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WHO: Everyone!
WHERE: An hour outside De Chima
WHEN: January 10-12
WHAT: imPorts are treated to a Swear-In that’s nothing but a weekend of relaxation at a brand new resort and spa!
WARNINGS: Possible mild nudity

It’s been a long few months, hasn’t it imPorts? Between the invading monsters (yikes!), evading the apocalypse (double yikes!) and then some fear toxin on behalf of your good pal Joker (triple yikes!), imPorts are overdue for a vacation. And wouldn’t you know it? One is coming right up.

Oh, yeah. It’s a Hot Springs Episode.

Welcome to Elysium Resort and Spa! When you come in, you’ll get a brochure with all of their offerings. They’re a little confused, perhaps, espousing relaxation ideals of every culture, clearly having just thrown all of their relaxation spaghetti at the wall to see if it sticks, but they’ve got the spirit! The smell of eucalyptus fills the air as you toe off your shoes and change into the slippers and robes that they have available for you as they usher you into what must be, for some, absolute paradise.

You can find rooms for all persuasions here, all purporting various health benefits. They have your typical fare - salt rooms, saunas, steam rooms, buckets of water with ladles resting in them to pour over the heaters to allow them to sizzle - but be warned! Some of these rooms climb up to ridiculous temperatures, leaving the bottoms of your feet red and toasty as you jump in (they suggest sandals, but who reads instructions anyway?), and other rooms are filled with ice as you’re plunged into what may as well be a walk-in freezer. Sometimes the doors are a little fiddly, though. Don’t worry - you won’t get trapped in here long enough for any real harm to come to you. But you might get a little uncomfortable as you rattle at the door, one of the employees eventually hurrying to let you out and offering their sincerest apologies, and won’t you have a gift certificate?

If those rooms aren’t enough for you, you can check out the baths. Salt baths, chilled baths, and hot tubs galore are here for imPorts, but that’s not all. Ever wanted to bathe in tea? In wine? Would you like to sink into a bath filled entirely with clay? How about getting all your dead skin chomped off by fish? It’s all here for you! Just try not to drink the bathwater - or, heavens, eat the fish. Those aren’t for you!

As imPorts stroll outside, they’ll see a beautiful vista overlooking the mountains, attached to a spacious hot springs (it’s natural, they claim, but who’s checking?) where imPorts can simply relax and enjoy the scenery. After that, why not pop inside to where some of the technicians will absolutely insist that you get a massage. Or a mani-pedi - yes, even you, big guy. Or, really, anything that your heart desires.

Once you’ve been poked and prodded and primped to your heart’s content (or discontent, as it may be), the spa open until the wee hours of the morning, it’s time to go and dine on some of the local cuisine, prepared fresh by the resort’s resident chef with a distinct eye to fresh, clean flavors and a truly ridiculous amount of salad. They want to make sure that you’re healthy inside and out, after all!

Before arriving at the spa, everyone was able to choose who they wanted to room with. But it seems that their systems got a bit scrambled during their grand opening, so you may find yourself bunking with a stranger instead. They’re deeply apologetic, of course, but it really would be easier for them if you’d just be nice for an evening and give it a shot. It’s only one evening, right? It’s not like you’ll be roomed with a serial killer. Probably. Given the imPort population there’s, what, a five percent chance?

The hotel rooms themselves are beautiful and spacious, each with a window looking out over the lovely view of the scenery below. It’s the perfect way to end your night… until 3 AM when an alarm begins to blare and all of the guests are ushered outside in the chilly winter air while firefighters come to check the place out. It’s a false alarm (some brat must have pulled it, the manager says apologetically, ready with more gift certificates), but hey, maybe this is a good chance to get to know your neighbors!

The next day, guests are free to take advantage of the resort’s facilities once more, or they can go hiking in the mountainous trails available to them, complete with regular rest stops with firepits, with the staff more than happy to pack lunchboxes and fixings for s’mores.

After they come back and have a thankfully uneventful night’s rest, buses will be ready to take them back to civilization, along with goodie bags filled with luxury goods and an earnest invitation to come back anytime! But maybe next time, wait a couple of months so they can iron out the kinks in their system.

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Sal glances sideways just enough to see the man's helmet vanish. It's not a magic trick she's too familiar with, but with a shrug in response, she supposes there's a first for everything. Vaguely she remembers Daiga for a moment, a mage who could move any object with a thought.

"Waiting on all this safety procedure garbage is a waste of time," she agrees. Sal takes back the whiskey, a fine example of this world's alcoholic offerings if she does say so herself, and takes another swig. Pretty unfazed at this point that anyone else has touched it too; living in the wastelands really didn't lend itself to keeping cute manners like that.

