CONVOLUTED COMBO: SPICY DATHOMIR STYLE!
IC Maul & Gethzerion
Dathomir
The blackened walls of Maul's chamber flickered with green light as eldritch incense from Nightsister candles burned around him. His meditative state was only interrupted by the utterances of madness still lingering in his mind.
"Always remember: I am fear," he repeated the mantra to himself.
"Always remember: I am hunter." Flashes of his lost family flashed in his mind. Savage, the brother that brought him back from insanity. Talzin, who restored his mind and reinvigorated his hatred. Kenobi, his hated enemy, now only a void in his psyche, resonating with the same empty pain of losing a loved one.
"Always remember, I am nothing." The Darksider's hatred burned brightly in the Force.
Across the swamps, a curious sensation tickled his senses. It was a familiar presence, yet foreign to him. The echo was unmistakably a manifestation of Nightsister Magick. Maul's eyes snapped open. The Nightsisters were dead, slaughtered by General Grievous before the end of the Clone Wars. Yet, this pocket of Magick still existed. He had to know more.
Bloodfin II cut through the red mists of Dathomir, carrying Maul to the source of the Magick he thought inaccessible. If he could resurrect the Nightsisters once again, he could rebuild Dathomir as a seat of Dark Side power, and fulfill his own debt to Mother Talzin for restoring him from his broken state. He breathed deep the acrid mist, and steeled himself. If this was a surviving Nightsister, she would likely be expecting an attack. His status as Nightbrother would help him survive, but at the cost of his agency, if she was a traditionalist. No, this alliance would have to be different if it was to benefit both of them. Maul would be nobody's slave again.
Every night, just after the engorged bloody sun dipped below the horizon, Gethzerion conjured a storm. The storm would last only a few minutes, but any that happened to witness it could tell from its ichor-tinged clouds and blazing emerald lighting bolts that this was no natural storm. It was a beacon to the Nightsisters…to the scattered, starved, and broken remnants of witches that survived the assault of the machine army. Her beacon manifested only for a few minutes, a lure both visual and tangible to those who could feel the Magick. She would wait for an hour to see if any Sister responded. A handful of times her summons brought the ragged, wounded remnants of her order. More often than not it attracted the thunderous stomping of rancors trained as mounts by the rival Singing Mountain Clan. Each night Gethzerion moved onward, seeking each forest, mountain, swamp, and cavern for her lost Sisters.
Only thirty were left now, there were more in the initial days of the battle, but they soon died from their wounds. The Nightsisters were no stranger to loss and death, yet even as they bathed their sisters’ bodies, and wrapped them in enchanted braided cloth, and encased them in burial pods, they wept vehemently. With the loss of Old Daka, none knew the spells to call their Sisters back into battle.
Gethzerion shed no tears however, so long as her heartbeat in her shriveled bosom the Nightsisters would not die. And Gethzerion’s mind dwelled upon a new era of expansion, an expansion so vast that a singular battle on one field would not spell the massacre of her order.
She had to leave Dathomir.
Her conjured storm had faded half an hour ago when she heard something alien approaching, the whine of approaching machinery.
“Run! Hide if you can!” she whispered to the Sisters, which obediently took to the trees or cloaked themselves in camouflaging spells.
Gethzerion stood in the middle of the festering swamp, a withered crone in tattered black robes, four poisoned kunai tucked into the frayed sleeves, her white hair gathered in a braid and deeply bruised face held proud in the acrid mist. She waited for the arrival of the stranger.
The spirits whispered faintly to her that this was no mere wayward traveler. This arrival might shatter worlds.
Maul's speeder screamed through the fading evening light, its distinct crescent shape bringing to mind the rolling chassis of a Separatist Droideka. A trail of dust whipped up in his wake as he sped from his hideout towards the source of the Magick aura. He let the Force guide him, its familiar energy pointing the way.
Minutes, hours, kilometers, he was not keeping track of how long the venture was. The only measure in his mind was the barometer of Force presence that grew stronger as he approached the last vestige of Magick. The dusty badlands gave way to swamps; and the acrid dust turned humid and acidic in his mouth. But he pressed on. He had to. For Savage, for Talzin, for the only semblance of family he had.
The lone figure standing in the swamp would have taken him by surprise were he not certain that she was exactly who he was searching for. The speeder decelerated with a groan, and he turned as it stopped. He dismounted the hover bike, his mechanical feet sinking slightly in the soft loam, and stepped towards the being cautiously.
"You must be the witch," he spoke softly.
"I am Maul, last of the Nightbrothers."
Gethzerion suppressed a flinch when the machine…what she supposed was a land speeder, at last came to a groaning stop. Naturally she distrusted all things mechanical, yet not out of religious fervor. Rather she simply didn’t understand them, yet she had little choice but to embrace such machines if she were to bring her plans into fruition. One could not simply leave Dathomir without a ship meant to withstand the emptiness of space.
A Nightbrother! Well, this was unexpected. Unexpected but not improbable. None of the Nightbrothers had responded to her call before, yet a male was exactly what the Sisters needed.
