Private In Which the Swamp Breathes

[Serina Calis]

In Which the Swamp Breathes.
Location: Dagobah
Objective: Deepen connection to the Dark Side.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Asaiah Celwik

"How can you just allow for such putrid decay?"​

The planet stank of rot.

Not poetic rot—the kind that clings to empires and ancient tombs and the death of beautiful ideas—but actual rot. Wet moss, stagnant water, the pungent exhale of primordial decay that crept into every thread of her robes and curled itself lovingly beneath her nails.

And Serina Calis, high priestess of desecration and delicate ruin, was trudging through it.

Her boots sank slightly with every step, the thick mire of Dagobah slurping at her heels like a hungry tongue. Somewhere in the murky distance, a bloated creature croaked a warning to its rival—or perhaps to her. The trees dripped lazily around her, hung with vines like the planet had dressed itself in the entrails of its own history.

"Charming," Serina muttered, fanning herself lightly with one hand as if it might banish the scent of centuries of compost. Her other hand held the hem of her robes, lifting them just enough to prevent the swamp from getting more familiar than it already had.

She had arrived here not for aesthetics—Force forbid—but for ambience. For atmosphere. For power.

Dagobah was... repulsive. But it was ancient. Quietly, fiercely ancient. The kind of ancient that whispered beneath the skin and scraped its nails across the soul.

And most importantly—it was soaked in the Force.

Serina paused beneath a twisted tree, its bark warped as if screaming mid-transformation. The humidity clung to her like a jealous lover, fogging the edges of her vision, making her hair—normally so impeccable—cling to her temples in golden strands. Her blue eyes narrowed slightly as she inhaled through her nose.

Mist. Mud. Fungal spores. A hint of something that had once died badly nearby.

"It's a good vintage," she murmured dryly, smirking. "A little earthy on the tongue, but with notes of despair and buried secrets."

Her hand drifted out, gliding across the thick trunk of the tree. Beneath the bark pulsed a quiet thrum, the echo of something old, something hungry. Her touch, even feather-light, was enough to stir it. She could feel the Dark Side vibrating there—feral, raw, unrefined. No temple to shape it. No altar to contain it.

It was perfect.

The Force here was wild and stubborn, a beast chained too long. Jedi had tried to bury it. Sith had feared it. But Serina?

She meant to tame it.

Not with blades. Not with bindings. But with the same wicked, silken whisper with which she had bound Light and Dark alike to her will before.

Serina did not conquer through violence. She seduced the Force itself. Bent it over the altar of her ambition and made it whisper her name with every ripple.

And Dagobah… Dagobah would learn to moan for her too.

But first... she would need to get used to the smell.

"Truly," she said to no one, flicking a beetle off her shoulder with a dramatic flourish, "I have suffered indignities. I have walked through fire and bureaucracy. But this—this mildewed fever dream of a planet—may finally break me."

She waded forward nonetheless, letting the swamp envelop her, inch by inch. It clung to her, adored her, hated her—it didn't matter. The Force was thick here, and her hunger for it was boundless.

Somewhere deeper in the marshes, she could feel it: a nexus, a rupture, a place where the veil between matter and myth was thinnest. She would find it. She would drink from it. And then, perhaps, build something in its place. A shrine? A sanctum? A ruin designed for whispered prayers and soft executions?

Dagobah would be hers. Or it would drown trying to stop her.

With a sigh—half exasperation, half quiet delight—Serina pushed forward into the green gloom, her silhouette vanishing into the mist.

The swamp shuddered.
The Force held its breath.
And corruption took one elegant step closer.

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Location: Dagobah
Tag: Serina Calis

There was so much work for her to get through. Experimenting with Force Sensitive blood was...harder work than she had expected. The rot of the swamp seemed to be deeply affecting it more than she liked. Maybe she'd have to find a more sterile environment for these experiments in the future. After all, even with her limited knowledge of the Dark Side and Light Side, she knew there was something strange with the swamp. It sang to her and tried to seduce her but her mind was too...ignorant to that. She was far too focused on her work which the swamp had corrupted...At least her little "Pet" seemed to be growing well. It had grown out of it's Petri Dish and now she contained it in a little beaker. She had yet to christen it with a name. That would come in all due time.

"Grow big and strong. Make me a proud little creator."

