A Captivated Audience

Posted on Sat Apr 20th, 2013 @ 5:54am by Bomoor Thort & Thane & Zrad Rezer†

2,774 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Jericho
Timeline: Three months after Chapter III (Day One)

Jeering. Jeering and the extreme pain throbbing throughout his whole body was all Thane could sense at the moment. All he could sense. The Force was lost to him; he could not feel those about him, he had been clumsier with his lightsaber and had not been able to call on the Force to defend himself.

And now, with a thick and stench-ridden bag pulled over his head as his captors half-dragged and half-led him along a hard floor, he could see nothing, but there was clearly a fair number of people all about him.

He could certainly make out the sound of Bomoor's own body being dragged. The Ithorian, whilst conscious, was larger and heftier than Thane, and their enemy was having a harder time pulling him along. The last he had seen of his friend, they were smacking him with shock batons, so he doubted Bomoor could move well under his own efforts, if even at all.

At the thought of his friend's pain, which he was certain exceeded his own, Thane's inner rage grew. None of his usual Force techniques to control his feelings or focus his energy were working, nullified by whatever was in this place, yet he managed to not give in to the feelings.

Paying heed to the teachings of Krayt's holocron, many of which focused on more delicately harnessing one's inner darkness, he tried to temper the urged, even if not fuelled by the Force. There would be no purpose in trying to resist now. Without the Force, Thane was blind, and it was better to live to fight another day than be torn apart in a futile attempt at escape, particularly given he knew nothing of the area's layout or what other defences were present.

"Where are you taking us?" He demanded, mustering his most Caanan voice and attempting to stand slightly taller, but his captors smacked at his legs with one of the shock batons, and extreme pain shot through him, his muscles spasming and tightening, knocking him to the floor. They wasted no time in kicking him forwards and then dragging him up by the rope tied about his wrists.

The warmth of blood could be felt under his clothes where the rope tore into his flesh, but he did not noticed it with the agonising pain of the electricity. Even sensations of pain seemed all the more palpable without the sword and shield of the Force.

As his senses returned slightly, he heard their enemies barking to each other, but Thane could not tell what they were saying through his bag, only just realising he had bitten his tongue during the electrocution. Anger returned once more as he considered that one of them had his lightsaber, one of his most prized and personal possessions, and were smearing it with their dirtied and pathetic hands.

That said, the fact he had been captured by these dirty and pathetic people was not lost on him, and that embarrassment only incensed him more, gritting his teeth tightly.

To his left, Bomoor was in very much the same condition. Bruised and battered with a large, filthy bag covering the majority of his head and trunk. His attempts to draw strength from the Force were futile and he felt more exhausted than he had ever felt before. The shock batons had left him flitting in and out of consciousness, only waking when thrown to the ground by his captors or when his head struck against some object on their journey.

His disoriented thoughts fell upon Thane, whom he knew had also been taken. When he had tried to call out he was just beaten again so he had fallen into silence, listening out for sounds of Thane as he could no longer feel him through the Force.

Some more shouting came from their captors, and then the sound of metal grinding against metal, indicative of a heavy door opening. The second it did, Thane and Bomoor were met by even more cheers, and what sounded like animal cries and the banging of things on the floor and walls.

After being shoved hard forward so that he fell onto his knees, Thane was then smacked around the back of his head with something metal, making him collapse entirely to the floor, dazed and confused. A few seconds later, the disgusting material bag was torn from his head, and an even worse smell struck him, and the great noise was almost unbearable.

His nose adjusted first, breathing in the stenches of heavy sweat, poorly-cleaned floors and walls and the distinctive sickly-sweet smell of rotting flesh. A few moments later, Thane's eyes began to adjust. The poor artificial lighting was not bright, and so he very quickly acclimatised to his surroundings. Dozens of people were about them, nearly all of them men in varying degrees of warrior dress.

A notable few, he noticed, wore Mandalorian armour common to the Exiles outside of Manda'toma, but they were all cheering in their native tongues, their eyes filled with bloodlust at the sight of the two. Thane wondered if he should point out he was not officially a Jedi, but figured they probably would not care for the distinction. They just wanted them dead.

