Two towering, tinted, transparisteel doors slide open to grant you access to the central chamber of the Combat Training Halls. The main room is wide and open and as large as as a holoball field. Tall walls stretch towards a domed ceiling that is made up of rows of ambient lights that spread out and fill the room with soft even lighting that eliminates any shades or shadows. Those same walls are lined around the perimeter with racks and stacks of varied weaponry: everything from swords and polearms to rifles and flamethrowers.

There are two signs that hover over each weapon rack to create an alternating motif in the Combat Training Hall: “No Explosions” and “Accorded Neutral Territory”. While the first is fairly obvious, the second speaks to the single law of the Training Halls: all members of the Brotherhood are welcome, and no member is to be killed or maimed without incurring the wrath of the Grand Master and the Inquisitori.

A trio of training dummies are statically set up and spread out in a line, each made out of a blend of alloys and padding that can withstand blows from any standard weaponry with the exception of lightsaber blades. To the side of the dummies, a large sparring mat has been stretched out to create a larger footprint than the typical shockboxing ring. The padding is good for helping teach new combat students how to take a fall without injury and offers firm footing, but the hard rubber mat is hardly forgiving.

Behind the sparring area is a door that leads to a small archives that combat students can use to view holorecordings of fights and duels from the past as well as relevant information on combat tactics, techniques, and forms. On the opposite side of the archives at the far end of central room is the locker room that members can safely store their equipment.

The final and probably most important element of the Combat Training Hall is the onsite Med Ward. The maglock door is sealed off and can only be opened by an attending Medic. The Medical facilities feature state of the art bacta tanks for recovery and aftercare. A combination of observation and waiting room rests adjacent to the recovery center and features two large monitors that display a live feed of the central room.

The Combat Halls are staffed around the clock, allowing combat students and mentors alike to come and go as they please at odd or regular hours. It also reserved for members looking to prove their worth to compete in the Antei Combat Center.

[Venue Note: Weapons incorporated into your match are allowed to be used, even if not listed on your Weapon Load Out for the match itself. Skill usage and all other ACC rules and guidelines still applies.]

The Trandoshan walked into the sparring area of the training center with the quiet steps of a hunter. He'd been summoned by the Shadow Scion of Arcona, for 'special training,' whatever that meant. What he'd heard of the Ryn didn't suggest the man could teach him much. The scene that greeted him did not fill him with confidence.

The Ryn sat cross-legged in the center of the sparring mat, his jacket spread in front of him. Sabacc cards had been scattered across the nerf hide, a set of three lined up, face up. Next to this makeshift card table was a half-empty bottle of amber liquid. His Proconsul was staring intently at the cards in his hand, glancing over the top of them to look at the laid out cards, and then to his opponent. The little ID9 droid tossed down a pair of cards with his pincers and trilled loudly, his tiny arms rising and clicking victoriously.

"Ya wee lil' cheatin' sleemo!" shouted Kordath, glaring at his droid. "Where'd ya even pull those from!?"

The droid did a short victory dance, turning in place until its red eye locked onto the Professional. It paused and beeped loudly, drawing a snarl from Grot.

Kordath looked up as the Skitters unit scuttled behind him, peeking around like a nervous child towards the seven feet of armor and scales. The merc's faceplate was up, giving him an unrestricted view of the reptilian eyes and the barbaric ornamentation in his nose. The fetishistic probe droid floating along with him was equally as unsettling.

"Ah, there ya are."

"I was summoned," spoke Grot, his words clipped and forced.

The Proconsul smirked and got to his feet, raising his arms above his head and stretching, letting his tail shake itself out.

"Aye, trainin'. Not everybody ya fight is gonna be straight up 'bout it; not everybody's a bleedin' bruiser like yerself."

"I favor the gun," stated the Trandoshan. Grot's large fingered hand patted the slugthrower at his hip, caressing the grip.

I do nae like how he's eyein' me, thought the Ryn. Like he's gonna skin me or somethin'.

