Pathways

Posted on Tue Mar 20th, 2018 @ 12:34pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort

2,714 words; about a 14 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Jericho Corridors
Timeline: After "The Battle of Jericho"

OLD

Bomoor played up the grandeur of his presence to match that of his companions, particularly as they echoed Thurn's roar of patriotism, and because he truly felt somewhat grander in his current state. "While myself and my fellow Jedi have suffered greatly at the hands of your "True Mandalorians", it is clear that you were misled by a self-centred and misguided individual. I claim this relic as recompense for your crimes and leave you with the memory of what you witnessed here today. May you never again see fit to treat another in such a way."

And with that parting comment, Thurn gave a deep bow of his head to his newfound ally, the expression making clear his own assent to Bomoor's words, before turning back to Sev and the Mandalorians, letting the consular march solemnly towards his hard-earned freedom.

After all, the new Alor Rezer had yet to say his piece.

NEW

There it was again: the hum of the station. It had never left, of course, but the Ithorian found it returning to his focus as the gruff voices and intermittent cheers faded into dull tones while he paced quickly away from the main hall that has been the toppled Exile king's throne room.

The villain had been usurped and his prize had been claimed but it very nearly had been the end of it all for the Ithorian. His race were beings in tune with nature, but it was a harsh metal station in a lifeless asteroid field that could have been his grave. But he had, for a time, accepted that fate and that hum was a reminder that, in spite of all that he had been through, he had allowed himself to become nothing; content to rot.

But now, with the power of the Kaiburr shard still fuelling him, he wanted to rip out the core of this station and forever silence that hum that mocked his weakness: his inability to help himself, let alone his friend. As he easily navigated the corridors back towards the hangar, he found himself picturing the station being torn apart through his Force powers alone while he watched from an asteroid afar, bathed in the orange light of the system's sun. It was pure fantasy, of course, but it somehow seemed more achievable with the Kaiburr shard. If only they could find more.

A familiar presence drew him out of his dreams of grandeur and, as he rounded the next corner into an intersection, that presence took form as he came face-to-face with Thane. While an ever familiar presence, the consular sensed a disturbance, like a wound in his aura.

He could not quite muster what he wished to ask, as he looked into the very tired-looking eyes of his friend, "Thane..." he began.

The Human had visibly stalled at the sight of his friend, an unfamiliar expression of brief alarm giving Bomoor pause for thought. Thane's face was still the chalky-white pallor it had been when they had parted ways whilst making good their initial escape, only now it was starkly-contrasted against the rich, dried blood that had previously streamed from his clearly broken nose.

Although the suspicious expression did not leave Thane's face immediately, his features softened slightly as he finally allowed himself to welcome the familiar presence of his oldest friend, although he admitted to himself that rather than the comforting wave of serenity he had anticipated, he noted something far more rugged about the Ithorian's mark within the Force. Something untamed.

In those first few moments, the beleaguered Caanan thought it might have been himself, carrying the burdens of his grim actions with him to his friend, like a harrowing cloud of ill will and hatred that threatened to plague all that Thane dared make contact with, but it soon became clear it was not.

It was undeniably Bomoor.

"You have the Kaiburr shard." The former Jedi said it more as a statement than a question, but he noted that even as he said the words - heralding this, technically first, victory in their quest - it was as if it sparked something natural within the gem nestled in Bomoor's trappings, glinting unseen through the invisible ripples of the Force.

Is that what Jericho is? He mused grimly. A victory?

Sensing Bomoor's power, it was not like when Axion first brandished that first shard before them all of those months ago on Nar Shaddaa, cackling and warping the essence of the world around him like some terrible natural disaster. It was purer. Like nature had found intent.

At even thinking about Axion and the cultists, Thane's left hand tightened its grip around the vibroblade he was still armed with, having kept the weapon in case any overenthusiastic Exiles had dared stand before him. Armed as he was with both that and his own dark will made corporeal, he had mentally dared any luckless fool to challenge him, not that any had been forthcoming since he had-

"The cultists?" Thane interjected before his own thoughts continued, inwardly fearful at what even a rogue thought might mean for him in his weakened state, and with Bomoor's own unnaturally heightened sense. With his nose battered and mind swimming with pain, drugs and his demons, it almost made the dulling of his physical senses feel like the Force was dulled, too, although he knew that was a trick of his mind - or his heart.

