This is not the end. (Tristan)

[Megaera]

The Hunt (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=22674) had been most successful. Several hunting parties had returned with fresh kills that would be butchered, the meat dried and used to feed the clan for weeks, supplementing the other staples that made up their victuals. Tonight was for feasting though. The parties returned to the steady beat of drums and the evening fires already lit. The tantalizing aroma of Dathomiri boar being basted over an open flame greeted them as they returned.

Everyone in the clan served in some manner. Those who had not gone on the hunt had stayed behind to guard their encampment. Wealth to the Nightsisters had nothing to do with financial gain and everything to do with guarding, and expanding what was theirs. Everyone worked to this end. Tonight though, the forge fires were banked. The leather-workers and smiths, the beast trainers and rangers were all joining the feast.

Before taking part herself, Megaera drifted away to her own small hut to change from her clothes. The other witches seemed to revel in the dirt and ash upon their muscles bodies, but Meg had always had a proclivity for being clean. She exchanged her dirtied and damp gown for something more suited to a festivity. Save for her ceremonial garb, all her dresses were simple and home-spun, but this was one that always made her feel pretty, green trimmed in gold. (http://i65.photobucket.com/albums/h227/Drakania/party-dress.jpg) Tying her unruly strawberry-blond locks back in a ribbon, she rejoined the others. Laughing, she merged with a spiraling ring of dancing witches. Keeping pace with them for a while, she just enjoyed the primitive beat.

[Tristan Alastor]

In the ballrooms of the Hapes Consortium, men and women of high breeding and even higher self opinions of themselves danced. Their dance was a one of strict choreography, the steps learned by rote. Even the choosing of a partner was dictated by the mores of Hapan society, with selections made months in advance to ensure that the social standing of any one guest was not insulted by their being overlooked by a prospective partner. Tristan Alastor had attended many such parties and danced with many partners. As the Prince of Hapes, he was highly-prized as far as partners went, at least where the women of the Hapes Cluster were concerned.

In the forests of Dathomir, men did not dance. There was no rhyme or reason to the wild gambolling of the witches themselves, as they toed and froed. They joined hands and then broke away from one another, crying out in delight as they spun. Tristan Alastor had attended many such parties, tending cook-fires and keeping watch as the women made merry. Like the other men of the clan, he stood or sat at the edges of the festivities, watching and listening, waiting for the time when he would be called upon by one of the 'sisters. One 'sister in particular, perhaps.

[Megaera]

A little breathless from the exerting demands of the dancing, Megaera spun herself out of the ring of writhing witches to catch her breath. Still laughing, she felt the touch of a gaze upon her and looked to find the source. Her fire-brightened green eyes lit up in pleasure to meet Tristan's for just a moment before she looked away. His situation which had started as precarious, had grown to tolerance, but she would not go so far as to say he was accepted among her clan. Not yet.

Every time she tried to show him any favor she seemed to just make things worse for him. Skirting the long way around the central fire pit, Meg stopped to grab a wineskin from one of her 'Sisters, and steal a chunk of the roasted boar. Stepping up onto the wooden planks that served as walkways through the encampment, she slowly glanced back toward the prince. Smiling slyly, she nodded toward the lodge that served as a meeting place for the Clan Mother to address the Nightsisters, it was conveniently empty as everyone was at the revelry.

[Tristan Alastor]

His eyes trailed after Megaera as she walked out of the firelight into the shadows at the edge of the camp. There was no doubt that he'd follow her. She was the one who had brought him to Dathomir, after all. Though he'd lived alongside her for months, she was no less mysterious now than she had been on the first night she had visited Tristan in his dreams, summoning him away from Onderon to follow her into the mists of Aurilia. With a quick, sly glance about himself to make sure that he was not being watched by any of the other slaves, he slipped away to follow her once again.

The lodge was lit by the fires at the celebration, only dimly visible. Tristan blinked his pale eyes at the darkness and as his vision adjusted, he picked out the shape of someone standing a short way ahead.

[Megaera]

Lighting a single stub of a candle, so as to not draw attention to their whereabouts, Megaera sat down upon a long bench, carved of an ancient tree and smoothed by years of her kind sitting in rapt attention to the wisdom of their Mother's. Set before her was the plate of pilfered boar meat, and the wineskin. As his eyes adjusted to the light, she brought the glowing end of the burning stick to her mouth and extinguished the flame.

"Tristan...", she greeted him with a genuine grin. "Are you hungry?", she placed her hands on the bench to either side of her and watched him with blatant interest.

[Tristan Alastor]

The sight and smell of the charred boar meat made his stomach snarl.

“Yes,” he admitted. During their hunt, Tristan's growing skills as a spear fisherman had earned him a net of burra fish, but there had been no time to clean and cook his catch before returning to camp. His eyes shifting quickly between Megaera and the plate laid before her, Tristan considered whether to simply take the meat. Slaves were made to wait and starve, princes were not.

Hunger got the better of him and before he could think better of it, Tristan grabbed the plate and tore at a piece of smoky meat. His eyes were fixed on Meg as he chewed.

[Megaera]

She had meant for them to share that plate, but the almost desperate way he was devouring the food made her heart clench a bit. She could wait. Uncorking the wineskin, she pushed up from the bench. Megaera squeezed the skin releasing a red spurt of the wine of fermented hwotha berries, catching the spray in her mouth. She wiped at her lips self consciously and offered the skin to Tristan, who was doubtless as thirsty as she was. This was not the life she had sought for him when she had called him here, and although he proved he could adapt to their ways, she could sense that beneath it all, he was much more than this.

