Good Men

Posted on Thu Jan 9th, 2020 @ 10:55pm by Bomoor Thort & Thane

4,398 words; about a 22 minute read

Chapter: Chapter VI: The Last Bastion
Location: Apailana Gardens, City of Ferentina, Naboo
Timeline: Afternoon, Late Week Two (During Amare's Mission)

A gentle breeze fluttered across the broad assortment of variously-coloured leaves and petals that adorned the rich array of flora decorating the luxurious Apailana Gardens. Situated close to the heart of the ancient city of Ferentina, the public gardens boasted a brilliant array of plants, flowers and trees collected from across the Mid Rim world of Naboo's rich and splendid landscapes, its natural beauty still largely untouched throughout the generations and the rising and falling of various galactic regimes, republics and empires both.

Warm rays of sunlight found their way through the picture-perfect white clouds that shuffled slowly across the blue sky, brightening up the natural colours of the artistic display. The light reflected off of the classical architectural designs of Ferentina's many domed buildings, which was firmly in-keeping with the traditional elegance expected of the Nabooian form. Although quite unlike anything regularly encountered in the Core Worlds of the Republic, the general art style and depiction on Naboo was more reminiscent of those High Human cultured worlds than that of a secluded Mid Rim planet.

Most attributed the unyielding culture of Naboo to its history of self-imposed seclusion and marginal tendencies towards xenophobia. Whilst a great deal of that had been challenged at one juncture in history, what with the ascension of a Naboo native as the first Galactic Emperor and the inclusion of the native Gungan species in the planet's politics, the rigours of war and conflict had ensured those sensibilities never quite died with Emperor Palpatine, and the Naboo had guarded their world's beauty and independence with barely-concealed jealousy. Indeed, their desire for self-determination had led them to align with the Alliance during the Second Outer Rim Conflict, although they had escaped relatively unscathed, politically and militarily, despite their wartime allegiances.

As briefly considered these historical and political points, Thane lazily brushed away at an overenthusiastic bee that had been hovering beside his beryl leaf tea, wisps of steam wisping away from the force of the Caanan Human's gesture. Like his companion, the Ithorian Bomoor Thort, he was sat on a free-standing wooden chair, the pair positioned on opposite sides of an antiquated stone dejarik game table, wooden game pieces in the shapes of creatures, both real and mythological, arrayed across the chequered design.

Situated within a picturesque portion of the Apailana Gardens, the two former Jedi Knights were afforded a wonderful view of stone pathways, well-kept lawns, an assortment of fresh flowers, and an artistically-designed pond, complete with functioning fountains and fawning native pelikki birds. Beyond the confines of the park, named to honour a martyred queen from the time of the Palpatinian age (a freedom fighter of some description, Thane believed he had read somewhere), they could also sight a few of the city's cylindrical buildings, and beyond them, a selection of mountains that formed one side of the Andrevea Gap - the mountain pass in which Ferentina was situated, straddling the historic Andrevea River.

It was a truly beautiful world, Thane acknowledged, which was no small assessment, given the number of them he had now had the fortune - and misfortune - to step foot upon. Whilst not as stark in its glamour as Caanus, nor as grim and gritty as Onderon, the world still hearkened to something primal and familiar within Thane.

"I have it on good authority that there is House Pallopides blood running through my veins," he said to his friend as he pushed his Ghhhk piece towards one of Bomoor's carved monstrous army, having deliberated on the move for some fifteen minutes.

It was typical for the pair, of course, who both preferred to consider their tactics and manoeuvres carefully before taking action against the other. It was not an issue Thane had with other opponents, he noted - not that he cared to play with anyone else any more. He wondered if it was a point of pride, refusing to lose to Bomoor, or whether he cared to do his friend the courtesy of playing right. Either way, Thane was at surprisingly at ease, if still focused, sequestered as he was within the mundane of this elegant world. And, like his companion, he had eschewed his typical wear, and was instead garbed in simple robes of good quality and plain colours, allowing them to pass off as travellers of good standing. Given the setting and the number of tourists enjoying the vistas and mountain pass, it was worthwhile, even for the less commonly-encountered Ithorian species.

