The Games

Posted on Thu Apr 11th, 2019 @ 10:34pm by Bomoor Thort & Thane & Amare
Edited on on Sun Apr 14th, 2019 @ 3:00pm

4,658 words; about a 23 minute read

Chapter: Chapter V: Unbound
Location: Inside the Mind Prison
Timeline: Unknown, After "The Bastard's Gambit" (Believed sometime around late Day Two)

OLD

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."

NEW

There had been a great clap of thunder, an ugly and jarring sound the likes of which made up the bedtime tales of wetnurses and broodmothers the galaxy wide, shaking all three interlopers of the Mind Prison to their cores, in a deep and unnatural way that was both rare and severely unsettling.

The shuddering echo had consumed the white void when the ancient Sith King Hazzarah Talmuz had drawn his two gauntleted hands together with great force - or had he cracked his warhammer down upon the anvil? - and the small array of tools and lone ornate pillars had spiralled into the blank nothingness, consuming all four sentient figures in the same process. With no more than the smallest inclination of his ebony lips, he had uttered merely, "Of course."

However, unlike the process that had dragged them into the Mind Prison itself, this was entirely otherwise and altogether quite different. Whereas the other process had been instant and confusing, like stepping from one room to another, this had the unmistakable sensation of being dragged backwards into water; it was not unlike falling uncomfortably into a feverish nightmare one thought they had escaped.

Whilst it took a few moments for their wits to return to them, disorientated as they were by the unnatural heaving and hoeing within the mysterious confines of the Builders' ancient artistry, a sense of normality began to wash over Thane, Bomoor and Amare again, in a way that was now markedly more 'normal' than the previous locale they had been subjected to.

At first, Thane found himself, like the other two, in a vague position of recovery, pulling himself up from a dirt floor and his vision adjusting from the artificial whiteness of Hazzarah's 'cell' to that of (what appeared to be) natural, orange sunlight. Indeed, a faint and warm breeze was brushing over his exposed skin - skin that was more exposed than it had been before, as he noted he was now garbed in more primitive attire, being comprised largely of threaded leather, thin plates of armour, and coloured fabric and satin, all woven together in a uniquely-tribal design.

With his eyes adjusting, the would-be Sith realised that they were stood within a wide open alcove, high up and embedded within some towering pyramidal structure that held a large panoramic view of a grand city about and beneath. Several other pyramids dotted the skyline around the city and the far distance, but the sandstone styling of the archaic architecture below was instantly familiar, given they had been exploring - and were still technically on - the world of Korriban.

In the angry orange skies, several vessels could be seen hovering menacingly in a holding formation, and the scars of battle were apparent on several buildings in the city below. Red-skinned figures moved quickly about the streets, mobilising, fortifying and shouting, whilst primitive skiff-like vehicles hurried about the wider promenades, moving the Purebloods and their materials around their city with a dogged determination.

As the heat began to tingle at his skin some more, Thane ran his hand across his forehead, and was surprised to feel the recessed indents of a peculiar shape carved into the flesh. No mark had existed there before, he knew, and the outline was too deliberate and specific to be anything but a branding of some description, although he assumed it was part of whatever game King Hazzarah had set for them. Indeed, the towering black-skinned Sith behemoth stood just some feet away, resting purposefully on his huge warhammer as he regarded the scene below with discerning eyes. Instead of yet challenging their host, however, he turned to his two companions. Like Thane, they, too, had had their appearance changed, although the transformation was seemingly limited to just their attire and markings.

"The age of the original Sith," he surmised dryly, offering a hand to assist them up.

The three disembodied beings observed the scene below; their different builds silhouetted against the dusty red glow from the simulated outside world. Bomoor, in the centre, was garbed in long black robes that stretched down to the floor, with golden seams and stitching that flowed down his large body like a cascade of molten metal. Like Thane, he was puzzled by his new appearance and branding, but was aware it was part of Hazzarah’s test.

When Amare came to, she couldn't help but notice the feel of her attire had completely changed, but this time to something more...dignified. Unlike the somewhat lewd garb Archonus hastily wove for her back in reality, the attire she found herself in was a conservative affair permitting no titillating revelation of skin, albeit a bit too snug than she liked. It was a black and dark gray patterned full bodysuit made of comforting silk with elbow-length sleeves covered in a similarly styled sleeveless coat-like dress covering with little pointy black pauldrons on the shoulders with gold piping outlining her bustline and along the bottom edges of the dress. Her feet were equipped with soft black boots adorned in black leather wrappings, and her forearms were adorned in gold bracers and gold rings for her thumbs, index, and ring fingers.

I could get used to this, Amare thought to herself with a satisfied smile. She felt dressed for a purpose, like someone of value. She thanked her lucky stars that Hazzarah didn't hold a grude and put her into something skimpy such as a Twi'lek dancer's outfit like the ones Saucy made the other girls wear back on Nar Shaddaa, or that embarrassing swimsuit she was given to wear in the aquarium on Lorrd.

“Millennia later, their presence is still felt,” Bomoor nodded to the dark-skinned pureblood, “But those ships out there: are they from the Builders? Is this the war you fought with their empire?”

Hazzarah turned his head towards the Ithorian, inclining it briefly in a small nod. "The Infinite Empire, the Builders called it. In my age, it spread across the known galaxy, consuming, dominating and twisting all life it encountered, reshaping all existence into whatever war[ed shape it deemed right - or took its sick fancy." The hatred caused the inflections of his accented voice to ripple as he spoke, the power behind his words resonant. "You stand atop the Luminous Pyramid, at the centre of the Great City of Trayset." Several dart fighters suddenly flew past the gathered group, just feet away from crashing into them, firing superheated plasma blasts into the crowds below, as a battle finally seemed to break out in earnest. "This is the Siege of Trayset, at the height of King Adas' uprising - and the final days of the Infernal Council's rule of Korriban."

Thane said nothing to Hazzarah, distracted from inspecting his new forehead carving by the spectacle of war below and about them, at once amazed by the sheer scale of the war unfolding before them and by the extreme level of detail this Mind Prison had afforded the ancient Sith-Builder conflict. Further to that, there was a new layer to the experience they were being subjected to.

Since their sudden arrival - imprisonment, rather - within King Hazzarah's ancient mind-tomb, the essence of the Force and their apparent connection to it had not abated. In fact, his bond with Bomoor and the presence of his apprentice had been keenly apparent to Thane throughout the ordeal, and the sheer magnitude of Hazzarah's raw dark Force energy had sent waves through him, the Pureblood's presence feeling to be more a force of nature, like a dark Force wellspring, than that of a Sith adept. Now, the errant Jedi Knight could feel even more than their presences alone.

In the city of Trayset, there was suffering. In the city of Trayset, extant sentients were still connected to the Force.

"You said others 'remain'," Thane commented darkly, not taking his eyes away from the battle below.

"It feels just like Archonus's apprentices," Amare said partly to herself whilst observing in awe of the carnage below. "I can feel their anguish, their fear, their broken hands reaching out and clinging to life. They stubbornly refuse to let go... I can almost taste their shed blood on my lips. Both the living and the dead crying out for revenge. The warriors are chanting the names of their ancestors, the clerics are offering their sacrifices with prayers for the heavens to strike them with the power to cleave their enemies to bits. Strange...I-I...I almost feel like I've seen this long ago. But...I couldn't have. I've never visited Korriban until today."

His apprentice's profound insight and eloquence struck Thane. For a moment, he glimpsed the sapient woman she may yet become, even if he did not recognise the name she mentioned. "You are growing wise, Zaracoda," he complimented her, moving to stand beside her as the chaos unfurled ahead. "You are listening to the currents of the Force, even in this place; your senses serve you well, but be mindful to not lose yourself to the waves. This is an ancient and dark power, unknown to us." Thane's eyes wandered over to Hazzarah. "And I have no desire to suffer the same fate as these other Sith."

"You would not - for a time," the Sith King rumbled, lifting his warhammer to advance over to the three Red Raptor crew. "Complete my trials, and you will be able to leave as you arrived, perhaps even as more than you were before. These others, the ones that came before, my kinsmen and those that dwelt in this place when the magic of the Builders eluded me still... they exist as I do, as spirits within a phylactery, only they have forgotten themselves and the glory of their ancestors. Trayset - this Trayset, at this time - is their domain now, in perpetuity. Their doom. My shame."

"Your highness," Amare began to ask as she turned away from the view and looked upon Hazzarah, this time with a bit more respect in her eyes and tone, "what was the fate of the real Trayset? Did it survive or fall?"

Hazzarah's molten-gold eyes fell upon Amare, glistening with an unspoken and uncertain intense emotion, but he did not answer.

“Whether the city fell or not those thousands of years ago is not so much of interest to us this day,” Bomoor noted, adding his further observations, “For we know it fell eventually in the course of time. We can all sense that this imitation of Trayset hangs upon a delicate balance. I can sense that the invading Force is indeed strong, but there are several factors that have come together to give the defending Sith a chance at resistance on this day. It is almost like one of the shatterpoints in the Force, but tied into this moment in time and the people within it.”

Amare bit her lip to keep from talking back to the Ithorian that he had missed the point of her question. In her badgering of Hazzarah moments earlier, she gleaned that he was a man firmly rooted in the past, and that nothing, not even logic and evidence, could change that. The Sith that would be king had a perspective that was informed by the time from which he came, and that it seemed like anything that came after understandably held very little meaning to him. She deduced that if they failed his tests, whatever they were going to be, and he and his followers took their bodies into the modern galaxy, that Hazzarah would likely be utterly disgusted at seeing how much had changed. Amare had every intention of sparing him that experience, and to keep him and the other Sith spirits trapped and wallowing in their obsessive historical misery forever.

Hazzarah's stony face then turned fully from the Trayset vistas to the gathered trio, swinging his warhammer round into a prone offensive posture. "Your challenge commences," he said, once more cracking his weapon's handle into the stone floor.

The reverberating sound was then drowned out by a commotion in the room adjacent and, a moment later, two ceremoniously-armoured Pureblood Sith shunted the doors open and hurried inside. Between the pair of them, carried by their strong arms, was a wide, ominous-looking box that carried a similar design to the Mind Prison they were all encased within; it was constructed of that same dry rock with elaborate carvings, but this box had jutting, angular horns atop it, like a crown of stone. It looked almost like a small sarcophagus.

“High Protector!” exclaimed one of the Sith, addressing Bomoor, “We have secured it. The Wraith Box is now yours to command. But our party was ambushed on our way back into the city and we have few soldiers left to fortify our defences, let alone repel the invaders.”

The other Sith warrior looked towards Thane and Amare as well, “The whole of Trayset looks to your guidance: every last citizen will obey your commands without question. How should we proceed?”

Thane looked back to where King Hazzarah had been standing moments before, but the black-skinned regent was now nowhere to be seen. Although a frustration was threatening to grip the Caanan, he instead found a small smile curling around the corner of his lips. Hazzarah's gambit was plain to see, and the ancient king's mastery over the Mind Prison was impressive. The irony that they were now all Lords of the Sith, in a roundabout way, was also not lost on him.

After sharing just a brief and knowing glance to Bomoor as he turned on the heel of his bronzium metal boots, Thane addressed the two warriors, examining their prize with a sceptical eye. For the moment, he was unsure if the pair were two of the Force spirits trapped within this infinite maze, or a facsimile of Adas' forgotten legions. "The High Protector has many duties," he said, deciding to play his part. "Tell me the nature of the Builders' vile contraption."

“Of course, Archzealot,” the warrior closest to Thane answered with a firm nod, “This is the Wraith box: the Builder artefact that reduced our Massassi warriors to dust in the Battle of King’s Valley. We have secured it in the hopes that that same power can be turned back against the enemy through the High Protector’s powers."

Bomoor knelt down beside the box. Clearly, he was the High Protector and he felt that he could access some of the memories associated with this role. At least, the memories that Hazzarah deemed necessary for him to complete this task, which presumably was to awaken this box and use its power. However, he had some reservations about opening something that was so devastatingly destructive.

"Are we certain the box should be opened?" he looked up at the warrior that had been talking to Thane, "Should such destruction ever be unleashed."

He was met with a pause of mild confusion from the Sith, "Pardon me, High Protector, but the annihilation of our people, our culture, our planet is at stake. Destruction is inevitable, it is only a question of which people will trigger that destruction and which will fall at their hand. I should say, your hand sir."

That last line seemed almost to be said with some sadistic knowing of their trial, that made Bomoor wonder whether it was Hazzarah behind every face they would meet in this fabricated reality.

"Of course you are right," Bomoor then agreed, rising up and holding his hands ready over the box and saying with some conviction, feeling as though he had sussed out the game, "Then I make the decision to activate the box to save the lives of the people of Trayset and repel the hostile invaders."

