Hidden Depths

[Tryp West]

Bastion​

Sith Imperial Government Center​

It had come through a series of contacts. So and so had recommended her, and told so and so who let on to this person blah blah blah. It didn't really matter. The mechanic had confirmed that some big part with an unfamiliar name was slowly going on her ship, and Tryp needed to lay hands on cash faster than usual. She was still waiting to sell the most recent cluster of songs (two were in bidding but that wasn't the same as cashy money in her account)- sure, she could take [member="Samson"] up on his offer to pay her to accompany her to ruins, but something about that seemed wrong. He was basically just like a big puppy, or a kid offering a hundred credits to buy a lollipop without knowing how much was clutched in his hand. Is this enough? No, she wasn't about to take money from that one.

It had been awhile since she'd taken a gig like this. Even longer since she'd done it for a Sith. But the pay was right (read: generous) and Bastion wasn't far from where she'd started out. Barely a hop really to get over there. She'd invited Samson along but he had been.... oddly resistant and unwilling to share. So she hadn't pried, but accepted his low, solemn suggestion to be careful in the spirit it was meant, and hoped on the next public transport headed that way.

She found herself, only a day later, being led through hallways on her way to her appointment. She didn't follow politics, but she'd figured out whoever she was meeting was someone important. Didn't have a name, but the way she was being treated (respect and circumstance, as if she wasn't dressed in laborer's clothing and work boots) and the height and depth they were headed into the building gave her some measure of pause. She'd worked with Jedi, Sith, Witches... as long as they paid well and let her be after she didn't really much care. But this, she suspected, was going to be a slightly different story than usual.

The question was only how.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

​

​

The Imperial Palace was an architectural marvel.

Rising three kilometers into the skies of Ravelin and sprawling outwards for nearly two square kilometers, it was a titanic structure dedicated to the opulence of the Empire's Dark Lord of the Sith. From every edifice the banners of the Empire fluttered and twisted in the breeze, and each courtyard was dominated by the statue of some ancient Sith Lord or Imperial Hero who now only existed in historical chronicles and the legends passed down through the generations.

It was a place where the glories of the past and the promises of tomorrow clashed, and the civilians who prowled the public yards seemed to revel in the spectacle. They thought nothing of the grim-faced guards who routinely patrolled the Palace, nor of the feeling of icy black fear that seemed to exude from the citadel's foundations.

Perhaps such things were far more apparent to [member="Tryp West"] as she was escorted through the bustling corridors, her eyes yet unattuned to the iconography that seemed to plaster every surface. But as they departed the lower levels and, at last, reached a checkpoint that required actual security clearance the change was apparent. The shift from gaudy to utilitarian was alarming, with the upper levels of the citadel designed more in favor of the typical Imperial design motif of stark empty walls illuminated by white and red phosphorescent panels built direction into the walls themselves. The halls were noticeably more vacant as well, with only the occasional officer or soldier marching down the hall.

Her escorts would say nothing, answering no questions she might pose during their trek, until at last they reached their destination. A single door separated her from her client, and the only words the guards had to offer her were eerily ominous.

"He awaits."

Then the door was opened, she was ushered in, and then it closed.

The chamber was of modest design, sparse like the rest of the level but still possessing some personality. The center was dominated by a single desk and a large chair which was occupied by a large and muscular individual swaddled in a crimson cloak.

His brilliant sulfuric eyes twinkled in the diminished light as he rose from his seat to greet her, "Apologies on the long walk, Miss West. Hopefully it was not too arduous. I am Kaine Zambrano, Dark Lord of the Sith and Emperor of the Sith Empire, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

 

[Tryp West]

What she had *thought* were the administration buildings... well they were. But that wasn't where they were headed apparently. And even Tryp, well traveled and accustomed to the mouldering remains of ancient civilizations that would put most things built today to shame had to pause, looking up and trying to estimate the height before ultimately just giving a low whistle.

"Well ain't dat somethin'."

"Yes Ma'am. Now, if you please?"

"Yeah yeah, dun mind me. Jes' takin' in da scenery an' tryina' not look too much like a tourist."

She noted the change from bread and circuses to cold, military reality. Tryp paid attention to the events going on around the galaxy, if nothing else so she could avoid hot spots whenever possible. She had a pretty good nose for trouble- not that she always kept it out of things of course, just that she liked to try to pick and choose when she was dropping her arse into the fire. She was aware of the rise of the Sith Empire over the last year- who wouldn't be? And the news she had tracked down only confirmed the dual nature of the beast. So she had some idea that she was toeing the stones between terra firma and the flames.

