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)
deercountry2022-03-06 04:39 pm
of_dathomir) wrote in deercountry2022-03-06 04:39 pm
Entry tags:
Disturbances in the Force - Tavion's Introduction/Monthly Log
Who: Tavion and YOU
What: Tavion makes her violent arrival - and
When: Early March
Where: Various
Arrival on the Shores - Closed
She dies, and is cast adrift in space and time. This is not the oblivion she had feared so much - but is it better? Perhaps it is not the same for all force-sensitives, but to a mind as disordered as hers, the images and places and things and urges scream through her mind, jerking her through different layers of consciousness without any preamble or warning. And in those moments, she fears. More than she had feared death, more than she had ever known she could - and then there is a struggling, upwards push towards light.
And then, and then...she awakes. She gasps, coughing up water immediately afterwards. It tastes wrong, foreign. But everything is wrong. She was dead and now she wasn't and yet again she has been toyed with by power greater than her own and it maddens her. Worse still is the sudden flood of...empathy for others. A strange emotion that moves through her mind like the touch of a skittering spider on skin. Her first conscious thought in this place is that she is being forced to feel for others and she hates it. Her mind, that alone had been hers - nobody had ever reached into it, never forced her to think something, to feel something.
Whatever or whoever created this place, whatever they stand for - they have violated that. So her second conscious feeling is rage; rage and the ever-present call for revenge that comes with it, her oldest and most familiar friend.
Then she feels hands on her naked body, voices cutting through the fog. One, clear as day, she hears: "Shall we see what we can do about that body? I think if you try hard enough, you'll remember something more familiar."
And memory floods back in, and her eyes snap open, and Tavion is whole again. She pushes back from those hands, feeling some kind of viscera fall away - and the tragedy of the moment, really, is the Wakers' reminder of the familiar. Because there is only one familiar response to someone like Tavion. She reaches out her senses, feeling the old familiar breath of the Force, and her hand snaps out. A moment later, from a nearby bag, her lightsaber smacks into her palm. And then with a snap-hiss and a breath of ozone, the red blade comes to life.
The Wakers don't have a chance to scream, let alone run. Moments later, she stands there, tall and fierce and proud as she is herself, blood from the fallen falling away from the violet tattoos that mark her face and body.
The rest is almost a formality. She finds the bag, her usual leathers inside - hide from Dathomir, her last real trace of home. The other objects she'll come to understand in time. But there, wrapped in sackcloth - she finds the Scepter of Ragnos.
"Fools," she whispers, pulling it free and holding it aloft. No, hers now. Not that revenant Ragnos, not a Sith artifact - she has learned. It is hers. There will never again be another master. Never again.
She dresses, adding one of the black robes around her shoulders - waste not, want not, after all. But what to do about the bodies.
That is when she meets her Omen - because, even here, the Force provides: A Dathomirian Rancor. Not fully grown, just a bit above three meters high, teeth and claws sharp - it roars, uncertainly. And perhaps surprisingly, is met with tenderness, with whispered words in the tongue of the Nightsisters; the Force-Witches of Dathomir. In Tavion's era, they are accomplished beast riders, and her mother, long ago, had taught her how.
She reaches out a hand, touching the Rancor's snout as the massive head lowers. The growling ceases, a low sound of greeting, of bond emanates.
"Oh, you poor thing," she says, "to have been drawn here, too. But never fear - we will keep each other...safe." And she gestures, then, to the bodies. "And look, a fresh feast for you. Remember, I will always take care of you."
The clothing of the Wakers, what other materials she can find - they are reshaped into an ersatz saddle. And when she leaves the beach - there is only one massive set of footprints, signs of a struggle - and no trace of the Wakers.
Outside the City - Open
Perhaps you are on the run. Perhaps you are hunting. Either way, a four-legged beast is upon you - it will be a difficult fight indeed. But then, there is crashing from the gloom, and the Rancor bursts into view, hand swinging a heavy branch, knocking the creature aside. It rolls across the ground, claws gripping to pull itself back to its feet.
From its terrible maw comes a roar of rage, confusion, and hunger. And as it goes to leap again, a twirling red blade cuts through the air, neatly slicing its head from its body, cauterizing the wounds instantly as it does so.