"You are most impressive with the spear. It will serve you well in the days to come." A flicker of something passed over her features. Apprehension maybe? Something too fragile to be hope.

[Tristan Alastor]

The wine tasted too sour but he drank some down in a large gulp regardless. Back in the Consortium he might have turned his nose up at it, but he could not afford to be choosy about what he ate or drank. Fortunately, his stomach no longer baulked at the foreign seasonings and spices that were unique to the witch-clan.

“There is another hunt?” he asked, with a sidelong glance at Meg as he sat down on the bench beside her.

[Megaera]

Pleased that he had decides to join her, Megaera turned her body toward Tristan. At his question she looked away almost guiltily. "Not exactly."

Megaera was not usually one to dance around a subject, but this particular one she both wanted to avoid and talk about. What she really wanted to know she could not bring herself to ask, dreading the answer.

"When you return you will be a great hunter.", she said, meeting his eyes meaningfully. Soon things were going to change for both of them.

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan continued to eat in silence, his hunger outweighing his curiosity for a moment longer. When Meg fixed him with a steady stare, he swallowed a mouthful of barely chewed meat and wiped at the corner of his mouth with the back of the leather vambrace that encircled his wrist.

“There's something you aren't telling me.”

[Megaera]

She nodded, affirming what he already knew. "You'll be leaving soon."

If he was going to remain with the clan and lose the status of a lowly slave there was only one option open to him. "You have a choice, Tristan. You can leave here if that is what you want." The thought of him doing so weighed heavily on her, but she said nothing. If he wanted to leave she would let him go.

"Or you can choose to stay. There is a condition on the staying part, but you would no longer be treated as a slave."

[Tristan Alastor]

Leaving? Tristan frowned as he set aside the plate of bones and untouched meat.

There was hardly a day went by that he didn't think about leaving. Dathomir was the furthest he had ever been away from home and although he would happily never lay eyes on his mother again, he missed sister and even missed the new life he'd been sent to lead on Onderon. Months had passed since he had last laid eyes on Razielle, his wife and the mother of his child... the child he had never met and didn't even know the name of. Bitter guilt twisted at Tristan's insides. He ought to have wanted to go them, and yet...

“If I stay, what condition must I abide by?”

[Megaera]

The fact that he had not jumped at the chance to leave had Megaera scooting closer to Tristan hopefully. She could see conflicting emotions in his eyes, but that could all be addressed later. Right now it was most important that he knew what he was facing if he chose to stay.

"You'll be taken to the Selection. It is a series of three trials, held in the arena of the Crucible. If you pass them, you'll be recognized as a Nightbrother. You'll have your own armor and weapons, and..", she trailed off, fidgeting with her sleeve suddenly. "A Nightsister can choose to recognize you as a mate."

[Tristan Alastor]

A roaring cheer went up around the camp-fires in the near distance and Tristan's eyes snapped to the doorway of the lodge, expecting to see some shadow darkening the doorway – but there was none.

He lifted the wineskin slowly to his lips and thought of his time spear-fishing in the river. He was getting better at wielding a hunting spear, there was no doubt about that. It would be good to be given a weapon of his own, to be accepted enough to be called brother - to feel like he had earned that acceptance and status, rather than being born into it. It was the first real opportunity in his life that he'd had the opportunity to prove himself.

Full of uncertainty, Tristan met Megaera's eyes.

“Could I survive the trials?”

[Megaera]

Her eyes had moved toward the door as if she too expected them to be caught like guilty children. The enmity toward Tristan was one thing, she could almost understand their distrust of an outsider, but she was the daughter of their Mother. She was becoming more adept at the spells of the Book of Shadows everyday and she would not be treated like a misbehaving nestling.

His question caused a frown on the Nightsister's delicate features. She did not answer him yet, but she would.

"Come..", she rose, pulling the Hapan Prince to his feet and tugging him along with her. Leaving the lodge behind, they stole out into the night. Her rancor Erishkigal responded to her silent call to come to her and was waiting for them. Accepting a claw up, she sat sideways in the saddle, allowing for her dress, then leaned forward and offered a hand to Tristan.

[Tristan Alastor]

Accepting the offered hand, Tristan climbed into place behind Megaera. If the rancor felt the extra weight on her back, she made nothing of it. Like the rest of her herd-family, Erishkigal was fitted for just one rider, but could comfortably carry two or perhaps more. Tristan sat astride rather than side-saddle, steadying himself with his hands on the cantle behind him. He said nothing, though his eyes wandered warily back towards the camp.

[Megaera]

She was not worried about anyone following them. If it was not one of her kin, or Chrysa, they would get a face-full of something that would have them waking refreshed and..forgetful. If it was her kin, or Chrysa... she would just have to try her best and convince them that she was dragging Tristan off for sexual gratification, that they would have no problem with.. What she was really doing was more certainly breaking some rules.

Erishkigal navigated her way from the Mists, leaving behind the perimeter of the Burning Mists grounds. Ahead of them was murk-shrouded land the had previously belonged to the Storm Feather clan. Matier had burned them out years ago now, but no one had resettled this land. Damp, graying ash covered much of it, and living things struggled to grow. What it did have was the remains of the village. Their settlement had been raised up on logs pounded deep into the earth, to keep them above the spongy flooded ground.

