Sentinel

Posted on Tue Apr 28th, 2015 @ 2:47am by Thane & Loren† & Bomoor Thort & Morgo Le'Shaad

4,366 words; about a 22 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Lower Levels, Jericho
Timeline: After "Blood from a Stone"

OLD

As the doors parted, a rush of fresher air surged forth to greet the three intruders, although the scent of burnt ozone tingled the senses. Taking one step forward, Thane suddenly stopped himself, as what little colour remained his pale face drained and all of his newfound spirit evaporated.

Just beyond the doorway, a golden blade of shimmering light held high and humming, stood a leather-clad female figure just shy of the rogue Jedi's height, the barest hint of a smile playing across her lips as she sighted him. "Hello, Thane."

"Loren."

NEW


Half her figure hidden behind Bomoor's thick frame, Morgo stood still, one startlingly pale eye peering beyond the Ithorian's arm to the woman in the doorway.

With plain, brown hair framing her slim face, strands of it hung in braids. Past the emerging lines on her face, Morgo recognized beauty, dimmed perhaps by time and age, but ever present in her strong features. Set in her small face were two eyes of clear blue, striking in their warmth as they looked upon Thane—Thane who stood so deathly still, as if it were a ghost before him.

Discerning eyes trailed from the back of Thane's matted head to the tight light of his shoulders, drawn back in obvious tension. Be it from shock or something else, it was obvious that he knew this 'Loren', and from the subtle forward tilt of his head, Morgo would even posit that there was unspoken history lingering there between them. Morgo's eyes narrowed at the yellow glow of the woman's lightsaber, illuminating the space between herself and Thane with golden light. The hue of her blade named the new woman not only a Jedi, but a Sentinel, skilled in combat, stealth and Jedi lore. Looking from the woman, to Thane and then Bomoor, it was not lost on Morgo that the three Jedi that stood before her represented the three branch specializations of the Jedi Order—Guardian, Sentinel, and Consular.

Melting back into the Ithorian's shadow, Morgo let her presence fade from the immediate eye line. Morgo did not need to look up at Bomoor to know that he recognized the Jedi woman as well. This woman was a unpredicted variable in her plans. As the mysterious Jedi and Thane continued to stare at one another, Morgo silently considered the options.

Not yet speaking again to Thane, Loren’s eyes scrutinised the surroundings beyond, apparently cataloguing each article about them – most notably Morgo. The warmth that had accented her initial appearance had waned as she evidently regarded the corpses littering Thane and Bomoor’s former cells. Not missing a beat, her attentions immediately fell upon the Dromachean skulking behind Bomoor, dismay darkening her delicate features.

Not letting her gaze linger on the other woman longer than was polite, Loren’s eyes, almost a match in colour to Thane’s, looked upon the Human once more, retracted her lightsaber’s blade and dropped into a more relaxed posture. Although the leather-clad hilt, a companion to her form-fitting leather outfit, noticeably never left the tight grip of her dominant left hand, her free hand stopped just short of stroking Thane’s face, although it was unclear if she halted from his sharp reaction to the impending physical contact or her own considerations.

Despite her momentary lapse, the Jedi Sentinel composed herself, straightening her back and hardening her features, but not so much that she did not betray her happiness at regarding the beleaguered Caanan and his Ithorian accomplice.

“You’re lookin’ better,” she said, the light twang in her accent betraying her rough origins within Coruscant’s undercity, years of exposure to the Jedi having only done so much to whittle down the dropping of final consonants in her voice, although the intelligence and emotion was evident.

Reddened though they were, Thane’s blue and searching eyes wandered about Loren’s person, a mingling of disbelief and sheer confusion permeating his thoughts. At sighting his master’s first apprentice – the woman he viewed as ‘sister’ – thoughts and feelings he had not considered for the longest of times tugged at him, flooding his still-recovering mind with a plethora of troubling notions.

At assessing the words she had chosen, Thane’s foremost thought fell away from relief at a friendly face to that of concern at the inference of a more long-term presence; ‘looking better’ compared to – what? How long had she been watching them? More importantly, what had she heard?

