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.]

"This is a terrible idea," Atra Ventus admitted with a mutter. The Combat Master sighed and let his neck roll to the side. A series of cracks answered the movement and he brought his hand up to rub along the still tauht skin. His dark gray hair fell over his eyes before being brushed aside.

He stood just outside the doors to the combat training center. His training center. Yet, Atra found himself questioning what he was about to do. Sariel Dhejeuti, a Vanguard of Odan-Urr, waited alone on the other side. And Atra had brought him to Arx. Flanked as he was by a regiment of the Iron Legion—insurance that nothing untoward happened without an appropriate reaction—the Combat Master couldn't show anything less than absolute confidence.

"Kill the lights," Atra instructed with a glance over his shoulder.

"Sir?" the distorted voice of the lead trooper asked, his vocoder clicking on then off audibly.

"Once I'm inside," the Umbaran continued, his right hand rising towards to nearby control panel. "Kill the lights."

"Yes, sir."

Circumstance had created the current situation more than anything else. Chance encounters. Adalinde, an Inquisitor that made a habit of reporting to him directly as opposed to the usual chain of command, had decided to take up a hunt of her own. In the process, she had come upon a group of Odanites regrouping from Nancora. Most likely an excursion for their SenNet—the Jedi's answer to the Inquisitorius. Sariel, it seemed, had covered the retreat and stayed behind. His reward had been capture without a struggle. Such a sacrifice for his fellows and a show of pacifism.

Such insanity.

Atra activated the console and focused. The doors hissed open and he strode confidently forward. He could hear the trooper behind him moving to comply with his order. Still, he took in the room quickly. The mats were laid out orderly within the center and the walls were lined with various weapons. All non-lethal, of course. Then there were the training dummies that silently received the abuse of countless trainees.

He found Sariel sitting at the center of it all, a calm presence at the center of a possible maelstrom. His shaved head reflected the light of the illumination panels above, his tan flesh starkly contrasted by the hieroglyphics tattooed upon him. The Vanguard's electrostaff lay in two halves in front of him as the older human meditated in a kneeling position, hands on his knees.

The Jedi remained armed, despite his capture. That's why it was such a terrible idea. But the choice was made. Atra wasn't one for interrogation, preferring more subtlety. He would poke and prod, unlocking secrets through time and patience. Puzzles were meant to be solved with care, not smashed upon the ground with all their inner workings laid out. The Inquisitorius wanted one thing from the Jedi: the location that Odan-Urr now called home. Atra meant to accomplish that goal at last.

The solid thud of the door closing snapped Atra to attention. His black-gold eyes remained locked upon Sariel even as the lights cut out without warning. While the Combat Master could perceive the ultraviolet spectrum, even he was at a disadvantage in pure darkness. But he knew the center's layout well.

It was the Jedi who broke the silence.

"I knew you would come," Sariel spoke plainly. There was a preternatural air of calmness to him. Similar to Atra's own calm but without the chill. "I have seen it."

So he was one of those Jedi, Atra realized. Fantastic.

Zealots were an easy read, usually. All you had to do was understand the scriptures they subscribed to and their resulting interpretations. They would also be predictable. Still, something told him this encounter would be anything but.

The Umbaran slowly navigated the outskirts of the room, counting his steps and pairing them to his mental layout to track his position. He intended to respond, but without giving away his position. A low sigh escaped his barely parted lips as he reached into his center and claimed the power coiled within. Atra reached out into the Force, forging a connection to Sariel, and sent his thoughts along that energy which connected all things. "You speak of sight, yet blind yourself. A slave to the light," his mental intrusion whispered.

"I follow the will of the Force, as do we all. That is not servitude," the Jedi replied.

Shifting his focus, Atra reached out to the side and lashed it to his will. He swung his arm forward with a grimace and flung the heavy object towards the center of the room. As much as the Force was a tool for the Combat Master to command, it was also Sariel's ally. A warning crawled up the Jedi's spine and he threw himself into a forward roll. At the same time, his hands closed around each half of his electro-staff and he came to his feet whilst clasping them together. The human instantly snapped into a tight stance, standing upright with the staff held in a reverse grip at his back and the other arm outstretched warily.

Atra was actually impressed.

"There can be no dark without light," Sariel's aged voice echoed in the room, reciting an old idiom. "No one is born from darkness," he continued on to explain, "they start with the spark of life. Their first light. Even should they fall, it will always be there for those who seek its kindness."

Another warning screamed out and Sariel found himself taking three bounding hops across the mat as a sudden shock of energy crashed into where he had been standing but a moment ago. Sparking tendrils danced along Atra's fingertips, lighting up his ghostly pale features in the darkness of the room before they subsided once more. "The light is cruel," the Combat Master spoke evenly with the faintest lilt to his words. "Shining upon those who seek solace in the dark."

"Oh? Have you found your solace? Is this it?" Sariel queried. "To destroy what you could use all your strength to protect?"

"I will ask only once," Atra announced while ignoring the Jedi's questions. "What planet and system is Odan-Urr based out of?"

The older man sighed, smiling almost sadly in the darkness. "I will neither give you the answers nor the fight that you seek."

A snap-hiss carved through the silence, unleashing a crackling cerulean light as the Combat Master's saber suddenly thrust forward. Sariel pivoted back on one foot as he predicted the path of the blade. The illumination dissolved once more before re-emerging as a horizontal swipe along the same path the Jedi was moving. He had no other recourse but to activate the electrified tips of his staff as he swung one end up to meet the oncoming attack.

But Sariel did not counter. He merely put more distance between himself and Atra as the Umbaran's blade bounced back and deactivated. The Umbaran didn't pursue as he stood partially illuminated in the ever-shifting glow generated by the electro-staff.

"Hey now," the Combat Master said with a smirk. "Thought you weren't going to fight?"

"We are both here because the Force wills it. If this is to be my final day, then it shall be. But not so easy as that," Sariel stated, his deep blue eyes seeming to shimmer as they refracted the light. "Not so long as there is something left to protect."

Atra cocked his head to the side and worked his jaw back and forth. "Now that last bit...that I can understand."