the beat and the pulse Who: Issan Ren. What: Issan contacts her deity to ask if her coven selections are acceptable, and for next steps. When: Following this thread. Where: A random area of forest on Naboo. Rating: G for Gods and prophets.
Issan excited her spacecraft with bare feet, the cool dirt and moss of Naboo providing her with better grounding for what she was about to attempt.
She had never quite understood how (not that she'd gone so far as to question the process; such a thing might be inviting disaster) she managed to stay in contact with the spirits of her homeworld. One would imagine that the Dathomir nightsister spirits were attached to the ground they'd called home, but Issan chose to cherish the connection; it only further cemented the idea that she had been especially chosen for this task. She had only been in contact with them a handful of times, and usually planetside; there were rare occasions when she'd attempted to reach them from a ship, with mixed results. Issan was of the belief that a connection to earth assisted with a connection to her people's worship; after all, they'd lived in tandem with plants and animals on Dathomir.
The ends of her skirts and robe left a wake behind her as she moved further into the forest. The treeline of Naboo differed from that of Dathomir in a number of ways; sunlight pierced the leaves, creating a golden draping for branches. Everything that grew under that canopy was lush and green, even if it was denied the sun's touch. On Dathomir, things that fell into darkness often withered, or sought other means of survival; the number of flesh eating plants could not be counted on one hand. The whole planet held a somber air, or so Issan had felt the single time she had visited there. She wasn't sure if it was the truth, or her own dark perception of the planet, considering its bloody history.
But those thoughts were wiped from her mind as Issan cleared it, instead calling up a tune that soon echoed from her throat and out of her lips. It was a soft hum, one that her mother used to put her to bed. She had woven many such memories throughout her magic, making it not just something that fixed her to her people, but made her abilities her own. She had little to go off of in learning their ways, so she saw no harm in adding her own touches here and there. After all, hadn't that been what the covens had done? Studied the old, but brokered the new when it was necessary?
The sound reverberated throughout her body, traveling up and down her limbs before cycling back to her mind; there it tightened, coiled. Issan stumbled for a moment as she fought to breathe, her hand reaching out and catching on a tree trunk for stability. This was how she knew they were here, around her, with her.
It has been some time, inimioară. Why are you reaching out?
The voice was fire and ice; a slick sound that scraped her skull. Issan struggled to comprehend the whole of it, and offer up a reply. She fell to her knees, though not out of fear; simple reverence for the blessing she was receiving. Her fingers scraped the tree trunk, though not deeply enough to leave scars. It hung there, her arm held out and fastened to the tree.
"I have found them," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "The ones I would make into the first coven. The ones I would rebuild our people with."
The thing in her skull moved, slithering around to the thoughts Issan offered up to it. Descriptions, images of Dee and Madelena, summaries of their abilities and what they had learned thus far. The thing in her skull vibrated, purred; Issan knew it was pleased, and she allowed herself a small, victorious smile.
Yes, it said, the voice thickening and distorting. One moment it felt like nails; the next, soft and gentle, making Issan wonder why she had thought to fight against it. Yes, they will do well. You will initiate them as soon as possible. We have much work ahead of us.
"I know. Thank you, Winged Goddess. I serve your will."
And you serve me well, inimioară. When I have grown strong again, you will know my favor in all its fullness.
Issan's hand came away from the tree, curling into a fist at her breast. She could feel the thing in her head contracting, expanding, moving throughout her body with a warm, pleasant feeling. The next second, it was ice cold and she was paralyzed; and then, it was gone. The deity -- or the thing she believed to be a deity -- had severed their connection.
She remained kneeling, eventually falling to sitting on the forest floor. Animals who had moments before been scattered by her presence crawled back, scanning and testing the environment. Issan remained still, watching, and looked up into the branches overhead; soon Dathomir would be like this again. Alive, its people happy and powerful. She would rebuild everything the Empire had torn asunder, and take her pound of flesh and blood in revenge.