Not sure anyone is still waiting for an update, but I am certain nobody is expecting any schedule by now.

 

A big thank you to Luna and Misha for commenting and boosting my morale <3

 

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#38

 

 

Booming echoes ripple through the raining dust. Astonishment and incredulity war on Vemrin’s face. His weapon clatters to the floor, dropped from a hand too limp to clutch at the hole in his chest. Death wins with an unspectacular last shudder. I have seen this old acquaintance at work far too many times to leave any room for uncertainty. The Sith is already dead when his body hits the floor.

 

“No!” no more than a whisper. “No!” more vehement. Ciner spins towards me. The fiery flecks in his eyes combine to a red glow embarrassing many a billboard for certain establishments on Nar Shaddaa.

 

I take a step back. My grip on the blaster tightens. I fight the urge to aim and shoot. It’s too late for that when he makes a familiar gripping gesture. This time the target aren’t my ankles though. I release the blaster and with it every coherent thought. The only intent left is to get rid of the stuff constricting my throat. Claw and scrabble as I may, there is nothing to get hold of except my own skin.

 

A hiss manages to penetrate the fog of my struggles. “He was mine!” Ciner’s nose almost touches mine. “I told you to stay out of the fight.”

 

“No!” I croak as best I can without much air left and try to shake my head. “No, we’re a team!” The pounding of my blood drowns out my own words.

 

Somehow the Sith gets my meaning. “You were only supposed to open the damned door.” With a shove he releases me.

 

I stumble a few steps and collapse on the stair. The gulps of air taste wonderful, the staleness merely a faint aftertaste. I search for the water bottle, take a few sips. There is fresh blood beneath my fingernails. The scratches on my throat burn like hell. If only I knew less about infections.

 

Ciner has gone back and closed Vemrin’s eyes. “He was a worthy opponent!” he says. “Still, you should not have interfered.”

 

And risk the other @sshole winning? Don’t think so. We already agreed on Ciner being my best chance out of this mess. He might not like my lacking trust in his abilities, though. “Had to speed things up. Wasn’t able to concentrate on my task with all the ruckus you both made.”

 

“Have you ever tried to accept responsibility for your actions?”

 

“How much responsibility do you concede someone wearing a slave collar?” I don’t wait for a response. “You asked me for this dance. Don’t complain about me stepping on your toes. Because as long as you’re lead, it’s your own kriffing fault.”

 

“Says the one unable to follow. This dance would go a lot smoother if you did not try to hijack the lead every other step.”

 

I glare at him. A fine dancing couple we are. “Look, I wanted to help you. Everything happened so fast. The guy jumped, you weren’t in my line of fire, I shot. I didn’t think about it.”

 

“Lucky for you, you did not think. Otherwise you would not have been able to surprise him. Not at this distance. He could have killed you. You took an unnecessary risk.”

 

“That’s what I do.”

 

“Taking unnecessary risks?”

 

“No — I protect people who hire me. And though the circumstances are unusual,” I point at the shock collar, “I still kind of work for you. The payment is certainly generous if not invaluable.” My situation does look better when I put it this way. The collar adds a whole new flavor, but the rest is still familiar. Most of my life I’ve been doing what I have been told. At least people expected me to.

 

“A pragmatic approach. I will try to remember you are guarding me and not the other way around.” He sounds serious, only the sparkle in his eyes ruins the impression.

*waves* I'm here waiting for an update. It is always nice to see a new post to the thread

They are always worth the wait.

 

 

A lovely addition to your story Frauzet! You have a wonderful way with words, that I appreciate. You say so much, beautifully, and with an economy of words. I liked how Ciner went back and shut Vemrin's eyes and considered him worthy as an opponent, that speaks volumes to me about the sort of man he is. Thorns is always a delight and I can't blame him one bit for helping despite Ciner's insistence not to. Keep it up! <3

It seems that Thorns simply took out the unwelcome third party trying to cut in on the dance. A bit of self preservation on Thorn's part, I must say. If, Vemrin had won, he'd have died. Hedging his bets would have been unwise in this case.

 

A nice touch with Ciner paying respect to his adversary, such as Vemrin was.

 

Great way to end. Who's protecting who? Ciner can concede if for no other reason than for his own amusement.

 

Looking forward to more.

So I've kept my promise--I have finally caught up to all of this.

 

Frauzet I love your writing style and the way you've chosen to tell this story. Thorns is such an immensely enjoyable character and the look you provide into his way of thinking, his perspective, how he sees everything around him is fantastic. I really enjoy Ciner as well and there's such a unique and very appealing chemistry between the two.

 

I've read so much of this in one sitting it's a bit tricky to touch on each detail so I will limit it to the most recent chapter; To echo others, I liked the way Ciner went and closed Vemrin's eyes. It strikes me as unusual for a Sith and makes me appreciate him that much more. Thorns made the right call I'd say, no doubt he'd have drawn the short end had Vemrin succeeded.

 

I'm glad I finally read this, long overdue but your work is marvelous. Keep it up.

