The Preceding Pride
Posted on Tue Aug 6th, 2013 @ 1:59am by Thane & Morgo Le'Shaad
Edited on on Tue May 29th, 2018 @ 3:41pm
5,557 words; about a 28 minute read
Chapter:
Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Cells, Jericho
Timeline: After the upcoming "Caged"/Pre-Mission
Author's Note: This post is set both during Thane and Bomoor's incarceration on Jericho and before, when getting information of their destination whilst still on board the vessel. As such, it will reference events that happen during their imprisonment that may yet not have been revealed in posts at the time of submission, but will hopefully (dependent on participation) be out soon enough.
-----
Thane was struggling to focus, his mind was swimming, and with it, his surroundings. Of his senses, only smell seemed to be serving him faithfully, as the rancid stench of decaying flesh the former Jedi knew to be coming from an adjacent Jericho cell - now occupied by feral canines but recently home to another of Zrad Rezer's many nameless prisoners - assaulted his broken and bloodied nose.
Try as he might, the heir to the Caanan throne could not sit himself up straight, a combination of his restraints and his dire weakness preventing him from properly shifting his weight, or even allowing him enough comfort to get proper rest. When he did doze off, it was not a sleep, but an unconsciousness brought about by severe fatigue and excessive physical and mental assault; his body was battered and his mind struggling to refine any images and words into proper thoughts, as the pain that throbbed throughout him joined with his other damaged sensations to prevent anything truly coherent from forming.
Anything but anger, anyway.
After a few minutes, a swell of determination seemed to build from deep within, and Thane thought for a moment that the Force had returned to him - perhaps even just briefly - but knew that could not be so, but he was nevertheless able to pull himself forward and stretch his hand out to claim the pitiful bowl of tepid water that had been lazily shoved into his cell.
Of course, it was just out of reach, and he found himself slumping forward into the ages-old dirt that covered the metal floor of his prison, spluttering slightly as his reddened and weary eyes sighted his mutilated left hand. Dried blood was encrusted around the knuckle that once sat at the base of his little finger, unwashed around beneath where they had used his own lightsaber to cauterise the maimed area following the slicing off of the digit with that blunted blade.
A deep groan came from within him as he stared at where his finger had once been, further focus returning to him as he grew more agitated. There was no specific pain in the area, likely because of the general pain he was suffering throughout, but based on the throbbing and heat of the area, Thane was certain he had an infection.
An infection the Force could rid me of, he thought bitterly, trying and failing to muster the physical strength to even clench the fist, swollen as it was. Looking about him as best he could, he could barely make out objects beyond his cell in the dimmed light. Bomoor had been taken, he surmised, for whatever enjoyment they sought to gain through his belittlement.
Thinking of his Ithorian friend suffering a fate anything like his, his ire began to build up, but he simply could not shout out as he had when this whole affair began. If he had only been more thorough, this would not have happened; if he had known of the ysalamiri and Zrad Rezer, they would never be here, like this. Animals cooped up for torture and whatever ransom they had been promised by the Hutts or Axion.
Remembering when he had first been told of this potential lead, he lamented at how they had jumped at it - the first bit of news they had had of any Kaiburr shard or link to Axion since their hunt had truly begun, and sitting here now, given how he had come by that information, he did not even know if Morgo, the only one who truly knew of where they may well be, would even consider helping him.
He had not wished for things to be so with the duchess, as he did have a respect for her, but with her manner and demeanour, it practically goaded him into taking a firm and unpopular stance with her to achieve his goals - a betrayal, of sorts, of the way he wished to handle things with her. She did not understand trust, as far as he knew, having been so wrapped up in court intrigue and betrayal for so many years - something he had been 'spared' with the Jedi - and had become twisted and bitter in a unique way.
And as he began to lose focus once again, his anger subsiding with another wave of nausea and confusion, Thane's mind touched upon the fact that their fate may well rest upon that twisted and bitter woman's shoulders.
The Red Raptor, Some Time Before
The last conversation (which, really, was not a particularly appropriate word for it) Thane had 'enjoyed' with Morgo had left a very bitter taste in his mouth and a decline in his regard to the duches; that keen intelligence, sharp wit, interesting history and useful skill-set had very quickly appeared far less appealing, with the woman herself seeming more of a burden than a blessing now - particularly considering the fact she obviously viewed herself as being quite the opposite.