The other Sith then stepped forwards, "I fear it may not be so simple, even with your unmatched power, my Lord. It is said that many powerful Builder warlocks must meditate for days to fully reveal the Wraith Box's power but we have only yourself and our time is limited..."

"Maybe we can work on it together?" Amare offered eagerly, even though she had no clue how. "'Twice the effort, double the results', as my father used to say."

"Priestess," the second warrior interjected, his expression a combination of confusion and concern, seemingly wary of challenging the woman he was perceiving as some ranking Sith official in this forgotten war of theirs, "your talents are... required elsewhere."

"Elsewhere?" Amare arched a hairless brow at them. "For what?"

"We of the Circle will support the High Protector," came another voice from behind the group, this one sly and velvety in contrast to the sterner voices of the warriors. From the shadows of a nearby alcove walked forth a thin man with the same red skin as the rest of the Sith species. Whereas the face tendrils of his compatriots hung down from either side of their jowls, this hooded and robed figure had tendrils that shot vertically from either side of his brow and upper lip, giving the impression of a fleshy and spiky moustache. He was garbed head-to-toe in a light red robe of fine material, and gold inscriptions lined the fabric of his clothing.

Examining the figure, Thane recognised the scripture lining his ornate attire from his lessons under Darth Bane's holocron, as well as his other self-propelled studies, noting the words 'Kissai' - 'priest' - and 'curate'. It struck him that, on this occasion, Bane himself would be considered a pretender from a much later age by these beings - the very progenitors of what would become the Dark Lords of the Sith and the various iterations of the orders that would claim such titles. The Sith Orders of later millennia meant nothing to these red-skinned beings; their concern was on their own conflict, of their own furious struggle for survival.

On that topic, Thane wondered again just which of these presented Purebloods were fabrications or genuine souls trapped within the ancient prison, of which would claim their earthly bodies, should they fail in their objective of 'saving' Trayset.

"Curate," Thane addressed the priest as 'archzealot', "what is our tactical situation; what forces remain us in the conflict for Trayset?" Whilst the young convert to the Sith way had seen his fair share of conflicts during his time as a Jedi, such as the Avalan Crisis on Onderon during his time as a padawan with Bomoor, or even the conflict with the Nea Glarist Heretics during their earliest years as fully-fledged Knights, they had never directed any sort of war.

In spite of Master Sotah's teachings, and his own belief in peace and order, Thane had always fancied his hand at leading armies, and a part of him was now eager to clasp the alchemical sword clasped at his waist and revel in the conflict before him. He then tried to quash those unwelcome feelings and urges, for fear of the dark side's mastery being over him, rather than the other way around.

With a glance to the Nautolan beside him, he wondered if Serus' apprentice would exercise the same restraint.

The Kissai Curate inclined his head towards Thane, and clasped his three-fingered hands within the oversized sleeves of his robes. "Your Eminence," he began, that sickly-sweet voice almost poisonous, "the Builders are marshalling their forces for another assault in the coming days - they will not let this slight go unpunished. The Infernal Council have dispatched two of their own under direction from Soa himself, the Sorceress-Sisters of Sorrow, to bring woe to the remaining Trayset warriors, and..." The curate's narrow eyes flicked between the gathered figures. "...and..."

Thane's own eyes narrowed in turn. "...And?"

"And the vanguard speak of another vile machine, forged by the twisted magicks of the vile and wicked Soa. The scouts call it the Infernal Engine, but the true extent of its mischief is unknown."

With another look to both Bomoor and Amare, Thane pressed forward again. "And what forces remain us?" He repeated, patience lessening.

"Three hundred Massassi warriors only," the Kissai answered, "and fifty Kissai battlemages. The bulk of our holy forces and spellswords were claimed in the initial onslaught of the Wraith Box - only Zuguruk, Grotthu and the townsfolk, the young and old and crippled, remain within Trayset." Anticipating the next question, he continued, "The Builders have five-score vessels in our skies, and at least three legions of soldiers and Force hounds at their beckon call. If three days it will take for the High Protector to unravel the mysteries of the Box, they will fall upon us in one, maybe two - not including the Sorceress-Sisters or this terrible Engine they speak of. This city is the nearest to the capital, where the Ax reigns and plots our final divine victory.”