“Maul…” Gethzerion repeated.
“You have a familiar aura about you. I am Gethzerion, the clan Mother of the Nightsisters.” She spoke, her voice as aged and weary as she physically appeared.
"The Nightsisters are dead," Maul prodded at her, a snarl creeping into his voice.
"Massacred by the Sith. I watched my Mother Talzin die at their hands." He took another step towards her, a seething malevolence radiating from him.
"You may lay claim to the title of Clan Mother, but I do not see a clan, Gethzerion."
Gethzerion returned a wry smile to the male. His coloration was fearsome indeed, scarlet as the sunlight of Dathomir with stark black tattoos. His seething tone is even more intimidating.
“Your Mother, Talzin? I trained her, and I felt her death, just as I felt the massacre of hundreds of the sisters that learned from me . Did she teach you the ways of the Magicks, Maul? Have you read the Book of Shadows? The Nightsisters formed from my actions, my teachings. What remains of the clan I have been seeking out, healing and training. I stand now as their voice. Why have you answered my summons?”
A sudden subdued wistfulness crossed Maul's face, before being replaced once again with anger.
"I know very little of witch Magick. I was snatched from my mother's arms, stolen by the Sith to be used and discarded. Only after being left for dead, did I learn that I was but a pawn to their plans. Savage," his voiced cracked with pain,
"my brother, he rescued me. Brought me home once more, but it was too late. The clan had been wiped out by the droid armies, and Mother Talzin had a shadow of her power left. She restored my body and my spirit, so that I could exact my vengeance." He sighed.
"I failed her, and now the Sith control everything." Regaining his composure, he met her gaze.
"If the Nightsisters are to rise again, then we have a common enemy in the Sith, and the Emperor. Help me destroy them, and together, we can ensure the Magick never fades from Dathomir."
For but a moment a faint expression of empathy crossed Gethzerion’s withered and bruised features. The ritual of tattooing to cover the marks left by using the Dark Magicks was not one she’d adopted, but rather evolved over the years within the clan.
“So long as a single witch survives, the Nightsisters will remain. Not many Sisters survived, those that do are cautious. But their hatred burns the same as yours Nightbrother Maul.” she inclined her head to meet his burning gaze. He indeed possessed the might of Mother Talzin.
“Then it seems we indeed have a common goal. It is my will that the Sisters rise again, and that we populate more than mere Dathomir. If the Sith, and their Emperor, would seek to destroy us and extinguish the magicks, then I will fight with every spell I can conjure.”
A cruel smile flashed across Maul's face.
"And a fight you shall have, Mother Gethzerion. But we cannot wage open war with Skywalker," the Nightbrother spat the name.
"Not yet, at least. Gather the Sisters, they may stay within the grotto, out of the elements. There is a web of discord forming against the Empire, and I intend to make allies among them before striking." He turned his back to the shaman and mounted his speeder.
"At last, the ichor will flow once more. The Nightsisters are not dead, as long as one witch lives."
Gethzerion made an arcane hand motion with her gnarled fingers, only three sickly, near skeletal Nightsister emerged from the thorny foliage, each too weak to raise camouflages.
“My witches are attuned to surviving the elements, only these afflicted ones will require shelter. Myself and them will accompany you. When we arrive I want to know all about the galaxy beyond Dathomir. What exactly is this Sith threat and why did the machines slaughter our people?”
The Zabrak adjusted his position on his speeder, allowing room for the witches to squeeze aboard.
"The droid armies were but one piece of the Great Plan put into motion," Maul explained as they rode forth.
"For one thousand years, the Sith plotted to rule the galaxy. The Nightsisters were one of the few parties with the power to oppose the regime, and because they did not unquestioningly ally themselves with the Sith, they were eliminated from the equation." A hiss crept into his voice.
"The prophesied Chosen One, Skywalker, was the key to their takeover. He was to bring balance to the Force. It appears that his methodology involved reducing himself to the only one able to wield it." An amused scoff escaped his throat.
"Even Sidious in all his preparation did not see the threat past his own ambition. Ironic, but fitting.”
The wounded sisters took on expressions of delight in pressing so tightly to the muscular shoulders of such a fearsome Nightbrother. Gethzerion took her place behind her charges, having long past her mating years, and far too focused on the opportunity this male brought rather than his physical prowess.
“The Magicks of outsiders sound as flawed and broken as the schism upon Dathomir. It’s a pattern of nature, that one always breaks the Magick apart, proclaim one half is superior and war until only the wounded are left surviving. The galaxy mirrors with its Sith and it’s Skywalker mirrors the woes of Dathomir then. So what part do you play in this unending galactic conflict, Nightbrother Maul? You don’t speak like one with mere aspirations, but as one with a plan, and with followers that align to your cause. Is this correct?”
A mad chuckle escaped Maul's lips as he gunned the speeder and it whined in protest of the extra weight.
"A plan? I have much more than that, my lady Gethzerion. A purpose. A drive. My life was stolen from me by one who sought to conquer. It is the will of the Force that I am to right his wrongs, and undo the machinations carried on by his progeny." His tone settled, becoming much more calculating.
