Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Tempest-tossed Youth [Kiskla Grayson]

The rain was coming down hard drowning the surrounding terraced hillsides surrounding the city of Pols Anaxes, capital of the Republic Fortress world of Anaxes, and those unfortunate to be caught in the downpour were scrambling for cover. One of those individuals was a lad wearing what would appear to be a set of shabby clothes consisting of a dark gray shirt, black pants and boots, along with a large brown cloak that covered most of his body. His hood was kept up to keep the rain out, but nonetheless he was still getting drenched from head to toe as he ran through the torrent to find shelter. Sadly, he was mostly seen as a vagabond and street urchin, and wasn't let into any private establishments nearby.

Sighed, the distraught youth made his way over to the nearest bench and plopped down on it with a grumble of distaste. It had been nearly a month since his mother had passed away, and he wasn't no more closer than leaving this wretched world and finding his own destiny among the stars. Not to mention that he was lonely, he had no one else now. His mother was his world, she taught him everything, and took care of him for all of his life. It was like there was a voracious void eating away at his heart with her death, and no one could fill it, and now he was stuck in the rain with nowhere to go.

Life sucks.

He sighed again and leaned back against the bench, covering himself up as best he could with his cloak and wishing silently that the rain would be quick and merciful. He didn't expect anyone to help him in his plight, the citizens of Pols Anaxes weren't the kindest around, and the recent attack on Coruscant by the Sith didn't help his predicament either. Now they were all confused and on edge that a legion of Sith would come down from the sky and unleash hellfire upon them and leave them broken. The individual known as Montross Zambrano didn't care much for Sith, despite knowing now that his true father was perhaps the most vile of Sith around, but he didn't care much for the Jedi either.

Since when did they ever help him?

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
Since now!

Da-n-a-na-na-na Grayson!

Kiskla did not like the cold. She was the heir to sister planets that had a climate similar to that of the famed Tattooine. Further, she was a child of Naboo, where the climate was temperate at best. This however, did not mean she was a stranger to rain. For quite a while she had been bouncing between Tython and Coruscant and all over the Galaxy where her duties for reconciliation bade her to be. In this time, she'd found rain to be a sort of romantic solace. She'd always loved water, it always awed her with it's fluidity and marvellous ability to look like magic even in the ugliest of surroundings. It's when the rain turned to snow that her demeanour turned sour. So today, she was alright. Perhaps an etch grouchy because of the predicament her organization was in because of The War -- losing members to attacks meant to dry out resources was never anyone's idea of a good time; especially when the weight of responsibility balanced on her shoulders.

She looked out at the rain from the hollow of the hull, and instinctively raised the hood of her dark garment over her golden tresses. She was returning from the nearby planet of Umbara, where she had run into someone that had been called a witch and a sith. It had been a pain-staking interaction, but perhaps there was a benefit to the end of it. She hoped so; The galaxy needed as much help as it could get, and those that were willing to turn their backs on darkness were the first step in the right direction. But it was always a process.

One foot after the other, the young woman became a victim to the damp deluge; or, she would have been if she hadn't picked up one of the Dac Cloaks from the Jedi armoury. The rain slapped against the fabric and ran down to the ground once more, instead of soaking through the layers and making her skin uncomfortable and sodden. Beneath her hood, her constantly fiery gaze searched out the platform, watching the last few silhouettes disappear into their respective shelters for the evening. In an instant, however, there was a feeling that plagued her and she paused, a deep frown taking over her full lips. Less than a month ago she had been duking it out with a Sith tyrant that had a similar feeling within The Force as the one she sensed now. However, her precognitive senses weren't giving her any alerts, which only caused her frown to deepen. The city square was desolate now, save for a single lump inhabiting a bench. That very lump held the faint stain in The Force that was deterring her. The black sack of a boy didn't seem dangerous, just wet; and he appeared to have his own rain cloud hovering over him. Maybe it was teenage angst. Either way, he was all wet both physically and emotionally and it appeared he wasn't anxious to scurry out of the onslaught -- perhaps he had nowhere to go. Still though, why the signature that was tailored like the devilish Zambrano that was tromping around with The Sith?

Might as well ask the question directly; any attempt at a joke could seem offensive. So, the blonde Jedi spoke to [member="Montross Zambrano"] through the pounding splatters of rain drops "Have you anywhere to be?"
 