"Well, well, well," comes a voice from above the creature. With a graceful somersault, Tavion leaps from the Rancor's back, landing softly in front of you. "What do we have here? Such a busy night, and such terrors hidden in it."
Gaze and the Archaic Archives - Open
Venturing into Trench itself, she leaves the Rancor behind - a bit too much of an impression, to begin with. She's certain there is nothing normally in the wilds that can challenge her Omen. Though she needs to come up with a name, doesn't she? So many pressing things.
The first of which is to find the nearest library. A few simple interrogatives to the locals tells her that much. She strides through Gaze without fear and without making way for anyone - the feathers in her hair, the tattoos on her form, the abbreviated leathers, and the cloak around her shoulders will certainly make a scene.
The strange Sceptre strapped to her back all the more so. And anybody who has seen a lightsaber will absolutely recognize what is on her hip.
And for those who can feel it, the Force swirls around her - a powerful Force Witch has oh so definitely arrived.
The Archaic Archive itself plays with her mind - bigger on the inside, and something wrong about it, too. It's like a constant sort of headache, in the back of your mind - one you can never quite nail down. It irritates her. But it is also a necessary endurance.
She works through books voraciously - she needs to understand this place, its basics and its history - and she's hardly likely to trust answers she's given. In time, she finds a table, and books begin to pile around her. As you approach she finishes making a note on some paper, holding up her hand, and another book floats into it.
General Option - choose your own adventure?
[OOC: Feel free to suggest something else if you'd like to meet her and none of these work!]
What: Tavion makes her violent arrival - and
When: Early March
Where: Various
Arrival on the Shores - Closed
She dies, and is cast adrift in space and time. This is not the oblivion she had feared so much - but is it better? Perhaps it is not the same for all force-sensitives, but to a mind as disordered as hers, the images and places and things and urges scream through her mind, jerking her through different layers of consciousness without any preamble or warning. And in those moments, she fears. More than she had feared death, more than she had ever known she could - and then there is a struggling, upwards push towards light.
And then, and then...she awakes. She gasps, coughing up water immediately afterwards. It tastes wrong, foreign. But everything is wrong. She was dead and now she wasn't and yet again she has been toyed with by power greater than her own and it maddens her. Worse still is the sudden flood of...empathy for others. A strange emotion that moves through her mind like the touch of a skittering spider on skin. Her first conscious thought in this place is that she is being forced to feel for others and she hates it. Her mind, that alone had been hers - nobody had ever reached into it, never forced her to think something, to feel something.
Whatever or whoever created this place, whatever they stand for - they have violated that. So her second conscious feeling is rage; rage and the ever-present call for revenge that comes with it, her oldest and most familiar friend.
Then she feels hands on her naked body, voices cutting through the fog. One, clear as day, she hears: "Shall we see what we can do about that body? I think if you try hard enough, you'll remember something more familiar."
And memory floods back in, and her eyes snap open, and Tavion is whole again. She pushes back from those hands, feeling some kind of viscera fall away - and the tragedy of the moment, really, is the Wakers' reminder of the familiar. Because there is only one familiar response to someone like Tavion. She reaches out her senses, feeling the old familiar breath of the Force, and her hand snaps out. A moment later, from a nearby bag, her lightsaber smacks into her palm. And then with a snap-hiss and a breath of ozone, the red blade comes to life.
The Wakers don't have a chance to scream, let alone run. Moments later, she stands there, tall and fierce and proud as she is herself, blood from the fallen falling away from the violet tattoos that mark her face and body.
The rest is almost a formality. She finds the bag, her usual leathers inside - hide from Dathomir, her last real trace of home. The other objects she'll come to understand in time. But there, wrapped in sackcloth - she finds the Scepter of Ragnos.
"Fools," she whispers, pulling it free and holding it aloft. No, hers now. Not that revenant Ragnos, not a Sith artifact - she has learned. It is hers. There will never again be another master. Never again.
She dresses, adding one of the black robes around her shoulders - waste not, want not, after all. But what to do about the bodies.