Try as he might to put such seemingly paranoid thoughts to one side, Thane was failing. At sighting this figure from his past, especially in the weakened state he was, he could not deny the overwhelming sense of –

What was that feeling? Deducing it was a culmination of emotional factors, the former Jedi could not stop his joints from willing himself to give way, surrendering to drugs, exhaustion and emotional trauma, although he did his utmost to not surrender. Seeing her now, every fibre of his being surging with emotions he had deemed himself beyond (or perhaps increasingly incapable), Thane had every desire to capitulate to her, to embrace her and trust in her chosen path.

But that was for a time past; for a Thane that had diminished, and for a Loren under other circumstances he could trust. Still scenting the acrid metallic stench of Morgo’s quarry, he also noticed two corpses beyond the threshold Loren occupied, the clean, smouldering cuts indicating their demises were courtesy of a certain golden-hued blade he was all-too-familiar with.

Glancing at the hilt clasped within her left hand, he noted with particular dismay the absence of his own weapon, a factor that had troubled him for practical reasons before, but now bothered him as a matter of personal inconvenience – the notion of the barbarians fondling its elegant electrum design sickened and angered him, although that all paled by comparison to the enormity of what now stood before him.

“You’ve been watching us,” Thane said, more as an observation than a query. Whilst he wanted to pledge himself into an alliance with immediate effect to Loren, the woman who, perhaps in some ways more than Bomoor, constituted the closest thing to family Thane recognised in his life since Caanus, he knew all too well her vocation within the Jedi Order. With the ysalamiri taking effect as they were, he knew she could not have sensed their danger.

No, he mused, correcting himself as he still resisted the uncharacteristic urge to embrace Loren, she is our stalker. His eyes then narrowed. My stalker.

The elder Jedi’s features dropped for the briefest of moments, a glimpse recognisable to Thane as a glimmer of self-doubt over his remark. She knew all too well he was not referring to whatever time she had been milling about Jericho, plotting the means by which she would intercede on his and Bomoor’s behalf – something he of course wished had occurred sooner. Her eyes now quickly searching his with determined intensity, Loren soon returned to that trademark posture of certainty, defiance in her brisk tone.

“Since a short while after your time on Tython,” she admitted, standing taller as she did so, clearly realising the implication of his statement. Always one to be plain in her words, only ever glib in dire circumstances, Loren held Thane’s gaze, no doubt to convey the verity of what she was saying.

Staring back, face unchanging, Thane remained silent as he was awash with a plethora of feelings. In truth, he was not surprised at this course of action taken by the Jedi Council, who undoubtedly sanctioned the action. He was, however, incensed by the audacity of their choice, as well as vindication for his disdain and reservations against them; they could not - would not – trust them, and now saw fit to betray the trust of both Thane and Bomoor by sending Loren to stalk them throughout the galaxy – whilst they sought to save it.

After a few strokes of silence, a wide grimace gripped the Caanan’s features and he scoffed, shaking and turning his head to briefly regard Bomoor, a man arguably more betrayed than he by the Order.

The Ithorian himself gazed back at Thane with worried eyes. Since sighting the fellow member of the Order, Bomoor’s pupils had been following Thane; his body tensed, knowing the connection Loren shared with his friend but not at all sure what reaction her sudden presence would have upon the Caanan.

Caught in a grip of worries, Thane’s gaze back towards him caused a sudden rush of fear, which, while masked by the Ysalamiri’s field, caused his sluggish heart to race and his breathing to quicken. Did Thane now realise the part Bomoor played in the council’s surveillance upon not only the mission, but Thane himself? He flicked his eyes away from Thane’s and towards Loren once again who gave him a brief glance also with her deep eyes.

His worry became frustration as he pondered the reason for Loren’s appearance. Did the council care so little, or perhaps trust so little in the nature of Bomoor’s arrangement that they felt the need to send another? They surely knew the consequences that revealing their subterfuge would have upon their relationship and well-being. Had all the Masters finally lost their faith in him?

“The Council are concerned-” Loren began, prompting Thane to snap his head back in the direction of the Jedi Shadow.

“I know what the Council are concerned about,” he hissed darkly, a rare sadness accenting his hoarse voice. At cutting her off, Loren had pulled her head back, an indignant expression Thane knew to typically accompany an aggressive tirade flooding her delicate features, although no such harsh words came, and it was only a few seconds before a sadness seemed to creep across in its stead.