*sighs* I am still here. Thank you for the kind words, the encouragement, and bearing with me.

 

I started this post, then discarded it, then started again.

I wrote a few words. It isn't much, and I am not happy with it, but it is something.

I decided, I won't let this damned writer's block get the better of me.

This story started with small chapters, there is nothing wrong with continuing it that way

 

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#39

 

A lot of things can kill you. Not many are as frustrating as a karking blue block twice as big as the remaining nook. Splat goes my third life. I take a swing, pad in hand, but don’t let go of the device. Tempting as it is, smashing it doesn’t serve any purpose. Stupid game! “Why do you do this to me, Ce’na?” I whisper.

 

The Sith is beside me when I get up to stretch my legs. “Do not tell me, you have to start over!”

 

I tilt my head to look at him. He is the one under deadline pressure. He is the one who should be frustrated.

 

“Well?”

 

“Well what?”

 

“Did you lose?” A hint of exasperation tints his voice.

 

“You told me not to tell you!” I deadpan.

 

Ciner shakes his head. “It is a miracle nobody killed you yet.”

 

“Not for lack of trying.”

 

“Force!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “I would question why I had to end up with you, yet I assume your friend would have been just as annoying.”

 

“Don’t talk of her like that!” I spit. “Even better, don’t talk of her at all!”

 

“Well, if she was not annoying, her intellectual ability was not as excellent as I was led to believe.”

 

“I don’t care what you believe,” I growl through gritted teeth while I consider slamming the pad in his face. The sparkle in the Sith’s eyes tells me he is waiting for my move. So much for frustrating him. Kriffing bastard. I stalk away from him.

 

“Does hiding the information behind almost an hour of a stupid game sound like a good plan to you then?” he calls after me.

 

“Seems pretty safe to me.”

 

“Only if you have the time to access it, or you don’t need it at all.”

 

That gives me pause. Ce’na used the plan and whatever hints she hid on the pad. I saw her do it. I look over my shoulder at the Sith. He’s right. It doesn’t make sense.

 

“What’s the fastest way to lose?” he asks.

I'm glad you're back to it! Don't let the block get you down. The only way through it, is to fight through it as you have.

 

 

 

I was quite happy to get my internet back and see that you posted an update.

It is nice to see the boys again.

I was/am so very happy to see this update today. Glad to see you have broken through the block, one word at a time is often what it takes.

 

I have missed the back and forth conversations between Thorns and Ciner. Each sizing up the other, pushing a bit, antagonizing with caution and often arriving at the same conclusion or even consensus. It is a wonderful study of the psychology of different cultures and conflicting ideas and even upbringing. I do applaud your concise and often witty discourse.

 

Looking forward to more. Here's hoping the block has moved aside for your creative endeavors. I do enjoy them so.

Once again, thank you for the feedback and encouragement. I'm not sure I'd still be writing without you. <3

 

I am still fighting with the remnants of a cold. Good thing is, I wasn't feeling well enough to do some household chores. Instead I wrote my notes down and did some editing. Baby steps!

I hope you'll enjoy the result.

 

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#40

 

Of course it isn’t that easy. Nothing ever is. It takes about half an hour of trial and error, before Ciner claims the first brick in the third level is of a slightly different shade of green than the rest of the green ones. It doesn’t look different to me, especially not in this lighting, but why argue. If I take his word for it we might be able to solve the puzzle before we strangle one another. And Twi’lek eyes perceive color different from human ones. To one of them the colors might differ as much as light and dark green do for me. Ciner leans in over my shoulder and taps the brick. Nothing happens. Several more taps neither yield any visible effects.

 

“What now?” I urge.

 

Ciner grabs for the controls in response which results in a short scuffle. I surrender the pad too late to move the brick any further. “Great!” the Sith exclaims. “Another try lost.”

 

“Maybe we should take a look at the map. Are there any hints on it?”

 

“There are not!” Ciner still insists he has it memorized. He gives the brick another tap. “Where are you supposed to go, you little bugger?” he asks softly. The brick remains silent.

 

Not like it has an agenda of its own, it’s just a brick, of course it doesn’t respond. Yet, in the back of my mind Ce’na starts to hum a familiar tune. “Wait!” I get up and concentrate to remember what my friend had told me about the old nursery rhyme. The words had been Twi’leki and her lekku had moved to the rhythm of the melody. Something about a dewback in a garden, capering between the flowers. I recall Ce’na jumping across some low fence on our way home one night after the club. “I am the little green dewback!” she had called in a singsong voice. And then she had started to turn, first one way, then the other, until I had to catch her from toppling over. Just for a moment I close my eyes in an attempt to preserve the memory. “Try to turn the thing first left, then right. Or the other way around if that doesn’t work.” Ciner gives me a quizzical stare. I dismiss further explanations and shrug. “Just try it.” What would a Sith know about nursery rhymes.

 

It actually takes several more tries to get the turns right and realize you have to tap the little green dewback on its head afterward. The instructions for unlocking the door prove to be rather simple. Like a touch-to-open cupboard you have to press the corners of the stone, then draw two Sith glyphs. Probably the dead guy’s initials or some such. I wonder how Ce’na got them, then shrug off the thought. She had her sources.