Montross glanced up from the huddled shelter of the bench, a face so remarkably similar and a mess of black hair atop his head stared back out from under the hood to silently glare at the woman. However; his hard gray eyes eventually softened and with a sigh he sat up further on the bench and answered, "No, not really... No one will take me in, they don't want their precious store ruined by a homeless vagabond." He grumbled bitterly, his obvious distaste for the people who wouldn't even give him shelter echoing through the Force without him even realizing it. He was strong in the Force, as was everyone of his blood, especially his father, but as of yet Montross had no training whatsoever to harness his powers. He was an emotional wanderer, tempest-tossed and alone in this world.

"If you could, uh... give me a place to crash for a bit, I would be forever grateful, miss." He shuddered visibly as a rather mean gust of wind swept across the street, biting through the paltry cloak that couldn't even keep the rain out. He was practically soaked, his wet garments sticking to his skin without remorse. "I got nowhere else to go."

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
tumblr_n0ig3bJUW71r5h04to1_500.gif
Kiskla frowned at the youth's admittance. She had never seen his father's face (and actually didn't know why this kid's signature was so strikingly familiar) and couldn't make the correlation, but his features seemed innocent enough -- not falsifying his words. Besides, it was unlikely he knew her enough to unearth her. She briefly looked him over, but didn't take long to assess his situation.

"What's your name?" She asked, taking a step back in the direction he had come with only a brief wave of her hand to indicate [member="Montross Zambrano"] should follow the young woman (not that he was likely to object). The water was beginning to pool on the surface of Anaxis Pol's courtyard, and while steps were taken, small ripples were made that raced away from the soles of their boots. "And why are you out here with nowhere to go?"
 
"Name's Montross Kealott." He decided not to reveal his father's surname, and instead used his mother's just in case this particular individual wouldn't look to kindly upon a relative of the infamous tyrant, even if he was a bastard with no real connection to his father. The sins of the father are often blamed upon the son, especially when the father remained far out of reach of the armored arms of justice. "My mother died sometime ago, and ever since then I've been on my own, surviving on the streets. I've been working on a way to leave this place, but the war has put everyone here on edge." He sniffled from the cold as he followed Kiskla from the square towards wherever she intended to bring the wayward bastard.

"Pardon me, but I never learned your name, miss. May I ask what it is?"

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
Kealott. That name meant nothing to her unfortunately. But his tainted signature still hummed irritatingly about her peaked and highly tuned senses; it was not something she could ignore nor forget.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Montross." Her own mother had died when she was quite young -- but before she could reminisce too severely she realized she had accidentally rhymed. Oh dear. Kiskla hoped that didn't make her sound insincere -- it was always awful to lose anyone near to you; no amount of Jedi training could prepare you for the actual amount of devastation that one felt when death cultivated.

"Kiskla Grayson." The blonde offered, still leading the way to the cheap motel nearby one of the stations where her own quarters were. Having a civillian in the Republic station would not bode well, but she couldn't allow him to continue wading about knee-deep in puddles. "What have you been working with? Any fun talents?" It was partially a question to get him to be comfortable and talking; distract him from the chill and also exploratory in nature to dissect [member="Montross Zambrano"]' answers and see if he was cognizant of his own signature in The Force.
 
To be honest, the fact that it rhymed kinda amused Montross, despite the fact that it was extremely morbid. Nonetheless, he diligently followed Kiskla without hesitation, fully putting his faith in the nice lady who had rescued him from the rain. "Before my mother passed away, she made sure I was educated enough, but I don't want to live on Anaxes for my entire life. I want to go places, meet new people, carve out my own destiny in the stars, you know? Not a fan of the mundane... My mother said I had potential within me, something I got from my father or something. I don't know exactly what she meant, maybe you do, Miss Grayson?" He was of course speaking about the Force, something he hardly knew about and only heard in passing conversation as something the Jedi and Sith wielded like nobody's business.

Also, a young lady leading a young lad into a cheap motel was extremely sketchy.

Just saying.

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
"Potential comes to fruition in a variety of ways." The blonde said simply, "Your mother never expanded on her speculations?" She paused, glancing at the first flickering light that boasted vacancy. With a measured step, she headed in that direction while reaching beneath her cloak to pat her belt that held the few credits she travelled with. As Grandmaster, she was also privy to a mass of accounts that boosted her wealth beyond where it had been as Councillor or Master of the Order. But this was no to be abused, obviously. She was just playing good samaritan. "Do, or did, you know your father?"