Although gripped by a fury he felt to be righteous, Thane recognised he was not the only one to be suffering from a tumultuous blend of emotions. Briefly, it felt like one of the many conversations he and Loren had shared over the years, sat together as she shared stories of her young years as a frustrated Padawan, struggling to sate her own troubling desires and angst in the hopes of assuaging a young Thane’s own emotional ailments and hindrances.

Looking at her now, he was certain she must have been thinking much the same, only Thane was struggling to see that confidant and friend now; at this moment, it was hard to see past Quellus’ inquisitor. Whilst it was not something unexpected, he had not foreseen it coming so soon, nor had he expected the agent of his persecution to be in the form of Loren, a choice almost as torturous as if Bomoor were set against him. Instinctively gripping the hilt of the Trandoshan’s sabre tighter, his mind raced, wondering what information Loren had in fact gathered on them, their journeys and interactions. Little of note may have occurred between their departure from Tython and their capture at Jericho, but it did not mean Loren had not learnt of other factors.

Holocron-sized factors – particularly as Thane could not, with certainty or clarity, necessarily recall whatever discourse or feverish murmurings had taken place since their incarceration.

“And how long have you been on Jericho?” He elected to ask, both unable and unwilling to mask the suspicion edging his voice. Try as he might to resurrect the feelings of warmth he held for this woman, a mentor, friend, and sibling – a relationship that had transcended beyond those, even – his misgivings ran rampant. As much as it may be down to his wearied state, struck from the Force and ailed by torture, paranoia seemed his mind’s chosen track.

This was a woman he had trusted implicitly, having known her for the entirety of his career within the Reborn Order. In many ways, she had been as much of a mentor and guide to him as Master Sotah; where he had represented patience and knowledge of the Jedi ways, she had been the understanding and how to adapt who he was to those ways, to make them work for him and show him the path he should walk.

Marching as he was now down the path marked by the dark side and the Sith, he knew not what Loren would make of it. A Shadow by profession, she was devoted to rooting out dark side artefacts and vanquishing that which could threaten the peaceful sanctity the Jedi had tentatively forged over the past few generations. By definition, it was her duty to end Thane’s probing of Krayt and Bane’s holocrons, but if explained to her, he wondered, what would she truly think of it? What would she make of him?

Surprisingly, it unnerved him to consider that, but as a figure of both authority and personal affection, her standing mattered – but her actions and intentions would matter more, and that was what Thane had to gauge. As much as he wished to take heart at seeing and having her here, he could not put those concerns from his mind. What if the implication of this 'rescue' was to be incarcerated once more, only this time at the pleasure of Grand Master Quellus?

“Long enough,” Loren replied simply, although her tone was not without compassion now. “Long enough,” she continued, now deciding to take a step forward closer to Thane, “to know it is time for us to all leave.” Her right hand moved deftly but gently towards Thane’s own crippled right hand, managing to cradle it despite his initial withdrawal and flinch, her action no doubt meant to highlight their unfit state and the necessity of their swift exit.

The sudden shift and delicate physical contact, particularly upon his mangled appendage, had startled Thane, who had taken a sharp breath. The touch of her skin upon his sensitive skin caused a light tingling, and he was reminded of how difficult he found it to even tolerate proximity from others, let alone actual contact. In this instance, and with Loren, it was disconcertingly comforting, although he did not let his own concerns slip away simply for that, but for the moment, confused as he was, he elected to remain silent.

“Considerin’ what’s at stake,” she said, looking from Thane to Bomoor and to Morgo behind him, “we should save the awkward conversations for when we’re outta this nest of gundarks. Regardless what you think of me right now, we gotta get out of here, and you stand a much better chance of doin’ that with me at your side.” Loren let her gaze fall upon Morgo, and a slight edge entered her voice. “’Though it sounds as though your friend here has a plan?” As she had earlier, Loren’s eyes drifted quickly to the corpses sharing the room with them, pungent as they remained.

Morgo felt the Sentinel's eyes fall over the violent remains of her work as viscerally as though her gaze were running across Morgo's own skin. Feeling a shiver crawl up her spine, the remnant thrill like a sickness in her bones, Morgo's fever dull eyes looked into the face of Loren with cold reserve.

"It's adorable that you think anything could be more awkward than the fact that you were here when they lopped off two fingers, and you failed to mount a rescue of your own." Morgo said, devoid of amusement, brushing past Bomoor and stepping forward.

