Private Cold Touch

[Cara Dorniarn]

Tags: Craven Karn

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Sunlight waned on the streets of New Kaas City as the rays slipped behind the mountain ranges of skyscrapers and monolithic architecture, the world turning to bring day to another sector of the capital planet. Here people were driven by pride in their nation and identity as Sith-- yes, as they all were. All citizens were equal under the rule the Empire had established, and all persons were a necessary facet of the eternal machine. It was just another evolutionary step of the Sith Empire, just another milestone in forging progress in a chaotic galaxy. Cara believed it a better plan than most she'd heard the old government had considered. As she strode down the elevated walkways of the city she pictured the galaxy as a dejarik table, calculating the moves of both friend, foe, and undecided alike. Quite a game.

Cara pulled the green tie from her gray pantsuit as she hurried down the walk, the lecture she'd given at the Academy having continued longer than expected and making her late. The first match had already begun, the window to place a latecomer's bet fast closing. She quickened her pace, throwing out a mental ping that gripped the artificial mind of a local taxi. The hovercraft veered off course then to her location, departing without a word of direction after Cara took a seat.

In the lower levels of the sector the vast fields of warehouses and sub-unit living stretched further than any ocean view. Even there the threads of Sith creed kept the people bound in a sense of universal accord, yet also in the deeper levels it was expressed in a looser and more urban style. The people gathered outside the warehouse wore their armbands crooked or pinned on their clothes, while others flashed theirs altered with vibrant colors. The gathering wasn't illegal nor was it official. As long as trouble was kept minimum it would be an entertaining night.

Cara gave a nod to a Chiss outside the warehouse door. He didn't know her and she didn't know him, both there for only one thing: watch a good fight. He opened the door and she stepped inside, the cheering growing louder from an indoor ring. Evening grew dark enough to trigger the spotlight on the warehouse name-- Dorniarn Foundry Works.

The current match was near its end. On the floor, new blood splattered on top of old as the victor pushed his assault. The energy from the stands was raw as people shouted, cheered, booed, and cursed. Some hit payday and others lost every credit they earned. The noise only climaxed when a body hit the ground. Cara clapped her metal hands in a muted congratulations to both parties, glad to see the winner help the unfortunate loser back to his feet.

Cara took a free seat next to well-dressed Talz, one she recognized to be a certain doctor of medicine specifically. The drones were sent out to collect the bets and a familiar name was on that week's roster. Cara had never seen the fighter in action, yet the stories she had heard of him were brow raising.

She nodded and handed the hovering droid a datachip, "Three-hundred on Karn."

 

[Craven Karn]

A roaring crowd echoed in his ears, bringing him back to the present. They were always too loud. He had tried to block out the sound, but it always found him. When he covered his ears, he could still hear their muffled screams. When he joined in on the screaming chorus to replace their voices with his own, he could still feel their feet pounding. He couldn't escape them.

This room, it was dark. No... his eyes were shut. How long had he been there? Sitting on this cool stone bench with his eyes firmly closed? Likely not long, but long enough for his mind to wander away from this place. For a quick, fleeting moment, he could no longer feel the bench beneath him. He could no longer feel the pounding of the feet above him. He could no longer hear the screams of adoring fans and angry patrons, and he could no longer feel the cold that cut through him... The cold that haunted his life.

Craven's eyes slowly opened. He was next.

His heart began to pound. His body shivered. The man rose to his feet. His black hair, long and thin, lightly brushed against his shoulders. His cold blue eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light of the locker room. It was empty. Spacious. He made his way towards the exit, his every step echoing through the room. As he got closer and closer to that tunnel which led to his ring, the crowd got quieter and quieter. Then, they were silent.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, may I have your attention please! We have a special guest tonight! All the way from Mandalore, it's Vaas "The Mythosaur" Lok!"

They cheered, pounding their feet, screaming for no reason. This time, the announcer didn't wait for them to quiet down.

"The Mythosaur has faced many opponents, but can he beat this mountain of a man, the frozen giant, the deadliest combatant we've ever seen, OUR VERY OWN, KAAAAAAAAAARN!"

The bright lights of the arena blinded him for a moment as he stomped his way to the pit. His arms and legs were covered in bandages, but his bare chest revealed his pale, white skin, littered with hundreds of cuts and scabs. Craven looked down at his opponent. Next to anyone else, the Mandalorian might be considered a tall man. Next to Craven, he looked as though he were a child.

"LET THE FIGHT BEGIN!!!"

Again, the stadium filled with noise. Craven took a moment to glance at the crowd. The faces, the people, the cause of the sound. There were so many. Oftentimes too many. Today was the most he’d seen. A bright screen highlighted his face next to Vaas’. 2:3 odds in the Mandalorian’s favor.

Suddenly, a jab from “The Mythosaur” sent Craven reeling back to reality. The warmth of the blood crawling from his broken skin quickly faded as it turned to crimson crystals. The hit rocked his body, causing pain to pound through his stiff, icy bones.

Suddenly, the room went quiet. The lights went dark. The pounding of their feet melted into the beating of his heart. All he could see was the man before him, the rest was black to him. Rage, like a fire, filled his veins. This is why he fought.

Craven charged, swinging a fist at his victim. Quick on his feet, the Mandalorian ducked out of the way. He countered with a punch to the ribs of his massive opponent and took a step back, almost tripping as he found his arm caught between Craven’s side and elbow. Pinned, Vaas attempted to kick Craven in the head. The man’s massive hand caught the leg with ease, and lifted his body into the air. Kicking and squirming, Vaas caught Craven with a few good shots. Despite drawing blood, this wasn’t enough to phase Craven. With a wicked smile spread across his lips, Craven slammed his victim into the hard stone floor. An unnatural crack, followed by his screaming opponent filled his pale ears. One fist after another slammed into Vaas’ head until the screams were no more.

"What a short, but memorable match! Our winner is Karn!!!"

Slowly, the lights, the crowds, and the cheers all entered back into Craven’s perception. Covered in fresh, crystalized blood, the one they called Karn walked back to the cell he called home. There it was quiet, and there was warmth and food. Hardly anyone bothered him. It was his own paradise.

Cara Dorniarn