deercountry | Disturbances in the Force - Tavion's Introduction/Monthly Log

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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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Savage was out hunting, searching for a beast that had been blood crazed. Brute, his Reek Omen, bellowed a challenge, and he had prepared himself to take the beast on. If anything, it would provide a good meal for himself and his elder brother, and he was always keen for a good fight.

Of course, he was drawn up short when a rancor charged on the scene. At first, he thought it might have been one of the gifts that his brother had given away, but there was something very different about this one. For one, it was larger than any of the others that resided in Trench. And second, there was a red lightsaber wielding Force-User attached to the impressive beast.

He growled, his hand twitched the saberstaff at his belt and his golden eyes narrowed. "A Dark-Side wielder... when did you arrive in this place?" Now, now, were the odds evening when it came Sith versus Jedi? That might be of interest to his brother.

"A Reek," she replied instead, ignoring his question for the moment. "One of the most angry herbivores I've ever seen."

She arched an eyebrow at the movement, smiling confidently.

"Oh, do tell me we're going to skip over the whole ridiculous comparisons of strength? They are so tedious and a Nightsister always wins, you know. Even one freshly arrived."

His Omen snorted and shook that big head as if to show proof that he was big, mean and ready for a fight if it came down to it. Brute didn't have the reach of a rancor, but at a strong charge and the ability to swell even larger in size with emotion, his Omen still liked the odds.

"A Nightsister," Savage repeated, at first surprised to hear such a name spoken and then suspicion. She didn't bear the pale silvery skin and hair of the Nightsisters that he was familiar with. He snorted and an odd pull of old loyalties nudged at him. "Are you an actual stolen Sister from Dathomir? They don't let their females go easily."

The only one he knew of whas Ventress, and what a sour - but powerful - creature she had been.

The Rancor, for its part, merely flexed its long, powerful digits, growling. Tavion turned her head, speaking to the Rancor in soothing words. Words of Dathomir, words of power and calm. The accent would be different to any he had heard - hers was a generation apart and more impoverished, more practical than their cultish predecessors. But it would be unmistakable.

“Stolen? Yes, in a way. And for you to know of us, well…Zabraks are very, very rare these days, from what I remember.”

Savage knew those words, had heard them now and again as he grew when the Nightsisters had come to make their claims in the Selection Trials. Sometimes for inspections, but he would know them like he would know the grunting growls of slang that came from Nightbrother lips. Accent was wrong, but he had always been told that there were more of the witches on further reaches of the planet.

He reached out and set a hand on Brute's shoulder, and the Reek groaned out a reassuring noise in return. He hated his life on Dathomir, but a part of him could never escape the long years of culture engrained from the day he had been born. He pounded a fist to the middle of his chest once. "I am Savage Opress, Nightbrother of Dathomir." That introduction said, he shifted for information. "The Sisters were eradicated, even the Clan Mother, Talzin, but you don't speak in the accent of the Nightsisters I know. Who are you?"

Her memories of it, dim and fragmented though they were...were of hunger, desperation - a stolen child? Oh, no, she had been given, so others could live. And she wondered, sometimes, if she would ever forgive that.

"One clan fell, another rose," she said. "One powerful enough that even the master of the Separatists who destroyed Talzin's era feared their ruler. She, too, fell in time. But I survive. Tavion Axmis, clan long ago lost."

So there were others...? The Clone Wars were not the end of the Nightsisters, and he supposed if that were true, the Nightbrothers would be kept in servitude. That meant that she existed long after his death then. "Do you speak of Count Dooku then?" His first Master.

"Do you rule the Nightsisters of your generation?" He spoke that with a touch of wariness.

"Dooku? That pawn? No, I speak of...well, the future - which you may or may not wish to know."

As to the latter, she shook her head.

"What use would that serve? No, I was taken and given a...larger destiny. One of change."

In other words, she is of Dathomir, not necessarily part of the old order.

"I'm with the Fanged God in the future, so I will play no part of it." But it did seem like there was another war if a Separatist army had reformed. Maybe another Clone Wars?

Nightsisters always did speak in riddles sometimes, and he didn't even pretend to understand what she was talking about. More, he was experiencing a prickle of conflict that if she brought her agenda here that she might want muscle. That rancor looked muscle enough, but he had to question if he would serve if she attempted to put him in a place of servitude.

"This isn't Dathomir or even our Galaxy. Your destiny likely won't be put into play in the same way here."

"In that future. Yet here you are. Who knows what future you shall write."

And at his statement, she smiled.

"Oh, I hope not. I plan to write my own, this time. What about you?"

He supposed he should feel some measure of compliment that she asked his opinion at all. That was not the Nightsister way he had been brought up in. Post-war massacre and differing futures clearly were a strange time.

"I serve my brother, so our futures are written together."

She's been much more than that. Taken, part of Empire, Empire Reborn, Sith Cult Leader - she's learned the value of flexibility.

"Two of you? Well, better still. Now - if we are here, then the laws of the universe would dictate there are Jedi here as well."