"Really?" Bomoor hummed his acknowledgement of the curious claim about the bloodline closely linked to the one of the last Emperors of the galaxy, once a renowned senator from this very planet, "I'm not sure that is much of a boast these days, but fascinating if true, all the same. I am sure our old Dromachian friend would have much to say about the power of your blood."

The Ithorian inspected the piece Thane had moved; the Ghhhk was often overlooked at this point in the game due to its limited moving and attacking directions. It had not been moved anywhere particularly threatening to any of his pieces but Bomoor considered how this now changed the co-ordinates his own pieces could now move to and how he might be subtly being coerced into making a move to leave him open to attack by another of Thane's wooden beasts.

Bomoor exhaled and took his eye off the board for a moment to take a sip of his own tea, its earthy, mellow taste was pleasant as it trickled down his throats, "You know, I think I have completely lost track of how long we have been sitting here," he announced, "Were you supposed to have received any contact from Amare by now?"

In the first instance, Thane had almost found the reminder of Morgo and, by extension, Bería, almost distasteful, but he could also see the wry truth behind Bomoor's remark. His supposed and vague (maternal, he believed) Nabooian ancestry aside, he cast his mind to his apprentice's excursion into Hutt space. "She will find her way in good time," he said noncommittally with a small gesture of his half-mechanical hand, the bright sun glinting against the dull metal of his prosthetic digits. His decision to expose them publicly was a rare one, but he was enjoying the fresh day's weather against his skin. "I have to admit, however, that her progress since Korriban has astounded me."

“Oh, I have no doubt she will do well on her assignment,” Bomoor’s brows raised as he considered the great strides Amare had made that put most fledgling Jedi to shame. All the Force-users on the ship had seen what the Dark Side offered in terms of brute strength and power, but Amare had taken to it with the greatest fervour, immersing herself in all that it could offer.

The Ithorian propped his arms together on the table, indicating he was not yet ready to make his move, “Her focus has increased since her troubling experience on Lorrd and the power she demonstrated in that duel on Mustafar was almost frightening. To see how close she got to matching your own prowess with the blade was quite something.”

Thane's eyes did not now deviate from the paraded pieces before him, his appearance of deliberating future movements a poor shield for his internal contemplation of Bomoor's valid observation. A bird cawed overhead, calling to its kin that were settled upon a nearby green domed building, before he offered any reply to his friend. A few matters of pride were tugging at him, and given the distinct flow of consideration he was detecting from Bomoor through their Force bond, he was confident that was apparent to the former Jedi Consular.

"She is gifted and has learned well," he said, now finally letting his eyes reach Bomoor's, resignation accenting his words. "I would never take that away from her. She has far surpassed any Jedi counterpart and is finding her truth within the Force, growing more powerful by the day. However, a blademaster she is not." Thane paused, shifting his weight and feeling the comforting heft of his smooth, elegant lightsaber resting within his garments. "During our battle, my usage of Djem So was not entirely my first choice. Its brutish manner and oppressive katas served a purpose as a lesson, I do not deny, but..."

The Caanan's words drifted off slightly as he considered what to say, his eyes once again fixated upon the game pieces. He had resigned himself to the truth with Bomoor, as he had with so many matters, past and present. He had faith in the Ithorian, and the pair had shared many confessions and extrapolations with one another over the years. It was not a tradition or trust he now desired to abandon. "But my lightsaber is not as responsive as it once was. My own powers and talents have increased in the past year, at a rate I've not experienced since our years as younglings. However, where once my blade's slice was sharp and precise, the plasma an extension of my own sword-arm, it now feels clumsier. Slower, as if I am attempting to strike through thick metal, a deep resistance pushing back against me." Blue eyes looked to Bomoor's eye-stalks. "It is reminiscent of using the Force upon a resilient foe - a battle of wills."

Thane’s words resonated within Bomoor, the truth of them sinking in. He rarely considered that his old friend might struggle with his abilities as he had grown to trust in his strength, working side-by-side with him over the years. But the strength Thane now sought was different to anything they had ever delved into before as it meant changing something deep within themselves. He knew that there might be people in their lives that might resist, but to think that the lightsaber, often viewed as an extension of a Force-users own body, might do the same was troubling. However, it was not unheard of.