If she had known exactly who she was meeting, well. She would have known just how big the fire was.

Perfectly content to look around as she was led around, when they finally reached their destination she wasn't hesitant to admit, to herself at least, that she was a little disappointed.

"'Ow do I sign up fer da full tour boys?"

They just looked at her.

"Well a'right den. T'anks fer de escort."

Tough bunch.

Of course, it was about to get much tougher.

Tryp was fairly tall for a woman. She wasn't used to such mountains as she'd been meeting lately, but at least with Samson hanging around, she wasn't quite so surprised to be face to chest with someone again. What were they feeding these boys?

And then....

Dark. Lord. Of. The.....

Chit.

Reflexively, she reached up, pulling her hat off and offering an awkward sort of half bow.

"Fergive me, m'lord. Dinna know 'oo I was meetin', or I woulda cleaned up a bit more."

She'd dressed in her best, but her best was still dig clothes- clean and in good repair, but a laborer's wear.

"I'm Tryp West.... but ya already knew that. Beggin' yer pardon, but I ain't got no idea what da protocol is 'ere. Do we shake 'ands, should I bow again?"

Surprisingly, she wasn't particularly upset by this turn of events. But she was polite, and figured being straight forward about it was better than pretending she knew what was what and getting force choked for mucking it up.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

As amusing as it would be to play along with the young West's awkwardness when faced with one of the most powerful individuals in the known galaxy, Kaine didn't have time in his schedule for it. So, he decided to cut most of the formalities and get to the point.

"One bow was enough, Miss West. And I prefer you as you have presented yourself, it is honest. If you came here, prim and proper, then it would not be the real Tryp West would it?"

Frankly he was tired of dealing with people who made their living on putting up a front, and concealing their true selves day-in and day-out. Of course in a society such as the one in the Sith Empire that was to be expected, especially among the ranks of the Sith and the Imperial Officers. Everyone was always scheming to further themselves, always looking at every angle for some opportunity to rise in the ranks. Kaine Zambrano had been an Imperial Agent before he became a Sith, so masking his intentions and piercing the veil of others was his bread and butter, but even he became exasperated with it from time to time.

Back to the business at hand, "But I have heard you have the distinct ability of psychometry, and have made a living using it to create music from the dissonance of ancient artifacts. Which is why you have been brought before me, I have something that may intrigue you."

He reached under his desk and removed an ornate wooden chest, and opened it to reveal a ceremonial dagger with a pommel resembling a dragon's head and a curved blade that seemed to be tinged with a dull red discoloration. Even without touching it West would be able to keenly sense a morbid darkness radiating out from the ancient weapon, a mere whisper of the atrocities it had committed when still in use by those who were now long dead.

"I want you to make a song for me... with this."

[member="Tryp West"]​

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp was perfectly content to cut through the fat to get to the meat, so to speak, and she appreciated straight talk. Despite the clear power differential (on literally every axis), his decision to speak plainly put her enough at ease that curiosity could come up to the forefront. She tilted her head, clearly intrigued.

This wasn't the usual job she did for Sith. Usually it was just 'relay to me the history of this object.' And to be entirely honest, that was some combination of boring and terrifying. Tryp had long ago set up mental boxes to keep the memories from leaking into her own, from getting mixed with her own experiences. It had either been that or go crazy the way Aunt Lana had- and no one liked to talk about her. But that didn't mean that certain objects were pleasant. In her work she'd learned to identify the kinds of Sith artefacts that would offer little in the way of useable content for her, and she did her best to avoid them. Sure, sometimes an innocuous item would sneak past and she'd get slapped to the ground by the weight of the memories, but she'd gotten pretty good at sorting out what could be risked and what was flashing a great, neon Do Not Touch. No Touchy Touchy.

That knife? That knife was flashing its bloody soul out and if she'd found it in a ruins she would have given the thing a wiiiiiide berth.

This was a little different however. First off, there was a clear implication of a pay check. Usually she couldn't sell a song made off of a piece like this- so why go through the bother (understatement) for zero reward? But she could tell going in that this would be a doozy, could account for it and prepare, and then walk out with a pay check to make up for her time and discomfort. Definitely not ideal, but entirely within acceptable parameters.

Even with gloved hands, she didn't reach for the blade at first. She got close enough to study it, dark eyes keen along the edges, the sweep of the hilt. Tryp was about as force sensitive as the average Hawk-bat, and even she could get a glimmer of what this was all about.

"Ye got mah attention alright M'Lord," she'd been told at least that much on how to address the person she was being brought to, and she was, if nothing else, at least perfectly polite in this case.