She did not share the origins of the place. Instead, she found herself relaxing back against the Hapan prince as the motion of her rancor's heavy stride rocked them. The back of her head settled on his shoulder and she was struck, not for the first time, that they had never really talked about the way she had first appeared to him. The experiences, for her, had been some of the most provocative, the most sensual of her young life. Although it had not been physical it was no less real. If she touched him, she already knew how his skin would feel. If she leaned close and breathed him in...

Megaera inhaled, and was rewarded with correctness. "You are going to survive. I'm going to help you. There are those there who have been training for this for years. You have just days, so we're going to do the fast version."

Sitting up, she turned so that she could face him. "Those you will encounter have been bred to the knowledge; 'A warrior's true strength lies not in muscle, but in anger.'."

[Tristan Alastor]

With Megaera's face just inches away from his own, the promise that she had made to him on his first night on Dathomir came back to Tristan: “Command over the minds of men and beasts alike, over the very elements! Power enough to spirit your soul across the galaxy to find your own answers, should you be bold enough to seek them.” He could see the same certainty in her eyes as he had then, the same unshakeable faith.

She believed in him. Enough to call out to him from across entire star systems and bring him here – and for his part, he had come willing. Come to her and to the Witches of Dathomir, against all sense of reason and logic.

What he had felt during his time amongst the Nightsisters was not within the realms of reason and logic, however. There was no empirical way of explaining the compulsion he felt to remain on Dathomir, nor the strange power he felt whenever he gave himself over to Megaera's instructions. It was still hard to picture, but he almost thought that he could become what she thought he was: C'nros Qu'ess, the witch prince... strong and controlled. No longer a pawn. The Hapan prince could not defy the will of the Consortium, but the witch prince...? Perhaps.

“I need to do more than just survive. I need to emerge victorious.”

[Megaera]

"You will.", she assured him. Unseen, a look of unease passed over her features. Not for fear for him, she was certain that she could prepare him for this, that Tristan would have the necessary skills to succeed. What worried her was how he would think of her after. Although she was prepared to do what she must, the thought of him associating every maddening trigger that she was going to show him, with her.. troubled her greatly.

They had arrived. The remains of the village were no less shrouded in murk than their perimeter woods. Everything seemed hazy with humidity, and slightly damp. This proved true when the rancor stopped at a raised platform, perfect for dismounting such a creature. With her legs already on the correct side of the beast, Megaera simply gripped the banister and rose to her feet. She had not gone more than two steps away when the ooze beneath her feet had her sliding for control. She quickly righted herself, and turned back to Tristan with a sheepish grin. "I'd forgotten how slippery it is up here. I haven't been here in years. Not since Asherah took it into her head that she wanted to compete."

Walking in to the remains of one of the shacks raised up on skeletal wooden struts, she ran her hand over a rack holding several different weapons, eying each in turn. "Depending on how many other comers the Crucible has that day, you may fight this one on one, in pairs, or there could be a melee. The first trial is known as the Test of Fury."

[Tristan Alastor]

Cautious steps carried Tristan away from the rancor. The platform beneath their feet was steady but had a coating of something slick and slippery that the soles of his boots found little purchase on. He edged his way towards the dilapidated shack, struggling to take in the lay of the land. Like so much of Dathomir, the place was smothered in a haze that limited visibility to their immediate surroundings. Standing beside the peculiar weapon shack, it felt as if they were stranded on an island in the middle of a vast swampland. The sense isolation was unsettling and only amplified by the blanket of silence that lay over the abandoned village.

“Do we have any say on the weapons we fight with?” the prince asked, pulling his gaze back to Meg as her traced her fingertips over the contents of the weapon rack.

[Megaera]

"I believe there is bit of a scuffle for them, yes. ", she winced, knowing what sort of brutal chaos she was sending him into.

Turning, she went to the shuttered window of the small building. The hinges once would have slipped open with ease to gaze at the settlement all around, and the main trail leading to it. Now, they simply split from the rotten wood and the shutters fell to the muck below, landing with an audible squish. But they had some moon light now, filtered as it was.

"They are all bred to fight against each other. One way..brutish, hacking, relentless. Not trained with the tactical eye of a prince.", she tried to encourage him. "So in a way you have the advantage of being a mystery to them. An advantage, if you can use it to surprise even a few."

"Your own desire, and rage, once provoked will be all the strength you need to match them. They are nothing to you, Tristan.", she met his eyes. "Obstacles. Nothing else."

[Tristan Alastor]

They are all bred to fight... Tristan turned to face the shack's window, his lips a thin line and wrinkles forming at the edges of his eyes. He was reminded of the Mando'ade of Onderon. He had grappled with their leader in hand-to-hand combat and been made to feel like an amateur, laughed at by Mandalore's warriors, but he had been made to feel. He hadn't known pain – true pain – until he had travelled to Onderon. What lay ahead was sure to make his tumbles in Iziz palace training rings feel like gentle caresses.

His eyes slid back to Megaera as he found himself with yet another question to ask of her. “How would you have me prepare?”