“I think I understand what you are saying,” Bomoor craned his head down to where Thane’s weapon was concealed, “Might I see your saber? I will be careful to keep it hidden from sight.”

Thane did not need Bomoor's assurances. Not only did he trust in his friend's discretion, he also had faith in their ability to dampen any interest they may hold for the undiscerning onlooker. To any local, the presence of an Ithorian was more likely to be remarkable than any trinket the pair handled between them, although decorative gardens would be an obvious choice for an Ithorian sightseer. Retrieving the predominantly electrum-fashioned weapon, which was still surprisingly cool to the touch, despite being kept so close to his body, he passed it over to Bomoor.

The light of the Force was still glowing strongly within the Jedi instrument, Thane could tell as he briefly handled it, but the familiarity - the resonance - it once had seemed... lacklustre. It was not an absence by any means, but it was no longer attuned in a fashion he was accustomed. It was not his lightsaber.

Receiving the glistening and beautiful weapon, Bomoor’s large fingers felt the soft curvature of the weapon and, with a slightly firmer grip, felt deeper to get a sense of the crystal within. With eyes closed, he was silent for a long moment. Long enough for a wind to sweep through the valley and whisper secrets from afar through the trees in the delicate garden.

“The Hurrikaine crystal within,” Bomoor slowly raised his eyelids, but kept his gaze upon the glimmering electrum trim, “You once told me that you were originally intended to have a Velmorite crystal but that you had a strange vision during your journey to construct your blade and awoke with the rare crystal already set into your blade and some memories of a Jedi who faced ancient creatures of stone.”

He now looked up at Thane, “This crystal came to you because you needed it in that moment and it has since been your defence and your strength as a Jedi. It has been your identity and has been attuned to the Force in the same way you yourself aligned with the Force. But, in spite of its qualities within the Force, it is still a crystal – molecules arranged in a precise and complex pattern that are not as yielding to new ideals as we, the living, are. As you yourself change the way you access the Force, your crystal will not change at the same rate and you will likely find it resists your commands, even on a physical level. You are asking something not in its nature.”

Thane mulled on Bomoor's considered insight, nodding gently. He recalled the trip that he had taken to the planet Hurikane with Loren aboard the Sotah's Woe, a gifted Velmorite crystal from their former master nestled within his old Jedi robes. The memory had once been one of his most treasured and peculiar; he had experienced an ethereal experience beyond his absolute understanding, and any research on the matter after had not yielded anything tangible. The best explanation he had managed to offer for the provenance of his unique violet crystal was that it had been a gift - an answer he had given to Loren when she had asked.

His own gaze fell upon his hilt in the Ithorian's elongated hands suspiciously, examining it from afar with narrowed eyes. Some part of him was grateful the weapon had not actually been the one turned upon the Jedi Sentinel he had killed.

"Then I must turn to alternative measures," Thane said solemnly, disheartened but accepting of the fate. He could not abide the limited functionality the crystal was now providing him, and his personal affection for the style and attributes of his chosen crystal could not be allowed to dominate his decisions. Sentimentality could be the death of pragmatism. It did not change the fact that the loss of the crystal, which he had formed a pronounce bond with and preference for, bothered him. "The furnace we discovered on Korriban, perhaps?"

Thane’s dismay was tangible through their bond and his Ithorian companion seemed to feel it too, magnified by his own connection to the familiar violet crystal in the same way he was linked to his personal viridian crystal from Onderon.

“Perhaps…” he answered slowly, “But you may not want to give up on your bonded crystal just yet. Synthesising a crystal in that furnace would certainly be possible and, from what I have read about their creation, could actually create a crystal more powerful than a natural one.”

Bomoor extended the hilt slightly, waving it like a wand above his M’onnok, holding his thought suspended in the air, “But there is a concept that has cropped up in my research. Some Dark Jedi and Sith, such as Cabal, saw value in the deeper Force bond of naturally formed crystals and were fascinated by how the light side had taken hold of them and then been further attuned by their Jedi owners. They set out to alter the alignment of their crystals by vigorously channelling the dark side of the Force into them until any essence of the light had not only been stripped away, but replaced with a darker core.”