Watching the Ithorian as he moved to reply, he could not measure what he believed he should say. What he should confess. The former Guardian knew it would be but moments before Bomoor would ponder on the absent Loren, and whilst he had spent the entirety of his slow trek from that fateful site wondering of the justness and necessity of his actions, he had paid little heed to what he would tell his friend... to what he would tell Master Sotah.

Thane rolled his right shoulder as he thought to mask his racing mind, the pain from his mangled hand at the end arcing up his bruised limb. Still wary, he withdrew from relying upon the Force to salve his aches.

"Indeed," Bomoor replied, distracted momentarily by how Thane had easily sensed that Axion's cultists had made a play for the Crystal, "It seems that it was part of Zrad Rezer's design to pit several factions against one another so he could claim some petty glory over the conflict he created. But he did not count on the destruction of his Ysalamiri network or the betrayal of his second, Klav Thurn."

He paused and allowed his senses to reach forward, attempting to detect something from Thane, who seemed holding something back; it was almost as if all his effort was going into simply keeping himself together in that moment. However, he watched Thane flinch as he sensed Bomoor's probing and realised he was abusing the power of the shard to invade his friend's mind. Instead he simply asked, "But what of yourself? You were so full of fear when you disappeared from the armoury. Were you with Loren?"

He trailed off, remembering Loren and immediately triggering his senses to wash across the station. He could feel many familiar life forms: Sev where he had left him in the Throne room, Berry surprisingly where she was supposed to be in the hangar just ahead, but Loren... She could not be sensed and there were no more Ysalamiri to hide her from his view.

"I cannot sense her," the Ithorian stated, still searching through the web of the Force to find her.

Thane let an uneasy silence wash over them both rather than answering right away, the grumblings of the ancient Jericho punctuating their absent conversation. The Human did not break eye contact with Bomoor, his sunken, tired eyes laying plain his suffering as he thought of Loren's demise. New tears threatened to erupt to replace the old ones, scoring his dirtied face with streaks of reddened, dry skin.

"She is dead," he said simply, barely managing to avoid his voice breaking, dry and hoarse though it was from days of torment and the conflicts of the day. Looking now at Bomoor, whose condition appeared much recovered from before, likely courtesy of the magnificent power bestowed by the Kaiburr shard, Thane could not bring himself to admit the truth of what had transpired after the armoury - of what he had to do. He could not envision the kindly Ithorian, as close as the pair were and as understanding as he was during of Thane's beliefs and actions, understanding or tolerating what he had done. What he had sacrificed.

"She died... for me," Thane added, his heart sinking further as the words tumbled forth from his cracked liar's lips, the lie to Bomoor itself a new and deeper wound in his soul. Loren's lightsaber, tucked as it was in his trouser pocket, seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment.

It was true; Loren was truly gone. As Thane spoke it, Bomoor recoiled his neck as the weight of the situation overtook him. Until this point, it seemed as though they had walked through the fire unscathed; descended into the valley of darkness, yet climbed out without casualty. To lose Loren at this point was simply awful; despite her motives for coming, this had not been her fight and yet she had died for them...

...for Thane... Bomoor mentally echoed his friend's words, registering them in his mind.

"I... can scarcely imagine what you must be feeling..." the Ithorian spoke, extending his free left arm forwards to place upon his friend's shoulder, assuming now that Loren's death alone was the cause of his great inner turmoil. But, as the first few molecules between the pair of them made contact, Thane pulled away violently.

In that briefest of moments his friend's leathery skin had made contact with Thane, even through his pilfered survivor's garb it was as though a sharp burst of electricity had struck into him, but in that moment he had seen Bomoor's mind, spying shadows of a fearful Zrad obliterating his own throne, and of Sev's mangled face lit up by the flames of the battle that had almost claimed both Rezers lives. He had also felt Bomoor's power, crashing its way through the Ithorian's spirit as it deeply empowered him.

Looking as he was now upon the Consular's visage, sore, blue eyes wide with amazement, Thane could also feel the shard thrumming in Bomoor's grasp, almost willing the once-just Knight to claim it. With enough darkness already enveloping his soul, he used that very same fear and desire to crush the urge, thinly burying it beneath the surface of his already broken heart.