"Shit, I could take care of a little fire, even if there was one," she sighs. Proving her words by example, Sal raises one hand and flicks a small, warm flame to life. It bobs just above her open palm obediently for a few moments before she lets it dissipate.

She's bored more than anything, which is a hazard in itself. Could they really stop us if we all just charged back in anyway? She thinks it to herself in irritation.

"You plan on fighting fire with fire? I didn't think that turn of phrase was meant to be taken literally."

That's not to say he isn't interested in the trick. He may not have let it show on his face, but he does dutifully watch hte flame before it's dismissed. He was vaguely aware that some Jedi- some- were capable of manipulating several forms of energy. Fire and heat included. But even then he'd never heard of them being capable of summoning it, only working with what's already available.

Something to experiment with on his own down the road, at least.

"They should be ushering us back in before it becomes necessary, at least. And if it is a hoax, with any luck the culprit will out themselves before then."

Maybe it's the boredom or something else, but whatever the case may be, Sal grins a little at his words. "Come on, think of it like this," she says persuasively, "it's not just conjuring the fire, which any novice can do, but commanding the flames to do your bidding. Snuffing them out if you have to, because if you can't control the spread, you're bound to lose even your own forces to—"

She stops and shakes her head. She used to be so careful about talking like this, for fear of anyone finding her out. With the return of these old abilities, however, she's growing to be a little too lax. (As if any of these strangers have ever heard her other names, or care to.) It's a creeping sense of security that's throwing off her guard.

"I hope you're right, because all of these fucking safety precautions are getting old fast. Who says we don't have the right to choose for ourselves what dangers to face?" She's really just complaining for the sake of it. Being told what to do was never her idea of a fun time, anyway.

Nox is, for all his many...many faults, eager to learn. He doesn't interrupt, though there is the faintest hint of interest at why she suddenly stopped that little lesson. He'd heard enough to be satisfied that what she had in mind was at least broadly similar to certain applications of the Force. Not any that he, specifically, was capable of, but the knowledge was there all the same.

"I think I get the idea. A few Jedi are capable of something similar, though I believe they're limited to controlling energy that already exists. Not creating it. Sith can manage something of our own, if more limited in its application."

Of course, now it was his turn for visual aids. But rather than a flame, it was arcs of bluish purple lightning that crackled around one outstretched hand. Not a particularly large scale display, but the purpose was educational, not destructive. And while it was certainly chilly out, that didn't mean he wanted to overheat the gauntlets he was wearing. The lighting itself could be destructive enough, bits of metal searing his flesh wasn't anything he was particularly eager to deal with at the moment. It was for that same reason that he kept the demonstration brief.

"The precautions are an unfortunate necessity. As is checking to ensure no one was missed during the evacuation. No one was, or I can't sense them if they were. But I doubt they'd just take my word for it."

Edited 2020-01-16 20:29 (UTC)

There's a moment of recognition at the sight of the lightning, an expression of familiarity that slides over her features. She's known enough skymages in her time, lived with them, trained with them, fought both beside and against them. Kresh the Tempest was nothing more than Vraki's favorite attack dog, another bastard vagrant on a list, but there were many others that were almost like this man here.

Curious, eager to learn. Able to summon furious lightning with a thought.

"It's funny, if I didn't know better I'd consider you mage," she says, and surprisingly it sounds like a compliment. Sal reaches up to scratch at the scar on her cheek, feeling a vague sense of disappointment.

While he remains more even-keeled about the whole affair, his attitude serves to temper her own impatience slightly too. So she simply settles in, preparing to wait out this inconvenience. "Sith, however, I haven't heard of that one yet." She looks over, slightly curious.

"Some Sith- possibly Jedi, as well- prefer to rely on a variety of Force techniques over the lightsaber, for whatever that may be worth. I am not one of them, even if I do dabble in sorcery. "

Not that they were ever to be taken lightly up close. While they did typically lack the skill of a duelist, for the average Sith sorcerer it boiled down to a greater aptitude and personal preference, not a lack of skill. He does take note of that look though, and...well, it's not like any of them are doing anything at the moment. He can't help but let out a tired sigh nonetheless, if only because there were definitely two ways to go about this particular conversation.

"This isn't going to be a short topic to address, even if I do try to condense it. We are a complicated Order unified only in the loosest sense of the word, and every Sith tends to take their own interpretations away from the Code. Even a general overview might see you through the rest of that bottle, especially if you aren't already familiar with the Force."