"Grand, guns, gotta love guns." Kordath rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room, taking in the array of weaponry. Ranged weapons weren't his forte, and he didn't have much on hand that'd even the odds if Grot stayed away from him. There were rifles on the weapon racks, but he'd probably manage to shoot himself before ever hitting the Trandoshan.

The mercenary flipped the face guard on his helm down and drew his pistol from its holster.

"Oh, we startin'?"

"You are worth little. Small creature, few points. Finish fast, find worthy prey," stated Grot, leveling his slugthrower at the Ryn.

Kordath lifted both hands up before him, revealing the brass knuckles he'd slipped on, and focused his will. The gun erupted, the silencer attachment muffling the blast so that it didn't deafen the two. It fired twice in quick succession, the cylinder clicking as it spun. The twin shots slammed into the Force-fueled barrier, their intent to strike the Ryn's knees clear.

Well, that'd have ended things pretty bloody quick.

"Wanna, ya know, not communicate yer attacks, mate? Ya wanna hunt Force-sensitives and tha like, yeah? Best surprise 'em."

Bleu paused his taunting when he saw Grot's head turn slightly, a small tugging on his scaly lips.

"Do not surprise prey. Tire them. Run them down," the smile widened, showing the Hunter's teeth. "And little Ryn is sweating already."

Sharp eyes under that visor, kark. Gotta practice that talent more, he thought with a mental wince. And just cause he talks like a bleedin' simpleton do nae mean he's stupid.

The next shot was even less of a surprise, the Trandoshan pacing a few feet to his left before firing. The barrier held though Kord's jaw tightened at the impact. He released his hold, falling back into the currents of the Force for guidance when the next slug came racing in. His movement was jerky, torso twisting out of the way as the shot flew past. With a little grin, the Proconsul scooped up the bottle at his feet and stepped to the side, expecting another shot.

There was no warning from the Force when the gun went off, the dull report from the suppressed weapon surprising the Shadow Scion. The sound of shattered glass was heartbreaking, bottle half raised to his lips when the slug struck it.

"No..." whispered the Ryn, staring at what remained of the whiskey bottle. He turned his grey eyes, alight with anger, on the armored figure. Grot's faceplate seemed focused on him as he lifted his pistol and swung the cylinder out, the slug casings falling to the sparring mat. "You son of a karkin' dewback!" the Proconsul shouted as he rushed at the reloading Trandoshan.

By the Goddess, he’s fast! Grot thought as Kordath surged forward with blazing speed. With practiced ease he ignited his jetpack, the thrusters flaring to life with a roar. On a column of flame it carried him up and away from the Ryn’s assault, towards the Combat Hall’s domed ceiling. The training mat smoldered, burned black from the Trandoshan’s escape, as Kordath’s charge skidded to a stop.

The Ryn was blessed with many talents, but flight was not one of them.

“Ah now tha’s just cheatin’!” Kord shouted incredulously, “Get down ere’ and fight like a man, er, lizard!”

“The prey does not command the hunter!” Grot gloated from above, “But you have some fire-blood! My points increase!” He activated the flight assist on the jetpack, hovering in place while he attempted to reload. Below him, the Ryn wracked his brain for options.

*I can nae just sit here!” he panicked inwardly, and looked around for something to even the odds. Across the hall he spotted some weapon racks; blasters, slugthrowers, flamethrowers, and weapons of every description sitting for the taking, *Well… Tha’s a thought.” He focused his mind, he would only have a scant second —

The clattering of metal drew his attention as Grot’s speed-loader fell to the floor, and there was a sharp click as the cylinder locked back into the revolver

“Time’s up, rodent!”

“All tha’ time I needed, sleemo.” Kord gathered the Force to his will, focusing it, and unleashing it with a snap of his fingers at Grot. The reptilian shouted with surprise, and sudden pain, as a blinding white light filled his vision. Reflexively, he fired a shot that impacted the mat where the Ryn once stood. His jetpack slowly began to tilt to the side as he struggled to pilot it.

