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exile-of-dathomir · 3 months

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[You open the door to the cafe, where the ambient lighting is soft and orange like the planet of a red sun. It's easy on the eyes, still illuminating the front counter plenty enough to see all the various food items for sale, and the menus where hundreds of drinks are carefully written out in chalk. The room is filled with mismatched tables and cozy booths, with a spiral staircase that leads up to a loft of couches. It smells incredibly good in here, like rich caf and baked things. A yellow, heavily tattooed zabrak stands at the counter, leaning on it while idly scrolling the holonet on a datapad. He looks up when you enter, smiling.]

“Hey come on in! I don't bite unless you ask nicely. A joke! Haha, just a joke, I swear. Don't be nervous, I'm always good to my customers. So welcome to the Twin Moons Cafe, what can I get you?”

((Welcome to the Twin Moons. This is an RP blog for the nightbrother Feral. All interactions and tagging @exile-of-dathomir assumes you've come up to the counter in person, unless you explicitly state otherwise, such as sending a comm message or holocall. Ask box is open for 'holonet' messages. If you want to RP without using reblogs, feel free to start a message chain on a post or DM. The cafe menu includes anything you want it to. The end of this post includes more helpful interaction advice.))

((Read below the cut for Feral’s backstory.))

Feral is friendly and chatty, don't be nervous, come on in! He'd love to make you a drink. ☕

((tw: nightsister temple scene, graphically depicted.))

I'm laying on the cot in Viscus’s back room, the one reserved for the injured.

Only I'm not injured anymore, just… empty inside. I'd tried so damn hard to win the Selection, but it hadn't been enough.

The thing is… I've never wanted kids, okay, but Savage? He smiles the most when the littlest brothers are underfoot, and he's never been one to smile much in the first place.

So I had thought…

Better than half of the nightbrothers that are Selected never come back, but, a year later a new kid is dropped off in the village, often more than one, with familiar angles to their faces, to the shape of their eyes.

If someone was going away and probably not coming back? I wanted it to be me. I can't handle the idea of being the one to wait a year, hoping to see if a new little brother shows up, with yellow skin and big almond eyes and-

I wanted it to be me.

Despite being the fastest climber and one of the best archers in the village, I’d failed. The melee part of the selection, the Trial of Night especially, against that nightsister with the smokey voice…

I turn over in the cot, and bury my face in the rough spun fabric.

I'd failed, and she'd Selected my brother instead. The fuck was I supposed to do now? Pick a new sparring partner? Go hunting by myself?

Just… carry on, like half my heart wasn't missing?

The chair beside the cot creeks with the weight of someone sitting in it. I assume it's Viscus, come to kick me out, or Burn, here to bother me into doing anything else besides laying here until I stop breathing.

“I'm so sorry, Feral…” comes the soft, silky voice of Rend.

I roll over, despite the fact that I probably look like shit, because this is the one person who might have answers for me.

Rend smiles when I do, but her lilac eyes don't crinkle at the corners like a real one. Good try though.

“Is he still…? Are they going to…” I have to ask.

Sometimes nightbrothers come home after the Selection. It's not… it's not unheard of.

“I don't know,” she replies, reaching out to stroke cold fingers over my forehead, passing her wrinkled knuckles under the line of my horns. “The Nightmother’s inner circle are preparing him for something, the rest of us aren't privy to what.”

I clear my throat, swallowing around a heavy thickness that clings to it. “Is that… normal? Does it mean anything?”

Rend shakes her head, the small, enchanted bells on her shawl sending out eddies in the force. A sound I've long associated with wise words and unusual kindness. “It can be… it depends on what sort of Selection it was.”

I sit up, gripping the edge of the cot. Her evasive words aren't helping.

“Is it normal for when they're going to use one of us as a stud? Or is it something else?” I ask, trying to keep my tone even.

I'm terrified. Hopeful. Terrified of being hopeful.

“No. It's not something generally done when a nightbrother is brought to the temple for procreation,” she admits.

I let go of the cot’s edge in favor of dropping my head into my hands.

Maybe… maybe.

Maybe he's coming back. Maybe I won't have to try and raise my nephews while trying not to scream inside everytime I look at them. Maybe I won't have nephews.

Would that be better… or worse?