 

I am not sure what I expected. The squeak of rusty hinges, the smell of decay? The stone slab barring entry to the tomb sorely disappoints, moving aside with barely a sound after Ciner draws the appropriate signs in the dust on its surface. There isn’t even any blood involved in the process. No rush of moldy air makes our torches flicker. Okay, we don’t carry torches, but that’s beside the point. Truth be told, the whole process pales in comparison to ‘Raiders of the Rakatan Tomb’ despite me humming the theme under my breath. At this point the angry ghosts should start shrieking and moaning in the dark depths of the burial chamber. They don’t.

 

“Opening a Sith tomb shouldn’t be this underwhelming!” I complain, feeling somewhat betrayed after all the effort we have been through.

 

Ciner listens to the chamber’s silence. He seems intent on penetrating the darkness before us with his gaze, his eyes flickering from one side to the other. “I have had my fair share of K’lor’slugs and friends,” he finally states. “I will take underwhelming.” With that he takes a step across the threshold.

There is nothing wrong with baby steps, progress is progress.

 

 

 

 

Looking forward to more, and I hope you feel better soon.

I'm glad you managed to get some writing time in and I hope you'll be feeling better very soon. <3

 

Your latest chapter was a delight as always. The dialogue between them is wonderful, Sithly adorable For some reason, I wanted to sing the Green Dewback song to "I'm a little tea pot"

 

Loved every bit. <3

Colds are annoying little buggers and I hope you are over it soon. Glad you felt well enough to post.

 

I can imagine Thorns and Ciner fighting over the game control like two boys on a sleepover. How clever of Ce'na to tie the clues to a nursery rhyme. And Thorns may be right, do Sith even have nursery rhymes?

 

Underwhelming might be a good thing, but they're not inside yet.

 

Delightful as always.

Thank you all for your kind feedback

 

I sometimes do have to remind myself, that most of my chars, despite everything they already have been going through, are still rather young, even though I probably was still a lot more childish at their age.

 

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# 41

 

The lights along the walls spring to life bathing the chamber’s interior in the same eerie glow familiar from the rest of the tomb. I hesitate to follow Ciner and instead halt in the doorframe.

 

“Be careful!” I urge.

 

The Sith looks back over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “Afraid of Naga Sadow’s ghost?”

 

I consider the question, caught between mild superstition and a lifetime of hard reality. There are the ghosts I believe in, those that haunt my dreams pointing accusing fingers at me, waking me up in the middle of the night my shirt soaked in sweat. My fingers brush through the beard and hair covering my tattoo before I can stop myself. The ghosts I expected here are the ones born of clever tricks not unlike the special effects of a holo vid, wind howling through tubes, creaking of stone or wood, the chamber itself coming to life due to the change of air pressure. “More of the traps waiting inside,” I concede.

 

“This is the tomb’s sanctum, reserved for Sadow and his servants in the afterlife.” He points to the rows of statues lining the aisle. “No intruder would have been expected to come this far. No true architect would have admitted his own failure by implementing traps here.” He takes another step forward. Nothing happens.

 

The view inside the chamber no longer blocked by his shoulders, I let my gaze pan over its interior. Rows upon rows of statues, heads bowed in subservience, guarding their master’s sleep. In the flickering light their silent shadows dance along the walls. At the least they’d be blocking any spring guns and the like set in the walls. A corridor wide enough for several people abreast leads to a massive set of stairs, which provides access to the dais set at the back of the chamber. A massive statue — meant to represent Naga Sadow himself I suppose — dominates the raised area, a lidded stone sarcophagus at its feet. The final resting place of an once important man.

 

Ciner has taken a few more steps. He left a lonely trail of footprints in the dust of centuries. No other living being beheld this sight. Realization replaces my sudden awe with a pang of loss. It hits me hard in the stomach and for a moment I gasp for air. I came here for the adventure, the impossibility of the heist. Ce’na came here for the thrill of being the first to set foot in this dust, to be the first to see. She would have loved this. The thought makes me smile. “We wouldn’t be here without you!” I whisper.

 

“You are talking to ghosts!” Ciner says. Apparently I spoke too loud for the excellent acoustics of the room. “But you were right. She was as intelligent as you claimed. Give her my thanks as well!” He faces me. “You kept your end of the deal, you brought me inside!” He gives me a curt nod. “Thank you!”

 

“You are welcome!” With a start I realize I mean it. Had Ce’na been in my stead, she would have helped him, too. Compared to all the stories about Sith, Ciner doesn’t seem too bad. Better to help him, than let all the preparation go to waste. I take another look at the stairs, examine the visible part of the walls, the ceiling. There don’t seem to be any ventilation shafts here. Then I eye the door slab and give it a shove. It doesn’t budge. Still I am not entirely convinced. The thought that this presents the only way in or out makes my skin crawl. “If you don’t mind, I’ll stay here. Just in case. Someone has to let you back out if you trigger a mechanism to close the door.”

