Tavion Axmis (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
of_dathomir) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-06-21 07:47 pm
of_dathomir) wrote in deercountry2022-06-21 07:47 pm
Entry tags:
On Spells and Incidents - Tavion Monthly Log
Who: Tavion and YOU
What: Various events in and around Trench
When: Across the month
Where: Varied
A Nightsister Potion - Open to Darth Maul and Savage Oppress
Her expertise had been...requested. She suspected it was a way of testing whether or not she truly was a Nightsister of Dathomir. But sometimes one had to prove one's bona fides, as it were. The thing was, things had moved on a bit, from the Talzin era. The mysticism, the trappings - they had all fallen by the wayside. But then again, that was natural enough - for a planet quarantined by the Empire, constantly watched. She didn't know for sure if the stories were true - that Palpatine feared Gethzerion's power to rival him so much that he simply locked away the threat...but it had certainly made life harsher.
The old ways, the theatrical magicks - they no longer had fit. The cult-like, uniform Nightsisters had died out, and had been replaced.
But their knowledge had, for the most part, survived the upheaval. And she knew much of it - her mother had been the shaman of her tribe, as she remembered it. But she also had intensely studied Sith Alchemy, learning more and adding to her considerable skills. She had, after all, learned how to mutate a rancor, double its size and ferocity. And the poisonous gas it could breathe out - that had been a nice, added touch. Pity that Jedi whelp had trapped and crushed it.
Her own rancor was nearby, fingers curled against the ground, sniffing the air for threats. And she also had some of her new cultists nearby, though better hidden. Just in case.
But for the moment, she was prepared to be on the level. She had ingredients with her, arranged in bags and some complicated little boxes - as well as the cauldron over the fire.
Tonight...tonight they were going to make some magic.
Supply Run - Open
One like Tavion always taught self-reliance. Do not trust any power not your own, trust no hand to feed you - this applied to her and her own as well.
And so it was that she came into town, an empty bag slung over her shoulder. And, being her, she did so riding on the back of her rancor. She hadn't decided on a name yet, she supposed she should, soon. But the enormous creature, still not mature, was still easily big enough to carry her. And it's long, sharp-clawed arms certainly made an impression. As did, she hoped, the fact that it was clearly so thoroughly under her command.
And, bless its heart, the creature made negotiating prices significantly easier with all but the most hard-headed of merchants.
Though she did, on occasion, still haggle. It was a bit fun, all things said and done. And she was ever one to indulge her pleasures when she wished to.
Tavern - Open
She also sat in a tavern, her feet upon the table, and a drink in hand, food upon the table. The rancor had been told to hide itself, which at least preserved the atmosphere. How lovely to be a wanted criminal in one universe, and yet here you could sit in the open, eating and drinking to one's heart's content.
And also looking for potential recruits to her new Cult. All the things about the Mother Superior were lies, of course - this was a Force cult, and she was looking for people who fit her qualifications for it.
True she might meet someone who could satisfy other whims, but that would be merely...a bonus. After all, a Nightsister was never shy about taking what she wanted, when she wanted it. That being said, the first sweating, stinking male who tried to sit next to her stood up suddenly again as if shocked, clutching at his throat and staggering away in a panic. Because she did have standards, after all. She merely shook her head at the next woman who tried.
What: Various events in and around Trench
When: Across the month
Where: Varied
A Nightsister Potion - Open to Darth Maul and Savage Oppress
Her expertise had been...requested. She suspected it was a way of testing whether or not she truly was a Nightsister of Dathomir. But sometimes one had to prove one's bona fides, as it were. The thing was, things had moved on a bit, from the Talzin era. The mysticism, the trappings - they had all fallen by the wayside. But then again, that was natural enough - for a planet quarantined by the Empire, constantly watched. She didn't know for sure if the stories were true - that Palpatine feared Gethzerion's power to rival him so much that he simply locked away the threat...but it had certainly made life harsher.
The old ways, the theatrical magicks - they no longer had fit. The cult-like, uniform Nightsisters had died out, and had been replaced.
But their knowledge had, for the most part, survived the upheaval. And she knew much of it - her mother had been the shaman of her tribe, as she remembered it. But she also had intensely studied Sith Alchemy, learning more and adding to her considerable skills. She had, after all, learned how to mutate a rancor, double its size and ferocity. And the poisonous gas it could breathe out - that had been a nice, added touch. Pity that Jedi whelp had trapped and crushed it.
Her own rancor was nearby, fingers curled against the ground, sniffing the air for threats. And she also had some of her new cultists nearby, though better hidden. Just in case.
But for the moment, she was prepared to be on the level. She had ingredients with her, arranged in bags and some complicated little boxes - as well as the cauldron over the fire.
Tonight...tonight they were going to make some magic.
Supply Run - Open
One like Tavion always taught self-reliance. Do not trust any power not your own, trust no hand to feed you - this applied to her and her own as well.
And so it was that she came into town, an empty bag slung over her shoulder. And, being her, she did so riding on the back of her rancor. She hadn't decided on a name yet, she supposed she should, soon. But the enormous creature, still not mature, was still easily big enough to carry her. And it's long, sharp-clawed arms certainly made an impression. As did, she hoped, the fact that it was clearly so thoroughly under her command.
And, bless its heart, the creature made negotiating prices significantly easier with all but the most hard-headed of merchants.
Though she did, on occasion, still haggle. It was a bit fun, all things said and done. And she was ever one to indulge her pleasures when she wished to.
Tavern - Open
She also sat in a tavern, her feet upon the table, and a drink in hand, food upon the table. The rancor had been told to hide itself, which at least preserved the atmosphere. How lovely to be a wanted criminal in one universe, and yet here you could sit in the open, eating and drinking to one's heart's content.
And also looking for potential recruits to her new Cult. All the things about the Mother Superior were lies, of course - this was a Force cult, and she was looking for people who fit her qualifications for it.
True she might meet someone who could satisfy other whims, but that would be merely...a bonus. After all, a Nightsister was never shy about taking what she wanted, when she wanted it. That being said, the first sweating, stinking male who tried to sit next to her stood up suddenly again as if shocked, clutching at his throat and staggering away in a panic. Because she did have standards, after all. She merely shook her head at the next woman who tried.
tavern
When the unfortunate sweaty man stands up in such a panic, however, Sebastian can't help but give a short laugh-- quiet, and quickly hidden behind a polite hand. He has no experience with mortals having such powers, though, and accordingly his expression soon schools itself into one of quiet interest... but still. People being tortured in one way or another is just inherently funny, okay.
no subject
She looks up at them, a smile spreading over her painted face.
"Oh, look. More little things to play with," she said, languidly, putting down her drink with exaggerated care. "All of you here just to teach little me a lesson."
But then she moved and it became immediately apparent who had laid the trap for whom. Suddenly, with very little in between, she was standing, a hand outstretched, and one of the men had been flung backwards by an invisible force, crashing into a wall and falling to the ground. The others seemed to be very quickly reconsidering their life choices, and that was before the bright red beam of her lightsaber came to life in her hand.
"Witness," she said, slowly. "Do not challenge the power of those with the red blades. Flee now, and you'll live to share that lesson."
[Tavern]
"Now, is that any way to invite yourself to a lady's table?" a throaty male voice speaks, and if Tavion looks past her would-be table companion, she'll find the Sleeper connected to the weasel Omen, holding a wine carafe and a glass in one hand and a small summer charcuterie in the other. The same tall, blond male humanoid who'd chided her over the network smirks at either her would-be suitor, or the Omen, or both.