last_kallig

The last few months have been even harder than usual, after the death of her mother figure. Perhaps grief made her weaker, more vulnerable to sickness, because she knows she's dangerously ill. She hadn't meant to wind up here, wherever here is, but it has shown up in the nick of time.

Ibani shivers against one of the walls of Milliways, her body wracked with fever and hunger both. She's somewhere between seven and ten, clothed in fabric with far too many holes in it, and wearing a slave shock collar around her neck. Her bones stand out too sharply against her skin, and her eyes are fever bright and darting around the room.

She's not sure if this is some dying hallucination, if she's gone mad, or if she truly HAS wound up somewhere utterly strange. Whatever this is, instinct and her body DEMAND food, fuel to fight the sickness that is killing her. Untrained in the Force, she's grasping on instinct for any energy it can give her.

Maybe, maybe if she gets close enough to one of the tables she can steal some food without anyone noticing. Yes, yes that's a good plan

The room isn't quite the same as it was the last time he was here. There's a fireplace, and a fire in it, with some blankets and cushions in front of the fire.

Ibani flushes as she shuts the door. "Bar put that in after a dream I had."

She trails a hand over his armor. "The armor of your legion?" She grins. "Want to show me how it comes off, or do you intend to leave it on?"

(OOC: Warning for vague/implied adult content.)

The dream begins with the familiar motions of maintaining her armor and her weapons, things she's done times beyond counting, but she's not alone. Garyn is with her, working on his own equipment, and they talk as they work - Garyn about the trials and tribulations of his new garrison, Ibani about the trials and tribulations of her own bureaucracy. She loves that she can make him laugh, and his oh so dry humor makes her laugh more than anyone else ever has.

Other topics are broached over dinner, Senchal Watt, bits and pieces of their pasts that they can share without much pain. Each story is a precious gift exchanged, more knowledge about the mer she loves. And the tales she offers give HIM knowledge, give him pieces of herself she's never shared before.

The dream shifts, and they are spooning in front of a fire while a blizzard rages outside. Their outermost layers of clothes are drying near the fire, but they're still dressed except for their boots. His arms are wrapped around her, his body pressed tight against her back. As Garyn is taller and broader than she is, it's easiest for them to spoon like this, to cuddle. It makes her feel safe, protected, which is entirely irrational. She lets him feel that conclusion, touches his mind ever so lightly.

He laughs, the sound a low chuckle. "The best things in life are irrational." There's a flicker of mischief across their mental connection. He's not Force sensitive, never will be, but he's learned to make his emotions more or less obvious to her when he wants to. "I'm feeling a bit peckish."

"Oh, what for?"

"You," he replies as he kisses the spot on her neck that always makes her breath catch. She can feel his whole BEING respond to the sound she makes: pleasure in her pleasure, deepening desire, and almost as pleased with himself as he was the first time he found that particular spot. "Any way you like." She can feel his hungry grin against her neck. "Maybe every way you like if this blizzard goes on long enough."

She laughs out loud. "The blizzards on this planet don't last THAT long," she replies, still laughing. She twists her body to look back at him and he catches her lips with his...

She wakes, and her body's frustration is the least of her pains. She misses him so very, very much. The fear of what might have befallen him, the pain of his absence, is strong enough tonight that it tears at her relentlessly. She's always known that every time she sees him might be the last, that he could die and she would never even know what happened to him. Most of the time, the fear and the ache of his absence is a bearable thing, but tonight her love for him feels every bit the weakness, the bleeding wound, Korriban taught them it was.

It will pass, pain always does. And this is not the first time she's wrestled with this particular pain. But there is nothing to be done now but HURT, to weep for what little relief it will give her. She sobs, curled up in their bed in Milliways alone, bitterly glad that there's no one nearby to hear her weakness.

They say many things about the Witch-Queen of Kargal. They say that she is lovely beyond measure and they say she wears a helm because she is so hideous the sight of her will turn you to stone. They say she is dead and they say she cannot die. Some say she commands an army of lizard-men, others an army of ghosts. They say she sits on a throne of gold, or a throne of human skulls. They say she commands a terrible dragon, and has power over storms and lightning.

Even so, there are those that seek her out. For they say she can cure any ill short of death, break any curse, solve every mystery of the universe, for a price. (Though the price is never in copper, or silver, or gold.) They say that no matter how you have erred, no matter what men or gods or other beings stalk your heels, you can throw yourself upon her mercy. (But she can see the shape of your very soul, and you will be judged. Better to die than be found wanting when she looks upon you.)

Knowing the truth from the lies when you stand at the foot of her castle is a tricky thing. Whether you are hero or thief, scoundrel or saint, repentant sinner or devil, ambassador or assassin, merchant or traveler, all hangs upon your choice.

Despite the impression an outside observer might have gotten from observing Ibani and Garyn upon their initial arrival to Ibani's ship, they do not spend the entirety of the multi-day hyperspace trip to Athiss in bed! (SOME time, yes, because Ibani has thought of Garyn often when alone in bed or the fresher and she sees no reason why those thoughts should REMAIN just thoughts. She's sleeping very well!)