 

“Are you sure, you would let me back out?” Ciner sound’s more curious than concerned.

 

“Can’t uphold your end of the deal from inside!”

 

He grins. “An excellent point, my friend.”

 

“Are we?”

 

“What?”

 

“Friends?”

 

He shrugs. “We could have been under different circumstances. Does it really matter?”

 

“Guess it doesn’t.” I wave towards the dais. “Go do what you came to do and let’s get this over with.”

 

“Can’t wait to be a farmer, can you?”

 

“I got hay fever!” Sometimes I miss Tatooine.

I do enjoy the banter between Ciner and Thorns so much. The moment of gratitude for Ce'na/Vette and how she would have enjoyed being the first to see was nice, and I liked how it teased out a bit of gratitude from Ciner too.

 

I really do think they could be friends, circumstances or not.

 

Another lovely piece. Thank so much for that.

A delightful bite out of time for two of my favorite guys.

 

I love the way that Thorns recognizes the tomb exactly for what it is, the final resting place of a 'once important man,' and expecting only the ghostly trappings of the special effects of a holo vid.

 

His little homage to Ce'na and Ciner's acknowledgment of her contribution was a nice touch.

 

Smart of Thorns to stay outside, just in case. And perhaps they would have been friends in another time and place.

 

I snickered a bit at the ending, farms and hay fever and missing Tatooine for its lack of flora and pollen.

 

I'm always happy to see you post. Well done.

I do enjoy the banter between Ciner and Thorns so much. The moment of gratitude for Ce'na/Vette and how she would have enjoyed being the first to see was nice, and I liked how it teased out a bit of gratitude from Ciner too.

 

I really do think they could be friends, circumstances or not.

 

Another lovely piece. Thank so much for that.

 

A delightful bite out of time for two of my favorite guys.

 

I love the way that Thorns recognizes the tomb exactly for what it is, the final resting place of a 'once important man,' and expecting only the ghostly trappings of the special effects of a holo vid.

 

His little homage to Ce'na and Ciner's acknowledgment of her contribution was a nice touch.

 

Smart of Thorns to stay outside, just in case. And perhaps they would have been friends in another time and place.

 

I snickered a bit at the ending, farms and hay fever and missing Tatooine for its lack of flora and pollen.

 

I'm always happy to see you post. Well done.

 

Thank you both very much! Your encouragement always means so much to me!

 

The main difference between this AU and the original Thornse!verse is that Ciner is in charge without any doubt. This complicates their relationship for both of them, Thorns being his insubordinate self, and Ciner being a *coughs and continues in a whisper* pampered Sith heir used to his orders being followed without being questioned by those beneath him.

Writing them is very much fun!

 

I am not really sure where the hay fever came from, but there it is, and one more reason for Tatooine being better than you might expect. Many of my chars are in the habit of influencing the story like this along the way. I have given up on most of my planning.

 

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Warning: This part contains corpses! (And a minor amount of blood.)

 

#42

 

Ciner climbs the steps to the dais. Before the sarcophagus he stops. With a twist of his hand he cracks the lid. Nothing happens. I take a breath. The Sith’ back is all I can see, but when he turns he holds a cylindrical object. He raises his arm and in a downward swing solves the object’s mystery, letting a hissing and roaring blade of red light spring to life. It’s glow wars with the chamber’s, and Ciner’s features turn into a landscape of red and purple ridges defined by edges of shadow. He looks pretty impressive I must admit to myself. I watch him turn back towards the sarcophagus. Strange. Has he forgotten something?

 

Some kind of energy, a purple light, not exactly a bolt, erupts from the stone container and zigzags its way between the silently waiting statues. A whisper brushes through the air and sends shivers up my spine. The hair at the nape of my neck stands on end. I am not easily spooked. Something is horribly wrong. If only I knew what it was. There is nothing to see, except Ciner, who has dropped into some kind of fighting stance, red lightsaber at he ready, the training weapon in his offhand. My hands rest on the butts of the blasters, but since I don’t know how to shoot a shimmer and an eerie sound, I am in lack of any targets.

 

“This is not good!” Ciner exclaims as he starts sprinting towards me. “Move!” he shouts. “Get out of here!”

 

I jump out of the doorway barely fast enough for Ciner to slither past me.

 

“Close the damned door!” His yell drowns in an explosion.

 

The floor trembles perceptibly, yet not enough to make me stumble. Still I don’t feel in the mood to investigate the door any further than I already did before. The cloud of dust, and hail of small debris raining through the opening emphasize my opinion. “Close it yourself…” I mutter as I retreat further into the antechamber. Speaking at all proves to be a bad idea, though. I hide my nose inside the collar of my tattered shirt. Even with the dubious protection of the threadbare cloth I am coughing worse than after my first cigarette. Kark, I lost sight of the kriffing Sith. Where is he? I blink and resist the urge to wipe my eyes. Grinding the grains in won’t help. I glance back over my shoulder.