"I kin do dat," she said a moment later, nodding and looking up at him. She squinted a bit.

"Beggin' yer pardon, but.... do ya 'ave a brother or somet'in? Ye look passingly familiar an' its been bugging me, if I kin say so."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

There was more different between them than gender and physical dimensions.

Tryp's accent was... interesting, to say the least. Whereas the Dark Lord did possess hints of a more exotic dialect that occasionally slipped through his perfectly articulated Imperial accent, Tryp possessed none of what many would consider civil qualities. Her speech patterns definitely hearkened to a life lived in a lawless realm, where talk was often fast and nearly incomprehensible to anyone save for those who spoke it fluently. Kaine had met many distinctly unsavory individuals who shared the archaeologist's accent, generally criminals and brigands of all shapes, sizes, and creeds, when he was in deep cover as an Imperial Agent of the Old Empire.

Still, there hadn't been any difficulty in their conversation. They both understood what each other wanted, and that was good enough. Still, her question involuntarily caused a puzzled expression to descend across the Dark Lord's face, though it disappeared nearly as fast as it had appeared.

"I have many children, Miss West. I don't doubt that there's plenty of people in the galaxy who might share my qualities, though as for a brother..." He did have a brother, Mordecai to be specific, but that fool had picked up his family and disappeared to live out a quiet life as a father rather than the warrior he was destined to be. Kaine was still angry at him for that, as was their sister Saeth, but in the end he decided not to pursue him.

Let him live how he wanted, that was why Kaine killed Rameses and Viktoria to begin with -- so they would have that choice.

"I do not have a brother." And that was that.

[member="Tryp West"]​

 

[Tryp West]

When that puzzled look flashed across his face again, she was *certain* she'd seen it somewhere before. She just couldn't place it exactly and she'd be damned if it wasn't going to bug her until she figured it out.

The conversation did give her pause however- was she being racist? Was it a case of 'well all epicanthix look the same'? She'd have to sit with that. Because if that was the case, well.

Tryp could do better.

So she just nodded and let it drop, because really it wasn't important. It wasn't why she was here.

"Yeh, I kin do dis," she confirmed. She reached up, scratching the side of her nose for a moment, contemplative as she looked down at the knife.

"It'll take 'bout a week," she said finally. "Give 'er take. Kin't really judge till I touch da t'ing, but fergive me, I'd rather prepare fer it a bit a'fore I do. Git settled."

It was clear that she had worked with Sith artifacts before. And while she showed no hesitation, she had a healthy respect for the kinds of things she was about to see, and a good understanding of her own limitations.

"I dun haggle," she said bluntly. She knew what her services were worth, and she named a price- fair, but not cheap. It included her time, expertise, but also the sheer experience she was expecting to ride through. She knew how to handle it, but she wasn't going to dismiss it as nothing.

"Dat ammenable ta ya, M'Lord?"

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He mulled over the sum she requested in return for her unique services, and the Dark Lord found them acceptable.

"The Empire will compensate you for your service, Miss West." If there was one thing the people of the galaxy could depend on, it was the reliability of the Sith Empire to handsomely reward those who perform services in its name.

Bounty Hunters, mercenaries, freelancers like Miss West, etc.

The Empire also tended to overlook morally questionable acts committed by the individuals it hires. If they wanted to get a little touchy feely or trigger happy, the Empire might look the otherway if the task given to them was completed in the end. The willingness to tolerate such behavior gave them good rapport with the less reputable facets of the criminal underworld, enabling them to choose from a wide array of organizations to hire from.

"And time, Miss West, is of no consequence. You will be afforded all the time you require to carry out what is asked of you. You will also be allowed to take up temporary residence in the palace, if you so desire, and will be granted access to a workshop designed to your specifications. I hope that is amenable to you, Miss West."

[member="Tryp West"]​

 

[Tryp West]

"Suits," she nodded in agreement.

"I'll take ya up on da offer ta stay 'ere. Let me focus on da task, so dat's mighty appreciated M'Lord. Dun need a work shop 'doh, got everyting I need ta do da job right 'ere," she said with a grin, tapping at the side of her head with her right hand. The cybernetics running up that arm and up her neck were clear.

"Jes' need a quiet place ta work where I won't be harangued by passersbys. I got simple needs."

She'd drop a line to [member="Samson"] later, let him know how long she'd be. No need to worry the kid. Kid. Heh. He was as tall as this mountain of a man, almost to the centimeter or Tryp would eat her hat. Huh. Come to think of it, the rune on the Dark Lord's head was pretty similar to some of the ones on Samson. Well, they were sith runes, so it made sense they'd look similar she supposed.

