Ask Dathomir Ground Zero

[Renfry]

This one was nuts. Even more so than the others of his kind that she had met. He was chanting, drinking in his own pain as the spirits tore gashes into his flesh. She could feel the pressure constricting, wrapping her up, but she was a daughter of Dathomir. She had run with the predators and tamed creatures that the rest of the galaxy had come to fear. Perhaps she had not given him the proper respect as the predator he was, but that didn't matter now. Her eyes were watering and there was a seething hatred inside of her.

The grip weakened just enough and she coughed through the throttling.

Ith bleket! she half-shouted, half-choked. Another burst outward and she managed to wrench herself free of the grasp and the spirits practically pried the fingers of energy from around her.

The throw turned into more of a shove and she stumbled back, but her eyes - already a pale yellow - now blazed a bright golden with her rage.

She didn't care what he thought, what he wanted, or who he was. Her interest in "learning" from him was gone. She was out for blood... or more specifically more blood.

Lesto bethnair, reemony toon oni hooliar! she shouted, her voice echoing once more unnaturally through the room as if coming from a dozen locations at once.

Her hands slammed together and the ichors of Dathomir exploded from his hands with enough force to knock him back into the wall and knock the wind out of him. She didn't care if she killed him - in fact she was half hoping she would - and she advanced upon him, fully intending to grip his neck with her own physical hand. She wanted to throttle the life out of him, to make him feel that same sensation she had felt. She wanted within her very being to destroy him.

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc sailed back through the air, and he didn’t fight it. He slammed full force into the wall and slumped to the ground. He still had that grin on his face, his eyes glowing gold. He could feel her anger even from here, and she was tapping into the dark side of the Force. It was the Force in a pure and pristine form. It was even more perfect than how he wielded it. She had no idea what she had tapped into. She had no idea that she had stepped into a path she could never turn from.

He sat there on the ground, bleeding from his wounds, every bone and muscle aching, some possibly broken. He began to laugh in between his raspy breaths, “You see it,” He choked out, the laugh still coming, “You feel it. You wield it. You can never turn back from this.”

Emryc spat out blood, more of it dribbling down his chin. His breathing was labored. He could hear the spirits around him, and he could begin to see them again. It wouldn’t be such a bad death if he were to die here. He gazed upon his own blood, watched how faint lines formed on the ground.

He thought he was imagining it, but his blood began to travel of its own accord. It began to fall into crevices and lines etched into the ground of the tomb. He tilted his head, weak as he watched the blood go. It began to travel up through the tomb.

“What….what are you doing…” He whispered, beginning to feel numb. Was he going to at last meet his gods? Had she done him that honor?

 

[Renfry]

Why!? she screamed in his face. She wanted to know why he'd done this. She'd done nothing to him. She'd made the mistake of starting to open the door of Dathomir to him and he'd nearly killed her. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to rip him to pieces, but somehow she felt like that would just be giving him what he wanted.

The blood flowed through the room and exhaustion began to grip her. She dropped backward onto her butt and breathed heavily. She watched the blood flowing up the walls, traveling in ways that it couldn't be moving.

Even now something here was responding to him. Like a dark presence and she began to hearken back to the stories of the Entity. Could that be it? The dark presence beyond the Unknown Region that had left its mark here. Was that what called to him and what he called out to?

I hate you, she said after a moment. It was bizarre and seemingly out of place after the intensity of the moment they'd just had. But something here responded to him despite all of this. Something here was claiming him as its own. It should have been repelling him, purging him, but it wasn't. It was infuriating.

 

[Emryc Thorne]

Emryc felt weak and powerful at the same time. It was as if the tomb and all the spirits within it wanted so very badly to reject him, but they couldn’t. His blood was intoxicating and an elixir that was needed for many years. Emryc was drifting in and out of reality, seeing an imprint of the woman’s shadow before him.

She spoke, but he only saw her in the plane of the Force, her spirit taking shape in an entirely different dimension of existence. The appearance was ethereal, and he found himself enchanted. He heard the words, but they sounded like music to his ears.

“Do you?” Emryc chuckled, tilting his head to take in sight of the blurred and spiritual existence of her. She was glowing red then, the Force spiraling around her. It wrapped around her like vines, and she likely didn’t feel any of it - didn't know it was slowly taking a constricting hold and poisoning her from the inside, “We only just met….and you have such strong feelings?” He laughed some more.

The blood now spiraled through the circles etched into the floor and up along the tomb. Emryc’s fingers dug into the ground and he slowly began to rise up. He felt excruciating pain, but there was a blissful pleasure in it. It was skin deep, and yet it pierced so deep and into his core. The spirits around him wanted so badly to deny him, but they were ravenously hungry so long for what he could give them.

