The Light in the Dark
SCOUNDRELS
CHAPTER II: OF DEMONS AND ANGELS
NEW CARANNIA, NIRAUAN
Wymar
| THEMEThe Ghosts of one's past rarely lay dormant forever.
This was something Damien was slowly getting used to. As the months following his exit out of Coruscant turned into years, he could only blame himself for how things inevitably went down. He was the Chancellor's Son at one point; the legacy of his mother and father was a burden that proved too burdensome to bear, even with the strength that coursed through his veins. So he did what any rebellious teenager did when put into that position. He rebelled. Damien struck out on his own, made friends and enemies, made frenemies who sometimes masquaraded as business partners when needed. He crafted connections with the seediest of the galaxy's denizens and inevitably escaped from the legacies that kept his chained to a life that he truly did not know was his own.
And so he left the Jedi, he left the Core for that very first time, and made the galaxy his own. He'd only returned when the burden of his parents came knocking at his front door, and through the force he found himself homebound once more. For even in his darkest of days, he would never abandon the ones he loved, not without an extremely good reason. Who would've known that his attachment to his family would eventually lead to him nearly being undone, though he feared a life behind bars less than he did a world without
Auteme
and
Kyric
. He did what he had to do, and a result he ended up on the run once more, but this time came without a way back to the comfy life that had always sat on the edge of his periphery, tempting him to come back home to a place of warmth away from the cold Outer Rim. His life became intertwined with the underworld after that, and it is locked within a web of conspiracies that he'd remain, until his name could be cleared. Until the burden of legacy was unshackled from his body, once and for all. It was a chance encounter of Nar Shadaa that had brought him New Carannia, a city whose construction had been a planetary marvel of its time, given the state of Nirauan before Imperial-occupation. It was also the city that was named after the home of the only ruler it had ever truly recognized, Lucien Dooku-- his father.
The cursed man whose legacy still poisoned his son from the grave.
Assassins had struck at him, though it was unclear whether his newfound companion was initially the target, or one of opportunity. In either case, he was surprised to find out that the name Damien Dooku had persisted on their internal registrars as a person of extreme interest. He'd never been involved with the Imperials, nor did he know much of the legacy his father had carved out in thier name. He knew a few details from idle conversation with his mom, but the two never went deep into the specifics on just who his father really was. There was always the sanitized, propagandistic version of the man out on the net, but Damien didn't trust it at all. Being both a Noble Jedi and an Imperial had always rubbed Damien the wrong way, and he refused to believe that a Jedi could serve the Empire and not be corrupt.
Damien sighed, letting his mind briefly move away from those deeper, migraine-inducing thoughts that plagued him at times like these, whne he was alone on a foreign world, with danger knocking whenever he turned his back to the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
An eyebrow perched, his head swiveling just enough to move the door of the rental unit well within his periphery. The doors slid open, revealing one of the C-series of droids with an Imperial-matte charcoal shell for its body. <"Greetings sir, you have a visitor. He says... you've been expecting him."> The droid spoke up. It was an older model that he'd picked up from a street vendor a few days prior. Aside from doing menial tasks around the unit, it was also a reliable way of communicating with his contacts on-world, when he needed a message delivered in-person. Damien swiveled on his feet slowly, moving his gaze away from the mesmerizing view of the city that his room provided. He nodded towards the droid as he moved towards one arm of the couch in the middle of the room and leaned back against it. "Let 'em in, C3." Damien eventually replied, and the droid scurried off to activate the elevator controls for their visitor.
The sound of boots eventually made their way down the hall. Each step was slow and deliberate, as if the wearer was just as relaxed about their rendezvous as the rogue leaning against the edge of his couch. The man entered shortly after, the C3 droid beckoning their guest in politely, and offering up refreshments in a clear display its inability to read the room. Damien's eyes would remain settled upon the visitor without a word being said. He quietly looked him over, sized him up, and thought of a few potential options to extricate himself from the room, if things went south. The blaster hidden between the cushions of the couch was one of them, but his intentions were always to play nice.
After all, there were two other names on the list, besides his own. One was
Kyric
, his brother, so he wasn't all that surprised. The two had been inseparable for a good chunk of their lives, after all. But the next one threw him for a loop, as the name he saw was one that he'd seen plenty of times alongside that of his father's very own name. He'd even heard it once before from his mother, though she'd let it slip on accident back then. The name was unique within the galaxy, similar to his own. Many could claim it, but only the few would bear the weight of the legacy it carried. Some might even argue it was worth killing over, much like his own. It was for that reason that he requested the meeting, with no short amount of favors and resources expended to ensure it would happen."Stennis Fel."
Damien's lips curled upwards with the words. He offered out a hand to the stranger, slowly enough in case the newcomer was on the edge. "...Or should I say, Wymar?" The stranger was alot different than what Damien was expecting, given what he'd gathered from those intel reports siphoned from that Imperial network. But still there was something undeniably familiar that coerced Damien to relax, even just for a bit.
"I believe we've got history; History that's worth killing and dyin' over." The rogue twiddled with a datacard in his other hand, idling toying at the trove of information he'd stolen from his former pursuers.
"Ain't that right?"
That devilish grin remained steadfast in his expression.
"Cousin."
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