Asaiah gently rubbed the thumb of her injured hand over the beaker, leading the creature to bump itself up against the glass. That was something she had taken a note of. It seemed to get more active, the closer that "dead" tissue was brought towards it. There had been a few tempting thoughts in the back of her mind to pour the creature onto her arm but she knew better than to take her experiments to that extent. No, no. For now she'd work on feeding it as many bugs and creepy crawlies as she could. There were making good progress with that and if she happened to find anything a bit more...nutritional? Well, she'd feed it to her darling of course. Though now that she thought about it, she was running low on snacks for The Creature.

"Your Creator will be back soon! Be a good little blood creature"

And with that, she hopped her way out of the cave she had been staying in. Something felt strange today however. As she slowly eased herself into sensing through the Force, she felt as if the swamp's attention was...elsewhere. There was someone else in the area that was deserving of it's attention. It's gaze. And Asaiah couldn't help but feel...jealous. She had been here for an extended period of time now, and it felt like whatever the dark essence of swamp was, it didn't care for her. Yes, it whispered in her mind, tried to seduce her to it's goals but ultimately it didn't work. Even with all of that, she was...disappointed that it stopped caring about her.

So it looked like she had a new quest on her hands! A most noble quest! To find out why she was being ignored and for who! It wasn't like she stood much of a fighting chance if it was someone hostile. Her side was crippled, and her sword shattered. The only weapon she had at her control was the Force, and even then she wasn't the most skilled with it. It was something she'd need to practice...Maybe next time she went hunting the Scum of the Galaxy, she could try exclusively using the Force. That thought actually made Asaiah stop for a moment to stare at her hand in bewilderment...She had grown so much compared to the girl who had murdered her parents. Never once would she have thought about using the Force to kill...as a weapon at her disposal...but that's what it was. At that realisation, when she flexed out her hand, she felt a much stronger wave of power wash over her. She was a living weapon in a way.

As she wandered through the swamp, a little bit more of an energetic kick to her step after that realisation, she found who the swamp's focus was on. A bright grin suddenly taking over her face at the sight of Serina Calis . It was...one of the most innocent looks Asaiah had in a way. There was no manic joy in her face, no crazed glee. No. It was pure happiness at the sight of one of the few people Asaiah felt like truly understood her, as she started to break out into a small run towards Serina, making no effort to hide herself.

"Ah! Over here! What are you doing here?!"

Asaiah kept the grin on her face!...Up until she tripped over a tree root hidden in the muck of the swamp, taking a faceplant into the dirty and muck filled water...before throwing her good arm up into the air in a thumbs up to show she was alright. Hopping straight up to her feet afterwards and brushing herself down with her good hand. It was strange, whenever she was with most people, she was a dangerous and alert killer, a murderer. But with Serina? She let her guard down, no matter how dangerous it might be for her​

 

[Serina Calis]

In Which the Swamp Breathes.
Location: Dagobah
Objective: Deepen connection to the Dark Side.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Asaiah Celwik

"How can you just allow for such putrid decay?"​

The moment Serina felt her presence, the air thickened—like the swamp itself had begun to pulse in anticipation.

It wasn't the raw pressure of the Dark Side that made her pause; that was a constant here, a humming symphony of ancient want beneath the roots and muck. No, this was different. Sharper. More eccentric. More personal.

She had been still—so still—her gloved hand trailing along the surface of a black pool, watching it ripple with the lazy elegance of a predator's breath. Dagobah's rot was beginning to sing for her now. Low, guttural notes. Not quite trust. Not quite worship. But recognition. It had taken days. Rituals. Blood. Whispered litanies that blurred the line between praise and seduction. But the swamp was learning to love her.

She had been alone with it... until she wasn't.

The splash of footsteps. The rustle of foliage torn aside. Then—chaos.

Serina turned.

She didn't flinch at the shout—didn't react to the wave of joy—she simply watched. Watched Asaiah's wide grin slice through the gloom like a knife of innocence wrapped in blood. Watched her enthusiasm take physical form in reckless movement. Watched her trip—watched her fall—watched her plunge face-first into the swamp as if it had been staged, as if the Force itself had tugged the root just an inch higher for theatrical timing.

Then came the thumbs up.

And Serina—Serina laughed.

A soft, slow ripple of laughter, low in her throat and deeply amused. Not mocking. Not cruel. Fond. As if witnessing a precious pet perform a new trick—inelegant, messy, utterly unexpected, and somehow entirely right.

"You never disappoint," she purred, stepping forward now, her presence gliding through the humid air like perfume made from venom and silk. "The swamp will be telling legends of that entrance for centuries."