Even so, whilst he had tried to play the situation to sound more cordial when he had approached her for assistance, he had practically been forced to shift it into a subtle threat, making clear her tenuous position on the Red Raptor in order to tangle her into their mission against Axion and his cult's hunt for the Kaiburr crystal shards.
It was not something he had wanted to do, particularly not to someone he had respected or one he had hoped to keep as an equal (imagining full well what highlighting her position would make her feel like), but it had become the pragmatic thing to do. He also, in Morgo's own words, recognised how he was becoming more of a "heartless bastard", but also recognised how easily that sat with him.
He was becoming more efficient, setting aside some of the learned behaviours the Reborn Jedi Order and others in society had encouraged within him, in exchange for a tack that felt far more...
...natural, he decided as he stepped up to the sealed door into the medbay. Having left the Raptor in Sev's capable hands as they piloted on to their next hopeful destination - of which they had had many dead ends - Thane could feel the starkly semi-absent Force presence, something which was difficult to describe to a non-Force user, of Morgo Le'Shaad within, and promptly but politely knocked on the door.
There were a few moments of silence that Thane had to weather before the Medical Bay doors slid open, revealing none other than Morgo, her gloved hand on the control panel, personally open the door, her long hair done up in a perfect bun at the nape of her neck
Sharp eyes alighting on Thane's face, Morgo smiled, "Ah. Thane."
She had been expecting him.
Thane's eyes narrowed at the smile, distrusting it upon her elegant features following their last meeting. Even so, he maintained a polite, slightly professional demeanour as he stood on his side of the door. "Will I be able to ask if there has been any progress on the matter we discussed the other day and get a straightforward answer without any 'Morgo games'?" He asked simply.
With no wish to enter the medbay and to be annoyed by her particular ways or to cause her any annoyance because of them, the Jedi made no request to enter but instead stood where he was, his annoyance slightly balanced by an unwanted amusement at her odd height, although he contained that particular one with ease - a talent learned after years of inward amusement and/or annoyance at nearly every Jedi Master during his years of learning.
“I won’t play games with you, Thane.” Morgo answered, blinking slowly, slipping her gloves off, “Not when other things require my attention. You'll be pleased to know, however, that there have been developments in the matter of the information you seek.”
Reaching into her blue sleeve, Morgo retrieved a small slip of folded paper, holding it out to Thane between the tips of two fingers, the red of her lacquered fingernails a dark burgundy in the shadow of the corridor. On the sheet was the precise coordinates of the former penal colony Daneel Dreyfus had described to her in their conversation, scrawled out in her elegant script.
As Morgo watched Thane—mapping out the angles of his face, the slope of his brows, noting his dark brown hair was longer than it had been when she’d first met him, meeting his eyes, seemingly ever shifting from grey to blue and back—Morgo’s smile grew warmer, her eyes glinting, betraying none of the things that simmered just beneath her skin.
She thought to herself how easy it would be to give Thane the wrong coordinates. How easy it would be to lay a trap, to lie through her smile about the minimal security measures they would encounter, the ease of access she could assure him of. How easy it would be to lead this man to his death, with just a lie.
It was a bit of tragedy that she could not. Not while he remained such a… prime specimen.
For just a moment, Thane watched her, searching her own steely grey eyes for any hint of malice or mischief - beyond the norm she radiated - but could decipher none for certain, and what little trace in the Force she emanated proved of little help. However, in a peculiar way, he almost preferred that in her; here was a person he could not simply pick apart through raw Force talent or be privy to the personal thoughts of, but rather someone who required more effort and understanding - someone who forced him to rely on other talents, or more appropriately, forced him to cultivate other talents.
As annoyed as he remained at the manner by which she often conducted herself and retorted to things, somewhat cheapening his initial thoughts on her, Thane was still impressed by her intelligence and grace in the way she handled herself, but it would be a pleasant change should she learn she was no longer in the Dromachean court, suffering odd intrigues that meant little to the rest of the galaxy. Those were talents she should keep, certainly, but were not necessary now.