She glanced back at [member="Montross Zambrano"] when she asked that question, the rain still soaking into his body. She'd have to make sure the concierge made sure his clothing was dried suitably.
 
He shook his head, "No, not really. Mom never said much about him, or anything at all really. She sounded ashamed to talk about him, guess he wasn't a nice guy." He shivered again as he followed Kiskla up the steps leading to the vacant motel. "And she only said what I told you, so I don't know what to tell you, really." He still wasn't completely sure that it was a good idea to expand upon his father very much, and he did suspect that she was trying to goad the information out of her, but perhaps it was just better to give up the ghost and tell her who his father really was. He took a deep breath as they reached the top of the stairs, "Wait, Kiskla... I do actually have something to tell you, but you probably won't like it."

"I do know my father's name, my mother told it to me before she died. My father was Kaine Zambrano."

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
When @Montross Zombrano had no personal insights to share, the blonde merely remained silent as she walked. There was still that echo of familiarity that bubbled beneath his skin and hummed against her ethereal senses.

Then he dropped the bomb.

It was appropriate timing, actually, because she'd reached the location she wanted to be at. Her step had stopped anyway, but she gave a short, hidden blink at his admittance. Oh dear.

Kaine Zombrano, she had found out after Wraith had shouted his name, was one of the Sith leading the attack on Coruscant and turned the temple into a jungle gym for the shadows. The blonde stood beneath the awning that stretched out from the motel, and lowered her hood; looking at the soaked lad across from her. She didn't open the door, not yet (much to the innkeepers chagrin who loathed loiterers).

"You must know who he is if you thought that vital to share."
 
"I've only heard stories about him, but I've never really known him, or seen him at all for that matter. I just know his name and what he is..." Montross said, his voice slowly trailing away towards the end of his sentence. He couldn't keep his gaze with Kiskla's, he was secretly frightened that she would take out some sort of vengeful retribution for something his father had done. He didn't know anything of the Jedi and their ways, so he just assumed that she might do something bad to him just because of who his father was. "He's a Sith, isn't he? What does that mean? What is a Sith?"

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
"He is a Sith." Kiskla confirmed, still not stepping into the place where [member="Montross Zambrano"] would be left for the night. Still, he was free to join her under the awning and not soak anymore rain into his cloak.

"By textbook definition, Sith follow a religious philosophy that is focused on the dark side of The Force. In most instances, they are antagonists. Selfish to the core and have little regard for anybody apart from self-betterment. It's a dangerous web they weave, often violent and lustful.

By your father's definition, he is a merciless tyrant. He's racked up quite a few charges for crimes that are illegal across the galaxy." She paused, crossing her arms and cocking her hip slightly "Genocide being one. Look, Montross, there are many people in this galaxy that do not know their parents. Even if you did, you know well enough by living your life up until now, that although you share the blood of someone, that doesn't mean you have to share the same fate as that one.
Have you ever been interested in looking into what your mother said was special about you?"
 
He was relieved to hear that, but he was still disturbed that he came from the loins of a genocidal tyrant from across the stars. He knew it was silly, but he was silently hoping that genocidal tendencies wasn't hereditary, and he quickly moved to scurry inside of the dry room as if to escape from that train of thought. However; he paused on the threshold between the outside hall and the room within, his hand gripping the doorframe tightly as he turned his head to look at Kiskla with a look of deep thought. "He's powerful, isn't he? To be a tyrant who kills billions and escapes justice for so long... Strong in the Force, right? That's why me mentioned him unnerved you, right?" He was only guessing because of her pause after he spilled the beans, but he could be wrong. "If I share his blood, might I one day become powerful as well?"

"Am I destined to become strong in the Force like my father?"

[member="Kiskla Grayson"]
 
There were a lot of questions all directing to a single outcome. Kiskla didn't move while [member="Montross Zambrano"] repeated the notion that he would follow in his father's footsteps.

Instead of giving him a philosophical answer, or a boolean response, she wanted to get more insight to the descendent of her nemesis: "Do you believe in destiny, Montross?"
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom