At one point in time Luprora stood as a haven to the immigrated Lupr’or. The haven did not last as worsening climates reduced the population down to a single settlement. All that remains is the corpse of a civilization, constructed from a combination of wood and metal that barely resemble buildings. They function more as a protective shell and a solid frame for those that remain, hoped to be far outside the reach of the native threats.

The rising tide of the expansive seas lap at the outcroppings of obsidian rock that makes up what remains of the land. Mountainous croppings that shrink with the coming waters. Passageways and staircases are carved into the stone itself, left to assist those travelling in low tide. The scattered relics of technology lies abandoned throughout the expanse as a testament to the Lupr'or's original immigration, left unused and at the mercy of erosion and time.

The tide stands as the greatest threat to life on Luprora. Starting at its lowest point at dawn, the tide rises throughout the day and brings with it the native Tsw’ells. These tentacled monstrosities sleep in the earliest hours of the morning and reside in the ocean’s waters. It is ill-advised to travel along the shoreline, as Tsw’ells have been known to drag unsuspecting individuals to their deaths beneath the waves. These massive creatures aren't the lone threat to those who trespass upon the surface. The R’ora live among the shallow outcroppings across the planet. Extremely territorial, this species is sentient enough to wield primitive polearms and rely on the presence of Tsw’ells for protection.

Luprora the haven is a promise lost to the sea, with only the battle for survival left behind.

Tisto sat at the shoreline, watching the moon of this strange planet, relaxing. From what he had been told the tide wouldn't start rising until after dawn, and that was an hour away. He wasn't sure exactly why he had intercepted the messenger who was supposed to come visit here from Odan-Urr, but he did. The Savant relaxed on the shore, waiting for the contact from Arcona to show up. The biker had brought a small box full of spicebrew, and had a bottle open in his hand. Tisto relaxed as he took a sip, enjoying the wait. The Kiffar heard a shuffling of feet and turned to see a Ryn walking along the sands.

"The sun remains in the shadows," the Ryn said hesitantly.

“And I remain unimpressed by the damned Arcona and Urr codes,” Tisto replied. “It’s the sun will rise again. Honestly we need a better signal.”

“It changes every time,” the Ryn replied. “You aren’t the usual messenger. What happened to him?”

“I put him in a locker,” Tisto replied bluntly. “And left him there. Not sure why, guess I just wanted to meet our allies. Can I interest you in a spicebrew?”

The Ryn looked at the Kiffar and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. No Sonic Servodrivers?”

“I’m convinced our system has a prohibition on them or something. I can only get spicebrew there. Large annoyance really,” the biker replied, tossing the Ryn a bottle. “I’m Tisto by the way.”

“Kordath,” the Ryn replied opening the bottle. “Your other guy doesn’t do this. Normally its just an exchange of information and fleeing back in case of inquisitors.”

“I’m not to worried about them. We could just tie them up, steal their stuff and leave them for the tides,” the Kiffar chuckled. “Lets see how much the Grand Master’s will is worth against the Tsw’ells.”

“I’d toast to that,” Kordath replied.

The two knocked their bottles together and each took a swig of spicebrew. Tisto found it lacking, mildly annoyed the Ryn had brought up the far superior cocktail. The waves lapped against the sand a good several hundred meters away, the both of them safe.

“So according to locker-man,” Tisto began, taking another sip of the beer. “There is news we should know.”

“We are expanding our fleet,” Kordath replied. “So we will have new ships in case you guys see strange vessels if you call us for aid. We don’t have that done quite yet, but we will be sending you in the future.”

Tisto nodded. “Seems fair enough. Can I ask you something?”

The Ryn looked at the Kiffar, raising an eyebrow. “I can tell you aren’t trying to con me, but I can’t give away all the information.”

“I was gonna ask if you care to spar. I figure there is some reason they sent you,” Tisto shrugged, taking another swig from his bottle. “I figured it would be good to see how you fight in case we need to rely on each other.”

Kordath nodded, and chugged down the spice brew. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then brought the bottle down on Tisto’s head. The bottle shattered, leaving some glass in the Kiffar’s head, causing the Ryn to laugh.

“Sorry,” Kordath chuckled. “I didn’t think your head was that thick.”

Tisto placed his half finished spicebrew in the sand and threw a punch directly at Kordath. The Ryn scurried back, avoiding the good natured blow. The Kiffar wiped the glass from his forehead with a laugh.

“That’s a good trick there,” he said standing up, having to look down at the Ryn. “Lets see some others, you could teach me a thing or two.

“Maybe so,” muttered the Ryn, dropping the formal pretenses of diplomatic speech and cracking his neck. He looked up at the much taller Kiffar and sighed, shaking out his arms and stretching. The Arconan bounced on the balls of his feet, feeling sand and fine rocks shifting below him. Hazel eyes tracked his movements as he began to circle the Odanite, watching for an opening.