"Thank you," he said as he took the piece of paper, his own pale hands currently gloved, although he partly wished to remove them to feel the paper between his fingertips. It was rare to find others who shared his preference for this manner of communication and storage of information, but he appreciated the more practical application for official purposes.
Opening the note, he looked at Morgo's elegant handwriting, all of the letters perfectly formed, the slopes and curvature of her style excellent - particularly considering she had written it in High Galactic. Looking up from the coordinates to her now, he wondered whether it was just to parse his knowledge of the ancient language as a highborn taken from his home, or simply for her own amusement or preference, but he decided it was ultimately unimportant.
"Will you join me?" Thane asked, motioning towards the rec room where the holoprojector sat, where he would input the data. His understanding of galactic mapping led him to know of the general location of the coordinates, in the vicinity of Dantooine, but the area was politically turbulent, and the location itself - in its present coordinate form - really meant very little to him.
"Of course."
Morgo's first instinct was to refuse. Spending any more time than necessary with Thane increased the likelihood of their interactions devolving into spiteful sniping, which was something that Morgo (while she enjoyed it), would rather not engage in. Not while she has something as delightful as Berry's blood sitting under her microscope, just behind her.
But there was definite merit in knowing what Thane planned to do with the coordinates given to him, knowing his thoughts, and it was possible he would mention such plans if she accompanied him. After all, such information wouldn't volunteer itself while she huddled away in her laboratory.
So stepping out from the doorway and letting the doors close, locking with a finite click, Morgo smiled accommodatingly and inclined her head, allowing Thane to lead on.
And if he was put off by her strange cordiality with him presently, so different than the tenor of their last encounter, Morgo paid it no mind. She'd tried honesty with him once, shown him a little of what was behind all the masks and veils of politeness that high society had instilled in her, and the man had reacted by threatening her. Not at first, no. But
Still, a part of her was almost unbearably smug about getting Thane to show the ugly face of his personality. Perhaps his true face. Deep down, Thane wasn't a nice man, no matter his Jedi background or his proper mannerisms. Morgo had suspected it the moment she'd spoken with him back at the opera house. It was nice to have been proven right.
It was also nice that Morgo's respect for Thane had doubled, since that day he'd subtly threatened her in his cabin. The man was driven . And Morgo approved of this development in Thane. Quite Sith like. Even if it was grievously unfortunate that it had been directed at her .
As they drew into the recreation room, the table-like holoprojector sat in the centre, Thane noted only the faintest of smells permeating the air about them. Since the sudden departure of the enigmatic Kip Hoddai, the room had been absent of the interesting and often spicy aromas of the Devaronian's inspired cooking. Whilst Thane had not trusted the man since encountering him in Nar Shaddaa, as well as finding his political and ethical standpoint thoroughly annoying, he noted his absence with a certain upset, as he had proven his worth on numerous occasions, and was definitely an accomplished chef.
Looking just briefly over at the cooking area, Thane nevertheless decided things would probably be better without his presence ultimately. Being as hidden as he was, Kip would likely have ended up being an obstacle at an awkward time to him. Now, however, there was a different obstacle to shift around.
Activating the projector, he entered the coordinates from the paper. In a few short seconds, a blue light emanated from the table, and a spherical holographic map of the known galaxy expanded before them, hanging in mid-air and spinning ever so slowly. The infuriating astromech droid that zipped about the Red Raptor had, admittedly, served one of its purposes well in keeping the charts up-to-date, as when Thane activated the political overlay, everything appeared as recent as his own memory on the subject.
By far the largest 'blob' on the galactic star map was the Third Galactic Republic, its control dictated by blue shading, whilst the spheres of influence of the Bastion Moff Empire was red, Manda'toma's green, the Hutt Cartel as brown, the Chiss Ascendency as blue and the Outer Rim Alliance, whilst now formally a regional province within the Republic, was purple. Certainly, it made for a very peculiar image with the various colours and shapes, but it certainly helped to clarify the current political atmosphere.
Morgo's coordinates, as Thane had surmised, were certainly between the red of Bastion's domain and the green of Manda'toma, situated far from any major or minor trade routes in a relatively unimportant star system. Entering some commands into the console, details of the location appeared before them. "A former Imperial penal colony," he explained with interest, "taken during the Fourth Bastion War by the Mandalorians, and lost again around the time of the Fifth." Thane stepped back from the console and crossed his arms, looking up at the display as a whole.