[Megaera]

Looking out to the thick posts sticking up from the ground, she thought about Asherah and how she had come here before the Selection. She had run over the tops of this woodland ruin, from posts ranging from low to the ground, to more than halfway up the skeletons of great trees that once towered above the site. The range of some of the distances up and down were immense, but being able to move naturally around the differing heights.. That was an advantage.

"The last trial is called the Test of Elevation. It is fought atop pillars of moving stone. There will be differences. Rather than slipping on muck such as this, it will be the dust of thousand of previous attempts beneath your feet, but if you can do this...", she looked out at the landscape meaningfully. "You'll have no trouble."

"First, we have to find out how best to provoke the side of you that will win this.", she sounded like she were truly dreading it. Turning around, she looked for a suitable place to begin, preferably the driest spot in the small room.

[Tristan Alastor]

The look in Megaera's eyes drew Tristan to follow her gaze. The place she had brought him too was not unlike Aurilia itself, had Aurilia been ravaged. Where her clan lived amongst lush trees that teemed with life, here there was nothing but the skeletal remains of what had once been. The trunks were stark and bare though they looked imposing in their isolation, towering above the abandoned village like silent, unmoving sentinels. It was only when Megaera fell silent that Tristan pulled himself away from that sight to the room they stood within.

“What do you mean.. provoke?”

[Megaera]

"Think about how it is when you spearfish now. Once, your spears slapped the water and scared schools away.", she recalled with a slight twitching of a smirk.

"Now.. you have learned to hunt with precision. You stand perfectly still, feeling the way the water rushes past your legs, sensing the movement of the fish. You watch the play of shadow and sunlight upon scales, and are drawn to the one that is your target instinctively. Am I right? You follow it's movements watching... waiting, and then, when you feel the sensation of the right moment, you throw. When you do it this way, you never fail. It is because you are at one with the power beyond the mists, willing your desires into manifestation."

"Magic.", she put it bluntly. "It is the awareness and controlled application of this magic that gives a witch her, or his power. That is what I must provoke. I'm not sure how yet."

Kneeling upon the dry floor Megaera unbound the knot of a dark green shawl, from the curve of her hip. Bringing it forward she shook it out before her, then spread it upon the floor. "You had seasons to practice at spearfishing.", she reminded him, looking over her shoulder.

Beneath the shawl that had been wound around her hips, was a belt with a leather pouch. It contained a few things Megaera made it a point to have on her person, the sleeping potion she had once used on Tristan, and the small bag of knuckle bones she used for divination among them.

Taking the bag of bones in hand, Megaera held Tristan's gaze meaningfully, holding it out for him to take. She would interpret for him, but this cast had to be his own. "Sit, then throw them."

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan peered at the bones in the gloom and wondered who's hands had been unmade to grant Megaera this tool.

Kneeling down opposite to the witch, Tristan picked the bones out of her hand and squeezed them inside of his palm for a moment, the still sharp edges pressing against his skin. He did not understand magic as Megaera did but as he held the bones, he felt hesitant to throw them – as though they way they fell would truly dictate his future.

No, he decided and made his cast, the bones clattering to the floor in a haphazard sprawl.

[Megaera]

Megaera's fingers reached toward the fall of the bones upon the spread, not yet touching them she let her fingers dance above the surface, leaving them as they rested. Her eyes were fixated on them, as she waited for the bones to begin to speak to her, whispering their dark secrets. Leaning forward, she braced her palms on either side of the lay of the bones and then slowly, one by one, she began to move them.

The Nightsister did not speak, but her green eyes began to dart from knobby horror to knobby horror. She had suspected to find betrayal in Tristan's past, but she had thought that she would have to actually search for it. Whatever she was seeing, beyond the bones, caused her smooth brow to wrinkle in displeasure Staring intently she moved the calcified remains faster and faster. If the bones were a map, and Tristan was the central location, paths of betrayal spread from him in so many aspects of his life, she could not begin to explore them all right away. She was confronted with the fact, if not the details, that to most everyone in his world he was an inconvenience, or a means to an end, or an obstacle in the way..

The way her eyes were drawn about the arrangement, and the way she tilted her head, it seemed as though she were listening to some internalized discourse, as she plied the bones of dead witches. Her displeasure increased to such a degree as she worked that she was scowling openly now, offended on her prince's behalf at whatever visions were being revealed.

In the end she was close to slamming the pieces of brittle bone around the shawl, in her indignant fury. She finally gasped in unbelievable anger at something, frozen with her fingers outstretched and a hateful glint in her normally agreeable green eyes. With no respect left for the tool of divination, after what she had just seen, Megaera slammed a hand into the bones she had carried since she was a child, swiping the spread clean, and scattering the bones across the room. One by one they rolled away disappearing between cracks in the aged floor boards. She seemed oblivious to what she had done. She just sat there seething quietly..too quietly.

[Tristan Alastor]

Though he did not understand what she saw, Tristan saw the emotion flickering behind Megaera's eyes. They moved back and forth slowly at first, her brow furrowing as he imagined that she was assembling the answer to a riddle that only she knew. The confusion soon became anger, her frown of uncertainty deepening into a scowl of frustration.