“Sorcery! You vile cur! I will boil your blood!” Grot shouted in his native tongue, the hisses and growls echoing with rage around the hall. He shook his head, the disorientation slowly wearing off, and tried to regain control of his jetpack. He furiously scanned the room for his opponent, bright, white spots still flashing in his vision. He spotted him, finally, running towards the racks. He was crouched crouched low, leaping off the training mat as he made a break for the weapons.

“You are fast, coward! Not so fast that your magic will save you!” With a practiced motion he leveled the revolver, determined to ensure the Ryn’s demise. With two rapid, muffled cracks, slug after slug flew through the air towards the fleeing Proconsul.

The sparked and and shattering on the durasteel beneath him; they had gone right through the illusion.

“What!?”

“Right ere’ leatherneck!” Kordath released the lock on his grappling hook and leapt down towards the Trandoshan, landing solidly on top of his jetpack. The sudden impact sent them careening through the air as Grot struggled to throw off his ambusher.

Seeing the ground rapidly approaching, Grot set the jetpack to maximum thrust and undid the emergency release on his harness. The Jetpack pulled away from Grot, carrying Kord along with it until Ryn released his grip on it, following the Trandoshan down.

Kord landed with some grace, rolling to reduce the impact, but it still knocked the air from his lungs and made his joints scream in pain. Grot landed less gracefully, his armor leaving an indentation on the mat as he slammed into the ground. His sight blurred, and red spots flashed across his vision. High above, the jetpack screamed into the lights lining the ceiling, sending sparks and broken transparisteel down into the hall below.

Grot hauled himself to his feet, transparisteel crunching underneath him as he drew his vibrosword and checked the ammo on his revolver. He reached up, ripping off his helmet and tossing it away unceremoniously.

“Clever trick, rodent! You have proven yourself a dangerous foe. We fight as equals now,” Grot snarled, revealing his rows of sharpened teeth. “Our struggle ends here!”

Oh, grand, I'm dangerous now, thought the bruised and battered Ryn. His dive bomb from the ceiling had been a calculated risk, but no one had ever accused him of being particularly good at maths. Scurrying up that high had burned a good bit of his physical stamina, and maintaining the illusions while doing it had taken a toll on him as well. He'd hoped the move would put the lizardman down, but now it just looked like it'd gotten the big guy excited.

Kordath grit his teeth as the Trandoshan began to charge. He lowered his left hand, relaxing his fingers and letting the knuckler he held there fall to the ground. He crouched as the hunter lifted his revolver, trying to make himself a smaller target. Hand now free, Bleu reached down to grasp the hilt of his Sapphire Blade, drawing the short sword from its sheath. Grot's slugthrower fired, and the Ryn found himself stepping to the side before the trigger was fully pulled, trusting in the flow of the Force.

And then there was one, he mused, ducking the first swing of the vibroblade as Grot closed in on him. They seemed close to equal footing when it came to skill, the Ryn dodging another slash from the humming blade and the Trandoshan knocking aside his counter-attack. Except that Kordath got a measure of the big lizard's strength, his arm numbing briefly from the clash of weapons.

"You do not flee. Good." The Trandoshan sounded almost gleeful.

"Ya do realize this place is fer trainin' bouts, not fer killin', aye?"

Grot gave no verbal reply; instead, he hissed as his blade sought furry flesh. An attempt to block the attack was made, and Kordath winced as the crystalline shortsword was knocked from his hand. With a grunt, the Ryn dropped to the mat face first, just avoiding another strike from the vibroblade, and twisted his body around to land on his back. Drawing on the Force, as much as he felt he could muster, he fueled his muscles. He lifted his feet and pushed off the ground, not going up but pivoting on his shoulders and swinging his legs around as he gained momentum. He caught the Trandoshan's own, reaching up awkwardly to catch the taller man's knees and pulling him off balance.

The hunter grunted as he was knocked towards the floor, and Kordath lay for a moment panting. He got a flash of warning, too late in his current state, which reminded him of something very important he'd forgotten.