Emryc stumbled towards the woman, blood dripping from his hands. He raised a few of his fingers and smeared the blood along her cheek with weak and frail movements, leaning in to whisper into her ear, “Hate me some more.”

 

[Renfry]

Perhaps the words had just slipped out in a moment of frustration, empty and without real weight behind them, but there they were. After all, he'd tried to kill her. She cursed herself, though. She should have been more wary. She'd played too loosely with these Sith, but they were dangerous. Many of them even more dangerous than the rancors and other creatures that prowled this world.

Or perhaps she hated him because she had such a visceral reaction to him. Positive or negative he brought out a side of her that she was unaccustomed to and she hated the idea that he had that power over her.

He ran a finger on her cheek and she had half a mind to pull away but at the same time she didn't want to. She was drawn to him like a magnet. Her tattoo was now streaked with blood and somehow the blood felt almost like it burned. Like a warm glow on her face that shouldn't have been. The blood was... alive or electrified. It was... ready.

Such a feeling should have required preparation and intention... unless it was the spirits that readied it?

Her eyes were distant and she listened to the song, drinking it in now and interpreting it as she'd been taught when she was a child. The blood from the floor and walls began to float free, levitating toward the center of the room above them until it coalesced into a loose, fluid ball.

By power of blood and strength of spirit, she muttered quietly. She reached out and placed her hand against his chest, letting it linger for a moment until it was drenched in the blood of his wounds. Even after she pulled her hand away her mind lingered in that moment.

She bent down and placed the blood-stained hand to the floor of the tomb.

By power of blood and strength of spirit, she said, this time louder than the last. She closed her eyes, focusing on the blood and the power flowing through it. It began to sizzle under her hand as the green ichor burned it up.

After a few seconds she flung her hand up, the ichor lanced out through the air and slammed into the ball of blood above and it exploded outward, covering the air above them in a mist of blood that hung there, formless.

And then it began to take shape. While they would be able to look to the blood now taking shape, the far more potent portion of the ritual lay in the intangible sensation. They could see the blood taking the shape of bridges that crisscrossed the upper rooms, but somehow she knew it was not in this world. It was somewhere... near and far. Perhaps just beyond the Veil or in the world of the Spirits. She was unsure, but she knew it was... close to power. Or perhaps it was power.

Then three figures took shape: a togruta, an armored young man, and another who radiated power of his own. Twisted by an anger and hatred that Renfry found almost stifling. It surpassed anything she'd ever been exposed to. In fact, it surpassed anything that most beings had ever been exposed to since the death of its source: Darth Sidious.

A bolt of energy flung from the source of hatred to the others, trying to snuff them out when the vision was abruptly cut off. The blood converged once again and took the form of another and the blood now seemed to glow an unusual blue. She said nothing and she paid Renfry no mind as she "walked" directly to Emryc. She touched his head and vanished. Or at least that was Renfry's perspective.

Emryc would feel her in his mind. A presence that stood in stark contrast to his own inner darkness. Whether she sought to redeem him, destroy him, or undermine him was unclear, but he would be able to sense her inside his mind, warring against his own nature.

 

[Emryc Thorne]

He met her gaze, but he only saw gold in the plane of the Force. He was no longer interacting with the real world. He couldn’t feel the warmth, only the chill. Her hand was icy against his skin, and he only had a moment to sharply intake a breath of air.

The world between worlds opened up, and he could only watch. He was vaguely aware of the girl, now more focused on the figures that materialized before him. Emryc did not recognize them, but there was something so very familiar about them. The Togruta especially had threads that connected to a darker force, someone he worshipped.

The flood of images and memories poured into him as a tidal wave. Emryc had to fight to stay on his feet, glancing up to see a female presence that approached him. The face was clear as day, and there were so many memories there. There were memories of darkness, a downward spiral, and then so much light. The light burned him, and yet she continued towards him.

Emryc felt disgusted, shuddering and gasping as he slowly came to the real world once more. For a moment he coughed and sputtered, spitting out blood. He slowly looked up at the witch girl, eyeing her with curiosity. He saw the blood on her cheek. His gaze was different, almost out of character.

“Are you all right?” He asked with concern, reaching a hand out. But before he could make contact, his fingers curled and he stepped back. His jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck muscles. When he opened his eyes again, the gaze was similar to that from before.

“Regardless of whether or not you asked the question, you have the answer. You can’t step back from it now,” He spoke quietly, turning away from her. She would see the self inflicted wounds that covered almost the entirety of his back.

“The path to the Dark Side is not easy, but it is the only path that does not force you to deny what you are.”

With that, he began to walk from the chamber. He had been born a demon, and now something had happened to fight against that. The beast within him had a being to contend with, and his mind was a war zone. He had gone in for answers, and he had come out cursed.