Tristan searched the scattered bones for whatever meaning she saw, his expression soon mirroring hers. Once again, he found himself ill-equipped for the task laid before him. What was he supposed to see before him? A pattern, a clue to his future? It was ridiculous – and yet, everything about his life was ridiculous. A matter of years ago, he would not have predicted ever having cause to leave the Hapes Cluster, let alone find himself living amongst a tribe of witches. Each day was a reminder to him that he was an outsider, a stranger, out of his depths far further than he had any right or capability to be -

With a thump, the knuckle bones sprang into the air. Tristan flinched, his eyes darting wildly after them as they vanished into the darkness. Then, with the same wide-eyed expression, he looked quickly to Megaera.

“What? What did you see?”

[Megaera]

Shaking her head, she could not speak for a moment. She had to get a hold of her emotions. There was so much work to be done still and they were running out of time. Feelings would have to wait until she could afford to deal with the time they required. "More than I wanted to...", she said after a moment.

Still clearly in a rage, Megaera shoved to her feet and paced while her mind processed what she had just seen into how she could use it to help Tristan. Again, she did not want to do this. Anything she told him could cause him pain and anger that she did not wish to inflict, or have associated with herself.

In her frenzied state, her reaction just came out naturally, with no thought to the consequences. She went to Tristan who looked so frustrated and concerned that it broke her heart. "You remember? I vowed never to deceive you. I hold to that, Tristan. No matter what I have to say to you, or show you, I do it only to help you. You will do this, and when it's over you come back. Come back to me. "

Taking his face in her hands, a little roughly in her agitated state, Megaera made sure he was listening. "Whatever is in the past, remember that I want you here. Alright?" Finally calming down, Megaera released him.

[Tristan Alastor]

He simply knelt at first, frozen in his bewilderment. Since he had first laid eyes on Megaera, when she had appeared in his dreams, she had been a picture of control, shrouded as much in mystique as in Aurilia's mists. Without warning, the veil surrounding her had parted for just an instant and he had glimpsed something else within her, something far less ethereal. He stared at her with fascination as she pulled away from him.

“What did you see?” he asked again, his green eyes locked onto her with an almost feverish intensity. He rose to step forwards, one hand reaching out to her. “Tell me!”

[Megaera]

Squaring her shoulders, Megaera steeled herself against the desire to answer him. She shrugged away, refusing him in both gesture and word. "No..." Moving away, she turned her face and winced, hating herself. "We have to use it." That was the only explanation she could give him.

Going silent again, she glanced down at her dress in dawning horror, and without hesitation began divesting herself of the woven green material. No way was she wearing this out there. Sliding one pale arm, and then the other from the dress, she pulled it over her head, stripping down to her simple under-dress, and lizard leather boots, molded to her feet and legs. Carefully folding up the more delicate garment, she placed it down on a dry spot, then proceeded to the weapons rack once more. She picked up a weighted club, and lifted it to inspect it. Other than the fact that it was covered in years of unhealthy looking molds and dusts, it seemed intact.

Finally she looked back at Tristan, and nodded to the other weapons indicating he should pick one. She went outside to wait for him. When he joined her, Megaera lifted the club and rotated it in a one-handed grip like she had been using one for years, though it was likely the first time he had seen her do so. Just because she chose not to become a recognized warrior, did not mean she did not know the ways of warfare. She just applied herself more to other ends. "Now..", she said, raising the club to a threatening level... "Tell me about the one called Razielle."

[Tristan Alastor]

He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“No? You're supposed to be helping me, not keeping me in the dark!”

His words fell on deaf ears however, as Megaera took up a weapon and strode out of the shack. Tristan was not long after her, snatching up the closest approximation to a sword that the weapon rack contained. With each stalking step, his frustration swelled. As he emerged from the ruins, the witch turned towards him with her weapon raised and Tristan's knuckles whitened around the swords gnarled hilt.

“Now. Tell me about the one called Razielle.”

It didn't matter that she hadn't physically struck him. Her words hit Tristan like a fist to the gut and where moments ago he had been bristling with purpose, suddenly he hesitated.

“Razielle? My... wife.”

[Megaera]

Megaera eyes, fairly crackled with green fire, then narrowed. "Funny you never mentioned a wife."

Refusing to elaborate on her reading any further, Megaera took the initiative and attacked, what appeared to be a heavy over-handed swing, but was in actuality a feint, pivoting she sped past him and with a little leap, took the first post, and the higher ground. She did not wait around, moving higher up to a more defensible position.

"Be as you are when you hunt. Sense everything around as it is happening. Anticipate. Know you will land on sure feet and move!"

"Maybe you should go back to her. I'm sure she's terribly lonely.", her taunting words belied the previously offered advice. She was no good at this, but she was all he had at the moment.

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan ducked back from the swing that was never meant to hit him and could only watch as Megaera sprung with unnatural grace from the platform to one of the high, bare posts. Again she leapt, further from him. Her words lanced through the bewilderment that fogged his mind and in seconds he too was running. Not since he had stood face to face with a charging zakkeg in the forests of Onderon (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18079 ) had he felt so reckless. As he neared the platforms edge, his rational mind screamed out in protest but it was too late. He was jumping, vaulting through the air -

- and crashing into the post, the top of it battering his in the ribs. Instinct took over and Tristan locked his legs around it, his weapon slipping from his grasp as he struggled to pull himself up onto the narrow perch. The sword fell to the muddy mire below, leaving Tristan empty-handed and feeling more foolish than ever as he regained his feet. His hands screwed into fists at his sides.

“Go back to her? I left her and everything else I know behind for you!”