"As for followers, there are many chafing under Imperial rule. Most suffer from a lack of organization, and unification. All I needed to do was prove that syndication was mutually beneficial." He snorted.
"Some still refuse to cooperate, but they will learn soon enough that the Force is a powerful ally to command."
Gethzerion smiled grimly and wondered if these were the exact same mistakes that Mother Talzin made which eventually led to the demise of the Nightsisters. Did she heed the calls of spirits believing her actions and that of Asajj Ventress would lead them to victory against a galactic menace? Yet, what choice did Gethzerion have, with only scattered and dying sisters to tend to before surrendering them to burial pods? The only powerful being to answer her summons was this Nightbrother, this was her only hope for vengeance.
“Mayhap I can lead my Magicks to your cause, Nightbrother Maul. And the Force, what is this concept you mention?”
"Simply a different application of Magick, harnessed by the Jedi, and the Sith," Maul responded politely, if matter-of-factly.
"Many names, I have seen for it, but all the same in purpose."
Gethzerion fell silent after this response and left the Nightbrother to guide the machinery. She would need to focus on learning and observing all she could to fulfil her purpose, to leave Dathomir and strike out into the galaxy.
The ride back to Maul's grotto went significantly quicker than the venture into the wilds. He pulled into his makeshift hangar and made a motion for the sisters to dismount.
"You may make yourselves at home; as this was once the location of a coven I expect you shall find it suitable for habitation." His tone was unintentionally cold but the welcome was no less sincere. They were a clan once more.
Three weeks later
Maul's Grotto, Dathomir
Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Maul sat in a trancelike state on his throne, hands folded in front of him and eyes closed in deep concentration.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Muscled tensed across his body, as he reflexively flexed and stretched.
Though strength, I gain power.
A faint ripple of energy extended outward, lifting small stones into an orbit around him.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory my chains are broken.
The Force sha-
"Hail, Lord Maul."
The Dathomirian Zabrak's eyes shot open as the rubble in his vicinity cascaded back to the ground. He eyed his majordomo, Dryden Vos, with cruel contempt for interrupting his meditation, but allowed him to continue. "Your Apprentice and Boba Fett have returned from their mission. It is time to see if they were successful or if they have deceived us. If they have succeeded in their pursuit of the Inquisitor, we ought to pair them off with the Corellian and his pet to go hunting for the Jedi if it be your will."
Maul regarded the approach of his young apprentice, and the marginally older bounty hunter, seeking visual confirmation of their victory. It didn't take long for the Mandalorian to give him exactly that. Presenting the desired spoils of their mission, Fett was already on the attack. "You didn't tell me he was Force sensitive, Maul. Much less a dark side user. Your ward, or apprentice, or whatever you call him, almost died. You're lucky you hired me for the job." Fett paused. "I know the deal we made. But I'm altering the deal. I want double what you agreed to pay me. I don't like being lied to, or going in without all the info. So, you pay me double and everyone gets what they want. Or, you disagree, and I'll crush this code cylinder in my palm, and kill me or not, all you get for your trouble is this pretty little glow rod"
Maul couldn't help but chuckle at the brazenness of the young man's demands. Certainly, he held what he felt was the bargaining chip against his life, but the crime lord knew there were a dozen other inquisitors and a hundred other bounty hunters to hire. A younger, more impulsive Maul would have immediately brought Fett to his knees, and made him beg for even a fraction of his desired payment. Such insolence could not be tolerated. But in one regard, the Mandalorian was correct. He was lucky to have been the chosen candidate for the job. Maul's eyes drifted to Ezra, and he looked the boy up and down, examining him for injury. The boy did not appear to be overly damaged, something Fett could consider himself doubly lucky for. The Zabrak stood from his seat, his mechanical legs clicking and groaning slightly as he erected himself. "So you're telling me," he spoke slowly and calmly, presenting an ever-unflappable demeanor to the bounty hunter, "that when I hired you to bring me the lightsaber of an Imperial Inquisitor," the deliberate emphasis punctuating his point, "you did not deduce that the Inquisitor who would be using said lightsaber, was perhaps a Force user? Perhaps I overestimated your reasoning capabilities, Fett." From its space on the wall, another lightsaber, suspiciously similar to the one Fett held in his hand, was called to the horned crime lord, and its dual crimson blades ignited with a snap-hiss as he caught it. "I could have easily chosen Bane, or perhaps Embo or Shand, all reputable and successful hunters in their own right, and all capable of handling an Inquisitor without complaint. Why come here and waste my time with your petty demands, when you're just a small player in this galactic game? A simple man making his way through the galaxy would do well to not endanger his own life for a few credits. You performed the agreed upon task. You can either accept the agreed upon payment alongside the opportunity to work again, or you can be honored with the same fate as your progenitor, and I lose nothing but time." He glanced at Gethzerion in the dark recesses of the chamber, silently warning her to prepare herself, before his gaze returned to Fett. "I promise you, there is no third option."
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