Rend sits down on the cot beside me, the cloth arm of her deep red robes coming over my back like a blanket. “Oh Feral… you should have been born on Rattatak or Iridonia.”

“I'm not weak!” I hiss, trying not to be offended. She's not… wrong.

“No,” Rend agrees softly, “you're one of the best warriors in the village. It doesn't change the fact that your soul is… gentle. Warm.”

“Being warm didn't win me the Selection, so what's it worth?” I mutter.

The nightsister snorts. “You wanted to be Selected?”

“... I want to have been Selected instead of Savage,” I admit, rubbing at my eyes tiredly.

Rend sighs, like the very idea of it makes her even more tired than I am. “Go home. Get some rest. If I find out anything about your brother, I'll come let you know, alright?”

I manage a thin smile up at her, then take her thin fingers in mine to kiss the back of her knuckles. “Thank you nightsister. I… thank you.”

She withdrawals to stand up, giving my shoulder one last squeeze. “Walk with the fanged god’s blessing, nightbrother.”

I watch her go, until the bright splash of her robes disappears around the corner. Viscus takes her place in the door frame, watching me silently with his kind, weathered eyes.

“You heard her, Feral. Go on home… and take care of yourself. You might have a maleling on your hands, come spring. Don't forget that,” he cautions me, in his gruff way.

I drag myself to my feet, buoyed just barely enough by the thought that maybe this was an unusual Selection, and the results might be unusual too. Maybe Savage will be back tomorrow, and we can go fishing like we'd planned…

I leave, but I don't make it home.

Halfway across the village, a pair of nightsister initiates come striding up to me.

“Follow,” says one, droll and bored.

“You have been summoned,” snaps the other.

I know better than to speak when sisters come calling with sneering looks and curt demands. With my head lowered I follow, but excitement churns in my guts.

Was I being called on to help Savage take his leave from the temple? Did they already… you know, and now they want someone to get him out of their way?

Maybe, maybe.

The two sisters direct me into a side seat on a transport spreeder, and take off. I watch Viscus, Rend, and the Comand brothers all rush forward, only to stop at the gate, watching us go.

I lean out to wave.

The ride across the continent goes fast on these speeders. Rather than a three day flight on a winged creature, or a week long run on a hooved one, the nightsisters’ transport gets us to the temple in a matter of hours.

“Follow,” the shorter one orders me.

For as many herb hunting trips as I've gone on for Rend and some of the other sisters, I've… never actually been to the temple. It's huge. I mean just… it's the whole mountain range. The statues that border it's entry are bigger than any creature I've ever seen.

We enter, and Domir’s red light is quickly replaced by the softer glow of lamps. I'm led to a room with nothing in it, just a nightsister waiting with a cup.

“Drink.” She hands it off to me, and leaves.

I sit down at the back wall, ready to wait patiently, hoping I'll get to see Savage soon. The drink tastes limey. A little too sweet for my tastes, but not noxious or anything.

I turn around as she goes, just about ready to brave asking a careful question or two, but all the witches have left. They close the door behind them, and I'm alone in a plain stone room.

Well… alright then.

Sipping idly at the cup, I wait.

I feel as if… he's alive. Maybe it's just wishful thinking, but it's like… I can feel him? Maybe it's not wishful thinking, sometimes I just know things.

As long as my brother is okay, I don't really care what happens next. I'll carry him back across the continent if I have to. I know he'd do the same for me.

I stop drinking the cup when I get tired of the flavor. It's too damn strong, honestly. Setting it aside is the last thing I remember before falling asleep.

Rough hands lift me upward under either arm, and I blink awake.

“Mmnh?” I ask, disoriented.

“Silence, nightbrother,” says one of the women holding me.

Ughl. I feel… unwell. What was in that drink?

The nightsisters drag me out of the room, which is a good thing, because I don't think I can stand. We don't go far, really. One long hallway and a few doors down, and they come to a stop. Then they just… stand there.

What are we waiting for exactly?

“Bring in the prisoner,” I hear, in that nightsister’s voice. “Now… for the final test.”

Prisoner? The fuck.

The two witches bearing me up start forward again, dragging me into a room scrawled with ritual circles and ichor and all manner of nightmagick tools.

I look up, confused, because… because I feel my brother, but I don't see him.