Five, tha bloody gun holds five round-- he managed to process as he tried to scurry out of the line of fire. Pain blossomed in his side, the area just under his ribs torn open by the metal slug. Kordath screamed, clutching at the wound in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"Frak! Fine ya bleedin' win!"

Grot didn't reply, slowly rising to his feet and swinging the cylinder of his pistol out, the casings dropping to the mat below with dull thuds. To Bleu's ears, it was far louder, a sound of finality. The Ryn dragged himself towards the edge of the mat, eyes seeking out the signs that lead to the training center's medical wing. There was a conspicuous lack of staff around to put an end to what was going on.

"Grot, oh frak," he paused, coughing and feeling the warmth of blood on his lips. "Ya gotta stop, mate, same team, same bloody team!"

"Take pride, rodent; you are worth more points than first thought."

"Grot — oh blast, this hurts! GROT! Look around, mate! See tha' signs!?" Kordath pleaded, having reached one of the weapon racks along the edge of the sparring mats. The doors to the medical ward were in sight, but oh so far away. He grasped the rack, bloody hands staining the wood as he struggled to stand. He closed his eyes when he heard the revolver's cylinder snap shut. "Read tha bloody signs, Grot," he spoke weakly.

"No explosions. Accorded neutral territory. I do not plan to ruin your pelt further with explosions, rodent."

"It means no killin' ya stupid bastard," hissed the Ryn, having pulled himself up to his feet. His empty left hand reached down to his belt, struggling to unhook a grenade, using his body to block the movements from the hunter's sight. He hoped.

"I see not these words," spoke Grot, and Kordath felt a coldness that wasn't from blood loss when the muzzle of the suppressor was pressed to his temple. "Carry my deeds to the Scorekeeper."

"No."

"What?"

"I said no," growled Bleu, turning his head to glare up at the helmeted figure. This put the pistol's silencer in the center of his forehead, his face already losing color. The Ryn dropped the grenade he'd managed to arm, the pin dropping to the floor below them. His right hand grasped the nearest thing he could from the rack, his grip sticky with blood as it closed around a handle. The world erupted into sound and a white flash of light, and for a moment he wondered if he wasn't dead. Whatever was in his hand swung, hard, and hit something with force.

He collapsed, hearing several shots go off, he thought, through the ringing in his ears. The light faded, and he blinked away the purple and black splotches which had invaded his vision. First he was just surprised to be alive. What greeted him wasn't the barrel of his opponent's slugthrower or his vibroblade on his neck. Instead, it was a half-dozen combat center staffers, piled atop the tall Trandoshan who was thrashing and growling in his native language. Likely calling them dishonorable, thought Bleu as his vision swam and he fell to his back.

"...to medical before he bleeds out. I swear, we need to make the 'no killin' signs more obvious for these types."

"Which types? The Trandoshan or lizard people in general?"

"Oh don't start that again!"

"Don't be such a speciest!"

Kordath welcomed the darkness of unconsciousness like an old friend, if for no other reason than the peace that accompanied it.

“Bit dramatic, don't yah think?” Kordath joked as he drew his blades, “It's only a spar, after all.”

The Trandoshan said nothing, his eyes burned with intensity, the orange orbs shining in the half-light as he stared the Proconsul down, pistol raised. The Ryn sighed, but knew that something had changed in their battle. They had both been cocky, in their own way, neither of them had taken the other seriously. Now, bodies aching, that cock-sure attitude had died away. In its place a quiet war of wills waged.

This is nay’ a spar ta Grot anymore, Kordath realized, but a battle fer supremacy. He let out a heavy breath, feeling the exhaustion of the battle take its toll; he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep this up. He locked eyes with his opponent and was gratified to find that he was starting to look tired as well.

They circled each other in the flickering twilight, each looking for an opening, carefully jockeying for position as they advanced across the mat. A calm serenity fell over the room, a moment of perfect silence passing between the two warriors.

The lights blinked, and Kordath charged.

Grot’s pistol boomed as he discharged a slug towards the Ryn. Feeling a sharp pinprick, like a hot needle at the edge of his senses, he had dodged before the slug had even been fired, but his charge slowed. Another shot rang out with similar results, but Kordath was left confused.