That is when she meets her Omen - because, even here, the Force provides: A Dathomirian Rancor. Not fully grown, just a bit above three meters high, teeth and claws sharp - it roars, uncertainly. And perhaps surprisingly, is met with tenderness, with whispered words in the tongue of the Nightsisters; the Force-Witches of Dathomir. In Tavion's era, they are accomplished beast riders, and her mother, long ago, had taught her how.
She reaches out a hand, touching the Rancor's snout as the massive head lowers. The growling ceases, a low sound of greeting, of bond emanates.
"Oh, you poor thing," she says, "to have been drawn here, too. But never fear - we will keep each other...safe." And she gestures, then, to the bodies. "And look, a fresh feast for you. Remember, I will always take care of you."
The clothing of the Wakers, what other materials she can find - they are reshaped into an ersatz saddle. And when she leaves the beach - there is only one massive set of footprints, signs of a struggle - and no trace of the Wakers.
Outside the City - Open
Perhaps you are on the run. Perhaps you are hunting. Either way, a four-legged beast is upon you - it will be a difficult fight indeed. But then, there is crashing from the gloom, and the Rancor bursts into view, hand swinging a heavy branch, knocking the creature aside. It rolls across the ground, claws gripping to pull itself back to its feet.
From its terrible maw comes a roar of rage, confusion, and hunger. And as it goes to leap again, a twirling red blade cuts through the air, neatly slicing its head from its body, cauterizing the wounds instantly as it does so.
"Well, well, well," comes a voice from above the creature. With a graceful somersault, Tavion leaps from the Rancor's back, landing softly in front of you. "What do we have here? Such a busy night, and such terrors hidden in it."
Gaze and the Archaic Archives - Open
Venturing into Trench itself, she leaves the Rancor behind - a bit too much of an impression, to begin with. She's certain there is nothing normally in the wilds that can challenge her Omen. Though she needs to come up with a name, doesn't she? So many pressing things.
The first of which is to find the nearest library. A few simple interrogatives to the locals tells her that much. She strides through Gaze without fear and without making way for anyone - the feathers in her hair, the tattoos on her form, the abbreviated leathers, and the cloak around her shoulders will certainly make a scene.
The strange Sceptre strapped to her back all the more so. And anybody who has seen a lightsaber will absolutely recognize what is on her hip.
And for those who can feel it, the Force swirls around her - a powerful Force Witch has oh so definitely arrived.
The Archaic Archive itself plays with her mind - bigger on the inside, and something wrong about it, too. It's like a constant sort of headache, in the back of your mind - one you can never quite nail down. It irritates her. But it is also a necessary endurance.
She works through books voraciously - she needs to understand this place, its basics and its history - and she's hardly likely to trust answers she's given. In time, she finds a table, and books begin to pile around her. As you approach she finishes making a note on some paper, holding up her hand, and another book floats into it.
General Option - choose your own adventure?
[OOC: Feel free to suggest something else if you'd like to meet her and none of these work!]
Outside the City
His entire body tenses when he sees Tavion come into view. So there is another Force-wielder here in the city. That would explain the recent dip in the Force that had happened about the time the new Sleepers showed up. And if that lightsaber is anything to judge by they're likely a Sith. It was proven to him quite some time ago that those from his galaxy can arrive from any time period, so he's uncertain of when or where this Sith might be from. So he approaches cautiously, his hand hovering over his saberstaff.
"I don't believe we have met before. I am Darth Maul. Who are you?" He asks.
no subject
"The Darth Maul," she says, sketching a half bow with a giggle. "Well. Wonders abound. Adrift in space and time, it seems. I am known as Tavion."
no subject
He figures she has to be either from his time, at the very earliest, and most likely later on than that if she's remarking about being adrift in time. "Are you a Sith as well?"
no subject
"Oh, it does. So many stories, so many mysteries. Such...tragedy, really."
She moves at a slow walk, starting to circle him.
"And nothing so prosaic - in fact, the Sith are...well, at least temporarily dead in my time. Victims, once again, of their own limitations." She says the last in a sighing, sing-song sort of voice.