He stopped hovering with the weapon and, with a brief glace about, offered it back to Thane, “It was referred to as bleeding a crystal. If you now draw your strength from the dark side, then perhaps your crystal should too. Of course, if you want to leave it as it was, I will happily assist you in forging a synthetic blade, just remember that your gifted crystal will no longer answer to you.”

Thane simply held the weapon for a few moments, hands resting in his lap as his eyes examined the outer casing of his lightsaber, almost searching to see the violet crystal within, although its presence was unmistakable within the Force. He was not enthused at his own suggestion of forging a new synthetic crystal, unique to him and the galaxy as it would be. The Force never flowed in quite the same manner from such creations, born of the Force though they arguably were. Whilst the dark side had become his ally and his power, the perversions it had to offer, and had indeed created throughout the generations, were still not palatable to the young former Jedi Knight. It seemed additionally macabre to him, at least in this moment, surrounded by the natural beauty of Naboo and the presence of his good friend, to consider polluting his own crystal with the grim presence of his newfound dark power.

From his own knowledge of applying the Force with rigour against its oppositely-aligned counterpart, Thane was aware there would be some manner of resistance, or even fallout, from undertaking the task. Just as midichlorians sought to resist their host's attempts to manipulate them in one's self and others, so did objects of the light and dark side seem to object to tampering, finding natural defences to the perceived unnatural intrusion.

"I have already surrendered much to the darkness in the pursuit of bettering myself," the Caanan finally said, returning the lightsaber to its concealment within his clothing and looking up at Bomoor again. "Perhaps my sentimentality is getting the better of me, but if one is to know where they are going, they should really understand where they have been." Thane did not hate who he was, nor what the light side had been for him - and was meant to be for others - and he did not seek the destruction of that. "Only a fool rejects history - especially their own."

He reclaimed his cup and drank some more of the tea, although found its temperature was beginning to cool unpleasantly. "Incidentally," he began, returning the cup to its saucer with a slight scowl, "how is your bald companion coping with his new existence?"

Bomoor appeared to let the question linger for a moment, allowing himself to digest the previous topic on conversation before moving on, “Mentis harbours a lot of frustration,” he answered eventually, “I think he found some purpose in running but now he has stopped, he risks beginning to resent us for keeping him still. I think these first few weeks will be a trial to him, trusting us enough to stay put and not return to his life of running or, worse, fall back into Axion’s clutches.”

His hand was drawn again to the M’onnok piece, one of the few figures in the game based on a real life-form and not a mythical one. This time he placed a light pressure upon the piece, just enough that it could slide in multiple directions with just a tad more force.

“I do feel as though I ought to engage him somehow, though,” the Ithorian spoke with heavy consideration in his voice, “We have exchanged words, but I think I need to connect with him on a different level. It reminds me of the struggle I had to connect with Master Thurius when he first took me on. Yet somehow he broke through to me and allowed us to learn from each other, but I don’t know if it will work the same way with a man only a few years my junior.”

Thane's eyes were transfixed on Bomoor's leathery digits as they pushed gently onto the dejarik piece, although his ears continued listening. He understood his friend's concerns only too well, as he knew the Ithorian appreciated. As well as his own troubled origins within the Jedi Order after the tragedy on Caanus that robbed him of his mother, brother and childhood - especially as he was surrendered by his father to the monastic knights - Thane had since found himself mentoring two Force sensitive women, both of an age close to his own.

There had been much greater success with the latter student.

"Perhaps you could ask the spicer," Thane suggested with a gentle, mocking tone, "or the murderous rodent that he has formed such peculiar relationships with." Their presence on the ship, whilst bringing some measured degree of original talent that had been missing with the Red Raptor previous insubstantial roster, still frustrated the Sith Lord. He had grown accustomed to the relative quiet and solitude of their reduced numbers. Now, he was hard-pressed to meditate or read without the frustrating intoning of the Jawa, the craven mumblings of Captain Vickers, or even the occasional spiteful comment shared between his apprentice and Mentis.