He’s wastin' his ammo, he wondered, Why would he…?

"Do not surprise prey. Tire them. Run them down," the smile widened, showing the Hunter's teeth, "And little Ryn is sweating already."

Kark! Cheeky lizard! I have ta’ end this. The Proconsul pressed forward, gathering what power he could from the Force to speed his steps. He raised his blade for a final blow as he closed the last few feet, preparing to end the fight in a single strike. In desperation, Grot threw his empty pistol at the Ryn, sending it sailing through the air. He knew that he wouldn’t get the chance for another reload.

The inexpert throw was easily avoided but bought enough time for Grot to raise his vibrosword and block the Proconsul’s attack. The Sapphire Blade dug into the vibrosword’s edge, binding it while Kordath ducked low. With a sweeping kick, he knocked Grot’s legs out from underneath him, sending the Trandoshan tumbling backward into the mat.

“Yah done yet Trando?” The Ryn asked, his breathing heavy and uneven, “I beat ya. Put up a good fight but…” Kordath froze. His every instinct screamed out in warning, a cold chill falling over him as he looked down and saw what the Trandoshan was doing. Grot reached into his belt pouch, pulling out a small cylindrical object and flipping the activation switch in a single motion.

“Death before dishonor!" Grot howled, the wild Trandoshan screams rising over the frantic beeping of the grenade in his hand. The Proconsul stared incredulously, knowing he wouldn't get out of the blast range in time, and pulled together his last shreds of energy to throw up a barrier with the Force.

Oh, kark you Grot.

The grenade exploded, erupting into a cacophony of noise that nearly shattered Kordath’s eardrums. He stumbled back, clutching his ears and trying to regain his orientation. Across from him, Grot stumbled to his feet and blindly lurched towards the dazed Ryn. The massive Trandoshan crashed into him like a freight train, knocking his breath away and sending both their weapons scattering away as they crashed into the ground

Eyes bulging and bloodshot from rage, Grot clawed blindly at his pinned opponent. There was no technique here, no clever maneuvers, only pure animal instinct as he savaged his exhausted prey. Vision finally clearing, the Trandoshan leaned forward and locked his hands on Kordaths throat, beginning to slowly choke his life away. Kordath tried in vain to resist, but was too exhausted to pry away the massive claws, or free himself from Grot’s pin.

Kark, I cannae breathe! he thought, choking and gasping as he stared into Grot’s crazed orange eyes. Kark! I gotta’ stop him before he goes too far!

His vision blackening, he continued to flail frantically at his assailant, until by chance he saw Grot’s vibrosword, glinting in the half-light, mere feet away. He closed his eyes, trying to focus, but terror and pain clouded his thought. In desperation, he tapped into his fear, the manic rage of the wild beast on top of him, and focus it on the sword. He willed, no, he demanded the sword come to him, that it bend to his will and submit to his command. Slowly, tortuously, the blade vibrated on the mat, sliding towards the Ryn’s extended hand. Exultant, he closed his hand around the grip, a last burst of wild survival instinct granting him enough strength to swing the blade. With a solid thunk, the blade tore through Grot’s armor, sinking deep down to the bone of his upper arm and sending crimson blood spurting from the wound.

Grot blinked, muscles slackening as pain overwhelmed his system. With a shuddering breath, he released his gripand fell over to his side, landing in a swelling pool of blood. Not a scream came from his throat, but rather, he began to chuckle. Slowly at first, a low, booming thing that gently grew in intensity, interrupted by gasps and grunts of pain. His immense laugh soon filled the room as he cackled away beside the prone Ryn.

“A fine battle rodent!” Grot gasped out as his laughter died down, “Worthy of retelling!”

Kordath let loose a hacking cough as he rubbed his bruised neck, rolling over to stare at the insane Trandoshan, “Ya tried to karking kill me!”

Grot responded with another roaring laugh, “You would have merely passed out!”

“You’re crazy!”

“Indeed!”