My impeccable timing lets me witness a figure covered all in black cloth emerge from the cloud of dust. Behind it at least one more shadow is moving. The way the dust swirls around them makes them look a lot more corporeal than tricks of light. I have found my targets. Unwittingly I already drew my weapons. I don’t waste time aiming. I am still coughing anyway. Ciner should be somewhere behind me. I switch to semi-automatic and strew blaster bolts in the general direction of the doorway. All my instincts scream at me to turn and run. I oblige halfheartedly by walking backward as fast as the bones and stuff littering the floor allow. Running is only an option when you are faster than whatever is after you. Wherever these gestalts came from, they did it rapidly. My initial advantage was that they were searching for Ciner more determinedly than I did. Their heads, too, are wrapped in black material. They swivel this way and that, as if to pick up the Sith’ scent. Where has he vanished to? Has he left me behind?

 

After several bolts tear smoking holes into the dark fabric of the first pursuer’s clothes their interest in Ciner dwindles. The figure steps down the stairs. Not one but two others follow it through the open doorway and the still swirling dust. All of them carry what seem to be some kind of long vibro-blades. Hit by another shot the leading one sinks to his knees. His weapon clatters to the floor.

The remaining foes start in my direction. I fire shot after shot. Right, left, right. My feet are on autopilot, picking up pace. So do the figures. The first incoming blow is aimed at my head. I dodge to the side, still firing. I hit the floor in a roll. The bones beneath me crunch. Splinters pierce through my shirt. I ignore them, come back to my feet, and resume shooting. My opponent jerks as I hit it square in the face. Instead of dropping dead it charges. Kriffin’ son of a — the stab is aimed directly at my chest. Just before it is about to connect, the figure is yanked into the air. I shoot till it stops twitching.

 

Ciner stands a short distance behind me, hand raised in the by now familiar gripping gesture. The third enemy lies dead at his feet. He unclenches his fist and the dangling body crumples to the floor. With a wary gaze trained on the door to the inner chamber the Sith stoops to pick up his training blade. He must have dropped it in order to save me.

 

“Thanks!” I mutter. Heated blasters still in hand I do feel a bit foolish. The Sith is more efficient with his bare hands than I am with a weapon.

 

He looks at me and gives me a curt nod. “Thank you for distracting them.” His brows draw together. “Are you alright?”

 

I follow his gaze and notice the spots of blood on my shirt. I am not squeamish about blood, but whenever it is my own, there is this short moment where I have to remind myself of the fact. With fingertips, awkward because I am still holding the cooling blasters, I pick at my shirt. The blood hasn’t tried yet, and it doesn’t stick. I brace myself before I pull the shirt up to my chest and try to get a look at my side. It can’t be bad. It would hurt more if it were, I assure myself.

 

Three strides and Ciner is beside me. “Let me have a look!” It’s an order and again he doesn’t wait for consent before he starts to examine the wounds. The tips of his fingers brush and prod my skin in an oddly familiar way. “There are some bone splinters stuck in there. I will get the water bottle and the kolto.”

 

Numbly I watch him rummage through the backpack. Instead of being grateful for his help I am fighting a confusing jumble of feelings. My friend Iz would have done the same in his stead, but he isn’t Iz. And I am not a pet. My brain takes a detour around the s-word. The wounds aren’t in a place where I can conveniently reach them. I’d have asked for his help. Why couldn’t he just wait for me to ask? The rational part of me tells me to calm down. The wounds need to be cleaned and it’s the outcome that matters. Yet the feeling of being at the Sith’ mercy threatens to overwhelm any levelheaded thought. I shouldn’t worry. I fulfilled my part of our deal. Nonetheless this only serves to underline the hold he has on me. Whatever leverage I might have possessed is gone now since he got what he wanted.

 

When he returns Ciner tilts his head and points at the blasters. “Maybe you could put these away and hold the shirt up properly?”

 

I holster the weapons, compress my lips, and lift the shirt again. I watch the Sith open the bottle and pour some water over my side. It’s cold. The wounds burn only a little bit. Water trickles down my pants. The cloth starts to stick to my leg. I watch as Ciner washes his hand in what is left of the water. I sigh. “Could you maybe just pull these splinters out and put a kolto patch on the wounds? Nothing here is going to get significantly closer to sterile.”

 

His shoulders stiffen, but soften immediately. His expression is hidden beneath his hair falling in front of his face as he leans forward to treat my wounds. He takes a deep breath. “A shame we cannot bottle these emotions of yours for future use. One could get drunk on just one sip.”

 

Should I feel flattered or worried?

 

Grinning he looks up, his eyes a green and red sparkle between strands of gray hair. “Relax! It is a Force-user thing. I am not going to pounce on you.”

 

“I’d prefer you didn’t!” But I loosen up my muscles as he applies the kolto plaster. Without the additional strain I almost don’t feel the wounds at all.

 

“There you go,” Ciner says as he gets up. “Almost as good as new!”

 

I let the hem of my shirt drop. “Now you sound like a used-speeder vendor!”

 

He chuckles. Then he opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again.

 

“What?” I inquire.

 

“Nothing.”

 

I give him a flat stare.

