Caged

Posted on Tue Jan 28th, 2014 @ 3:08am by Bomoor Thort & Thane

2,884 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Cells, Jericho
Timeline: Some time after "A Captivated Audience"

OLD

He felt himself being kicked and dragged but his nerves were dull and the strikes felt more like poking a bruise. Bomoor stole a glance upwards towards the wire frames that lined the corridor, upon which sat dozens of ysalamiri, stripping him of his connection to the force. Surely he could not have experienced a vision while surrounded by the lizards. Was what he had seen just his mind replaying the dark thoughts he had seen on Tython? Thoughts meant to sow distrust between himself and his closest friend. Right now, Thane was the last person he wanted to fight. This Darth Serus was just the result of a battered and weary mind.

He stared at his friend once again. While a fury burnt in his eyes, it was a passionate and righteous fury. One Bomoor wished he had the strength to summon at this moment. Perhaps it would prevent his mind from sinking into madness. Time blurred in this place and the Ithorian did not know where they were being taken. But he was sure that Zrad Rezer would not find amusement from them for long. Bomoor felt helpless – far from his home and cut off from the Force. If he died now, would he even be able to pass into the Living Force or would he simply fade into nothingness?

NEW

The smell was awful, permeating everything about him and assaulting his nostrils relentlessly. Rancid flesh, defecation and all manner of unclean materials continued to force Thane to do his utmost to hold onto what little contents were now contained within his stomach, the only food flung at him and his friend in the adjoining cell being uncooked green meat. Fearing it came from what little may have remained of the Twi'lek dancing girl they had seen mutilated by the two undersized rancors in Zrad's throne room, he had elected to not eat it.

Having long lost track of time between bouts of unconsciousness brought about by severe beatings with shock batons as well as general beatings, the former Jedi looked now at the unwashed bowl that had been thrust into his cell. Within it sat translucent brown water, bits of dirt floating at the top. Again, he had elected not to consume it, at least until he was so desperate there was no alternative. As things currently were, he decided it was better to be undernourished than slightly fuller but suffering from some dire infection, and one that would likely result in greater malnutrition anyway.

Peering over to Bomoor, he felt further angered by their 'offerings'. It was one thing to throw uncooked meat from a sentient at a Human, but quite another to taunt a herbivorous Ithorian with it. Seeing the movement of his friend now, though, he surmised he was awake, or at least conscious enough to attempt speaking to.

"I-I'm-" Thane tried coughing to allow him to speak more clearly, his throat and mouth dry (as well as thick with blood), but the effort only caused him more pain as he clutched his chest and shifted himself up against the bars of his cell, doing his best to not slump. "I'm sorry I got us... into this mess," he managed finally. His anger had remained fresh within him, but without the Force for aid and his continual physical torment, his body was not allowing him to be as furious and focused as he had been.

Looking at the Jedi Consular, he wondered how he was faring compared to him; both were certainly strong in the Force with a great connection that sustained them and aided them. It had become more a part of them than it had for many other Jedi, but knowing Bomoor's own more personal connection to the Living Force, Thane was certain it must have had a greater impact on the Ithorian.

There was some further shuffling from the cell as Bomoor was roused by Thane's voice. The Ithorian's trunk was bruised and battered and lifting it to talk was too painful in his current state. A low crackled echo came from the Consular's throats before he managed to form a word, "Sorry?", came his deep strained voice, "There's no point in regret. Not now that we have nothing..."

He paused as he tried once again to lift his eyes from the floor but, with a heavy breath, he carried on, "I feel so blind, Thane. If you died in that cage there, I would not even feel you go and, right now, death seems very likely. At least, as soon as Zrad Rezer has played whatever game he intends to play with us."

"Zrad Rezer," Thane managed with a huff, although the effort to even do that taxed him more than he would have expected, causing him to wince in pain. His mind wandered to Sev Rezer, their fellow Raptor crewman and supposed ally. He wondered if he and the others would come to their rescue, an effort that - if successful - would undoubtedly result in much gloating on Morgo's part. At her, he wanted to feel anger and betrayal, but was certain she had no foreknowledge of the ysalamiri that the Mandalorians owned.

No, he was certain they would soon be aware something had gone amiss. His connection to Bería assured him that she would become concerned when she could no longer sense him, as he had not been able to with her since their arrival here. Whilst such 'pockets' of disconnection occurred normally, the never did for this prolonged period of time.

