The Bastard's Gambit

Posted on Mon Apr 1st, 2019 @ 2:40pm by Thane & Bomoor Thort & Amare

3,383 words; about a 17 minute read

Chapter: Chapter V: Unbound
Location: Inside the Mind Prison
Timeline: After "The Bastard Hammer"

OLD

"I would know your name," Thane announced, drawing some of his own darkness to imbue his voice as he took one step forwards, intent on deciphering the meaning of this entire venture.

A final slam of metal echoed after Thane's last word, the huge stranger silent and hunched over his work, not turning to face the group addressing him. "The Hammer, Bastard Brother of the Sith'ari Adas, and Scourge of the Infernals." The alien lifted his hammer once more and spun on his armoured heel, towering over Thane and his compatriots. "Little Dark One, I am Hazzarah Talmuz, King of All Sith and Bane of the Builders." With his free hand, Hazzarah made a small gesture to the infinite white void that consumed all about them. "This is my tomb."

NEW

Another Noun of Nouns, Thane thought instinctively, awed though he undoubtedly was at the looming Sith Pureblood before him, but another spoke before he could probe further.

"Wonderful," Amare sardonically said, her voice roasting with boredom as she took her rightful place at her master's side. "Another dead Sith in another tomb. Let me guess: is this the part where you mock us for being weak and unworthy of the Sith ways? I don't suppose you're also going to threaten us with your big sledgehammer that is clearly overcompensating for something, yes?"

"I seek neither to impress nor admonish, grotthu," Hazzarah answered deeply, no anger punctuating his words as he came to rest on his warhammer once more. "I have simply spoken truths, of who I am and what you are not. And," he went on, his eyes narrowing and voice reverberating ever more, "I am not dead."

“Yes!” said, Bomoor, as the lone Pureblood had suddenly stumbled upon the key concern, “None of us are dead and yet you call it a tomb, as though you have been condemned here. Are we somehow trapped within the device of that ancient race? The Builders, I think you said?”

"Forgotten to you, whispers on ancient winds, both my people and theirs," Hazzarah grumbled. "Fates well-deserved by both, if my kin indeed became as base as those wretched monsters, twisted and subservient to foreign invaders. This," the ancient warrior lifted his free hand in gesture at the empty void stretching out once more, "is their magic. With the outer illusion of a fine box, its storage is infinite, crafted to imprison not a man or woman's body, but their soul, confined to an eternal empty desert."

Hazzarah's weight shifted slightly, the sound of his armour's plates scraping against one another as he did. Heavy eyes shifted between the trio. "It is but an example of the Builders' dark ingenuity. They came to my world, more than once, with terrible weapons that could turn a planet's deserts to glass and their oceans to dust, as they had to many before they came to Korriban. They descended upon our skies with great machines of war, of the likes unseen by the Sith in all our annals. The dark power was within them, one and all, inside of each Builder and each evil engine they rode. Like the Kissai, like King Adas, they could weave Qyâsik into their tools, and were drawn to it... needed it. They cut a bloody swathe across our lands in their endless pursuit of its nectar, enslaving or consuming all in their path, until that thirst drew them... here."

These 'Builders' seemed like ruthless slavers to Bomoor, but their ability to weave together the Force and technology was undeniable; they were more than simply trapped: they were removed from the universe altogether and stored as living data. He wondered if this is how the art of holocrons was first learned; there certainly were few sentient-made items in the Galaxy that even compared to these mystical creations.

“You said that others have been here,” the Ithorian asked further, “Were they the Builders or were they more prisoners and where did they go?” To his side, Thane watched and listened intently.

For a moment, confusion seemed to claim Hazzarah. His ebony features stalled, his eyes flicking this way and that in some vain effort to seek out whatever words he knew he wanted to say. "There have been others," he confirmed, scowling in thought, "but no Builders. They have been like yourselves, the more recent times, with flesh and fabric unfamiliar to me, and you echo the queer words they have uttered. At the start, when first I opened my new eyes in this void, I was alone for what seemed an age, walking and roaring endlessly against nothing. Eventually, there were others. My own blood, at first." Hazzarah's dark narrowed eyes then looked upwards, as if inspecting the void. "They remain."