"I will be much more than they ever were," she adds. "And you could be, too."
no subject
As she circles him, Maul turns with her. It's something he's often done himself when assessing an opponent, the predator seeing how the prey will react. He's no idea who might be hunting who right now in this scenario.
When she mentions the Sith are dead, he nods. He thinks he knows where that places her in the timeline. "You must be after my time then." Maybe even after Luke's then, given what the young Jedi had told him about his father ending the Emperor for good? Tavion might be the furthest along the timeline of their shared galaxy Maul has ever met.
Her last words make his eyes gleam, though he does note that she seems to be a bit cocky. Maul is always interested in more power. He can't help it, he is still a Sith Lord no matter that he's started to break away from the brainwashing his master put him under for so many years, Sidious' claws still dug deeply into Maul's mind. "How delightfully vague. Do you have proof of that?"
no subject
And as for proof, well. The Scepter of Ragnos at her back flew into her hand, planting the end of it in the ground like a flag. An artifact that was ancient, powerful - and with effects no Jedi or Sith had seen in thousands and thousands of years.
"Yes," she said, with a slight giggle. "How else would I be heir to their toys?"
no subject
He can sense the Dark Side coming off of that staff as she plants it on the ground, the scepter roiling with a large amount of power that Maul hasn't encountered before. He's not sure what can be done with such a weapon, so he'll remain cautious....for now anyway. "I have never seen such a thing before. What is it?"
no subject
"But as for this," she said, with proprietary pride. "This once belonged to Marka Ragnos, whom you...may have heard of."
She smiled.
"With it, I can imbue beings with the Force...or take it away. The auras left behind by a Jedi temple, the burial mound of a long-dead Sith - all those pieces, drawn into this."
Including the remnants of the planet Byss, the reborn Emperor's citadel - and possibly the strongest source of dark side power in the galaxy, with the exception perhaps of Korriban or Dromund Kaas.
"I made myself an army. Here, I shall make another, once I have found those worthy enough."
Which, in part, means obedient.
"A task you might wish to play a part in?"
no subject
He listens, nodding slowly when he hears of the ancient Sith Lord. He's positive he read that name long ago in one of the books in his master's library. Really, he shouldn't have been reading old Sith legends and tomes of their history given how young he was, but caring about what was appropriate for his young ward to be reading was the last thing on Sidious' mind.
He's about to mention that when she explains what the scepter can do. Now that is a formidable weapon to be possessing. That might make it the most powerful thing brought from their galaxy thus far, even far beyond any of the lightsabers that the Jedi and Sith had. Once again, as he felt with Darth Nox when he'd been here, Maul is beginning to realize just how much of the power and heritage that the Sith possessed in the olden days had been lost thanks to the Rule of Two.
As for Tavion herself, suddenly she's teetering right between the areas of 'ally' and 'foe' in Maul's mind. He'll be wary and cautious until she tips towards one side or the other.
"Perhaps," Maul says evasively at her offer to help her create an army. He doesn't mention the difficulties that will come with getting either the natives or the Sleepers to follow her. Let Tavion discover that in her own time. Maul's not about to give her a leg up, not when he still thinks she might possibly be a threat.
no subject
The Sceptre was, in effect, an exceptionally powerful battery.
"Perhaps," she repeats, half-mockingly. "Well, if you merely stand aside, that will be enough. Until the critical moment, in any event."
no subject
He keeps his unblinking stare on her and the tattoos of her face....they stir old memories in him, ones dusty and locked away for a long time. "Your markings.....are you from Dathomir as well?"
no subject
Frankly, controlling it is more of an impediment than anything - besides, she can make much better use of Trench and its people.
As for the latter.
"I am," she replied. "As, if the stories are true, are you."
no subject
"From what clan?" Not his own, for the Nightsisters that had served under Mother Talzin were now all dead. He knows he shall need to mention this to his brother. Savage has a much longer and more intricate history with the Nightsisters than he himself does and he knows there are issues there that still have yet to be resolved.
no subject
She shrugged. It was what it was. Very little died of old age on Dathomir.
no subject
So, a Nightsister was here in Trench. Maul figured it would not do to turn his back on this one. She could end up being a dangerous foe or have the potential for an alliance. Only time would tell.