When Bomoor did not yet move the piece, instead taking more time to deliberate (Thane did not blame nor admonish him - he was equally as guilty in previous bouts), Thane finally allowed his eyes to wander once more. Narrowing to cope with the bright sun of the Naboo sky, he drank in more of the fine scenery, satisfied with their chosen locale and basking in the simple enjoyment of time with his friend. He was amused to think of what passersby would think, were they able to realise the mundanity and normalcy of the task the galaxy's sole Sith Lord was engaged in. His gaze then transfixed on the tallest of the nearby line of mountains, its peak concealed high within white clouds.

"Muntuur," he said simply, inclining his head towards the side of the Andrevea Gap that was nearest, looming large over Ferentina.

“Hmm?” Bomoor processed the name, inclining his head upwards towards where Thane was looking and allowing the dejarik piece to settle back into place after releasing his grip, “The challenge of the stones? But here on Naboo…”

He looked up at the mountainside and seemed to recall something, squinting up at the towering natural formation, “The mountain reminds me of the one on Cerea that Thurius took me up: he wanted to test my skills with the blade when my body was exhausted. Perhaps I could do something similar with Mentis. But I don’t just want to teach him more fencing skills.”

Bomoor looked over at Thane again, “Tell me, did Sotah often challenge your Force powers in a way you were not comfortable with? Not just with the Muntuur stones, but with your strength of Will?”

Although he did not want to, Thane smirked. Whilst contemplating the wily Selkath Jedi Master could often be a source of ambivalence for him, he had many positive memories and feelings towards Sotah. He was as an ingenious Jedi and an inspired mentor. He wondered if had ever embodied any of his old friend's traits since taking his own tutees.

He doubted it.

"Mentis is a skilled enough swordsman. Whatever torturous methods Axion employed against the wretch have seen to that, at least," Thane said, resting back in his chair and partly wondering at obtaining more tea. It always improved his ability to think - but not quite as much as spiced ale, he considered. A plan for the evening, perhaps. "In the earliest years, shortly after the construction of my first true lightsaber, Master Sotah quickly grasped my... preference for 'aggressive negotiations'. He had delicately accused my affinity for the blade to be interfering with my ability to not simply appreciate the nuances of the Force, but the other tools kept within a Jedi's kit - as was the old fish's poor attempt at turning his lesson into a metaphor."

Despite his better judgement, Thane downed the rest of the cooled tea, barely managing to contain a wince. A mighty would-be Dark Lord, undone by chilled boiled leaves. "He took my lightsaber away from me for several assignments, almost at random." He paused for a second, the smirk remaining. "I even recall, for a week or so - at the urging of your master, I believe - he sent me to tutor the older younglings in basic katas, still without my own lightsaber to use. After all, he said, I was a 'master duellist'."

Seemingly sharing in the fond yet bitter recollection of their shared development, Bomoor nodded, “To train with your advantages stripped away, so that you are forced to develop other means to fight and defend yourself. Yes, I think that could work.”

Bomoor idly batted away a stray leaf that had intruded upon the board of the half-completed (and likely destined to remain uncompleted) dejarik game, “Mentis clings to his strengths deeply, whether he realises or not. His strength, his weapon and his practised demeanour are all important to him. If I were to strip those away and face him with a challenge his is not prepared for, then perhaps we will see once and for all if he is truly an ally we can rely on.”

Standing up, Bomoor took a couple of paces away from the table, facing the low sun and casting a long shadow back across the table where Thane still sat. He seemed to be sizing up the mountain and constructing a suitable challenge to fit it, “Yes, I think that will do nicely. Thank you for chatting my friend, I forget how much I enjoy these little moments of simplicity.”

Thane permitted the sentiment to hang between them for a little longer than was normally comfortable, his ice-blue eyes looking upon the Ithorian. A faint smile lifted up the pale edges of his mouth as he reciprocated Bomoor's romanticism, nodding gently in affirmation. Not getting up to join his departing friend, knowing they would meet again later that day or the next, he instead shifted his weight backwards in his chair, his gaze drifting back down to the scattered game pieces.

"Our masters are good men," the Sith Lord said finally, after Bomoor had already taken some steps away, his hooded expression as noncommittal as the passing, final comment.

The Ithorian slowed his pace as the statement swept over him. Thane watched as his tall friend craned around and firmly met his gaze. His eyes held an understanding and a hope that held almost as strong a connection as their Force bond. He nodded.

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