"That region of space is a prime location for Mandalorian Exile raids; it's bound to be in their possession." He now looked to the other Human, but nodded to the image. "I'm to trust you aren't to try and lead me into some trap, or to be butchered at the hands of the Exiles?" Even as he asked the question, he noted that Morgo would obviously not declare any such thing was a trap, or that he would simply have to trust what little information he now had, perhaps citing that her sources would be genuine or other some such. Ultimately, he knew this was an advantage she would now have over him, and he had no way of knowing for certain. Thane would, even if he did not want to, have to trust in the information he had been given.
"Yes. You are to trust me." Morgo replied smoothly, her head tilting lightly as half lidded eyes smiled at Thane and his predicament, "It is a terrible feeling, truly. To have to depend on someone you'd rather not. Even if just the once." Eyes leaving him to study the holographic display, the corner of her mouth kicked up, "I wholly sympathize."
Her gaze traveled from star system to star system, resting for a moment on the Dromachean system, on her homeworld, it's two moons Cepheus and Cassiopeia, where she was imprisoned, and on Dromache's sun, Skaadi. Named by the Jotunn ice giants of her world. In their language, Skaadi meant "harm". All a matter of perspective, she supposed.
Eventually, Morgo contemplated the lone world of Korriban, which Daneel was now excavating—the man from which the coordinates had come.
Morgo's mind eventually returned to the matter at hand, and the old imperial penal colony Thane was now staring at. Patiently, she waited for his questions, of which she was sure there were a few. Any sane man going into hostile territory would want as much information as possible before proceeding. And alas, Morgo was sure that Thane was quite sane.
"And what of the source from which this information came?" He then asked, not looking away from the holographic display, his eyes seeming starkly darker against his skin, which itself seemed paler than it had some weeks before. "I gather it came from some fool enamoured by or indebted to you somewhere along the line, wishing to earn your poisoned favour?" Thane now looked back to Morgo, once again sizing her up and looking to drink in any discernible signals. "Ultimately though," he then said with slight resignation, "I suppose it doesn't matter greatly; I can't imagine you'd keep sources that would so easily betray you, given the respectable bounty you currently command from the authorities for your capture."
The former Jedi had not said it out of spite, but more as his reasoning said aloud, as well as deciding not to enquire any further about the penal colony. He doubted it would be something she knew a great deal about, and was information he imagined he could discover for himself. Thane had relied enough on Morgo as it was, and although he acknowledged the notion she was partly in his debt and under his sway to an extent, he was still grateful for the information.
Looking at her now for a few long seconds, he then decided against thanking her too genuinely, and instead looked back to the holographic display, although he now focused on the image as a whole - on the great blue mass that was the Third Galactic Republic. Seeing it now and knowing it for what it was, he could feel his fists threatening to clench, and a small knot tugged in his abdomen.
"The New Golden Age of the Republic," he said with bitter irony, shaking his head slightly. "A galaxy wasted in the name of democracy and the supposed rights of the individual. Whilst simultaneously pandering to the corporations, of course. It's remarkable how a government labelling itself and its people so civilised manage to take so many steps backwards in the evolutionary chain."
Morgo gave Thane an amused look, "Evolution, by definition, is nature's game of survival, Thane. You mistake the state of being 'civilized' as equating evolutionary fitness, which is not always the case. And being a game of survival, from what I can see, those in the government are doing a splendid job of it." Morgo said evenly, her words not particularly meant to spark ire, eyes flicking to the holomap, "But I can't see why you'd care that the government is less than perfect."
After all, Thane had never really struck her as a man who cared about the fate of the universe, "And if you must know, my contact is Daneel of House Dreyfus. A competent and a good man. Bomoor would sooner betray you than Daneel betray me. The information I gave you is quite sound."
Notably, Morgo did not say the opposite, for while she was sure of the depths of the Ithorian's devotion to Thane, Morgo could not say the same for Thane. He seemed to be an ambitious man. And an ambitious man could not afford to be loyal when betrayal was the name of the game. The Sith game.