"They'll... they'll come look-" He coughed hoarsely as he tried to continue. "-ooking for us soon," he declared to Bomoor. Not being one to seek false hope, Thane felt honest in his statement. "We just need to... to keep him amused with us long enough; we must pl-play their game." At saying that, some of his anger renewed within him, thinking of the sheer audacity Zrad and his disreputable cohorts had displayed. The Exile was a madman. Ambitious, but mad.

Whilst he was certain Bería would insist on seeking the two Jedi out, Thane was less certain of her chances of success. Were she to arrive, she too would lose her connection to the Force, taking away the talents that set her apart from others. Her chances would be increased should Sev accompany her (probably out of some wish to take revenge on Zrad, if he knew of his relative's existence here), and perhaps even by Morgo and her own unique skill-set.

Although he knew it was in vain, Thane once again tried with all his remaining might to stretch out with the Force, to try and touch something. Anything. Of course, his efforts were rewarded with absolute silence, and once again he was reminded how dependent on his innate talent he truly was - of how it truly made him what he was, of how it defined him.

On Tython, his fear made manifest was the loss of his Force connection. Without it, he was not truly any greater than the common man, brought down to a weaker level and far less capable of influencing the galaxy around him. As time had gone on and he had learnt more from the Sith holocrons, as well as developing his own ambitions and mentality further, more and more had he considered how he could turn his disillusionment with the galaxy into a drive to change things - to shape things in a way that would make the galaxy a greater place.

His Force connection, greater than the norm, was the greatest resource available to sentients, so easily squandered by the Jedi and abused by others. It needed to be focused, filtered and refined to achieve the maximum potential of both the individual and the universe about them. To have that ripped away was a tactical ploy he could appreciate being used by those with no connection - a way to level the playing field. Whilst he could respect that, it bothered him how easily it could apparently be done by those with the right resources.

Knowing that it was only temporary, however, encouraged him some. He would do everything in his power to shift the situation to their advantage, doing whatever possible to ensure they would break free from this imprisonment to take vengeance and claim the Kaiburr shard. Axion would not succeed purely because a pirate had pet ysalamiri. This is not how the story would end, Thane promised himself.

Sadly, his body was not as focused and ready as his mind was growing to be, but just as he shifted to try speaking to his friend once more, the doors to the prison parted, and figures shifted beyond the bars in the darkness.

A gruff laughter resonated in the room as two of Zrad’s men entered with blaster rifles limp at their sides. In any other instance, the two Force-users could have easily pulled the weapons away from their hands with the Force. Perhaps the pair had never witnessed a Jedi’s power or perhaps they simply knew how disabled their captives were without their connection. Either way, they showed no concern as they strode into the room and took a seat at the table in front of the cells.

One of the men, a bald man with scratch scars along the back of his skull, angled his wide grin at Bomoor’s cell, “What’s the matter Slug-head? Don’t like your dinner?” came his croaky voice. The man got up and and kicked the meat further towards the Ithorian, “Go on, you can at least eat the green on the outside, huh? You’re gonna need all the energy you can muster.”

Once again, Bomoor made an effort to lift his head. This time he managed to angle it towards the man. He gave him a hard look. Without being able to read his surface emotion, the Jedi could only stare at the man’s sinister grin. He doubted there was much to read apart from a twisted self-satisfaction in his actions and a deep fear of his master. Such a mind could be swayed at a whim through the Force.

Bomoor lay his head back down without making any reply. He was scared and angry but, most-of-all, he was very tired. While he hated being here, he had been coming to enjoy his life with the crew of the Red Raptor. Being a Jedi had made him a better person but being on that ship with Thane had allowed him to develop a deeper understanding of the universe. He did not resent his decision to go with Thane on this mission but he did resent that he had let it come to an end without him making some effort to use what he had learned - perhaps at least to teach Bería how to nurture the Living Force and not simply draw from it.

He knew Thane had changed too. It was a different change. He had sharpened his form and tightened his focus. He actually felt as though his friend was happier too which had alleviated the concerns the Jedi had placed upon him about the draw of the Dark Side. While Bomoor’s personal contact with the holocrons had been brief, the questions they had thrown at him had certainly widened his view of the Universe.

By now the other guard had stepped forward. He was a dark green Trandoshan, “Perhaps Human will have more fight, eh?” he growled, gripping a bar of Thane’s cage with a scaly hand, “What you say, Human? You ready to earn back score in battle?”