Morgo didn't bother to respond to the Sentinel's unsubtle probing, her use of words like "friend" and "plan" included to no doubt prompt loose tongues—never mind that Thane was nothing approaching a friend to her. Still, if Morgo had known that Thane had a personal guardian Jedi, she would have left this damned prison break to the dubious hands of this 'Loren'. But as Morgo's empty gaze flicked from Loren's shoulders down to her feet, and back up again, a wonderfully chilling thought came to her. What if perhaps, there wasn't meant to have been a rescue at all? Perhaps she had meant for Thane and Bomoor to curl up and die within these walls?

Smiling thinly, Morgo briefly cast her eyes to Thane. Oh, she was beginning to like his guardian shadow of dubious morals. If the Sentinel knew enough of Thane's recent leanings that acted in disfavor of an immediate rescue, it certainly shed a new light on their situation. Moving past Thane, the crunching dirt beneath her boot heels audible, Morgo stood before the Sentinel woman. Her grey eyes were flint hard as they flicked to the space between the Jedi and the doorway that she fully intended to walk through, unhindered.

"If you please."

Bomoor watched Morgo push forward, wondering if it was indeed the best course of action for their dubious colleague to be taking the stage now, saviour or not. While he was no doubt sure she had made a thorough assessment of Loren already, they were both strangers to each other who were undoubtedly not keen on trusting each other.

Placing a hand lightly on Morgo’s shoulder, he spoke, “This is a delicate situation, Morgo, and I know you appreciate that. Rest assured, we will sort things out, assuming we can still escape with our lives.”

Bomoor found himself more keen to defend Morgo at this point; despite his shared history with Loren, Morgo had already done so much to aid them and he had developed his doubts about the Jedi Shadow. He was concerned that the Dromachean could easily become an enemy to Loren. He was certain that she had arrived with prejudice against her.

In a plain tone, Bomoor addressed Loren, “We had planned to find the armoury before trying to escape the Force-nullifying region of the station. His eyes fell on the blade she still tightly gripped in her hand, “Your assistance would make things much less risky should we encounter anyone along the way.”

Even with Bomoor's hand on her shoulder, Morgo did not feel any safer. There was no doubt in her mind that Loren knew who she was. If she had been tailing Thane since Tython and done her research, the Jedi woman knew exactly who and what Morgo was. Loren would save them only to put Morgo back into a Dromachean cell. Briefly, Morgo calculated the chances of her own survival if she left the group and escaped Jericho alone. The odds were extremely low, but the uncertainty in survival meant much more to her than the absolute certainty of a prison cell, if Loren succeeded in walking them through Jericho.

But Morgo would not go back there. She refused. Eyes hard with determination, the brightness of them were a sight to see upon her dirty, bloodied face.

Loren permitted Morgo to walk past as she pulled away from Bomoor’s gentle grip, only speaking as the Dromachean stepped over the threshold. “Scholar Le’Shaad,” she said, head unturning and voice crisp in the near-silence of Jericho’s halls, accompanied at this moment only by the whirring of ancient machinery churning away to keep the air breathable, “you must at the very least appreciate the opportunity to enhance your chances for survival. With me, you’re more likely to zoom out those hangar doors with those pretty blonde curtains intact. If nothin’ else, you’ve more of a chance to slit my throat in my sleep and steal the ship. A livin’, free and safe murderess.”

The Sentinel then shrugged, her leather tunic creaking with the motion. “Makes no difference to me what you do,” she said, nodding towards the other two Jedi. “If Morgo Le’Shaad dies at the hands of Exiles in a forgotten corner of Bastion space, ain't no one gonna shed a tear, least of all me. My job, my vocation – my desire - is to save these two men.” Loren locked eyes with Thane, but let them pass briefly to Bomoor. “My friends.”

The words, to Thane’s surprise, were almost musical, his base desire to believe and embrace them. Indeed, the look marking the gentle features of Sotah’s first student guiding him to lock hands with the Jedi Shadow, but rather than embrace the emotional directive, the aspiring indulgent of dark side teachings restrained himself.

Much like Bomoor, he found Morgo to have proved herself, at least in some capacity. Regarding the fellow noble, exposed as she was over a longer period of time to the class and dignity her upbringing had provided than he was, a distorted kinship existed, as did a grudging respect – something he felt certain Loren would not understand, despite his own more familiar kinship with the Coruscanti Jedi having existed for many years already.