She stopped before Asaiah, head tilting slightly, her golden hair catching what little light filtered through the dense canopy. Her eyes—those cold, glacial blue eyes—dragged across Asaiah's dirtied form with languid appreciation.

"You've made quite the mess of yourself," Serina murmured, voice like honey mixed with ash. "How endearingly human of you."

Her hand lifted, slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing through the muck on Asaiah's cheek—not to clean it, but to paint with it. A dark smear across the girl's jaw, her temple. Not degrading. Ritualistic. Worshipful. She dragged her fingers in slow curves, drawing a crescent across the pale skin.

"There," she whispered, eyes narrowing slightly, as if admiring her own handiwork. "Now you look like something the swamp would love."

A pause.

"No. That I would love."

She stepped back then, slow, letting the moment stretch, the contact lingering in the air like a hand pressed to a flame too long. Her gaze flicked downward to Asaiah's injured side, then to her hand. She felt the power in her now—rising. Coalescing. The girl was beginning to see herself the way Serina had always seen her: not as a vagabond of vengeance, but as a crucible. A forge. A womb for terrible, beautiful creation.

"You've changed," Serina said, voice drifting over the water like incense. "There's a scent to you now. Confidence, yes. But also… hunger. Not for violence. Not quite. For expression." Her eyes gleamed. "For meaning. You've realized what I said was true, haven't you?"

She moved again, not around Asaiah this time—but with her, at her side, their shoulders inches apart.

"You're no longer just dispensing punishment, Asaiah. You're writing scripture with every drop of blood. And tell me…" Her tone dipped, licentious now, every word soaked in corrupt invitation. "Is your little creature thriving? Does it grow when it drinks? Does it purr when you bleed?"

Her voice darkened. Not louder. Just lower. Closer to the bone.

"Have you tasted it yet? Your creation?"

A knowing smile. Not a command. Just suggestion. Just poisoned possibility.

She raised her hand again—not to smear dirt, not to offer a vial—but to gesture forward, into the gloom.

"There's a clearing deeper in," she said, tone suddenly clean and professional, yet no less dripping with power. "The swamp coils there. Old things sleep beneath its soil. I intend to wake them. I thought I'd have to do it alone. But now?"

A look toward Asaiah. Her smile deepened.

"Now I think I'd prefer the company of a kindred soul."

And she turned, beginning to walk—slowly, deliberately, every movement a performance designed for the one pair of eyes she knew was watching.

"Come, little god of blood. Let's go see what stirs when we knock on the bones of the dead."

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

​

Location: Dagobah
Tag: Serina Calis

She kept the grin wide on her face as Serina spoke. For Asaiah, Serina was one of her only true friends! Of course there was The Creature but that didn't count. She had created it. Friends don't count if you make them up! But Asaiah hadn't made up Serina. As Serina's cold eyes dragged their gaze over Asaiah, Asaiah's own bright gold eyes were focused purely on Serina's face. Though she tilted her head at the endearingly human comment. Was that meant to be an insult? Asaiah wasn't meant to just be a simple human...but she still was, for now. She was nothing less than a human yet she was nothing more. There was still plenty of things she had to work on, if she was searching to be seen as a Goddess...

Before Asaiah could speak however, she felt Serina's finger on her face. If it had been anyone else, Asaiah would have snapped. Used the Force to crush them for touching her. For getting this close to her. But Serina wasn't just anyone else. And so Asaiah stood there silently, waiting for Serina to finish her session of painting. It was once again a sign of that trust she had in the woman. Serina had Asaiah's full trust, after all she had helped set Asaiah on the path she was on. If it was not for that, she wouldn't have broaden her horizons, made herself followers and found herself somewhere to settle down. No, instead she'd just be hunting the scum of the Galaxy without any greater goal!​

"There," she whispered, eyes narrowing slightly, as if admiring her own handiwork. "Now you look like something the swamp would love."

A pause.

"No. That I would love."​

A set of rapid confused blinks came from Asaiah, even as the grin stayed on her face. Love was a word she knew. She had used it plenty of times herself. She loved blood. She loved the pain of fighting. She loved inflicting pain on others. But to use it for a person? That was something she had never experienced. Her parents had never used that word for her. She was...unsure how to feel about it. The more innocent part of her that was hidden deep inside of her was shining ever so slightly brighter because of it, though it was mostly hidden under the thick layers of insanity and delusions that made up most of Asaiah's identity
​

"You've changed," Serina said, voice drifting over the water like incense. "There's a scent to you now. Confidence, yes. But also… hunger. Not for violence. Not quite. For expression." Her eyes gleamed. "For meaning. You've realized what I said was true, haven't you?"​

"...I've found myself followers. People to take under my wing. To give them the strength to fight for themselves...and it's my role as their Priestess to reward their belief. Their faith...I've also killed a Jedi. Took his blood. His lightsaber."