Amare narrowed her own obsidian eyes at him, and shook her head with a pernicious chuckle. "How sad for you," she said with venom in her voice as she slowly and thoughtfully tread behind her friends towards Bomoor's side. "I watched a pirate kill my mother after he went back on his promise to spare her if I killed my father. I murdered one to stupidly try to save another. Then I got thrown into a cage with my brother and seven other children while a Trandoshan watched over us. He got hungry in the middle of the night, and took one of the children, a Miralan girl named Ankah. Never saw her again. From the looks of this place, big boy, you got it easy. Now, I could care less about those 'others' that came here after you. For all we know you're lying and you're the one who brought us here."

Thane's hands twitched with Amare's advancement, his instinct initially to intercede and stop whatever compulsion had claimed her wits. But, heeding the advice of Bane's avatar and his own thoughts on how best to develop the woman, he halted any shift. If he had gauged Hazzarah's considered temperament rightly, there would be no dead-ends courtesy of his apprentice's missteps. Eternity could breed a certain sort of patience, Thane was sure.

The fallen Sith King, for his part, showed no sign of reacting, and instead permitted the Nautolan to continue.

Amare strode right up to Hazzarrah and added softly with intense disgust, mindful of the hammer, fearful of his size, but not showing it. "Listen, you have my respect, but you sure as all hells don't have my trust or my sympathy. Say what you want, but your kind have done nothing so far to change my mind on that. So this is how it's gonna be: you're going to make yourself useful and help me and my masters escape this place because I've had enough of Korriban and you Sith. We can sit here and play with our toys forever, moping about our sad little pasts, or we can get out of here. How does that sound?"

"No one cares," the towering Pureblood said simply after a moment of staring straight back at the blue woman, "least of all me. I have waited untold millennia within this prison, considering the woes of my people and my failures. Dozens have entered, as you have, demanding freedom and retribution as though I had the talent or desire to offer it as the first to enter. Madness claimed most, whilst I sat silent as stone, indifferent in my reflection. But eternity is a long time, and during my inaction, my people have turned to ash, our name claimed and sullied by off-world magicians and upstart lordlings. I have learnt the sorcery of this Mind Prison. It is within my power to release us."

Of course it is Amare thought disdainfully as she turned away silently in disgust from Hazzarrah and took a few steps away from him. Fatigue from all the day's events was getting the best of her, and she found herself feeling embarrassed that the ancient Sith warrior had passed her little femme test attempt to get a rise out of him with flying colours. She wasn't sure why she was being so belligerent, only that she felt like she had to do it.

It was obvious to all gathered that there was a proviso attached to what the Sith revealed; otherwise, there would have been no reason for Hazzarah Talmuz to still be within the Prison's limitless confines. Even so, someone had to ask. "I presume there is some requirement or risk for this procedure to work? I also presume that you know for a certainty that you have mastered this ability?" Thane's youthful eyes looked deeply into the golden cores of the Pureblood's, searching them and wondering at what this Sith progenitor would truly make of his aspirations.

Already, King Hazzarah had made plain his disdain for the legions of so-called Dark Lords of the Sith that had followed in his species' wake, having already critiqued Amare's claim to a Sith legacy - a legacy she was but a neophyte to, as Thane was, in truth, but he was building on a lifetime of Force tutelage and worldly pursuits. He might be beginning to consider himself to be the latest annotation within the storied past of the Sith Lords, but he was under no illusion that Hazzarah saw no resemblance between himself and the fallen Knight before him.

To make a comparison would be foolish.

"Your essence - all the fabrics that are woven to form the tapestry of your self - is now within the Prison, timeless but given shape by the cruel magick of the Builders," King Hazzarah answered, watching Thane in turn. "But your bodies, the vessels for your spirit, remain, decaying just steps from the Prison's worldly form."