“You could have acted sooner,” he said to her, his tone oddly soft. Although the first to acknowledge there was always more to a story than simply what it held for the biased reader, knowing Loren undoubtedly had considered her options when arriving on Jericho – for whatever reason had drawn her here initially, aside from stalking them – Thane nevertheless felt her delayed intercession was seemingly unnecessary. From where he stood now, effectively left with the use of only one hand, courtesy of his closest constant ally (a wound that may possibly take longer to heal than the crumpled digits themselves), it seemed much of what had happened could have been avoided.

The words caught Loren, once more an indignant expression taking hold of her face, almost hurt by the younger Human’s constant rebuttals and queries. “And done what?” She queried. “Have the Jedi swoop in to rescue us, or perhaps get caught up in the same trick that baffled you both?” The woman shook her head, a combination of dismission and dismay trickling through. “We can’t afford these games; Jedi Sentinel or otherwise, I’m still a child of the Force. I had to wait – I had to know when I could act.” She looked into the eyes of Thane, imploring him, willing him to accept her words. “Nothing,” Loren said firmly, teeth gritting between words, “nothing comes before my loyalty to those I love.”

A resounding choice of words, Thane could not deny. Glancing towards where Morgo now stood, sighting the woman who had in fact saved them from their misery and impending demise, as compared to the woman who had saved him from misery during his years within the Jedi, a stalwart companion and confidant who had similarly trusted him.

Looking to them both now, the former Jedi Knight mused that before him stood two figures: one with whom he had a long history, he knew him yet would be unlikely to accept his newfound powers or chosen path/indulgences; yet on the other side, he was faced with a figure he had known for a relatively short period of time, but one whom had already proven a twisted loyalty, despite unfavourable circumstances for herself, and who would be accepting – if not even encouraging, personal ambitions and curiosities aside - of his recent pursuits.

It was also at this point he began to wonder if he and Bomoor would ever leave this cell.

“We should follow her plan,” he verbally decided, nodding to Morgo. “She has an easily accessible ship, known integers as allies, and together we have the necessary firepower.” Thane locked his wearied blue eyes with that of Loren. Whilst his own stare was solemn, there was no denying the affection underlying it, as much as he was conflicted and troubled on the matter, seeing the woman as both a figure to be trusted and reviled at this moment, for in truth – a teaching he had taken to heart from Darth Bane’s holocron since the earliest hours of his incarceration at the hands of these barbarians – it was better to survive, than die for a fool’s errand.

As the they had talked, Morgo had turned half an ear to their exchange, gently biting her tongue in silence. Hearing Thane’s last words however, Morgo bit clean through the tip of her tongue, blinking twice. 'We' was an awfully damning word.

Loren would be accompanying them.

Fresh blood pooled in her mouth as she swallowed thickly, the long expanse of her throat bobbing. Running her savaged tongue along the ridges of her molars as she fought the urge to laugh, Morgo washed away the disappointment with the taste of blood. She supposed it was inevitable, really. The way Thane and Loren looked at each other had spelled certain doom since the moment the pair had reunited. All this talk of ‘friends’ and ‘love’ had an overstated sort of sincerity that brought bile up her esophagus. Loren plead like she was endeavoring to not only convince Thane but herself that nothing could come between her and her apparent loyalty to her beloved. But many things could be loved.

A man. An idea. A Council.

Turning back to face Thane and Bomoor, the Jedi woman stood like a barrier between Morgo and the members of the crew she had fought herself, bled herself and debased herself to reclaim. Letting her gaze wash over the woman, shorter by a considerable height, Morgo’s voice was deliberate but luxuriating.

“You overestimate my appreciation for survival, Sentinel—certainly when safety and freedom are the exact opposites of what you will offer me.” She said with dark amusement, her low tones prickling and perplexing as her eyes eventually slid to Thane and settling upon Bomoor’s dark eyes, “But if this is the will of the ‘Council’…”

Her nose wrinkled daintily as derision tugged the tight smile on her face into a sharp edged taunt, “…I suppose we'll have to learn to 'love' each other.”

And with that, Morgo slid her finger onto the trigger of her blaster.

TBC

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