How much to say about his brother? Well, Maul was a force all his own, that was for certain, and he had no doubt that she and his brother would meet. They might even fight, since that seemed to be a definite thing that Sith did with one another from what he had experienced.

"Jedi have been showing up far more than Sith lately," he remarked with a shake of his head. "But one of the Jedi is on the verge of falling to the Dark Side."

Now the important question was in order. "Do you seek an alliance with the Sith, or are you more of a free spirit?"

"Oh, there could be a thousand of them. In time, it won't matter at all," she replies, cryptically. But with absolute confidence.

"Hmph, and as far as alliance - well. The Sith can hardly be trusted, can they? What guarantees have I that you wouldn't immediately try to slit my throat?"

Said with amusement. Which is definitely not the best of signs.

Edited 2022-03-17 01:51 (UTC)

Ah, she was definitely a Nightsister, he thought. She used cryptic speech just like those he had encountered now and again, so perhaps he was a touch more of a believer that she was what she claimed to be without the look that he was used to.

He huffed noisily at the sheer notion that he would slit her throat. He'd be more likely to throw her through a wall or choke.

"We are Nightkin before we are Sith," he replied with a low growl. At least that was his opinion; Maul might have a different one. After all, he was far more used to the idea of a Nightsister giving him the run around with the usual swell of hatred. "But if you harm my brother, I will kill you. Otherwise, do as you please."

She cackled at the last, genuinely amused. It was so expected, so defiant. But the Nightbrothers were like that, in those days, weren't they?

"I'm almost tempted to let you try, just to show you something you've never seen before. But you are correct. Children of Dathomir should not raise arms against each other. In my time, as in yours, it is us against the galaxy. Your oppressors were, in the end, the same as those who oppressed my clan."

Broadly true, all things said and done.

Savage relaxed slightly when she said the kinds of ideations that he had grown up with. Children of Dathomir against the galaxy. Their strengths were greatest on Dathomir, especially the Nightsisters, but she seemed to be functioning just fine here with her rancor Omen.

He still expected to be put under her heel at some point. They might be against the galaxy at large, but there was still a hierarchy that he accepted while also silently railing against. He supposed there was little point these days with Feral being his main reason for carefully planning to keep them both alive.

"I never back down from a fight," he growled at her, and while his hand didn't go for his saberstaff, he shifted his weight so it was obvious hanging from his belt. "But any fight isn't any kind of Selection." Did they hold those in her time?

"Oh that archaic ritual? Oh, no. The menfolk prove themselves much more...unofficially, these days. So much of the ritual of the old witches went with them."

She sighed. "The mysticism, the ceremony. No, Dathomir now...the Emperor made us too desperate for all those things. But, as ever, adversity only made us stronger. He was afraid of us, and so he locked the planet away from the universe. To keep us in. The great and powerful Palpatine...afraid of the witches in the dark."

"Unofficially...?" That didn't compute well, and he couldn't understand what she meant by that. There were traditions, and as much as he hated them, he had still been forced to learn, live and breathe them.

That it was the Emperor - who he had met but not at such title - who had stolen all of Dathomir wasn't a surprise to him. It seemed that the Clone Wars had taken much, but it also didn't surprise him that the Sith Lord would fear the Dark Side powers of the Nightkin.

"As he should be, Sister," he growled back at her. "Did you kill him?"

"The old rites died with the old sisters," she replies. "But alas, there we actually owe the Jedi a favour. Perhaps we'll give them a chance to serve, as recompense."

"Sidious was killed by Jedi?" While he wanted the Sith Lord dead, he had hoped that it would be elements other than Jedi. Fine, it was done and that's all one could hope for. "It sounds like you plan on taking over Trench."

"If needs be - but has it occurred to you the power that is here, for the taking?"

She smiled.

"Beings masquerading as gods, full of power and wrath. With the power to create a world that draws others to it, from any universe. And all of this...unchallenged."

"It has," he said simply. That was Maul's grand plan, to consolidate power and take over this place. If there was going to be competition, well, Savage knew where his allegiance was.

"And death doesn't have permanence here, so even if you failed to overthrow these beings, you will just come back for another round." His brother was right: the Sith were no better or worse than Jedi. She just happened to be someone he thought could be competition for his brother. "I'd help you as long as your plans don't infringe on my brother."

Her look at that was delighted.

"Then I am unstoppable, and inevitable," she replied.

"Oh, please - we undoubtedly will be working to the same ends - the destruction of the Jedi who oppose us, the power to stand unchallenged - to be nobody's pet."

She regards him, carefully.

"I have the means to take power here. You and your brother could join that."

"You can still be killed, but you come back after a... uh squid phase again," he pointed out. There was more than that, but it was clear that her delight was already feeding into her power hunger. How destructive would she be?

His jaw worked at the mention of being someone's pet. He'd been there once, and he wasn't looking to do so again. It was a little tantalizing that she offered that without any inclination of subjugating him or Maul. "It's hard to destroy the Jedi when they can't die either, and they seemed mostly well-liked by the rest of the Sleepers."

He stared at her in return. "So does my brother. You could join him and I in that."

Outside of the City

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