An out. He's offering an out, because he knows full well that not everyone appreciates academic lectures, even the short ones. It's just one of the things you notice when having to live aboard a small ship with an excitable archaeologist and a pirate who just wants to shoot things and not hear about their entire history.

"I don't know exactly what a lightsaber is, but if it's anything close to a normal sword, I think I get your meaning," she says, and while it might be somewhat rare for her, she seems to be taking these foreign ideas seriously. "Magic is good for a lot, but a blade is a tool that offers more, well, precision and delicacy I guess."

She glances sideways at him when he offers to share more about what being a Sith means. There's a serious consideration for that out too; Sal isn't naturally patient, and all this sitting around, crowded by strangers makes her more agitated. But there's worse things to consider also, like sitting alone and fending off her usual, unwanted thought patterns.

This weekend is meant to be relaxing. Kind of funny in the moment, but it seems to her like a total fucking waste if she spends the whole thing brooding. And besides—there's some unspoken part of her who has learned, through a certain past acquaintance, to maybe enjoy these long lectures she can hardly understand.

"Where I'm from, most mages are picked out when they're young so they can be trained and disciplined," Sal offers, trying to pick apart his own explanation. "But of course, all of those rules and restrictions can be a fucking pain, so there's others who break away."

She scratches at the scar on her face; she's still not used to explaining these things, and she has to remind herself that it's less of a danger here than it is back home. "Vagrants come in all flavors, and they just keep to their own interests mostly. It's a dangerous life, with a lot of fucking enemies, but I guess it's a matter of what you find more valuable."

She gives him a thoughtful look, having made her choice about this. "So tell me about your Sith and how it all works then." She holds the whiskey bottle in both hands, trying harder to focus.

"Not dissimilar to how Jedi and Sith are chosen. Though the Jedi have it a bit easier in comparison."

Which he would definitely be addressing, and oh what fun was he expecting to have explaining the finer details of how his order was filled to bursting with murderous lunatics. But there was definitely a primer that needed addressing first.

"Where I come from, there is something called the Force. It permeates through all things, and some are capable of wielding it in any number of ways. They can sense other life forms, read thoughts, experience visions of past or future events, even manipulate life itself. And it is considered to be divided into two halves- the light and the dark. The dark side offers great power, and certain abilities considered to be unnatural and forbidden by those who follow the light. The Sith seek to master the dark side, and carelessness or overindulgence both offer severe consequences."

She could probably figure out where the Jedi stood in that particular dichotomy on her own, so he'd spare her a treatise on their origins and particular beliefs regarding the Force.

"Anyone in the Sith Empire discovered to possess any manner of aptitude in the Force is required to attend the Sith Academy on Korriban by the Emperor's decree. Refuse, and you will be killed. Fail your trials, and you will be killed. Lower your guard around your fellow acolytes or fail to prove yourself worthy of selection by a master, you will be killed. There are no rewards for being the second most capable acolyte unless by some dark miracle another master takes an interest in you."

Something he knew firsthand, considering the runner-up of his group was executed in front of him. Not that he would be shedding any tears for Ffon, miserable little worm that he was.

"The Sith Code is deceptively simple, and frequently interpreted to serve the desires of those who follow it. 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 set me free. Sith are frequently obsessed with the pursuit of that power, and murder and betrayal is common. Including the Academy overseer, I served three masters. All three tried to kill me for any number of ridiculous reasons. Because if my lower birth, because my death suited their needs, or because they were just sadistic lunatics and in the mood. All three are dead and I am not."

Which was about as detailed as he was willing to be on that particular front unprompted. And even someone not particularly accustomed to reading emotions would have an easy time of seeing just how he felt about that. The rising anger in his voice, the slight increase in just how fast he spoke, how tense he'd started to become. It's subdued in short order once he realized his control was slipping, but it is apparent that an order devoting itself to channeling violent passions tended to result in members whose emotional state was precariously balanced even under the best of circumstances.

"As you can imagine, most of us are not particularly pleasant company, and its rarer still for any of us to trust one another. The Order as a whole is typically united only in their pursuit of power, their hatred of the Jedi and the Republic they serve, and out of an inability to openly challenge the Dark Council without being executed for the trouble. It's hardly a pleasant system, but it at least provides a great deal more freedom than anything the Jedi have to offer."

Edited (the mobile tag from hell and all its assorted typos) 2020-01-20 19:19 (UTC)

"Being betrayed, having those close try to kill you or take what's yours," Sal says, very slow and very carefully, and not so different from the display of emotions he just hinted at, "I know what that's like."

Her world or his, it seems like everyone born with power is forced to fight to be free. It's a cold comfort, that, and Sal takes a longer drink out of the bottle this time.

