Wishmonger, thank you for the tales you've spun for the brothers. I don't have a question about them today, but I do have one about you: what are you? I know you're not Zabrak or human, you've given us too many clues otherwise, so I can only assume you're... something else.
Dathomir is an ancient world, and many species have called it home: the Kwa, the Rakata, the Paeceans, and humans too -- those that appeared without explanation who would leave to form the early Je'daii order on other worlds, and others more attuned to the energies here, who would later build their temples and schools, whose edifices were lost to Dathomir's jungles and swamps.
Sith and Witches, too -- those who've tried to harness the wild magic found beneath its gravethorn groves and bogs, those too young to remember the time before.
And still, there are others here too, great sentient creatures, beasts meant for war that have grown wild with the ichor, and other forgotten and abandoned creatures fashioned from Dark Side alchemy -- children left to ruin.
What am I?
Though my influence might not stretch beyond the reach of my claws, I see with many eyes, and I feel deeply in every chamber of my hearts: when Dathomir bleeds, so do I.
I have watched your little empires rise and fall for more than thirty thousand years, child.
Ask yourself, not what but whom, because this is the riddle, and perhaps you should not ask questions you truly do not wish the answer to though your heart may be pure and you hope to see with that unflinching stare of yours...
That which dwells in shadow may be beautiful too. Monstrous, yes, but everything in the dark can be lovely, even the terrors... from a certain point of view.