As a thought occurred to him, a cynical half-smiled slipped onto Thane's pale lips. "Not quite the immortality sought by the Dark Lords of recent millennia," he observed to Bomoor in a hushed tone, tabling the possible applications of the Mind Prison as a means of essence transfer.

"No," the Pureblood agreed, not allowing the comment to remain private. "By the time I had uncovered the twisted sorcery of the Prison, my frame had long rotted to nothing, defiled by the Infernals that ensconced me here, much like my people. My hammer, forged at the Eternal Pyre in the Mongrel Altar, will be all that remains of my own legacy. Indestructible, forged through ancient alchemy in ebon, I poured all of my malice and will to cull the Builders into it. Even now, in this place, I remain connected. This," he twisted the hammer in his hands, "is a mere facsimile. But, the connection remains. Our spirits can leave, if a suitable vessel is near to hand."

It was a hard thing to picture: being separated from one’s body. Even now that they experienced it, the idea that what they felt as their bodies right now, was simply a projection was hard to comprehend. Without their minds, which part of them retained the connection to the Force? Their bridge to the living Force, the midichlorians, were housed within the very cells of their body, and yet they could all still feel the Force but perhaps that was simply another illusion of the box.

Either way, their bodies (or vessels as Hazzarah referred to them), were no longer under their control and, if they inferring correctly from the ancient King’s words, it was not just the former owners that could now lay claim to their living flesh.

“Do you no longer desire escape from your tomb, then?” Bomoor queried, curious but also wary of the motives of the stone-faced man, “If you have the ability, why can you not transfer into our bodies? Must they be Sith like yourself?”

"It is not a matter of desire," Hazzarah confirmed to the Ithorian, "but yes, there is the possibility that I may claim your bodies, should I decide to do so. However, such callous actions are not within my nature, nor am I convinced that whatever wards the Builders imposed upon the prison would permit such a travesty. The grim magic I have learnt during my sleepless incarceration mandates a certain degree of... willingness... from those involved."

"Willingly give our bodies over to you?" Amare was insulted by the very notion. "Never!"

While sharing his Nautolan companion’s distaste for the idea of surrendering their bodies, Bomoor was not so quick to dismiss the conversation, given that it seemed to be leading to a distasteful choice either way, “Our minds are still our own here in this place. Under what circumstances would we ever consider granting you our bodies?”

"You are unable to escape the Mind Prison," the ancient king stated, "just as I was for countless generations, lest you so decide to wait a dozen millennia to divine the technique for yourselves. By such time, your bones will have turned to dust, blown away into nothingness, and your bloodlines long extinct." Hazzarah lifted his hammer over to his other hand, twisted its weight within his gauntleted grasp. "And I am unable to claim your vessels as my own. However, I would offer you the opportunity to maintain authority over your own existences, should you be able to best me. If I emerge victorious, I will claim one of your forms as my own, and will draw two of the many spirits trapped within the prison to consume the remaining pair. Should you be victorious, I will see that you are returned to your rightful selves, with my dark blessings, and will await the next interloper."

Thane considered the options presented to them, if that is what they could truly be called. "That is not a choice, King Hazzarah," he observed simply and curtly. "We have to take part."

"Or allow your pride to consume your physical forms, surrendering all claim to your place in galactic history - and your sanity, most likely," the Sith said, almost without any trace of emotion. "But unless you each accede to my demands, there will be no bargain."

Amare turned to Thane shaking her head with exasperation, but keeping her voice low, "Master, this has to be some kind of trick. Maybe someone else was in the temple and shot us with a stun blast, and now we're in some kind of simulator room on someone's starship. I mean, I still feel like myself all things considered. For all we know, this Sith and all this empty white space is just a computer-generated fantasy."

Bomoor answered plainly before Thane, “No, can’t you feel the Force power of this place, Coda? This goes way beyond the technology of a computer simulation, even with the advancements they have made in recent years. Besides, you were not with us, but we were guided here by a One Sith ghost who revealed to us the nature of this device and the people who created it. These ancient Builders: enemies to our host here.”