Her voice was....eager. Almost childish. Like she was asking for some kind of soothing words from Serina. To be told that she was doing a good job. The things that she had never been told by the people that were important to her. She never thought she'd have the chance to have someone important tell her those words...Though a dark look suddenly came across her gaze at the suggestion of her tasting The Creature.

"No-one harms it. It is going to grow big and strong for me. It will be a member of my...family. It is a personal experiment. I am working on...cocktails. Creations to give power. To reward my followers. To grant them strength, somewhat on the level of my own...Though of course, not to my level."

She wasn't a fool. Asaiah needed to keep herself the strongest, so as to make sure none of her followers believed they could beat their Priestess. And then once she was at the strength of a Goddess, no-one would dare to try and take her place. Though...in this current moment, Asaiah had more than one place in her eyes. Yes, she was meant to be the Priestess for her followers, the Arbiter of Justice...but she also belonged at Serina's side at this moment, to see what she intended to wake.​

 

[Serina Calis]

In Which the Swamp Breathes.
Location: Dagobah
Objective: Deepen connection to the Dark Side.
Allies: ???
Opposing Force: ???
Tags: Asaiah Celwik

"How can you just allow for such putrid decay?"​

Serina did not look back immediately.

She could feel Asaiah behind her—the girl's steps soft against the wet earth, her presence loud in the Force. Not because of power, not yet, but because of conviction. That same sharp pulse Serina had felt the day they met, like a blade being born in fire, half-wild and half-divine.

Now, though, that fire had taken shape. And Serina smiled to herself, lips curling with something indulgent and darkly satisfied. She had seen the signs—the spread of ambition, the budding hunger for more. But now? Now she heard it in the girl's voice. Saw it in the way Asaiah's gaze lingered a bit too long on the ground where blood might soon be spilled.

She was becoming.

When Serina finally turned, it was with the poise of something ritualistic, as if even her movement bore significance. The mist coiled around her like silk, and her cloak fell in perfect lines down her back. Her blue eyes—glacial, intelligent, endlessly consuming—met Asaiah's with a gaze that didn't pierce but invited, like the opening of a forbidden door.

"You have changed," she said again, this time with more weight. "You're shedding your skin, little serpent. And what slithers forth from underneath is... beautiful."

She stepped forward, once again closing the distance with that same leisurely grace. There was never urgency in Serina—only intention. Her hand rose, just briefly, brushing against the place where Asaiah kept her journal, as though she could feel the inked words radiating with dark scripture.

"You've killed a Jedi," she said softly, her tone laced with sweet sin, "You've taken his blood, his weapon, his worth. You have devoured a symbol of light... and made it serve your darkness. I'm proud of you."

The words weren't flattery. They were gospel. Spoken with the authority of a queen in her temple, whispered as though they might become truth simply through repetition.

"And followers..." Her lips parted in a small, knowing smile. "So they believe in you now. They bow when you pass. They whisper your name. Good. That is power, Asaiah. Not the Force. Not blades. Belief. The willing surrender of another's soul to yours."

Serina leaned in now, her voice dropping to a whisper made for shadows and secrets.

"You must feed that faith. Not just with miracles, but with mystique. Let them crave your blood but never taste it. Let them see your pain, but only when you choose. Love them, lead them, bless them—but never let them own you."

A pause. Her gaze flicked toward Asaiah's side—where the creature's beaker likely still rested, pulsing faintly.

"And your darling child… Your sweet, writhing little family member." Her voice oozed with fascination, the tone one might use when admiring a masterpiece stitched together in secret. "How precious it is. How utterly correct that you made it not to kill… but to belong."

Then came the pivot. The voice shifted, just slightly. Slower now. Slicker. Not the manipulator—but the corrupter. The lover of madness.

"You're building more than an army, Asaiah. You're creating a cult. A system. A faith. One day they will write songs of your blood. Paint walls with it. Offer it to one another in holy ritual. And you—" Her fingers ghosted near Asaiah's cheek again, as if drawing something sacred in the air between them. "—will sit above it all, whispering truths that only you can define."