Thane nodded at her words on her source, believing her and quietly grateful for her honesty on the matter, but he found himself drawn to her previous point. "I'll concede to your point on their continued success in the game of survival," he admitted, "but perhaps we have different perspectives of evolution and being civilised. I won't deny these particular individuals have done a grand job of evolving their own particular methods for survival, but at the cost of the galaxy's own evolution, and not just in terms of survival; evolution, to me at least, is not simply learning how to talk your way out of a bad situation, or even cutting your way through a horde of would-be captors."
Forming a grimace on his face, Thane began to step slowly away from Morgo, now pacing about the holographic display of their galaxy. "That sort of evolution makes you either prey - a grazing beast that has almost perfected evasion of predators, or a predator - that very creature that has almost perfected hunting the grazing prey... but it doesn't make you top of the food chain. These people," he said, gesturing towards the centre of the Republic to Coruscant, "have forged a nation in which the strong, powerful and intelligent are vilified and had their potential left untapped, brought down to the level of the lowest common denominator to make the general public feel happier about themselves, ensuring they are re-elected by masses who mustn't feel as though their less-than-modest ability is threatened by superiority... whilst the real power, of course, is viciously protected in the commercial industry, where it is handed down through simple inheritance rather than ability."
Pausing now once again next to Morgo, he let a small smile creep across one side of his face, one of sarcasm and dismay. "Of course, I won't stand around boring you all day with my disillusioned rhetoric, pointing out the obvious to an intelligent mind, but I'm sure you can see how I tired of defending a system I do not believe deserves defending." Admittedly, whilst he felt somewhat foolish in his rant and was fully aware of how it could be perceived by another, the Caanan nevertheless believed in what he had said and felt justified.
Morgo’s expression showed not an inkling of the dry amusement that would normally paint her features, her face a perfect mask of intrigued attentiveness, the one she found most conducive to conversation.
“Well, as far as I can tell, as a Jedi gone rogue you are no longer obligated to defend the Republic if you no longer wish to—in combat or in word.” Morgo stated, angling her body towards Thane, her gray, side-long gaze fixed on him.
“But I’m curious to know why you think the Republic is hampering the evolution of the galaxy. You say that these people have created a system in which the strong, powerful and intelligent are vilified, forced into an equality that ultimately stunts their potential. But if it is truly evolution you speak of, where the fittest rise, is it not up to these supposedly strong and intelligent to do so themselves? If they are so powerful, so smart, they would find a way to rise from the grazing masses. And if they cannot, as you suggest is the fault of the government, does that not also point to the possibility that perhaps, they are simply not as intelligent and full of such potential as you initially thought?"
Morgo turned her eyes to the bright jewel that was Coruscant, long fingers pushing a lock of dark gold hair behind the shell of her ear, her voice light, contemplative, “You make it sound like the government should help these talented few rise to places of power, when perhaps, if they cannot find a way themselves, it is possible they do not deserve it.”
And after a few moments of silence, Morgo’s low chuckle reverberated through the air, slender hand waving absently, as if to shoo away a vagrant thought, “And if the system is truly so debilitating to these precious few that they simplycannot find a way to rise, then perhaps they should bring their collective minds together and rebel. That is the way of things, the gradual change of time. The galaxy must want this idea enough to fight for it. It is a decision that, most times, they must come to make themselves.”
Slowly blinking, the woman considered Thane, reading into what he’d said and connecting the dots in her mind. She’d heard this kind of talk before, read of many speeches similar to his. All such words were always the preamble before bleeding into larger ideas…and even larger actions. Escalation was only a matter of time for those with the power to induce change.
Pupils mere pinpoints in twin seas of silver, Morgo’s gaze was lazy, belying a sharp watchfulness, “But it sounds like you want to make the decision for them.”
At that, Thane gave Morgo a long, dark look, before pulling away and replying, "'Even a Sith Lord can be felled by a thousand enemies'," he quoted Darth Bane, "which, whilst that isn't strictly true given the number who have been cut down by single Jedi, serves as a decent comparison to those you claim should be able to rise to such positions of authority, lest they not actually be as able one might believe. Of course, any government will declare that it prizes intelligence, whilst all the while not supporting anything of the sort, effectively inflating intelligence by easing the difficulty of common education for the masses."
