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She's got her own kind of magic,
She's got her own special way
Chris Norman — Gypsy Queen
The Rishii are a friendly people. When the Empire demands shelter and supplies for the purge of the forests from the Revanites, they readily agree. Darth Marr has never negotiated with birds before, but it proves effective. Setting up a camp near the village takes time. They even help with the construction.
At twilight, the Rishi forests remind Marr of the tangled wilderness of Dromund Kaas. Darth Nox suggests staying in the village, and she’s right—the road to the port would take all night, time better spent resting.
Sometimes Marr forgets that he needs rest.
Strangely enough, the Rishii seem pleased by this. Their enthusiasm ripples through the Force, creating an atmosphere of celebration. One might even think the Sith visit is the celebration. That suspicion is confirmed when the locals begin dragging out massive logs for a bonfire. Seeing Marr’s apprehension, Nox awkwardly reassures him that guest sacrifices aren’t part of the culture.
Marr believes her—after all, Darth Nox has been here much longer. She shows an impressive interest in local customs. Over her crimson tunic and skirt, she wears a short cape made of russet feathers and a web of bead-and-bone jewelry that seems held together by the Force alone. The violet flowers in her hair look far lovelier than any Sith circlet.
In the darkness, a massive bonfire flares to life, and the silhouettes of giant birds dancing around it... well, it’s mesmerizing. Marr doesn’t resist when clawed hands insistently seat him beside the chieftain. A wooden cup filled with some unfamiliar red drink appears in his hands. One... chick, flustered, tosses a necklace of hollow tubes around Marr’s neck.
He doesn’t take it off. He doesn’t want the delighted smile on Nox’s face to fade.
Maybe it’s because they spend too much time together.
The Rishii stop bothering the Sith, and Nox’s attention no longer on him. She becomes absorbed in chatter with the birds somewhere in the distance. Reluctantly, Marr sets his mask down beside him, keeping only the hood. The scent of smoke, straw, and fruit blends into something wild and free. He finally understands the source of everyone’s cheer when he realizes the drink in his hands is some sort of fermented fruit brew.
A (presumably) female Rishii kindly refills his empty cup.
This primal celebration would be memorable enough on its own. But what follows eclipses all future memories.
Nox slips off her boots with ease, her bare feet moving lightly across the sand as she makes her way to the center. She bows with theatrical flair as the birds strike up an insistent rhythm on their crude instruments.
Then she begins to dance.
The starlit sky becomes her dome, the entire shoreline her stage. Her skirt whirls around the fire, its hem nearly brushing the flames. Firelight glimmers in her hair like strands of metal, and her amber eyes catch every spark. Sharp, almost feral movements melt into graceful ones, only to shift back again—hypnotic in their raw, barbaric passion.
Maybe she’s using the Force, but no one looks away as she laughs and spins madly through the smoke like a vision.
Marr can’t look away either.
When she finally collapses onto the sand in exhaustion, someone offers her a drink. The dark liquid—like blood—smears across her lips and chin. With it, her predator’s gaze, and the ruffled feathers on her shoulders, Nox looks like a pagan goddess. The kind hearts are usually sacrificed to.
For some reason, she stares directly at him for a long time, and Marr thinks he hears her sigh.
The bonfire is already burning low when the feast begins to quiet, and Nox slips away. Without knowing why, Marr follows her—unseen.
He searches the shadows of the trees for the flash of a red skirt painted by the Force. The trail leads him to a deserted cliffside, where the Dark Lord, still barefoot, surrenders to a rhythm only she can hear. Moonlight silvers her hair, tossing it around a dreamy face. She’s like the ghost of her earlier dance, spinning alone in the silence.
Sometimes she stumbles and starts over. The sequence of movements is still unfamiliar to her, but the grace of a duelist turns even that into art.
Nox turns, aware she’s being watched. And smiles into the forest’s darkness. “I didn’t stumble once by the fire. Thought that would be enough to bring you here.”