Whottoomuzz Chantin had always spoken with honeyed menace. But in the wake of betrayal—when the Black Sun strolled into Hutt Space not with armies, but with open doors held by cowardly Kajidics—he fell silent.Not from fear. From disgust.
Hutt Space had not been conquered. It had whored itself. Nal Hutta and Nar Shaddaa—passed like cheap spice through Black Sun fingers. Kajidics bowed and wheezed, fattened on past glories, cloaking cowardice in ceremony.
But not the Chantin.
Whottoomuzz saw it plain: he had grown soft. Not in wealth. Not in power. But in spirit. And the only way to purge softness from the shell... was fire.
He left his estate under contingency control— Xoff Chantin his spouse, a creature of razor-sharp cunning, would keep the credits flowing. His daughter, Jobbi Chantin , trained among the Jedi, far from the filth.
And Whottoomuzz? He abandoned perfume for ash. He would not reclaim Nal Hutta by brokering new deals. He would earn the right to lead by becoming the kind of creature even Mandalorians would not mock.
He would fight. Bleed. Serve.
One Hutt. One siege weapon. A fortress that walks.
He would carve honor into the flesh of his legacy, until his shell was hard as Beskar—and the Cartel was something worth kneeling to again.
Letter I — To Xoff, and the Kajidic Chantin
> "By my slime, my seal, and my blood: let this be known."
To my beloved consort, Xoff of the Crimson Chains, Keeper of My Coin, First Tongue of the Chantin:
I write you from the last dawn of comfort. By the time this holoscript is decrypted, I will have passed beyond Nal Hutta's rot and gold, into the crucible.
The Kajidics have failed us. Not by defeat, but surrender. They sold Nar Shaddaa without a fight. They bent the knee while pretending to sit proud. And now our name lives among cowards and collaborators, a sigil stamped on someone else's spice routes.
But we are not them.
You have long been more than my pleasure or partner. You are wit where I have wrath. You see ten moves ahead where I see the next body to fall. In my absence, you are Kajidic Chantin. With all rights, protections, and brutalities that entails.
You will do as needed to keep our holdings, our people, and our secrets intact. Trust none outside the old bloodlines. Bribe who you must. Kill who you cannot bribe.
Jobbi is not yet ready to lead, but one day she may be. Should I perish, the Chantin Kajidic is hers. Raise her in my name, but not in my image. Let her be better.
And if I return, I will do so bearing the fire that our ancestors forgot.
—
In blood,
Whottoomuzz the Unburned,
True Head of the Chantin Kajidic,
Future Warlord-Designate of Nal Hutta Reclaimed
To my beloved consort, Xoff of the Crimson Chains, Keeper of My Coin, First Tongue of the Chantin:
I write you from the last dawn of comfort. By the time this holoscript is decrypted, I will have passed beyond Nal Hutta's rot and gold, into the crucible.
The Kajidics have failed us. Not by defeat, but surrender. They sold Nar Shaddaa without a fight. They bent the knee while pretending to sit proud. And now our name lives among cowards and collaborators, a sigil stamped on someone else's spice routes.
But we are not them.
You have long been more than my pleasure or partner. You are wit where I have wrath. You see ten moves ahead where I see the next body to fall. In my absence, you are Kajidic Chantin. With all rights, protections, and brutalities that entails.
You will do as needed to keep our holdings, our people, and our secrets intact. Trust none outside the old bloodlines. Bribe who you must. Kill who you cannot bribe.
Jobbi is not yet ready to lead, but one day she may be. Should I perish, the Chantin Kajidic is hers. Raise her in my name, but not in my image. Let her be better.
And if I return, I will do so bearing the fire that our ancestors forgot.
—
In blood,
Whottoomuzz the Unburned,
True Head of the Chantin Kajidic,
Future Warlord-Designate of Nal Hutta Reclaimed
Letter II — To Jobbi, Daughter of Slime and Starfire
My sweet daughter,
If you're reading this, it means I've done something foolish—something bold.
You always asked me why I had guards if I was so strong. Why I wore gold if I hated preening. Why I let others talk if I already knew the answer.
The truth is: I was pretending. Pretending to be the kind of Hutt they expected.
But I don’t want to pretend anymore. The Hutts gave away everything we built, and it’s not enough to say I hate it. I have to become something else. Harder. Older. True. Something that scares the very people who sold us out.
You won’t see me for a while. Maybe ever. But this isn’t goodbye.
This is become stronger. Stronger than me. Smarter than the rest. Make the galaxy kneel for the right reasons, not just the sharp ones.
Take care of Xoff. They’ll pretend not to need it—but they always look over their shoulder when you smile. You’re the only one who makes them pause. That’s power too.
And if I return? I want to see you standing tall, not waiting.
If I don’t... then remember this:
You are Chantin. You are the future. And you are not alone.
— With slime and pride,
Dad
If you're reading this, it means I've done something foolish—something bold.
You always asked me why I had guards if I was so strong. Why I wore gold if I hated preening. Why I let others talk if I already knew the answer.
The truth is: I was pretending. Pretending to be the kind of Hutt they expected.
But I don’t want to pretend anymore. The Hutts gave away everything we built, and it’s not enough to say I hate it. I have to become something else. Harder. Older. True. Something that scares the very people who sold us out.
You won’t see me for a while. Maybe ever. But this isn’t goodbye.
This is become stronger. Stronger than me. Smarter than the rest. Make the galaxy kneel for the right reasons, not just the sharp ones.
Take care of Xoff. They’ll pretend not to need it—but they always look over their shoulder when you smile. You’re the only one who makes them pause. That’s power too.
And if I return? I want to see you standing tall, not waiting.
If I don’t... then remember this:
You are Chantin. You are the future. And you are not alone.
— With slime and pride,
Dad
