Private Come and Witness

[Damsy Callat]

The northern approach was draped in more fog than normal. Still, Netra'yaim’s tower easily breached the thick, almost opaque surface to rise up between the mountain crags.

This climate had followed her into the desert nestled into the Cetajan Mountains too, it seemed—not entirely, of course. It was still a desert but, shortly after Damsy moved in, so did more atmospheric moisture. If the biome itself was somewhere that it didn't belong, the relatively more common, though still altogether few, occurrences of rain and fog were similarly inexplicable.

Inexplicable by any law of nature, that was. Completely explainable by the effects of the Dark side.

It writhed against the ordered way of the Light to create a bit more comfort for one of its masters.

Walking through the so-nicknamed Gloom hadn't ever had its intended effect on the hybrid shifter. Just its imposing presence had turned away so many, but to Damsy it was nothing but welcoming: not just knowing that her family home sat behind it but also how it felt like an oceanic embrace on dry land.

Steam rolled off her skin as she moved through the Gloom, evaporating away to rejoin the condensation heavy in the air before she could shift. Before and above her, half of the northern wall was obscured by the low-lying clouds. As she approached, she waved her hand, brushing some fog away to reveal the battlements above. The forms of a few humanoid guards donning beskar’gam bearing the crest of House Verd also appeared.

“Ayo!” she called up to them. “Wha's good? Metus in?”

Unlike the last time Damsy had visited, he would not know that she was coming. Back then, shortly after the first fall of Tython, she had been so full of fire and brimstone that a very small area of the Ardent Reach landscape had begun to change to reflect her internal strife. But today, that loss had burrowed deep inside to join her collective, ever-roiling hatred. It was quiet enough to contain and she was likewise able to suppress her aura.

She wanted to surprise him for once.

“Aye,” replied one of the guards curtly. “Business?”

Before Damsy could even open her mouth to respond, the other elbowed his brother. “Business?” he mocked, imitating the first's voice rather badly. "This Damsy Callat, ya idiot." His gaze swept down to Damsy and gave a nod. “Go on in.”

The gate raised. She passed through then into the castle's first of many great foyers. The darkness and slightly musky scent of old stonework rushed to the door the greet her.

A protocol droid sweeping some meters away looked up at the newcomer. As she eased the door shut behind her with back, she put a finger to her mouth to bade it to be quiet.

Isley Verd​

 

[Isley Verd]

NETRA'YAIM, KRAINT​

Time moved ever forward.

On this day, within the bosom of Netra'yaim, the Sith Lord stood within his study. The space was cozy, if a bit dated by "modern" standards. He much preferred to be surrounded by stone, carpet, and actual comfort instead of the polished plastoid that defined his contemporaries. His preference was also a tangible reminder that time waited for no man. While he had spent the better part of his youth building literal nations, his name had practically been forgotten.

What told him as much? The plurality of azure screens which hovered around him. He stood behind his desk, hand moving lazily through the projections. Each screen bearing word of worlds that he once bled to protect. Whispers of his son's exploits on Mandalore. Whispers of Naboo's ever-growing predicaments. Even echoes of the Geonosian hives...or what was left of them. A lifetime ago, he would have dropped everything to do more for these worlds. But now? He was uncertain.

It was...an odd place to be. Uncertain of where or when to step forth into the Galaxy. Or even if he should step forth at all. He had seen firsthand the destiny of his labors. He had seen the Confederacy crumble. The Mandalorian Empire collapse. His children scattered. Hell, even his spouse was in a state of near perpetual slumber. To put a fine point on it...the Sith Lord was alone.

He had the power to bend the cosmos. He had proven it time after time after time. But to what end?

It would be here that Damsy would eventually find herself; and her father would be completely unaware. The guards did as she had asked and kept quiet just this once. And thus, he would be none the wiser when she found him.

Damsy Callat​

 

[Damsy Callat]

"C'mon, ol' man, we strechin' yo legs."

The Siren of Kamino, of Krant, and now of Kesh sauntered into her father's office without announcement.

In many ways, it looked like hers. She, too, rejected modernity. It felt like a distraction from everything she had yet to do, which was always too much for one sentient being to shoulder alone—even when the sentient in question was a half-Shi'ido squaloid and didn't have to sleep. Sure, she had conditioned her body over the years to settle down like most other near-humans and humanoids, but she could never rest like them. Biology was biology, and hers was wired for slow-wave, not deep, sleep.

Half of her brain remained alert at all times. The fact had designated her a permanent lookout for her various Dauntless teams for her entire tenue with the Confederacy. She hadn't ever minded it though. It was an honor to watch over them as they got the rest they needed, which would make them all better in the morning. It was one of the reasons that whichever squadron Damsy was put on quickly became one of the most efficiently deadly in the special forces.

"Ya can fuckin' wallow outside."

People could, and had, said whatever they wanted about Damsy Callat—just never to her or the former Vicelord's face. Many, maybe most, who knew her personally or by reputation thought her to be callous. Perhaps the arctically cold waters of Kamino which had raised her had frozen her heart, or maybe her capacity to feel had been spliced from her DNA.

But her own kind of Empathy came easily to her when she called it. She just didn't call it often. Isley's inner conflict was clear to her, how it pulled over him like the fogs surrounding the castle.

Isley Verd​