[Megaera]

It was all she could do to maintain her stoic composure. Balanced with the club braced across her shoulders and her wrists lazily resting on either end, Megaera killed the urge to wince on his behalf. She had done the same thing more than once and knew firsthand the pain and frustration of it. The trick was to use the pain and anger. That much she could share.

"Use it.." She told him, without speaking. "Your pain and frustration will make your senses sharper. You will sense the timing. Again."

Swinging down the club, to grip it before her once more she eyed the post between them. "Go on.", she arched a brow, meanly. Forcing herself to continue with her plan to prepare him for the Selection.

[Tristan Alastor]

He needed to do something. Anything. He wanted to lash out at whatever he could lay his hands on. It was an irrational desire but when the world denied him any rational options, what choice did he have but to be unreasonable?

A ball of confusion and anger and regret churned inside of him. He had been a fool to leave Hapes – to leave Onderon – to come to Dathomir. Everything he did was a monstrous failure. Tristan Alastor the unwanted son, the unwanted husband and now, little more than a slave to a tribe that had not wanted him either. Only Megaera showed any sign that she wanted, perhaps needed, him but even she would not be honest with him, not entirely.

Emotion twisted Tristan's expression, his eyes screwing shut and teeth set hard together. With a hiss, he snapped his head to one side and, his eyes flashing open, he lunged forward. Hurling himself through the air, he landed on the next post with a shaky step and only just fought the natural urge to take another step forward – into empty space – to steady himself.

[Megaera]

"Very good..", she did not withhold her obvious pleasure at his second attempt. Having successfully completed the jump, Tristan should be able to recreate how he had done it and it would come easier to him. Soon he would not even be thinking about it, just moving. More importantly, as she had at the river, (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=22674&page=2) Megaera had felt his presence within the veil of magic. It washed over her as he moved, passing through her.

Knowing he could now follow, Megaera turned and sprinted up three more levels, to a wide platform that had once bridged the center of the camp. Waiting for him there, she took in the surroundings, planning her next move.

[Tristan Alastor]

Momentum carried Tristan forward with one unthinking jump after another. He couldn't think. If he thought about what he was doing and tried to apply analytical reason to it, he would hesitate and he would fall. It didn't occur to him that he'd left his fallen weapon behind, slowly sinking into the mud. His mind was consumed of a single purpose: move. Move forward. That was a goal at least that he understood, that he could achieve.

It wasn't until he reached the platform that Megaera stood on that he took a moment to catch his breath. His chest rose and felt with each deep breath. His whole body bristled with an energy that he still did not understand. The Mists, she called it. Magic. Whatever it was, it was pulsing through him like adrenaline.

“I.. I don't understand.”

[Megaera]

She could sense the subtle vibrations of the magic around Tristan. Already command over rational decisions had been usurped by the will to accomplish the improbable. Her aggressive demeanor dropped momentarily, approaching him, she lay a hand against his chest, to the core of where all of the long bottled betrayals and injustices festered.

Power lived there, and he had just learned how to access it. "This is why you are here, hold onto how you feel now. 'A warrior's true strength lies not in muscle, but in anger' because your anger triggers your instant access to this magic. In time, there are other ways.. but for now, this is best."

Backing up she spun the club, offering it to him handle first. He could have it, she had other ideas. "Take it.", she bid him, backing up a step.

[Tristan Alastor]

He pulled the club out of her grasp. The heft of it felt strange in his hands. He understood fencing and in time he was becoming skilled with a spear, but a club was a blunt instrument. He didn't have the brute strength to wield something like that... did he? Megaera's words had planted doubt in him. Now it festered and spread, like every other dark emotion she had drawn out of him.

“And do.. what with it?”

[Megaera]

Wrinkling up her face in irritation she might have growled a little. "Hit me.."

Backing up, measured step by measured step, Megaera dropped a quick glance to the floor at their feet, then looked up again to clarify. "Hit me, if you can. Go on, Asherah and Arikos both trounced me all around here many times. I will not break."

[Tristan Alastor]

There were warriors amongst the Hapan people but no conquerors, not in a society whose ruling class had been in power for as long as anyone could remember. When they fought, their combat was an extension of their political games and ultimately an expression of their vanity. Had Tristan Alastor challenged a fellow noble to a duel in the sight of Ta'a Chume'Dan, he would have won whoever his opponent was, simply because he was Tristan Alastor.

"On what terms do we fight? Are there rules?"

He remembered a younger version of himself asking those questions (http://sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=18194), treating combat as a sport, not a necessity.

The answer he had been given was as valid now as it had been then. Mandalore's words echoed in his mind:

"When a young warrior trains, there are no rules."

Without hestiation, Tristan lunged forward with an overhand swing.

[Megaera]

As Tristan took the initiative she had hoped he would, Megaera almost felt sorry for him. She was already steps ahead of his intent, this was what she had to teach him. Anticipation. Instinct. So if she had to do the same horrible, unworthy, spiteful things to him over and over, she would. He was going to hate her, and she had to accept it.

As he stepped forward, she slammed the heel of her boot down into the unstable floorboards, to the one he was presently resting half his weight upon, unsettling his stride with a surprise. She watched the fall of the club approaching her and moved at precisely the right moment, to crash her shoulder into Tristan's chest, bearing him backward, right toward the muck beneath them.