Serina stepped past her then, hand drifting away like smoke, as if reluctant to leave contact. Her boots barely made a sound in the damp underbrush. Her voice, still soft, carried easily behind her.

"We're close now," she said, eyes fixed ahead. "To something ancient. Something that died before time and still refuses to lie still. The swamp is its grave. Or its womb. I haven't decided yet."

She paused, just at the edge of a rise where the trees parted into an eerie clearing choked in mist. The air was denser here—heavier with promise. The very soil felt like it breathed beneath their feet.

Without turning, Serina extended her hand back behind her, palm up, as if offering Asaiah a place—not at her feet, not behind her, but beside her.

"When it stirs," she said, "when it wakes... I want it to see you first."

A heartbeat passed.

"Because between the two of us, Asaiah..." Her voice curled like smoke around her name. "You're the dangerous one."

 

[Asaiah Celwik]

Location: Dagobah
Tag: Serina Calis

Asaiah still skipped back and forth as she walked. Boundless amounts of energy was contained in her shell of a body. Her conviction, her beliefs, they were all larger than life. Larger than her, and she was forced to keep it inside. She had been managing to spread her beliefs slowly but surely though it wasn't spreading the weight. If anything it was adding more weight to her shoulders yet they didn't seem to slow her down. All that slowed her down right now was her arm. Whilst her right arm was swinging up and down through the air, her left arm covered in bandages was just clutched to her waist. To keep the useless limb out of the way, she could have gotten rid of the arm and replaced it but...the pain. It kept her alert. Kept her heart racing and kept her senses so much more finely tuned.

"...Beautiful?"

Another series of blinks. Once again, beautiful was a word she had used before. She used to think her interrogation tactics were beautiful, the way that blood sprayed through the air was beautiful, the sight of the light leaving a person's eyes as they died was down right gorgeous for her...but to call a person themselves beautiful? It was once again a concept that was strange to her. If she tried to think of it logically, it made sense. She found blood beautiful, and most beings had blood...but part of her felt like Serina didn't mean it in that aspect. It was more of a metaphysical thing that Asaiah couldn't quite wrap her head around, not yet at least.

Though as Serina brought her hand to where Asaiah kept her journal, the woman's ey es snapped wide for a moment. That reminded her of the gift she had for Serina. One that Asaiah did not have on her person but she could show it later perhaps. Depending on how the events of their adventure went, Asaiah was willing to show Serina her lair. The nest. The place where Asaiah laid her head and was at her most vulnerable.

"...I have one for you. A book that is."
Serina wasn't someone Asaiah needed to give strength to. Not like her followers, who she'd have make their first entry of their own book out of their prey's blood. No. Instead Serina was someone that Asaiah wanted to...educate was the wrong word...and so was teach...Perhaps the term she was looking for was to help enlighten Serina. Serina was a kindred spirit of course, and so it was only logical that she'd want to give the woman a token of whatever twisted bond they may have.

"I did not kill the Jedi alone. It was with a group of Bounty Hunters. I just wanted his blood. The lightsaber was a...benefit. Similarly to the people I managed to "rescue" from the carbonite prison...That was a...substantial benefit."

Their faces when she had rescued them. When she had flown them off Hoth and gave them their lives back, it had brought pure glee to the woman. Their lives were connected to her's, wrapped around her finger. She was slowly but surely making her cult. Her religion. They worshipped her and the mystery she'd spread was going to be...so precious. So valuable to her. She had to work on using them to get information eventually but for now...she was happy to let them settle back down.

Asaiah hesitated for a moment once more. The thought of the Creature being her child and her a Mother...It was a strange one to say the least. The idea that she could give life to something even when it was clear that she had already done so...But if it was her Child, she would need to work harder on giving it a name. On giving it a life. It also meant she had to get it more nutrition. Look after it like an actual child...

"My blood will be for me and my most faithful followers. Though...perhaps...I can make arrangements for others to have access to it."

Her eyes darted over towards Serina for a moment. The woman had offered her a vial of some blood in their first meeting. It was only fair that Asaiah would offer to return the favour eventually. But perhaps not yet. No. She needed to get stronger. There wasn't enough power inside of her. Not in her eyes. She had to be stronger.

After a small debate, Asaiah reached her hand out towards Serina's to step by her side. She had debated whether or not to hold out her injured hand but had stuck with her good hand. The strong one. Placing the palm of her hand down atop of Serina's as her eyes scanned ahead of her.

"...I find it hard to believe that someone who is crippled could be more dangerous than you...but I like the sound of it."​