There is discussion of events Garyn mentioned that first night, what tactical information she can give him on Sith creatures, and the eternal puzzle of whether the Sphere of Logistics is just incompetent or also malicious.

There is also physical training in a portion of the cargo bay Ibani has converted for the purpose. She gets restless without doing physical training every day! At the moment, she's doing lightsaber katas in her small-clothes and it is early morning by the ship's chrono.

(OOC: Lines in italics taken from canon.)

(OOC: Set immediately after this. Warning for mention of past child abuse and POV characters who were raised with all the usual prejudices of the Empire.)

Kaal can feel the shakes coming on as the medical droid uses the bone mender on his cracked skull, the aftereffects of adrenaline and utter terror. Corrin had flung a kolto pack at his head and stalked off to meditate as per their Master's orders without saying a single word, which he knows means she's incandescently furious at him. She has every right to that fury, as it wasn't just HIS life he risked today.

He swallows, takes inventory of his body and its injuries while the droid works. He's mostly intact, which means that Balvadares must share his Master's patience and reluctance to waste resources, even ones as foolish as he's been today. His father, his father would have left Kaal with a permanent reminder of the price of his folly, had he ever been so foolish as to defy his orders like that.

The thought of his father prompts physical aches and pains, scars twinging. He thought he'd learned what true terror was, the last time he and Corrin had been on the receiving end of their father's temper. They'd been in kolto tanks for weeks, after, which was why they weren't present when his father's experiments ate him alive. His father's Force presence had been like a whirlpool, whatever emotion he felt spinning out and into the world, manifesting as generosity in a good mood and casual cruelty in a bad one, the stillness at the center an illusion that would drag you under to drown. He had let his passions, his emotions, dictate his actions, and Kaal knows that he takes after his father in that way.

He allows himself to shudder, because the droid won't tell anyone. He'd wondered, when Ibani first became their Master, just how an apprentice managed to kill Darth Skotia and Darth Zash in the space of a year. He knows now, oh yes. Power, more than he had ever sensed from her before, and an absolute control of that power that he didn't even know was possible! The Force usually ebbed and flowed around Sith, like water or wind, but she had controlled it like a tame beast on a chain!

He takes his leave of the droid, finds Corrin in the Force as easy as breathing, settles across from her to meditate as ordered. He ponders his Master, what he is meant to learn from this, searches his memories.
***********************************************

"It's quite elegant, really," Corrin tells him, leaning in to point at the data. There's admiration in her voice and the Force even though the data seals both their fates.

"Our Master's subsection has been deliberately designed to fail," he says, the realization bitter.

"Oh yes, loudly and dramatically," Corrin replies, tone dry. "I count at least sixteen different sub-sections in the Reclamation Service that Darth Thanaton has pulled from, and he's stripped out almost every officer above the rank of Lieutenant. Two thirds of the subsections he pulled from have grudges with one another that have been going on longer than we've both been alive."

Kaal hisses. "He'll purge everything, wipe the slate clean, when it fails." Including them and their Master!

**********************************************

But it hadn't failed. Somehow, someway, Ibani has kept things going, made a manufactured disaster into a functioning subsection. Their Master was the most PATIENT Sith Kaal had ever met. Keen, so terribly keen, on not wasting Imperial resources, preserving their power base, growing those resources into BETTER versions of themselves. There had been rot that needed cutting out, of course, which she had done with all the careful efficiency of a medic removing infected tissue from a wound. And if their replacements were utterly green, at least they could be taught!
**********************************************
He remembered saying to Ibani, once, that the Sith were the heart of the Empire, easily worth at least eight Imperial soldiers a piece. That had amused her, for some reason. "And what happens to a heart without a body, Apprentice?"

"My Lord?"

"I'm assigning both of you a little project. Research what would happen if, oh, let's say an eighth of the Empire's population decided to revolt at once."

Neither of them had understood the reason for the assignment, at first. There had been so much data to go through, so many reports of revolts. But the results had been...sobering. The Empire would collapse, slowly and terribly, in famine, disease, and other horrors. If they were willing to pay the butcher's bill, they could even kill every single Sith, save perhaps the Emperor! He and Corrin had both underestimated their strength.
************************************************
Which, he realizes in a flush of shame and anger, is exactly what they both did with Balvadares. What Darth Skotia and Darth Zash both did with Ibani, which resulted in their deaths. No wonder their Master had decided they needed that lesson beaten into them!

He opens his eyes to see Corrin looking at him. "Balvadares, we underestimated him and we paid for it. That's the lesson."

"Yes," Corrin replies. "You paying more than I, you damn idiot," she growls. "I saw you die twice, by the way, so thanks for that."

He grimaces. They've never told anyone about the rare flashes they get of each other's futures. They're never more than a few seconds in the future, so what would be the point? "I can guess the first," he replies, shuddering at the memory of HER power crawling over him. "But what was the second?"

Corrin's voice is tight as she answers, the Force full of her remembered terror. "When she asked him if you'd learned the lesson..." She pauses, takes a breath. "He said no."