He gestured to Coruscant. "Those who are indeed capable of engineering themselves into or achieving high-up positions tend to then surrender themselves to this system, reinforcing a very sordid status quo that appeals to people's base culture. Many probably start defending democracy as a beautiful system, whilst many others go on to become leading figures in business. Ultimately, they are not aiding the galaxy's evolution but only their own. If anything, as I said before, it is at the cost of the galaxy's development." Thane shook his head, dismayed. "They are squandering their talents, and in turn squandering the world around them."
Leaning forward and resting his palms upon the edge of the holoprojector, his face became tinted with the blue light coming from the galactic image, giving his pale face an almost ethereal appearance. "Sometimes," he said in a slight whisper, "yes, I do feel I want to make the decision for them... but that is a particularly dark path to consider. It's one thing to be disgruntled with a system, and another to declare one's self qualified to rule on a galactic level."
And as things currently stood, he thought to himself, there were scant resources or support currently available to him, as well as his own current objectives... but gathering such support certainly did not appear an impossibility. Besides, considering the state the Third Republic was quickly hurtling towards being, there were many angles that could be played. After all, it had been done before.
Try as he now might, however, to put some of these darker thoughts to one side, his eyes narrowed upon Caanus.
“You do the legacy of the Sith proud.” Morgo said dryly, noting Thane’s particular fixation with his homeworld Caanus, “I’m sure both your dark masters will be bursting with the closest thing they can manage to joy to know they’re one and only hope is settling for disgruntlement.”
Yet as Sith Lords, Bane and Krayt were old friends to disappointment. Morgo inwardly smirked to remember when her father had told her amidst their lessons, that the only thing that truly bound all members of the Sith together, other than the Dark Side of the Force, was their mutual disappointment in something.
And apparently, Thane here was disappointed in the state of the galaxy, and the Jedi Order. As of yet, perhaps because he’d never truly thought about that particular path, it seemed he was unwilling to take that further step to take matters into his own hands—but he would. In time. According to calculations Morgo had internalized regarding the rate of Thane’s….’progression’ in the Dark Side, the equation of his descent predicted an epiphany of sorts in a year or two, where Thane would truly embrace the Dark Side of the Force, not just dabble in it. Possibly three years, if Morgo factored in the Light side influence of Bomoor, who seemed to act like a soothing balm to Thane’s darker inclinations, bringing out the valor in him.
Under her breath, Morgo tsked.
Thane would progress steadily until that epiphany point, unless the discovery of a third Sith holocron expedited that process...or unless Thane was made to suffer in a sufficiently harrowing experience before then (a misfortune that most of the Sith, and their students, were prone to experience before turning Sith), triggering Thane’s transformation prematurely.
It was then that, perhaps, Thane would consider single-handedly changing the galaxy possible. But that was a ways off. And if Thane never truly took that next step...well, that was acceptable as well, Morgo supposed.
The lone Dark Lord of the Sith taking over the galaxy through brute force or subterfuge was an old story, overdone by the half of it. If Thane chose to never fully fall to the Dark Side, that would truly be a twist in the story. And of course, the galaxy always delighted so in the variation of an old tale.
Pulling out of her inner musings, Morgo gave Thane one look and decided against staying. She’d collected enough information from Thane to sufficiently add to her study of him. There was nothing more to be gained by lingering.
Thane had that particular look about his face that, in Morgo’s experience, usually precipitated brooding . Not that a possible future Sith Lord’s brooding wasn’t absolutely riveting stuff (ha), but Morgo had better things to do than to sit around and catalog the twitch of his brow or the particular flare of his nose when some part of the galactic holomap inevitably brought on more disgruntling thoughts.
Stepping backwards a couple steps before inclining her head slightly, Morgo spoke, “Now if you’ll excuse me, my laboratory calls to me.” And smirking lightly, the first twitch of her expression beyond perfected politeness during their conversation, Morgo’s voice was smooth, “Now would most likely be the time when a fellow crew member would wish you luck, but seeing as how I neither believe in such an idiotic construct, nor wish you any such things, I will simply say... goodbye.”
Wine red lips smiling in that unsettling way that never managed to reach her eyes, Morgo turned, her dark blonde hair shining under the room’s light, “When you die—pardon me— if you die, I suppose you should know I’ll be taking your holocrons.”
And with that, Morgo left, disappearing down the corridor like a specter of blue and white.
RSS Feed