 

“You asked!” he states. “I came up with a clever jibe, but then thought better of it, because I assumed in your current situation you would not appreciate jokes about being sold.”

 

“That’s oddly considerate of you.” I don’t manage to keep the suspicion out of my voice.

 

He fidgets with the med supplies still in his hands before he looks up again. “I do not know what I did to anger you, but it was not intentional. You helped me, and I am still in your debt. I will try not to make your life any more miserable than it already is.”

 

It’s not exactly what I’d call a pep talk, but he is right, I asked. Not knowing what to say, I nod. Although he brought me back to reality rather abruptly, I also realize I did enjoy our excursion. Most of it, I correct myself as my gaze shifts to the heap of black lying beside me.

 

While Ciner stows away the medical supplies, I pass the time with inspecting the body. It doesn’t respond to a prod with the tip of my toe. For good measure I kick its weapon out of its reach nonetheless. “Where did these guys come from anyway?” I ask.

 

“They were inside the statues.”

 

“Are you kidding me? Those statues are some kind of fancy carbonite blocks?” I haven’t been aware you could freeze someone in carbonite for that long. Maybe that’s why we had to deal with only three of them despite the number of statues. Then again, I have never heard of anyone coming out of carbonite this fast. Did we trigger the thawing process earlier? Maybe by unlocking the first locks? No, the guys would have been awake since Ce’na opened the tomb if it were so. On closer inspection the body doesn’t look overly well fed with the black fabric of its clothing hanging loose and crumpled about it, yet nobody survives this long without food and water. I barely managed with what scarce food I got.

 

“Not carbonite, sith alchemy!” Ciner explains.

 

I give him my do-you-take-me-for-a-fool stare. “Like in the old togruti folk tale, where the sorceress turns the guy who dared to reject her into a garden ornament?”

 

Ciner shakes his head in resignation, but concedes. “Close enough.”

 

“Are you pulling my leg?” I squint at him. “Next thing you’re going to tell me you kissed them awake?”

 

“Though I have on occasion been told I am an accomplished kisser, I am skeptic my skill would suffice to raise the dead. Not that, so far, I have been tempted to try.” His mouth twists slightly in disgust.

 

“Dead? Necromancy? Wow, you must think I am even more stupid than you let on.” I believed in poodoo like this until I was about 10.

 

He squats down beside the body next to him. “Even a true believer’s faith can be bolstered by the occasional proof,” he asserts as he rips the cloth binding the corpse’s head apart.

 

What emerges isn’t the face of someone breathing mere minutes ago. Dried, leathery skin stretches over bones, laying bare a mouthful of surprisingly healthy-looking teeth in a grin of taut lips. Two shriveled prunes stare out of far too big eye sockets. It’s… “How did you do that?”

 

“I did not do anything.”

 

Eyebrow raised I point at the shredded remains of what used to be a formfitting shirt and the cauterized cuts beneath. “Yeah, sure looks like not anything.”

 

“You might call me the Aratech Scythe among the used speeders, but slicing someone up with a lightsaber doesn’t have that effect on people.” He points to the corpse’s face.

 

There is no way of denying it. I have seen my fair share of dead bodies, and only those left long enough to dry came close to this. Shaking my head I get up. “Let’s just say there are things I don’t understand, and I don’t want to.” I gather the backpack. I take another long look at the mummified face. “Please tell me you don’t grow crops with sith alchemy.”

 

Ciner chuckles. “We do have some excellent common agro-genetic engineers in the Empire. Not all of us spend their time scaring Republic children.”

 

I laugh and follow him as he heads back towards our exit. “Those eyes of yours turning red is a good start, but you should consider to add some fake horns for additional shock value.”

 

“Horns?” he sounds somewhere between doubtful and amused.

 

“Yeah, horns! Like those of a Devaronian. Have you ever seen one?”

 

“Not that I can remember.”

 

“You’d remember if you had, believe me…”

 

Nothing disrupts the carefree banter on our way back to the top of the plateau. Climbing up the shaft towards daylight seems almost easier than our clamber down. A short holo call, then we wait for the shuttle to pick us up. We sit on the edge and watch the ants scuttle below us.

 

“Just out of curiosity,” I break the silence, “if you are an Aratech Scythe, what kind of speeder am I?”

 

Ciner doesn’t take long to consider the question. “You’re a battered Tirsa Prime.”

 

I huff and roll my eyes. “That’s — inspiring?” Who’d want to be a Tirsa Prime, battered or not?

 

The Sith then faces me with a smile. “It was never the fanciest speeder to begin with, and it may look a bit worse for wear. All the scratches in the varnish may give you a glimpse of what it has already been through. But there is one thing you know for sure: It will still be running when every other vehicle of the lot is no more than scrap.”

 

Note:

 

 

I love the friendship between these two so much. I'm almost ready to call them "Horns and Thorns" I love the dynamic and their conversations. And I liked how you included Iz in it too as a memory. Wonderful addition! <3

I love the friendship between these two so much. I'm almost ready to call them "Horns and Thorns" I love the dynamic and their conversations. And I liked how you included Iz in it too as a memory. Wonderful addition! <3

 

"Horns and Thorns" made me laugh!

