Private My Father's Daughter

[Damsy Callat]

E R I A D U​

The foam at her mouth she had too long ago felt against her scales.

It’s cottonmouth is all, she told herself, and maybe a migraine, given her sudden aversion to light, others, and reality. Eriadu’s climate was somewhere on the spectrum between Kamino and Mustafar: not full of water but neither without. The air in the Rivoche Ranges was pleasantly humid, at least to one such as Damsy, and especially on the windward side of the mountain on which the State-owed mansion converted temporarily into a barracks was located. Even though, dehydration was still possible. There was an absence of brine in the water vapor which was noted by her stinging skin.

Panic only set in when she could no longer swallow hydration tablets, not that the dark splotches blossoming in her peripherals were helping either. It was as if her body was using saliva to reject its only hope of relief. Maybe, if she couldn’t drink, she could absorb. Swimming in the Orrineswa River, the nearest fresh source, would only exasperate the sithspawn’s ailment, but she requested a weekend pass and hiked down to it anyway. From there she followed its meander into the capital and continued onto the Bay of Conquest, all the while keeping her head on a swivel for septoids.

As soon as she laid eyes on the sea, she thought she had finally grown a tail. Damsy was about to spin towards the insect and halfway through brandishing her trident before fire lapped up her legs. “Gaaahh—!” Her scream drown out metals clattering to the ground. One, her choice weapon; two, her. She fought against the gravity that pulled hard on the lead ore her head had become, pulsing with every frantic beat of her heart, and looked around. She flipped herself onto her back and then her other side, but the pest was nowhere to be seen. Another sky-splitting scream ripped through more than that though she couldn’t yet perceive it. The Force around her bent to her pain and frustration, unhampered by her current sickness as without it it might have been, and radiated out into the void above, around, and behind the planet, all the way to wherever Malok may hear.

And…

Her preoccupation with searching for a hallucination delayed her registration of the physical sensation along with the burning: her legs had moved as one. Finding unable to look down and confirm the presence of her tail upon dry land, she rolled onto her stomach and began the slow crawl towards the shore. Or, it should have been long, but Damsy perceived the journey in sharp shapshots, one, two, three, before she tumbled off a crag and into the murky seawater. Instantly, salt and dissolved pollutants slipped easily past the loose bandages on her wrist and stung her fresh bite mark. The chemicals killed remnant bacteria but the Cyborrean rabies had already permeated her veins.

 

[Darth Metus]

S A L V A T I O N​

Tag: Damsy Callat

There were few who could make him feel.

The first had been a matter of pure happenstance. Some would call it Fate. A primordial mistress would call it her will. Yet, on one miserable day on Coruscant, Darth Metus found his essence shackled to another. By this persistent bond, the Sith could feel the emotion and life force of his Apprentice. He would know when agonies befell her. And in an instant, he could rush to her aide. Beyond the alabaster woman, it was rare that he ever expended the effort to perceive such things in others. Yet, when it came to his children, the effort was always made.

Though he was never the most persistent figure in their lives, Darth Metus made the effort. He was far from perfect when it came to molding lives, but when it came to the basics, he could at least accomplish that. Thus, when the Force came alive with fresh agonies, the Sith was roused from his dealings on Eriadu. He excused himself in short order - cutting short a business conversation and leaving it in the hands of his capable assistant. And once he found a quiet corner, he listened for the source of that pain.

His heart shuddered when the realization struck.

In the moment, he was too far. Even the swiftest speeder could not ferry him to the shore as quickly as he demanded. Thus, he traced that perception. He followed the uproar of agonies like a trail of bread crumbs, before expressing his might about her. Though the coolness of the sea was yet upon her, a fresh chill would wash over her form. Darkness. Pure and palpable molded in the air above her head. A formless blob grew, contorted, twisted, and shrieked into a demonic expression of its Master's power.

The winged wraith swooped down. Its third eye affording the Sith a peerless view of his fallen child. He felt her pain - an injury. And thus the beast raised its savage hand. Shadows evermore manifested in that moment, forking quickly and burrowing into her flesh. She would feel a sensation of frost upon the points of impact - utter cold and relief as the Darkness purged the toxin from her body. It wouldn't be long until Darth Metus personally arrived to collect his child, but for now, his voice issued from the jaws of hell itself.

Damsy. Damsy! Wake up!​

 

[Damsy Callat]

C A R N A L​

Tag: Darth Metus

And woke Damsy did. At once, the waterlogged world that opened before her eyes went red with both fresh blood and primal rage. Chill penetrated the insular blubber under her scaly armor as her duraplate cracked and fell into the abyss from her body, the specific suit she had been wearing not adaptable to metamorphosis. Life pulsed into her tail and arms again when he broke her out of her temporary paralysis, and she listed sideways. The hovering wraith was instantly perceived as a threat from which she dove—perceiving some kind of predatory bird—keening for all her the fleeting pain that was no longer pain but left something of an uncomfortable void in sensation.

But by the time she had circled back around, the cold of the ocean was restricted to the surface of her skins. Tapas worked over her unconsciously. A bark-like vocalization, muted somewhat but dark as the abyss meters below them, resonated through the water around her bared fangs. She swam towards the surface fast enough to leap at the figure, slashing out with one of her taloned hands. She seemed further confused when her attack failed to land, but only for a moment before she slapped back into the ocean.

This time she whimpered. The last bit of sickness-induced fog retreated from her mind. She took her time to breach, her speed slowed to that of lethargic regret. Through the calm but almost opaque with frothy mats of pollution, she saw the Force manifestation for what it was. In its own way, it was still terrifying, but then so was she, and it certainly had not moved to attack her. When she finally broke the surface, she gazed up at it and rose a hand both to shade her low-light eyes and attempt to release the ache behind her temples.

"...Daddy?" Damsy asked. She did not recall his projection speaking to her, and thus did not understand how she knew who floated above her. Some instinct that had been buried within her on land but five minutes ago, much like her squaloid swimming or hunting skills, had tunneled up from within:

A fifth sense—animistic, but one she had not experienced before.