Bomoor looked down at the shard in his right hand. He had been holding it for so long now, it looked for a moment as though his veins were beginning to bulge outwards, looking to wrap themselves around the powerful Force artefact. While it had rejuvenated him and flooded him with such awe-inspiring abilities, seeing his friend respond to its power in such a way tainted his view of it. He now wished he could put it aside so he could provide comfort to his companion but, alas, it was still required if they were to ever confront Axion and his own Kaiburr collection.

"I am sorry," Bomoor winced, realising his glossy eyes were starting to water from all these feelings, exaggerated by the Kaiburr shard, "We must get this thing to the ship quickly so that I may be released from it."

He did not have it in him to ask any more questions of Thane at this time. He felt ashamed that he could not offer any more to his friend in his time of need, but hoped that he could later. There was only one shred of comfort he might be able to impart at this time.

"Here," he spoke, reaching behind him and unclipping Thane's electrum-plated saber from his extremely-worn belt, holding it out and hoping that the metal would not transmit any energy like his flesh hid, "Not all is lost today, my friend; we have found each other again."

Thane eyed his weapon for a moment, and not for the first time since claiming Loren's own, his throat clenched and his heart grew heavy in his chest; he had to suppress the urge to release what little remained in his stomach, and instead gave the barest hint of a smile to Bomoor.

Letting his borrowed blade clatter to the floor at his side, Thane brought his remaining good hand up to clasp the rounded, polished pommel of his lightsaber. He ran one of the remaining fingers on his mangled right hand along the familiar curve of the hilt. Reaching out ever so carefully with the Force, letting delicate tendrils spread from his fingers into the weapon's primary housing, touching upon the precious Hurrikane crystal nestled within.

Although an unexpected crackle of energy whipped up to meet him, its innate power and presence was a welcome experience, a restoration of some semblance of identity for the troubled Caanan. Although the Jedi taught their students to abhor sentimental attachments to physical objects, the lightsaber was generally an exception to this rule. As hypocritical as Thane had always found this, he had always felt sundered without it. Holding it again, whilst going some way to mending that internal rift, did not mend all of the ails he had inflicted upon his heart.

"Thank you, Bomoor," he said, genuinely, not releasing his grip on the weapon. "It is high time we left this despicable station behind," he went on, spitting his last words, increasingly eager to put as many star systems between him and Jericho as was possible. "There has been enough pain here already... and you'll need to let the Council know what happened here." And, he added silently with sincere resignation and pain, what happened to their spy. My friend. "Will you tell them about the shard?"

Allowing his friend to reclaim his hilt, Bomoor gestured that they should walk onwards to the Red Raptor and so the pair carried on together through the dim, metallic hallways.

With his mind stretching out across the stars, the Consular pictured the faces of his Jedi Masters; some, like Thurius and Sotah, still evoking comfort, while others, such as Grand Master Quellus, holding him with a burning gaze of judgement and mistrust. It was enough to outweigh the fondness he still had for many of his fellow Jedi, including the more-understanding council members. But he knew now that it was more than just paranoia that such menacing imagery swirled around the council; the very fact that Loren came to this place was evidence enough that his reports on Thane were being disregarded.

It stung him once again that he had ever agreed to spy for such a rotten group. To betray his friend because he had chosen to denounce the order and choose his own path. It was a special kind of ignorance that could lead twelve Jedi to ignore the rising threat of a chaotic dark-side cult-leader in favour of one man who said 'no'.

"I do not see why they deserve my report at this point," Bomoor replied after his consideration, "But I shall be confronting them about all this very shortly, I can assure you."

With a slight pause and a long exhale of the station's recycled air, he added,"But Thane. There is something I must tell you as well. Not now, though, as we must ensure our allies are safe and that we do, indeed, escape this place. But soon, I will try to explain myself."

Before Thane could begin to question the nature of his friend's confession, the pair realised they had reached the large airlock-seal to the hanger bay. With a press of the button, the door slid open quickly, revealing the familiar sight of their rusty-red smuggler ship set against the faint blue shimmer of the magnetic containment field.

Beyond that field lay the endless expanse of the galaxy; beyond it lay freedom.

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