"In... in battle?" Thane croaked, although he mustered what he could of his strength to try and give some impression of formality, despite his excessive hatred of the creatures before him and his own weakened state. His mind raced to the image of the rancors that had been caged, used and abused in Zrad's throne room, the stench of rotting flesh and fear that permeated everything about that sickening chamber.

He thought of the many that must have died in there for the amusement of Zrad and his many men; the screams, tearing of flesh and snapping of bone that must have so delighted their demented minds and fuelled their twisted fantasies. It was a pointless waste, entirely gratuitous and barbaric, entirely as the Caanan and most of the civilised galaxy viewed the self-named 'True' Mandalorians. Theirs was a devotion to all that is base, prettied up within a childish ideology to satisfy whatever peculiar morality constituted their conscience (if they even had such a thing).

With eyes that reddened with fatigue and illness about their paling blue cores, Thane managed to hold a dry and painful stare upon the Trandoshan, now met with yet another fleshy stench in the form of the creature's breath. Were any food remaining within his bowels, he was certain it would have gone on a return trip. He knew it would be pointless to enquire as if they were to receive anything for putting on a show, but one point bothered him deeply.

"Y-your master said... said we were to be used for... for credits..." He finally managed to ease out, slower with his speech to ensure the words were appropriately formed, but found his focus was beginning to wane once again, even though there was something new to focus on. His head was thumping, both from weariness and his beatings, but Thane did what he could to restore some measure of precision. He had to get what he could from this, if there was indeed anything to get.

His head lolling slightly, he spotted Bomoor, and once again found some semblance of fury help him restore some drive. As best he could, he declared, "Your beasts would t-t-tear us apart in this... this state... and then... then y-you'd have nothing!"

"We only really need one o' you alive," the dishevelled human spoke again. He was now sitting back at the table, picking a scab on his arm, "Zrad knows how to handle hostages. People start payin' attention if captives start dyin'. Shows em' he's serious."

With a satisfied grunt from the man, the scab came off. After a quick glance at his handiwork, he flicked it away into Bomoor's cell. He now directed his attention to Thane once again, "Besides, he's not that concerned with the credits. He'd relish the chance to kill another Jedi and I'm dying to see some blood spilt."

The Trandoshan gave a gruff laugh, "Is best for you anyway. To die in battle better than shameful death in captivity. Scorekeeper will judge you in death."

The human kicked out at his companion from his seat. "Shut up about those stupid scores, would ya? It don't matter once they're dead. Best we can hope is a bit o' sport out of em'." His eyes then lit up as an idea apparently found its way through the murk and mire of his simplistic brain, having scrabbled to the surface with such power that a lopsided smile even formed on his cracked and dirty lips.

"I just 'ad an idea!" He exclaimed, clicking his finger and thumb as he rose from his chair. "We could dose 'em up with stims! Boss' got an 'ole load of 'em stored up for summin' big an' fun. We might as well jab these two up and 'ave ourselves a little ring match." His eyes then wandered up to the ceiling, imagining something even greater. "Might even make a few creds whilst we're at it!"

Thane was not surprised, but it did not stop his eyes from darting to his Ithorian friend, his concern for their well-being and longevity increasing. Even in his wearied state, he had committed himself to playing whatever games these cretins insisted on forcing upon them; anything that would prolong their existence on the mortal plane increased their chances of survival and rescue, but this proposed battle would certainly be the end of one of them. Probably him.

"If we-" The Human strained a cough out, his chest scratching and thumping in pain with the effort. "If we refuse?" He demanded of them, gripping one of the bars to better angle himself - another thing that caused excessive and near-intolerable pain to rush through his body. Barely able to get his eyes to focus on their jailers, Thane was convinced many of his ribs were broken, or at least greatly bruised. He retched, but his empty stomach provided nothing as he once again slumped, knocking his head on another bar in the process.

The Trandoshan held his head next to the cage, his dirty-green scales now inches away from Thane's own ragged exterior, "There is no refusal. Cannot run from your own shame. Indeed, fight is the only way to redeem score."

With that, he ran a claw swiftly down one of the bars creating a piercing squeal. Neither of the force-deprived captives found the energy to flinch but the sound rattled the man at the table, "Right then," he leapt up, "Enough talk. Let's get some men together and have some fun with our new pets."

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