The two sisters drop me on the stone floor before those gathered, then retreat to the sides. I'm honestly a little dizzy, but I look up, waiting to see what they want from me, looking for-

It's the eyes that I recognize first. His markings are in shadow, and his frame is… different, but it's him.

“Savage!”

The hulking man that looks down on me just… stares. Wordless.

“Now,” says the woman, with words like syrupy poison, “kill him.”

My jaw drops of its own accord. She can't be serious, can she? He would never.

I look from the nightsister back to my brother, waiting to see what the plan is. If he wants to try fighting our way out… well the odds suck, but I'm willing to try.

Savage looks back at me and just… growls, softly.

I hadn't noticed it before, too caught up in feeling sick and confused and hopeful, but my brother feels…

…absent.

Oh fuck.

This is nightmagick.

“Savage? Y-you know me…”

Nothing.

“I’m your kin!”

Nothing.

Savage’s eyes narrow, and again he growls, soft and low in his chest. He makes no move to gut me, at least.

“Do not do this!” I encourage.

Gods be good, he'd never forgive himself. I'd rather jump from the top of gorgara falls than let him-

“I said kill him,” the nightsister orders, smacking my brother across the face.

It barely moves him. He's like a mountain onto himself with… whatever it is they've done to him.

He never looks away from me, and I refuse to look away from him.

‘Come on brother’, I will toward him, ‘It's me.’

With a lurch, he steps forward, reaching out. For a few beautiful seconds I think he's going to pick me up and run…

His hand slips around my throat.

“No!” I cry out, horrified.

“Mnnngg…”

“Brother,” I beg as he lifts me, “Brother please.”

“You,” he rumbles, caustic and hateful, “make. Weakling.”

I try calling his name, my nails scrabbling at his forearm as the hand that had patched my wounds a hundred times instead squeezes the life out of me.

I feel my neck break with a sickening crunch I can taste, and suddenly my world narrows down to what I can see, which grows dimmer, and what I can hear, which grows quieter.

I can feel nothing of my body besides the skin on my face, and even that is fading.

The world spins, and my cheek is pressed to the cold stone floor.

“Good,” the nightsister with the smokey voice croons. “Very good…”

“You will learn to draw your strength from your emotions...”

“Hate will feed you….”

“Never sympathize with the enemy…”

“Not even for a moment…”

“Yes. Sister.”

Hate…? Hate is difficult to feel. Maybe I'm inured to the average nightsister's casual cruelty, but what I'm feeling right now as I die… it's not hate.

It's grief.

Gods why… why did they make him…

… and then, suddenly, everything is pain.

I jerk, screaming. Howling. Incoherently and uncontrollably writhing.

My limbs are fire, my gut is lightning, every breath is sand and grit. I scream for so long and so hard that I lose sense of time and direction.

“I'm so sorry, oh winged goddess forgive me, I had to try. What did I do wrong? I was so careful…”

I scream.

And scream.

“I shouldn't have… This spell… I shouldn't have…”

That's… that's… I know that voice.

I draw in a deep breath, and force myself to shut up. It hurts even more, and I barely manage it, but what else is there?

More screaming? Forever?

“Rrrr,” I try, but speaking is ridiculously difficult. “Rrre… reennnn…”

A gasp. Hands on my shoulders. Her pale face comes into view, framed by the red-orange sky.

“Feral?” she asks, thin brows turned up with fear and hope, “Please. Please tell me you're in there?”

In where? I try to ask but it comes out like gravel poured off a cliff.

Rather than try and talk when it just isn't working, I reach up to cup her wrinkled cheek. My hand shakes, covered in dirt, with too-long claws and streaks of ichor, but I manage it.

Gently, I stroke a thumb over her cheek. “Rr-rrennnnd.”

The nightsister’s lilac eyes fall closed, and she holds my hand to her face with one of her own. “It's okay… it's okay. I'll heal more of you, just… stay calm, alright? Don't think too hard.”

I can barely think in the first place, so that's doable.

Exhausted, and still in unholy amounts of pain, I relax as best I can. I don't… remember how I got hurt this bad, but I'm glad Rend was on hand or I'd probably be dead.

Where is… um. Where is…

There's someone else I'm looking for.

My thoughts drift like clouds, uncoordinated and ever shifting. Incohesive.

I feel like I'm lifted, energy raising me up, moving me. Night falls, and we pass into a village of some sort. My legs feel like I'm being passively electrocuted.