[Tristan Alastor]

The club was a distraction, he realised, though a second too late. It flew from his hands, as useless as the sword had been before it.

His balance shaken and the full force of Megaera colliding against his chest, Tristan staggered backwards. Panic burst inside of his chest and though his mind raced to try and plan some way of escaping the fall, a moment of clarity suddenly hit him as hard as Megaera herself had. Once again, he heard Mandalore's words as if she were standing beside him.

“Standing up and fighting is effective, but being able to take your opponent to the dirt quickly can be just as deadly.”

He threw his arms around Megaera, one around her neck and the other beneath her arms, and held on to her as tightly as he could.

If he was going down, she was coming down with him.

[Megaera]

She could not have been more surprised if Tristan had suddenly sprouted wings and flew off. Megaera had not figured this conclusion into her equations of what he might do. That was her error and she was pitching straight toward the cost. Her own momentum, and his arms, pulled her down. He landed back first, cushioned by several feet of damp compost. She landed cushioned by him, but the squish of their impact had sent up a spray that had peppered her pale, shocked face in mud.

Utterly speechless for a moment, she just stayed as she was, dazed and not entirely uncomfortable. When she tried to sit up, her hand squished ineffectively into the muck, and she only slid more firmly against a flattened Tristan.

[Tristan Alastor]

The mud clung to every part of him that had collided with it. Wrapped around Megaera, his arms and hands had been free of the muck but soon they were covered too as he groped about for some way of pulling himself out of the mire. It wasn't that she was heavy; more that he had to fight against the mud to move even a little. Bringing Megaera down with him had been a fortunate turn, but that good luck could quickly turn to bad if she managed to pin him in place.

Megaera's shock played in his favour. Though he was floundering some, Tristan managed to twist from beneath her onto his side. Dirt smeared one side of his face. He hooked her leg with his own and slapped one mucky hand against her shoulder, trying to force her further into the mud and pushed himself out of it in the process. He grunted with effort.

“What was that.. about trouncing?”

[Megaera]

The way he spoke!

After an entire lifetime of living among submissive, enslaved men, bred to understand that they were there only to serve the witches, hunt for them, protect them as fighters, and perhaps if they survived long enough face violent trials to be worthy of a witches attention as a potential mate, Megaera was truly blown away. It should not have surprised her. This was why Tristan would become c'nros qu'ess eventually. He was more than just an equal. He could very easily be their superior..

Apart from the shock, she was proud of him for taking her down. She should have been better prepared. Already he was forcing her down, it was all very impressive, but there was no way she was giving up that easily. Closing her eyes, she let the anger his taunting caused roll through her like a coming storm. She pushed again, this time with all the magic she could summon to her, forcing herself up and him along with her.

[Tristan Alastor]

Like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly, violently yanked, Tristan was torn backwards by a force that he was powerless to resist. He hit the earth again tail-bone first, sprawling backwards into the muck once again. The loamy earth cushioned him against the impact yet he was still breathless, the air having been whipped out of him the moment Megaera's magic had so effortlessly plucked him into the air.

He wobbled to his feet but kept his centre of gravity low, crouching instead of standing, watching his opponent with anxious need.

“Teach me to do that.”

[Megaera]

Megaera landed on steady sure feet, her booted toes curling into the mire beneath her, keeping her balance. She eyed the platform above them, high to jump, but perhaps...

"Teach me to do that."

Turning her muddied face toward Tristan, Megaera scowled at him a bit, still rippling with the lasting chill of her anger. "So now you're giving me orders?"

Without taking her green eyes from his, she reached down to the contents at her feet and scooped up a liberal portion of muck into her hand. Squashing it into a packed ball, she lifted her hand palm up before her.

"Teach you what? This?" With a superior smirk at him, she pushed again, this time at the muddy ball in her hand, which hit him squarely in the chest. The look on his face was so priceless, she couldn't help it, and burst out laughing, anger forgotten for the moment in favor of mischievous enjoyment.

[Tristan Alastor]

The splatter caused by the ball hitting his chest flecked Tristan's chin and cheeks with dark mud, like a particularly patchy beard. As dollops fell from his jawline, some of the anger in his expression began to slip away too.

“I'm.. so glad that I amuse you.”

[Megaera]

Covering her face with the equally muddy back of her hand, Megaera got herself under control. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed like that. Mouth closed, she forced the last of the laughter away, realizing she had probably really needed that.

"Yes, actually you do, but I'm sorry. That was badly done of me."

Surveying the ground between them, she picked a careful path, grimacing at the way her booted feet were being sucked at by the mud. Stopping just before him, Meg wiped her hands on the still clean areas to be found upon her under dress.

"Close your eyes.", she commanded, about to give him what he wanted for a change. "In the Mist you could sense me, find me."

Before his closed eyes, she lifted a hand, reaching out, but not touching. "What do you sense now?"

[Tristan Alastor]

Tension coiled in Tristan as Megaera approached. When she came to a halt in from of him – not slapping him with another palmful of mud or tossing him to the ground – he peered at her with a healthy amount of caution. While she wiped the muck from her dress, he straightened to his full height.

“Close your eyes,” she said and, having grown so used to the orders of the witches that surrounded him on a daily basis, Tristan's eyes slid shut almost instantly. “What do you sense now?”