Now I imagine Thorns getting Ciner a special birthday present.

Iz was a huge influence in Thorns' life. Whomever Thorns ends up with had better not be jealous of memories!

 

Thank you for the comment!

Enthralled as always by the escapades of these two.

 

The S-word being avoided by Thorns. Thorns would have asked for help, Ciner assumes and is not Thorn's friend Iz.

 

Ciner has what he wants, so now what?

 

What a wonderful off-handed compliment by Ciner at the end.

 

Looking forward to more.

So I apologuise, I had every intention of commenting earlier. I'm sorry.

 

 

 

Eagerly waiting for more.

 

Hope you had a happy May the 4th!

I never imagined it would take me so long to get this story written. And I also didn't imagine it would receive more than 8000 views. You all bearing with me is the biggest motivation to not give up. Thank you for that!

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#43

 

I stumble over a stone once or twice and the damned sand keeps sucking at my feet with every step I make, but we reach the Academy’s main entrance without any noteworthy incidents. We draw the eyes of the Imperials we pass, yet they don’t interfere with us. I can only guess at what I look like right now, however most of them give Ciner an approving nod, so “bad” probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

 

A black-robed Sith intercepts us to tell Ciner this Baras guy is already waiting for him. Ciner straightens his shoulders and picks up his pace. Apparently Baras doesn’t like to be waiting, or at least everybody assumes so. We hurry through the entrance hall.

 

“Walk three steps behind me to the left!” Ciner growls under his breath.

 

I may no longer be able to lift my feet properly, but my hearing still works; I recognize an order when I get one. In this case I can even guess at its purpose. I get cranky when I am tired, though.

“Why?” The hum of the lightsaber beside my ear jolts me awake in an instant.

 

Some people are born as natural leaders. You follow their orders because it seems the right thing to do, and often they are as astonished at your obedience as you are. If you’re lucky you will meet one of them. Then there are those born with a distinct privilege. They expect you to follow their orders, and most people simply will do so, because that’s the way things are. Those are astonished if you fail to obey. If you’re lucky you won’t have to deal with those kind of people too often in your life. Maybe Ciner could have been one of the first if he didn’t happen to be one of the second kind. I was only ever lucky when it came to finding trouble. Then again, I survived so far.

 

“I am right-handed, and I am in possession of a lightsaber. So, if you want to keep your head in case someone is foolish enough to attack me…” With a flick of his wrist Ciner deactivates the weapon and clips it back to his belt. “These walls accommodate some dark passageways. Any other questions?”

 

I scratch at the back of my head in thought. “If you feed sugar to a nerf, does its milk taste sweet?”

 

He blinks. “Not much longer and we will be rid of each other. Do us both a favor. Do as I tell you and keep your mouth shut.”

 

I refrain from telling him those are two favors. “Why not leave me in my cell?” I have a bad feeling about meeting his boss. At least with Knash I know what to expect.

 

“After the meeting. One does not keep a Darth waiting!”

 

We continue our small procession, walking in the middle of the hallways, him in the front, me three steps behind to his left. Wouldn’t want to risk my good looks to a lightsaber slash across my face. Ciner’s shoulders tense ever so slightly at each corner we approach. Not long and an army of ants is crawling along my own spine despite the lightsaber clipped to Ciner’s belt drawing the onlookers’ attention away from me. Reactions vary from indifference, over approving nods, to open scowls. Success always adds some more enemies to your list. Violence begets violence, mom used to say. Can’t argue with that. So far life has proven her right.

 

As we climb the stairs traffic thins and the air thickens somehow, like stepping out of a cantina on Tatooine during double-high if you exchange the heat for creepiness. Breathing leaves an oily slickness at the back of my tongue, tasteless yet still worse than a room full of decomposing bodies. Before we reach the elevator I already fight to keep the bile down. I most certainly don’t want to go further up. I hate the mix of contempt and pity on Ciner’s face. Chin up, chest out. I concentrate on shallow breaths through my nose. There aren’t that many of my muscles left to need more oxygen than that. Ciner’s lips curl upwards and the temptation to hit him wakes me out of my misery.

 

“That is the spirit!” he approves grinning.

 

Maybe I should just vomit onto his boots. We step onto the elevator and I realize I wouldn’t be able to stop once I started. The unnatural stillness of the air makes my skin crawl. Invisible tendrils slither across my body probing my every pore for entry. The pressure grows with the rise of the elevator. At the stop of its ascent I’m barely able to step out of it.

 

“You are wearing a suit of armor!” Ciner whispers.

 

“What?” The tattered remains of my clothes consist of holes kept together by some pieces of thread.

 

“Just imagine it,” he urges. “Concentrate! A full suit protects your body. The helmet filters the air. You are safe inside. Every attack glances off its surface.”