He gestured around into the whiteness with his long dark hands, "We have a chance to resume our lives now as ourselves or in thousands of years in the bodies of some other unfortunate souls. But then, can we abandon our struggle against Axion, ignore the crumbling Jedi Order and everything else about the galaxy as we know it? We may as well already choose death."

Amare relented to Bomoor's remarks with silence. The Ithorian was right; the Force hung oppressively over them in this strange and featureless other-dimensional place, and Amare just didn't want to admit to herself the truth that they were separated from their own bodies. The very thought of such a thing being possible was chilling to say the least. Was this how Archonus and Alyndra felt as spirits? She gazed up at Thane with deep concern in the swirls of her eyes. She didn't want to be stuck forever on Korriban of all places. She had no more sass or impudence in her anymore. She needed her master's guidance and leadership now more than ever.

Thane had listened to all three of the beings before him and carefully considered their situation. He understood the suspicion and frustrations of his apprentice all too well; his first response had been scepticism and an urge to resist this Hazzarah's seemingly indomitable will with his own determination, but the Caanan had quickly tempered that with the cool consideration and understanding presented by his old friend.

He turned to look directly back into the Nautolan's eyes imploringly. "If we are to be the heirs of the Sith Lords, to assume some mantle of supremacy in this universe, then we cannot always resort to aggression or allow quick tempers to win the day," Thane said, trying to be both patient and firm at once. "Sometimes, it is prudent to gamble, as we all must do in the heat of conflict, and that may lead us to strike down foes or seek to expose what we believe to be lies. But you must always think, Zaracoda, before making a decision to attack, or to end a life - of the repercussions... of the rewards and risks..."

Amare said nothing, the concern in her eyes fading to indifference. In some ways, Thane's lecturing and scolding reminded her of her father, Capasegno Wolph. While her brother was considered the "good lad" of the household, Amare...nay, Coda, was the occasional problem child in her parents' eyes. She had been talked down to a lot, faced considerable verbal abuse for being a source of trouble and embarrassment, and sometimes her brother bullied her for her antics, especially in front of his friends, but they always had limits, and sometimes they apologized for taking things too far. She hated the "I'm sorry"'s the most; the lack of sincerity was always abundantly clear.

Angling his head towards Hazzarah, who continued steadfast in his unyielding pose, Thane continued speaking. "Think," he repeated emphatically, "if this were to be a ploy, what benefit would there be to it? Let alone the circumstances of our arrival here, had the supposed mastermind of this venture sought our bodies, why generate this facade for us to engage in?" He now flicked a wrist towards the ancient Pureblood, a twitch of an eyebrow the only recognition of the Human's gesture. "Why create such an intricate host offering such a unique deal for our freedom? There is only one tactically-sound choice here. We work towards this goal, and we may yet uncover more than we first anticipated."

Amare sensed there was no need to offer an acknowledgement of her understanding of Thane's logic. There was just enough of a sliver of a bond between them to know the other's feelings on the surface level. Still, she wondered if this was the Jedi in Thane talking, or was calm and strategic thinking really part of the Sith journey. She doubted the latter as there was an additional influence creating conflict in her master.

She glanced at Bomoor, and, even in their disembodied state in this strange realm, could sense the tether between him and Thane immensely stronger than her connection to her master. She looked away and down into the empty featureless void beneath her feet and tried to bury her envy creeping up from the depths of her soul. She coveted that bond between them; wanted it all to herself. In slicer's terms, Bomoor was like a supercomputer taking up a massive part of the network's bandwidth while Amare was just a minuscule last-gen potato of a rig struggling to get a small percentage of the available download speed. She wanted a complete, unfettered bond with Thane with no third-party involvement. Bomoor was starting to feel less like a friend, and more like an obstacle now.

Not waiting for a response from his apprentice, but instead allowing her to consider what he had said, Thane turned now to fully face their de facto captor, drawing upon the Force to give his smaller stature some modicum of power and presence, even if the infinite whiteness of the Builders' ancient prison. "We accept, King Hazzarah. We will play your games."

TBD

RSS Feed