A nightbrother comes into view above me. Older, but handsome. He has kind eyes.

“What have you done, nightsister?” he asks, raw and quiet.

“He didn't deserve… I can't help- mn. But I could help him,” Rend replies, from somewhere near my head.

“Sister…” the man starts, fearful, “If one of the Nightmother's inner circle return to the village and see him here…”

“I know,” she says, swallowing, “believe me, I know. I'll… figure something out.”

“One of the other enclaves?” he asks.

“... no,” Rend replies slowly, “I don't think that will be enough.”

“Then what?” the man asks, laying a hand on my head, fingers threaded gently between the horns.

“... I'll come up with something.”

I fade out after that, weary to my bones from fighting the endless twitching in my limbs, bearing myself as steadily as I can, despite the cold fire in my fingers.

The next time I wake up, I'm… elsewhere.

I shiver, automatically clutching at the blankets piled on me. Footsteps echo on metal, low voices talking, too distant to hear.

A hand lands on my forehead, like they're checking my temperature.

I open my eyes, looking upward at the person. It's a nightsister. She smiles at me.

I know her… don't I know her?

“Where am I?” comes out of my throat more like ‘wheremm iiii?’ but it's better than before.

“We're on a starship, Feral. In orbit. Have you ever been up here before?”

Now that she says it, I can feel… I can feel that home is down. I hate it.

“I want to ggg-go home,” I tell her, cringing at the rust in my voice. “My t-throat hurts.”

The woman makes a horrible face for just a moment, then gathers me close. I'm… being hugged. It's nice.

“I'm sorry your throat hurts,” she croaks, “The magick that… fixed it… was born of our planet. Taking you away from that is… well I would prefer not to, but it's not safe for you anymore. I have to take you somewhere else.”

I can barely understand what she's saying. That was so many words in a row. A noise escapes me, unhappy and forlorn. I don't want to go somewhere else. I want to go back to… to…

“Nightsister,” I say, then pause to cough, “wwwhat is our planet called? My h-head is…”

The woman lays me back, such strength in her arms even though she's aged. With lines like that in her skin, she must be pushing several centuries.

“I know you,” I tell her, distressed. “But I- I-”

“Shhh,” the sister tells me, “your mind will heal, but it will take time. I'm Rend. We're from Dathomir. You're… the best assistant I've ever had, honestly.” She makes a sad little hiccup, trying to smile and failing. “Our medicinal stores have never been better, but apparently that doesn't matter to those- those- …nevermind. Just rest, alright?”

I want to say no, but I'm already slipping away again.

I'm Feral. Her name is Rend. Dathomir. Home is Dathomir.

I'm Feral.

She's Rend.

Home is Dathomir.

I repeat these to myself, desperately holding on to the only three thoughts in my head.

The flight to wherever we're going takes a while. I can't really keep track of the hours, nevermind the days, but it feels like it's been ages.

I relearn how to walk. How to drink. How to hold a stylus. How to put on clothes. It's horrible. I'm either confused, embarrassed, or both ninety percent of the time.

There's only one other person on the ship, the pilot. A very old nightbrother, older than I'd ever seen before. He doesn't talk much. Apparently they're old friends, with enough favors owed that neither keeps track anymore.

He's nice to me, but distant.

I'm more awake than asleep during the day by the time we come out of hyperspace near… wherever we've been heading to. While the ship lands, Rend helps me get dressed in new clothes.

“These are uh, k-kinda ugly,” I tell her, frustrated that I still can't stop stuttering.

She laughs, patting me on the cheek and straightening the vest like I'm a youngling. “I have to make you less pretty, you know. You’ll attract too much attention with that smile of yours, hm? Try to look grumpy and dull while we go through customs for me ”

I side eye her. “What's a customs?”

“It's a… security check, to make sure people visiting a place aren't bringing things that aren't supposed to be there,” Rend explains. “Coruscant is very strict about such things.”

“We're going to… kor-sant… then?” I ask. Never heard of it, honestly.

She steps back, looking at me sadly. “There's going to be a lot of new things to get used to here, but I've a friend who's going to help you get settled.”

I shift uncomfortably. “... not you?”

The nightsister shakes her head, making the little bells of her shawl tinkle and chime. “The Nightmother will look for me eventually. Nothing slips by her. If I stayed, it would leave a trail right back to you.”