"I kin make a recording of da raw impulses, if'n you'd like dem. Won't be too clear, da cybernetics are a little wonky, but it's da best we were able ta do. Not really an exact science, what I do, if'n ya savvy. But it'll git ya some images at least. No sound, bet, dat's mah job."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He nodded, "I will take everything you can uncover, it all has value to me."

The Dark Lord closed the lid of the chest, and slid it forward for Tryp to take. "My men will escort you to your chambers, be sure not to wander too far after you have arrived." It was more of a warning than advice, the layout of the palace was so labyrinthine and complex that it was a serious possibility that Tryp could get herself hopelessly lost.

Then Carnifex couldn't get his music, and Tryp couldn't get paid.

No one wants that.

He allowed Tryp to say her piece, bow, and leave the office. They wouldn't see each other until nearly two weeks later.

​

​

​

Carnifex stalked down the palace halls, flanking by two of his imposing Crownguard.

He had checked in with Miss West nearly a week prior, but she had informed him that the process was taking longer than expected and it might be another full week before she was anywhere close to fulfilling her end of the bargain.

That time had passed, and now he had returned to inspect her progress.

The door to Tryp's room loomed before them, and with fierce purpose he strode up to the door and pressed the button on the door's activation panel.

Bing-Bong.

[member="Tryp West"]​

 

[Tryp West]

"Come in."

The voice was tired. And the woman who is came from? Showed it.

She was sitting at the desk when he arrived, though she stood when he entered.

"Good timin' Yer Grace," she offered him a nod. "Jes' finished fer ya."

The barely constrained energy of their initial meeting was gone. There were dark circles under her eyes, hair flat and dull. If she'd had one full night of sleep spread out over those two weeks, well, it would be a generous estimate.

It wasn't because she felt pressured by him to finish, to push herself like that.

It was because the things she had seen had demanded it.

Part of the process was the experiencing. And then the catharsis of letting those memories go again as she made them into music.

"Der's two versions fer ya," she indicated the data pad. "Very diff'nt. Diff'nt feel, diff'nt instruments. You kin decide which ya like better. Der's also da raw data, as promised."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Excellent."

Carnifex summoned the data pad to his hand with the Force, letting his eyes scan over what she had crafted for him. He opened up the first version and let the sound of its music echo throughout the chamber; the cacophonous dissonance conjuring both feelings and visions of ancient darkness, unbridaled cruelty that has lingered hidden and vengeful within a tool of sacrifice. The atonality of the music was abrasive to the senses, and the abrupt tempo, key, and time signature changes were unlike anything favored by the galactic mainstream.

Whereas the first version was inherently violent, encapsulating the visceral purpose of the dagger; the second version embodied the pervasive dread and malice of the rituals it partook. Again, there was dissonance, but the scales and intervals utilized truly evoked an insidiously revolting feeling in the back of one's mind.

These would do, these would do perfectly. "As expected your work is of the highest quality, Miss West, and as promised ample compensation will be transferred to your accounts."

[member="Tryp West"]​

 

[Tryp West]

Normally, she enjoyed listening to her own work. Especially once the song was sold to whatever artist would be recording it. There were always small variations, attitude applied that she hadn't necessarily intended, and it was interesting and even fun to experience.

But here she listened with a critical ear, not particularly enjoying it at all. Oh, it was technically good and she knew it. But she hadn't yet sorted all of the memories into their compartments, and the edges of the work rubbed raw on them, chafing and uncomfortable. She was thankful, really, that these would never be something she would stumble across playing in the background of a cantina on Velusia or a shopping center on Coruscant. These songs were for a private audience, and this was one of the rare occasions that pleased her. She decided that getting waylaid by this music in a dark alley would be a deeply uncomfortable situation.

"Ah'm glad dey suit, M'Lord," she said with a nod. "An tank ye fer de kind words."

She went to tip her hat at him, realized she wasn't wearing it, and ran her hand back through her hair instead.

She needed a good night's sleep, asap.

"Feel free ta drop me a line in da future, if'n ya find yerself needin' me."

This was a business transaction, after all. He had been a generous benefactor on this job- it would cover the repairs to her ship and the next few weeks she'd take off to fully recover from it. As unpleasant as it had been, it had been lucrative. While the artefact had been frankly one of the worst she'd ever experienced, she'd gone into it willingly and he'd kept up his end of the bargain impeccably. She had no complaints.

But she did need a vacation now.

[member="Darth Carnifex"]