Looking about a bit more, just managing to get onto his knees, he saw two great cages on either side of the great metal door that they had obviously come from. One was filled with small yet still larger-than-humanoid rancor, crunching on the bones of a victim, whilst the other was broken into different sections, a variety of animals rushing about. A terrified Twi'lek woman was cowering in the corner, a small gate separating her from her animalistic doom.

Thane grimaced at the lack of civility of it all, the sheer barbarianism sickened him and the way they lorded over their captives, clearly thinking themselves fantastic for their squalid lives and miserable achievements. He despised them, but he soon saw where their eyes were leading.

Up in front of Bomoor and Thane was a series of steps leading up to a raised dais. A collection of bones, totems and trophies forged what appeared to be a throne. Upon was a ridiculously large suit of old, blue Mandalorian armour, with multiple heavy modifications. Thicker than the norm and clearly designed to withstand masses of firepower, Thane was not surprised when it moved, standing tall and broad, as it glared down at the two prisoners.

Thane also noted at that point the various salamander-like creatures hanging from artificial branches, the majority of which were around this Mandalorian's throne. Force-negating ysalamiri were everywhere - the source of his and Bomoor's lack of connection. And growling but staying by the Mandalorian's feet were two fearsome vornskr, bearing their dripping fangs at the two Jedi.

Tensing his muscles for all the good it would do, Thane wondered what was to happen next as the hulking great behemoth of a Mandalorian took one large step forward. Everyone seemed to quieten down at that apparent cue, all ready to see what would happen next.

"Very bold, Jedi!" His voice boomed, a deep and rich baritone full of malice and mirth simultaneously, as if dealing in death and prisoners was a game to be enjoyed yet approached with aggression. "Breaking into a True Mandalorian base by yourselves, cutting and hacking your way through my men. Seventeen you killed - impressive, particularly as your powers diminished!"

Even though he kept his helmet on, the figure turned to one of his men, and extended his hand. With caution, one of the men who had dragged Bomoor and Thane in shuffled up and passed over two lightsaber hilts.

The leader weighed them in his two hands for a moment, before igniting both the violet and viridian blades, swinging them with surprising precision.

At the sight of his weapon in the Mandalorian's hand, Thane tensed and shifted forwards for a second, but one of the guards behind him dragged him back and laughed slightly. The leader saw it, cocked his head and then threw the two hilts before Thane and Bomoor, but just out of arm's reach.

"You can have them - if you can reach them."

"You know we can't reach them," Thane simply retorted, his voice thick with hatred for the man. "You just want to toy with us."

"I'd rather just kill you both in the battlefield, but there are so few of those about now." The leader took one step down and stopped. "Tell me why you are here and what you want with me and my empire."

Bomoor's head still span as the lights in the room flew about his centre of vision. He was relieved to hear Thane's voice and that it was still strong and determined. It gave him some strength to know he was relatively okay.

"We...were..." he began to speak, his echoic voice was garbled by the swelling around his mouths and the blood in his throats and he had to stop at first before pushing on through the pain, "...not looking to engage your people. We were tracking... a rare object. It led us to your men..."

The Ithorian's eyes settled down and he got his first firm glimpse at their host. A towering humanoid, plated with thick Mandalorian metal. It was similar in design to his men, but boasted a jagged spike from one shoulder and spines along the arms that looked somewhat reptilian. He seemed to shine a brilliant golden hue in the dim amber light.

As the hulking Mandalorian glared at the Ithorian, it was as if his eyes were boring straight through his visor and into Bomoor, unsympathetic and full of violence in his heart. He took another step down towards them. "Some objects are indeed rare unlike common and loyal soldiers, who can be found anywhere for the right price or promise. However, two of the men you killed were great Mandalorian warriors, with me for years. It took all of that time to make them what they were - to make them brave and powerful soldiers. No trinket is worth that, unless you earned it through prowess!"

Bomoor twisted his neck with great discomfort in order to look at Thane, hoping he could get some reading from his face before he continued, "The deaths of your men were... unfortunate. I'm sure we would have attempted to explain our situation, given the chance. But, in the situation, we did what we had to to defend ourselves. Nothing more."

Although one of his eyes was beginning to swell, Thane kept them locked upon this great figure, piercing and unyielding, struggling not to sway where he was. "It would seem you should have made them better," he said, and as soon as he did one of his captors smacked him with that infernal baton.