“... and that's… bad?” I ask, still not understanding.

Rend’s expression twists in anger for a split second, but she hides it by looking away. I can still feel it though.

“Nevermind all that, Feral. There's a new life waiting for you here. Focus on the future, okay?”

“... alright.”

Everything goes really fast after that. The ship lands and the airlock spills us out in a busy place that the pilot calls a ‘spaceport’. Rend holds my hand, leading me through ‘customs’ and the dense crowds, showing papers to different people, and exchanging little metal bars for passage.

We go from spaceport to tram, from tram to elevator, and from there we walk.

In a matter of hours we've gone from the quiet little cabin where I relearned how to lace my boots, through a maelstrom of places unlike anything I'd ever seen outside of holos, to a quiet little living room with a tall, strange woman.

“Feral, this is Hexa, she's a pau’an, and an old acquaintance of mine,” Rend tells me, “You're going to stay with her while you get back on your feet.”

I'm on my feet right now, but the joke seems like low hanging fruit. “Hello Hexa… thank you for your help.”

She smiles with a mouth full of needle teeth, the lines along her pale skin bending with the muscles beneath. “Oh I'm glad to have you, really. I've been thinking about hiring help to run the shop, even held a few interviews… but I haven't found the right person. Rend says you're a deft hand with herbs and spices?”

“Ahh, yes ni-” I cut off, unsure what to call a female from another species. She's not a nightsister… is she? “... Hexa. I um… I like plants.”

The pau’an raises a lined brow at Rend, who snorts. “You'll need to teach him all the names you use, and the proportions you want, but Feral was the best herbalist’s assistant I've had in ages. He has a talent for it.”

I really don't know what's going on. It sounds like the nightsister has found a place for me to live, and a job for me to do, but… anxiety turns over in my gut. She's going to leave.

I don't want her to leave.

“Well alright,” Hexa says thoughtfully. “We can surely try. If you're not suited, I know a tailor looking for a bit of help too.”

“I can sew,” I offer, “but working with plants sounds better.”

The tall woman nods, resettling her feathered jacket she gestures me forward with one long nail. “Come on then m’dear. I'll show you the shop, the undercroft, and the little studio basement I've got set up for you.”

I turn to Rend as Hexa walks away, heading down a set of stairs to the level below. The nightsister smiles at me, nodding toward the staircase. I bow my head, accepting the order. What else can I do?

As it turns out, the shop downstairs is a cafe, featuring a galactic variety of beverages and lighter fare for sale. As Rend had hoped, my half remembered talents with dathomirian herbs did translate to making the various brews, though not as much to the baking.

Rend leaves the next morning, but promises to visit, and I settle into the studio beneath the cafe as best I can. I own nothing but the contents of a duffle bag.

This is how I come to work at the Twin Moons Cafe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

RP interaction guide:

Feral doesn't know anyone except Rend and Hexa. If you're a person from his past, you'll have to help him remember you. He is especially excited to see other dathomirians.

OCs, yourself, other RP blogs, and multiple-versions of the same canon characters are WELCOME. Feral will have individual friendships/rivalries/fights with each person without mentioning the other instances. He may have multiple adventures, romances, and even brothers at the same time. Every RPer gets a fresh instance of Feral, right off the ship and new to the city, unless requested otherwise or a group tag chain is started.

[ ] indicates narration, "" is dialogue. You can format your own posts anyway you like though.

//Indicates a file, images, holo, vid, or holonet link on a text communication.

Explicit or highly emotional engagements may be moved to DM.

Minors DNI. Adults RPing minors are welcome for wholesome interaction.

There are no timeline constraints. You can be from kotor era, the rebellion era, or any other time, just establish this with him and he'll follow your lead.

Don't speak for, react for, think for, or otherwise drive other characters. Only your own.

Describe what you look like when you walk in, especially your clothes, vibes, and species. Feel free to be excessive, since your first tag will be the header for the rest of the reblog chain, and will make an easy reference point for your appearance, abilities, attitude, etc. Time of day is also helpful, but the cafe is always open.

(( )) indicates out of character communication. Tags are also generally ooc.

If you're wondering 'does this guy want to even talk to me?' the answer is YES. Even if you just stop in one time for a cup of caf, Feral wants to talk to you.

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