 

I wore armor when I was on Ord. It wasn’t close to the best the Republic military had to offer, but it was certainly much better than what I’m wearing now. I recall the weight of the breastplate, the softness of the padding underneath. I flex my fingers like I used to do to adjust the fit of the gauntlets. They connect to the black body suit, and the tendrils can no longer touch my skin. The air filters in my helmet never worked properly. I focus, and after a few more breaths a slightly moldy and stale odor replaces the rotten not-stink. My tongue still feels like it grew a pelt, but the urge to vomit lessens.

 

Ciner gives me a reassuring nod. “You are doing great!” His eyes show some red sparks, but otherwise he seems to be unaffected.

 

I scoff while trying to keep my imaginary armor in place.

 

“No really. Several high ranking Sith reside here today. They all project their auras.”

 

“So this is some kind of dick-measuring contest?”

 

He grins. “An apposite comparison!”

 

“Opposite comparison?”

 

“Apposite,” he repeats emphasizing the a. “It means fitting.”

 

He should say fitting if he means fitting, but what do I know. Once more I square my shoulders. “Let’s get this over with. I’m starting to miss Knash.”

 

A short trip down the corridor takes us to Darth Baras’ office. The doors beyond hint at even more important people, yet Ciner focuses all his concern on the bulky masked man greeting him as we enter the room. Gray dominates the interior as well as the man’s clothes. A huge desk instead of cells takes up most of the space behind the Darth. Otherwise a first glance at the office reveals not much more to set it apart from the jail I spent the last weeks in. Ciner bows and I do my best to imitate him. My pretended armor shrinks a size in the presence of the high ranking Sith. Maintaining it requires most of my attention. I keep my mouth shut and my gaze locked upon the ground. Self preservation compels me to remain as unremarkable as possible.

 

Exhaustion lets my thoughts get lost wandering the grain of the floor tiles. Only bits and pieces of the conversation drift through to my brain; praise for Ciner and the completion of his trials, his appointment to being Darth Baras’ apprentice, orders to travel to Dromund Kaas, the younger Sith kissing the older one’s @ss. None of this concerns me. I sigh when with a last bow from Ciner the audience comes to an end. This went better than anticipated. Darth Baras waves a hand and the door leading back to the corridor opens behind me.

 

I already reached the corridor when Baras’ voice calls Ciner to a stop. “Take the slave as my gift,” the Darth adds as an afterthought. “Do with him as you wish. If he’ll be of use, by all means, take him with you to Dromund Kaas.”

 

“Thank you my lord. You are most generous!” Ciner bows again before he hurries me back to the elevator.

 

Once we stepped inside I grin. My fatigue faded away. “This is great. You don’t even have to send me to some other planet. You can just let me go now.”

 

Ciner shirks from my look. His fist meets the wall of the elevator with a crack and I can’t help a flinch. He takes a deep breath and finally meets my eyes. “I can’t do that,” he states.

 

“But…” I clear my throat with a cough. “But he said you could do with me as you wished.”

 

“And what is it I wish?” he asks softly. “To act against the law? To throw away the first gift given to me by my new Master?” He shakes his head. “Do you not see that this is but a new test? I cannot let you go.”

 

I let his words sink in for a moment. The urge to hit something — or someone — threatens to overwhelm me. I blink back tears of helpless anger. “You gave me your word,” I croak.

 

As he glares at me his eyes turn red. “I know exactly what I agreed to.” His voice has turned to a quiet calmness which shouts of danger lying beyond. “I remember your words. ‘If you’ll get me off this planet!’ you said. And that I will do. I will take you with me to Dromund Kaas, just as Darth Baras suggested.”

 

“But that’s not what I had in mind when we made our deal, and neither did you!”

 

The frown wrinkles on his forehead deepen. “You are right. It was not my intention to be responsible for you. I have more important things to do than to babysit a murderer.”

 

“I am not a murderer,” I yell.

 

An unseen fist slams me back into the wall. “It is not your place to raise your voice against me. You have been convicted. I am neither interested in a confession nor your remorse. But you might want to avoid to get on my bad side. Gratuitous gifts are known to break on accident now and then.”

 

I clench my jaws and I clench my fists to keep them from shaking. I stare at Ciner and realize he hates the situation as much as I do. That realization keeps me from doing something pea-brained. I don’t want to die just yet.

Gosh, I love these guys. Their banter is remarkable and you've outdone yourself with this one.

 

Loved the part about the types of leaders, very profound observation by Thorns.

 

Every single back and forth from the nerf-milk to the dick-measuring and oh, the last part was pure gold.

 

Pea-brained indeed and so much for best-laid plans. Oh boy.

 

Off to DK and well maybe Thorns will get a bath, some food, and decent clothes? One can only hope he gets something decent from this ill-fated arrangement.

These two always brighten my day. I love the way you described their audience with Baras, and Thorns feelings about it. I loved that Ciner directed him to imagine armor and that it worked. It's a great trick for faking self-confidence.

 

I look forward to see what trouble they get into on Dromund Kaas.

Sorry for my tardy reply, I wanted to have the time to sit down and write you a proper one.

And now I have the time with my morning cup o caf i hand so I don't need to get up.