"Ah," he replies, the potential demise playing out in his mind's eye. "Then it appears I owe our Master's retainer my life twice over." That galls, stings, but he can take some comfort in Balvadares being unusually skilled.

"More than a retainer, or at least WANTS to be," Corrin replies, smiling slightly.

Kaal huffs a laugh. "Well I can't fault his taste in that. Being a regular bed-mate for her would be a smart move for him, politically and socially."

"And he'd be safer there than most who wind up bedding a Sith," Corrin replies. "Safer than our mothers were, for a certainty," she adds, tone going slightly bitter.

"Yes." Kaal doesn't really remember his mother, but Corrin remembers hers. They hadn't been Sith, but they'd been bright, talented, women who had given their father Force sensitive children. In the end, that hadn't been enough to save them as their father's temper worsened as his career stagnated.

He's struck by the certainty that the Empire would be better, immeasurably better, if all Sith had Ibani's patience, her concern, her ability to help people grow.

"Then we work toward that," Corrin replies. And Kaal isn't certain if he spoke that thought aloud or not. They've always been more connected than most.

"A goal we can actually agree on, whatever is the world coming to?" he replies, his tone one he knows she finds especially annoying.

She flings a cushion at him in irritation, and he laughs, the fear beginning to fade.

A Tale Overheard in Tar-Keth:

Once upon a time, and long, long ago, there were dragons. Terrible, monstrous, creatures they were, with wings to soar, teeth and claws to tear, scales stronger than steel, and lightning in their breath! On this, all the tales agree.

But I will tell you a secret, best beloved. No dragon was ever born, for they were MADE, one and all!

As even a little child knows, some are born with a greater affinity for magic than others. Among these, were those called Sith. They used dark power to sate darker hungers, and it twisted them, turned their eyes sulfur yellow, mottled their flesh in strange ways. But they sought more, twisted their flesh, gave themselves wings, claws, fangs, scales, and breath of lighting! They were the first dragons, their draconic body the monstrosity of their heart and soul made flesh.

In time, they learned to take children and mold their hearts and souls with unspeakable horror and cruelties, twist their flesh with dreadful curses as they grew, until the process was nearly complete. But one final act, one final choice, doomed the Sith to monstrosity eternal and granted them the fullness of their power. To embrace the monstrosity within oneself, revel in it, and then seal the dreadful powers warring within them by devouring the flesh and essence of a living person.

Did any chose otherwise? Survive the horror only to turn aside at the very last? Well now, THAT is a very interesting question, best beloved.

Found carved into a cliff face as if by giant claws:

I wanted to live. That's where it began, this cursed and twisted portion of my life. When I was a child they took us, gave us the choice of trying to become Sith or being executed on the spot. I chose to live. I did horrible things, unspeakable things, to stay alive, to avoid being culled for weakness.

In my ignorance, I thought I could hide the Light in me. Present a Dark enough face to survive, but remain myself. The Last Rite, the Last Rite killed that hope. I could not, would not become a monster devoid of humanity, but I did not want to die. In my cowardice, I ran.

But there is no escaping this, the change. I can feel it always, the hunger to devour a living person and their essence, the pain of a transformation almost complete. I am able to assume my human shape less and less often as time goes on. There is a war inside me, and I am losing. I am afraid that one day Ibani will be gone entirely and only the monstrous part of me will remain.

Perhaps cowardice was my sin from the beginning. Perhaps I should have chosen death at eleven years old and avoided this cursed existence entirely, or chosen to fight and die at the Last Rite. But I did not.

I can hear singing, from somewhere deep in the Earth. I have decided that when night falls I am going to follow it, down into the Earth.

Ibani has been teaching Cassian the first two lightsaber forms, to the extent that she can. Luckily, Cassian has set aside an area of the house as something of a gym/workout area.

They are cooling down, and Ibani repeats the Sith code to herself. This time though, she speaks the words out loud, which she's never dared to before.

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion I gain strength.
Through strength I gain power.
Through power I gain victory.
Through victory my chains are broken.
The Force shall free me!"

Before school starts, they decide that a trip somewhere nice and remote can serve multiple purposes. Swimming lessons, survival training, and a place where Ibani can REALLY show Cassian what she can do without fear of witnesses!

The Yukon seemed like a good fit, so that's where they've landed.

The work and the struggle to 'catch up' in time for the start of the school year has been a LOT, but Ibani and Cassian have managed it. (For the most part, she'll definitely be needing to put in more time at home than her classmates on almost every subject.)

It would be a lie to say she isn't nervous this morning as she gets ready to go to school for the very first time. (Korriban shouldn't count, by any reasonable standard.) With luck, she won't stand out much in a plain green T-shirt, bluejeans, and sneakers.

By school regulations she really SHOULDN'T be wearing her warblade in a spine sheathe, but Ibani figures her having the weapon is less dangerous for the faculty and student body than having her being a nervous wreck without it.

She's checking that she has all of the supplies she needs for the THIRD time this morning as Ash barks excitedly at the squirrels outside.