He remembered how it had felt, grasping for the first time at that intangible connection that ran through everything. It had been like trying to seize hold of a smoke. Maddening, elusive. With his pulse still thumping faintly in his ears, it was easier now. The connection between them was galvanised by the remnants of his frustration, his emotion somehow amplifying his awareness of the world around him, both seen and unseen.

“I sense... you.”

Without opening his eyes, he lifted one hand and touched his fingertips to hers.

“Here.”

[Megaera]

While Tristan's attention was on the task before him, Megaera took full advantage of the chance to simply admire him. Watching the concentration on his face, and how he didn't hesitate, knowing right where her fingers waited for his.

"Good. Open your eyes, now that you have the feeling. Both hands now." When he had complied, Megaera used a much gentler application of pushing, resistance from her nearby hands shoved lightly against Tristan's.

"Push back.."

[Tristan Alastor]

Push.

What was unspoken but what he understood nonetheless was that it wasn't his arms that Megaera wanted him to push with. A warrior's true strength lies not in muscle, but in anger, he repeated to himself. When she pushed him, she had barely moved. Something moved through her. There was no empirical explanation for it, but no denying what he had experienced.

Push back, he told himself. It was as simple as that.

At least, it should have been. When he felt for whatever power Megaera had touched, nothing happened. Push, he repeated the word to himself, and again. Push. Louder in his mind this time. His fingertips twitched in anticipation. His brow wrinkled with a frown. Push, he demanded, indignation beginning to simmer beneath his skin.

Why wasn't it working? What was he doing wrong? Was it because Megaera's instructions had been so abstract or because he simply wasn't capable of living up to her expectations of him? It had to be the latter.

He had been raised amongst a society so vain and vapid that spirituality was an alien concept. It was all in his mind, sensing the Mists, sensing Megaera. All lies that he had convinced himself to believe because what other choice was there for both of them, other than to admit that he was a failure, not the warrior she needed and wanted -

-pushpushpushpushpush -

- and just like that, he pushed.

[Megaera]

Mud spattered lips twitched in a grin. "And still you doubt."

Shaking her head at his general silliness, Megaera turned back to trying to figure the quickest way back up. She talked over her shoulder to make wise use of their short time. "The same technique can be applied to pulling, lifting, pushing.. What I did before, that was a kind of push."

Looking over her shoulder at Tristan she nodded meaningfully at the out of reach platform. "Remember that, when we get back up there."

[Tristan Alastor]

Tristan stood watching her walk away, temporarily frozen in his place by the shock of what he'd done. It had felt like... he couldn't say. There was nothing he could compare it to, no comparison to be drawn. He had barely moved and yet something had moved through him as it had done through Megaera, a power that was invisible and intangible yet paradoxically stronger than any physical blow he could have delivered.

There was only one other group that he had heard of commanding such preternatural power and they were viewed as heretics by not just the people of the Consortium, but by the Galaxy at large: the Jedi. That was worrying.

As Megaera went on to describe the way that this power could be used for more than just hurling balls of mud, Tristan caught up to her, each footstep punctuated by a squelch in the mud

“You talk as if this is a simple thing... common, every day. Are you alone among the tribe in understanding it?”

[Megaera]

Megaera was not sure if she should be flattered that Tristan thought her that singular among the clan, or offended that apparently he thought them all simpletons calling down imaginary forces. "No, of course not. Much, but not all of the clan. Some are bred to their purpose, singled out young and trained, as I was. The others simply apply themselves to different skills. The shaman, the warriors, the hunters, all of them act as one with their abilities. "

"Tristan..", she sighed turning to him. "I know you have questions and I will try to answer them all, I promise." Megaera had been raised with these powers since she had been very small, they were second nature to her. Tristan's abilities had never been so developed, encouraged. Rather they had been completely ignored, as though they never had existed. Of course hearing this now would be hard to believe, disturbing even. She had to keep that in mind.

"Right now this is more important. Ah!", she spotted something that brightened her disposition, foot pegs hammered into the side of one of the supports. Picking her way toward them, she pulled herself up to the first one, standing just a bit above the level of the mud.

Tucking one arm around the post, she hung on at angle, meeting Tristan's eyes. "Trust me just a little longer.?"

[Tristan Alastor]

It wasn't the first time Megaera had made that request of Tristan, and what other choice did he have? There were so many things about this world – and himself, apparently – that he didn't understand. His skin still tingled with the echo of the energy that had moved through him, a palpable reminder of yet one more mystery that the mists of Dathomir continued to obscure.

“You have my trust,” he said, peering up at her. “As long as I have your honesty.”

[Megaera]

"I already promised that I would never deceive you.", she reminded him. Tristan already had enough people in his life that were bent on doing nothing but deceiving him. It was her intention to give him the skills to give them all what they had coming to them..

With that thought in mind, she supposed they had better get back to business. She continued climbing and waited from him once more atop the planked walkways where they had started.

[Tristan Alastor]

Now all you need is to learn to trust in the promises that people make you, Tristan told himself, as he pulled himself up onto the post and began to climb. Trust was such a rare commodity on his home-world, a place where sabotage and subterfuge were so common place. How strange it was, to think that he could trust Megaera much more than he could trust any of the courtiers that he had been raised by and with. She had done more for him than any of them could ever claim to have done.

Back on the walkway where they had started, Tristan took a moment to catch his breath.

“What now?”