Jedi or Sith. Angels or Demons. So many different worlds and so many different terms, but she struggles with coming to see them under some simple binary. Good or evil, right or wrong; it's always flawed people making flawed choices, and spending the rest of their lives trying to convince themselves that the path they took was the right one.

"What do you think about this place?" She can't help but ask. Just maybe, if their circumstances are at all the same. "Have you felt any freer since coming here? Living everyday where it's kill or be killed, that's not a light burden. And these Jedi..." She shakes her head. Remembers all the Imperium mages who will fight with the barest provocation against a vagrant.

"For whatever it may be worth, you seem to have managed. I've seen worse, at least. Skotia was more machine than man when I put him down."

Scarring, after all, was absurdly common. As were cybernetic parts and mechanical prosthetics. Or just the inevitable decay that came from being too steeped on the dark side for too long.

Her question does give him pause though. It's one of the things he'd been trying not to think about too hard or too often. There was hardly any sense of overwhelming guilt at hiding away here- well, maybe a little- but more often than not it just ended up infuriating him.

"A cage is still a cage, no matter the amenities."

It's a blunt answer, but an honest one. There may have been a whole planet for them to wander, but he was used to entire systems. To say nothing of the massive technological leap backward he had to deal with on a regular basis. And then there was the vastly different set of laws at work. That you were encouraged not to kill anyone causing trouble and were in fact punished for doing so is something he'd need to spend years trying to get used to.

"But the two Jedi I know of here are at least an improvement. And what about you? How are you enjoying your compulsory stay on this particular world?"

Edited 2020-01-20 21:43 (UTC)

Sal has to chuckle a little at his words, compulsory stay. She can't find any way to argue that; she knows why others feel such anger and frustration at being sent here. Removed from their purpose, their home, their loved ones. A vagrant learns to survive without those things.

"When people heard my name, just like with any other fucking vagrant, it meant destruction was coming," she says, "like some force of nature, a wave of fire sweeping through a city and leaving ashes behind. That sounds like some back-alley opera, but it's true. Once I found something to chase after, nothing was going to stand in my way."

She moves the bottle in her hands, watching the amber liquid swirl inside.

"But on this world, I don't know who people see when they look at me. I don't know what they expect of me, and maybe I'm worried they'll come to realize the truth. I can handle a little temporary exile, but not being sure of...who I am here?"

Sal scratches at the scar on her cheek, looking back to the Sith. "Maybe it's just the same shit as knowing we don't really belong here, after all."

"They feared you."

Or at least to him, it certainly sounded like it. Which complicated things somewhat, at least if she was looking for a sympathetic ear. At worst, it was the sort of thing he considered a mild annoyance. Like most Sith, it was something he rather enjoyed and regularly employed to his advantage.

"Sith enjoy a similar reputation. We are a what, not a who. To our enemies, we are rage and power made flesh, an unrelenting force that exists only to destroy. Some have even bothered to train special forces just to kill us- I've yet to be impressed. Though since the latest war, I've only been known as The Outlander. An unimaginative name, but the reputation is the same. In a way it's convenient none of that matters here."

That part, they were more likely to be in agreement on. Even if in his case it meant fewer tedious interactions on both ends of the spectrum. No political maneuvering on the part of utter strangers to ingratiate themselves to him, and no drawing out day to day interactions with assurances that no he won't be destroying them and everyone they hold dear, honest, can he just get a cup of caf already?

"The only advice I can offer is to just be you. And if you don't know how to do that, pick something. Be feared, be favored, be forgettable. It hardly matters. So long as you can get through a day without unnecessary headache I'd consider that a win."

"In some ways, I don't think we're too different," she has to concede. "There have been plenty of attempts to combat assholes like me, weapons called Relics made that try to rival what magic can do. Wars waged, countless lives lost. I'm sure the nuls consider us just the same as the Sith, some kind of monster meant to be destroyed. And a vagrant like me, without a country to back them up? It's kill or be killed."

She struggles to find common ground with many imPorts, even some who she considers allies. This, however, seems strangely intuitive. Maybe they can't agree on everything, but it's been a long time since she's felt this...seen.

Sal tries to figure how she feels about that.

"Maybe you're right about that shit." It's reasonable how he says it, a logic born of similar circumstances. She wonders how long it's taken him to figure this out on his own. "Maybe it's nice to be in like company too, so to speak, even under poor circumstances."

Out in the cold, late night air, bereft of sleep or solace. Stuck in the middle of a crowd full of equally irritated strangers. They sure as hell aren't ideal circumstances, but—this little excursion into the mountains might not have been a bad idea after all.

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