At that, the large Mandalorian roared at his man in Mando'a, pulling a massive blaster from his right leg holster and blowing a fist sized hole into the jailer's abdomen, the force of the shot sending him flying backwards into another guard behind him. His lifeless body twitched atop the Rodian, who grumbled in his own language as he threw the lump off.

"Well said, Jetii," the leader then grumbled, lowering his weapon as he focused upon Thane, not even looking at the person he had just killed. "They should have been stronger, I should have trained them better. They failed, and I failed where you succeeded as a warrior, even without your fancy sorcerer's way... but you're mine now, former Jedi Knight Thane, and Jedi Knight Bomoor Thort."

As his focus once more returned to him, Thane immediately had alarm bells ringing within his mind. The stench of singed flesh was working its way up his nostrils as he tried to examine the leader. The words bled slowly into his brain, and to an extent he found himself respecting some of the sentiment, but he could not quite focus enough to formulate some philosophical thought on the matter. On top of that, he feared this man would probably be as eager he normally was to engage in verbal sparring, and would definitely be in a better state for it than he was.

"You seem to have us... have us at a disadvantage," Thane managed, steadying himself and fighting the urge to want to call upon his lightsaber with the Force, knowing such a move would be futile. He mentally cursed the ysalamiri adorning the area, the loss of Force connection a stark reminder of his terribly dark and chaotic experiences on Tython.

It would be terrible to now die, having learnt so much in the past few months and come so far with Bomoor and Bería, and even - though he was reluctant to admit it - with Morgo and Sev.

"True enough, but it is always better to have your enemy at a disadvantage in war," the leader replied, taking several slow steps towards the two imprisoned friends. "It makes it harder for them to defend against you, to plan against you. It means you win."

"You've already won," Thane replied simply.

The man laughed. "Yeah, that's true enough, too. I know who you are, not only because your pretty little face and that trunk of your friend over there has been on the HoloNet enough times, but also because there's a pretty big bounty on your heads in certain circles - in Grogga-sized circles."

At that, Thane winced and let out a slight sigh, hating Axion all the more by the minute for every piece of trouble he seemed to throw in their direction.

"And don't bother offering me any of your Caanan money - it doesn't interest me. My price really is nothing you can offer me as you are," the man went on, now towering before the pair, reaching up this helmet as he slowly pulled it off, clearly angling for more dramatic effect and flair. "Zrad Rezer deals in something entirely different."

His helmet removed and clear of his head, Zrad's face was an eerie echo of one they knew well. As if chiselled from stone, the square-jawed Mandalorian's face was worn with a few old scars across it. Beneath arching grey eyebrows matched in colour by his hair, surprisingly intelligent icy blue eyes were pulling Thane and Bomoor apart.

The revelation of his bloodline not visibly affecting Thane, who instead found himself growing ever more curious about his ties to Sev. No doubt, the Mandalorian bounty hunter would have a great deal to say about this erstwhile relative, and certainly nothing positive. After all, Sev was not an Exile. He said nothing of his knowledge of Sev to Zrad, but merely kept eye contact with their captor, silently fuming with the focused and pure emotions the Sith holocrons had been espousing. At least not being killed now, as Darth Bane had said, and being kept a captive meant a greater chance of escape later - if they were not perpetually beaten and bloodied.

This was not how Thane was going to let things end.

Bomoor, now feeling some of the sensation coming back to his lower body, propped himself up on the cold, dusty floor. However, his Force sensation was still nullified, leaving him reliant on his damaged physical senses to grasp the situation. The separation from the Force was particularly hard on the Ithorian who had grown up with a strong affinity to the Living Force. The void he felt now added an extra level of fear to the situation, like walking without direction through the misty swaps of Dagobah.

"I'm sure we have nothing to offer you of interest. You have already taken our weapons and what little else we carried," Even saying this, he could tell that Zred was a man who could squeeze some kind of self-satisfaction out of anyone, so long as they were at his mercy, "I can certainly assure you that we will not become another caged spectacle for your pleasure."

Zrad grinned, an affectation that did not suit his battle-hardened visage. "Your time here will be very short, don't you worry about that, Jetii. We'll just have to see who's more interested in you - the Hutts... or Axion." He patted Bomoor's back heavily with a gloved hand. Then, with long, powerful and confident strides, the large Mandalorian placed his helmet under one arm as he marched with purpose off behind them before his booming voice then called back to them.

"Welcome to Jericho, boys!"

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