the potential on the girl. So she broke into a run and skidded to a halt next to the Melodie. “Where art thou going stranger? I have not seen one such as you around Dathomir before.” She pointed to where her ship was coming in to hover some hundred yards ahead of them in a clearing among the bracken and fallen rocks. “If you wish to leave this place, you need only follow.” And with that the daughter of Ar-Pharazon broke again into a run, disappearing up the ramp. @Chaotic Tranquility Feel free to Join me aboard my ship.