“Three games for three players,” Thane observed, now speaking directly to High Protector Bomoor and Priestess Amare, having turned away from the Kissai and the two Massassi warriors beside them. “Hazzarah has laid this out a little too conveniently, although I am sure there are traps and twists to this fable of his. I wonder, indeed, who the final victor for Trayset was, even if the ultimate war was won by the Sith legions.” The Human looked once more to the city, and to the stone-styled ships overhead. “We have next to no forces left to face the Builders and three very real threats poised to destroy the city and its inhabitants in creative and certain ways. Failure will result in our bodies being stolen by ancient aliens, and success will very likely cause the unenviable damnation of innumerable trapped souls to Chaos below.”

"We won't lose," Amare assured Thane with a smirk. "We can't. There's still so much for us to do out there. Besides, I went through a lot of trouble to put your old lightsaber back together again. I'm not gonna let some mean old Sith king take my body and use what's rightfully mine."

Thane approved. "Quite right, apprentice."

"Such inspiring confidence from my fellow Sith," Bomoor added, although he inwardly wondered whether he should make light of the Sith title, given Thane's recent discussions of his choices, "Our combined strengths will surely save the city. But, do remember that the choices we make may not be the ones that come most naturally. We are, after all, being tested."

“Most Reverend High Protector, Your Eminence, My Lady,” the Kissai interrupted, not permitting the others to have a full and frank conversation, “we must insist on a course of action being decided upon. The city teeters on the edge of ruin. The Balance hangs in your hands, High Protector.”

Thane spoke first, positioning himself beside Amare. “It seems that you have the city, Bomoor,” he said, “and the illustrious job of deciphering this Wraith Box. Do what you need to as you see fit. Zaracoda and I will investigate this new machine and the weird sisters.” He looked down at the archaic armour and ornaments attached to him, dismayed slightly by the lack of dignity. “I’m sure there will be some way for us to get hold of each other.”

Amare couldn't help but notice Thane's obvious discomfort at his revealing outfit. Although amusing, she felt no urge to chuckle at his predicament, but rather liked what she saw. She was grateful the simulation didn't include changing their appearance outside of clothes and gear, at least to their own eyes. She loathed the thought of what Thane or Bomoor would look like as pureblood Sith. It was enough to almost make her want to gag, just like the rest of Korriban.

"Shall we away, 'Your Eminence'?" she asked her master with a little playful emphasis on the title. She was eager to go forth and take action rather than standing around and enduring the agony of spoken titles repeated ad nauseum.

"Ah, quite so, m'lady," Thane said lightheartedly, adopting Amare's own mocking tone. In contrast to the serious situation they now found themselves in, and in an amusing display quite unlike the intense manner shared between the master and apprentice of late, he cocked his arm up for her to loop her own through, carrying on the joking charade (most likely at the confused expense of their perhaps-real hosts).

Amare was inwardly stunned by the offering of affection. She was so flush with joy at an opportunity to finally have a positive moment with Thane, she flashed her pearly white teeth at him in a jovial way that would've made Kit Fisto proud, and looped her arm with his. Her feet felt so light in that short moment, she was ready to dance a waltz around the Sith royal court with him if that had been her master's wish. It was almost enough to make her forget Yavin 4...almost.

"Most Reverend Bomoor, we both wish you well," Thane said as he and Amare were guided to the door by their new Massassi comrades, finding the humour a suitable remedy for their dire predicament. "We are off to win a war. Do try not destroy the city in our absence."

"Right, sure..." Bomoor mumbled, his attention now back on the box and not on the strangely merry pair now leaving the room. He massaged his hump slightly with one hand as he often did while considering a difficult task.

He looked around and then gestured for the box to be placed over towards the open archways that allowed a view down upon the rapidly developing conflict below. There was some kind of shield generator in place protecting parts of the city wall, but already he could see weaker sections where groups of warriors were clustered to fight off the invaders. It felt as though the city might be overtaken by nightfall at this fate and so he knelt down before the box, feeling its heavy presence as well as the weight of the lives that hung in the balance below.

"I had better begin as I fear time is against me," he announced, with the suggestion that he be left to concentrate.

However, instead of leaving, the Kissai had more to say, "My Lord, there may be a way you could buy yourself more time to open the box..."

While Bomoor did not turn around to see them, he could feel that the other Pureblood Sith had turned with an angry and fearful glare towards the Curate, knowing what he was about to suggest.

"...if you were to perhaps consider using all the resources Trayset has to offer."

TBC

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