Kordath watched his impromptu sparring partner turn to present his profile, knees bent as his feet pushed sand, his stance widening. The Kiffar’s arms came up, fists near his face and elbows out, before lashing out with a punch towards the Ryn. Bleu ducked aside, bouncing from foot to foot and feeling the start of a smirk spreading across his face.

“Well, ya got form and style, mate, but,” Kord spun away from another strike, using the momentum to land a kick in Tisto’s side. He rebounded off the Kiffar and bounced back to a ready stance once more, moving from side to side. “Yer a bit slow. Comparatively, eh?”

Bugger did nae even budge, oh kark.

“You’re quicker than me, that’s nice,” stated Tisto, hand waving as if dismissing the Arconan’s words. Kord yelped as a wave of Force energy tossed him off his feet and back into the sand, tumbling backward.

He lifted his head, spitting sand and shaking his messy hair.

“Do ya have any idea, mate, any at all, how much of a pain in tha arse it is ta get all this crap out of me fur?”

“Shave it, then,” stated the Odanite, approaching him with confidence. Kord growled and planted both hands on the sand as if to rise to his feet. Instead, he used them as a pivot, kicking his feet off to the side and spinning, lashing out at Tisto’s knees with his legs. “Sonuva—!”

“You shave, nerfherder,” grunted Kord, rising to his feet and looking up towards higher ground. The sand had been a poor surface to attempt to fight on, his style needed freedom of movement and solid ground to keep him from eating dirt. He took off, jogging towards the rocky surface sitting above the beach.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he heard behind him and fought the instinct to look over his shoulder. Not because he didn’t want to throw a taunt at the Odanite, but because the Force was throwing warnings at him from the front. A loose rock flew towards him, forcing the Ryn to dodge mid-step, followed by another stone, and another. A flare of danger behind him caused him to jump to the side, but pain still blossomed across his left shoulder as a rock slammed into him, sending him spinning.

“Ow,” he mumbled, blinking up at the sky, staring at the stars until the Kiffar’s visage entered his field of vision. “Ya said spar, ya sleemo, not whackin’ one another with tha Force.”

“You don’t use your all when you fight?”

The contemptuous tone didn’t bother the Arconan that much, contempt was a norm when dealing with non-Ryn. Bleu snorted and began to build up Force energy in his left palm.

“Hey, if ya think ya can nae beat me without cheatin’, that’s on you, mate.”

Tisto merely shrugged at the Ryn. “Why take the risk of thinking I can win in a fair fight. I don’t know how strong you Arconan’s are. Never fought one of you before. I figured it would be best to--”

The Kiffar was cut off as Kord released a blinding light from his palm. Taken off guard the Kiffar froze, his vision turning white. His eyes burned from the sudden flash in the dark, tears forming to try and combat the sensation. He blinked several times, trying to regain his sense of vision. He felt the impact of brass knuckles on his stomach, not an unfamiliar feeling though unexpected. At the same time something cold slide across his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth following it. His vision came back to him in time to see a knife flying back around behind Kord.

“This is what ya get for cheatin’, ya sleemo,” the Ryn said, moving back. “If ya nae gonna fight fair, I won’t either.”

Tisto burst out laughing, briefly overcome with joy. “You…” he said trying to speak through his laughter. “Have no… idea how long it's been. Since someone… fought me like this. Damn Odanites are such snobs about doing things the Jedi way.”

The Ryn was mildly taken aback by the lack of condescension in the Kiffar’s tone. He watched studying Tisto, trying to figure out what the man’s angle was. As the boxer laughed, Kord noted a small change from their meeting to now, but couldn’t put his finger on what it was. He watched as the Kiffar calmed down after a few more moments of laughing, a darker gin replacing the jovial laugher.

“I want to see what you can do now, Kordath,” Tisto said.

“If ya think you can handle it,” the Ryn said, his mind running though as many tricks as possible to fend of the battle hungry Kiffar.

Tisto launched himself forward, attempting to land a punch on the smaller form. Kordath leaped to the side, slashing out with the knife held by his tail. The knife struck something solid before it hit Tisto, stopping only a centimeter from his extended arm. The Ryn started to pull his tail away as Tisto reached for it, his barrier discarded. His hand grabbed at the air a second after the Ryn’s tail cleared the area.

Tisto continued his approach, turning on his heels everytime that Kord shuffled away. With each exchange the grin on the Kiffar’s face grew. He chased after the smaller man tirelessly, keeping close enough to keep Kord’s escapes to be close.

“You really are good Ryn,” he exclaimed. “I’m already learning a lot!”

“Great, glad ta hear, mate, but, uh, ya wanna tone it down a tad? Startin’ ta get a wee bit intense, there.”

Kordath danced back, feet moving lightly over the mix of sand and rock. His footing still felt precarious, the loose drifts of sand shifting under his boots. He barely avoided another powerful punch, feeling the Force well inside of the Odanite. The Kiffar seemed to be getting faster, sweat rolling down his flushed features. That the man’s face was set in a manic grin, his green eyes alight with amusement and something...darker, was unsettling the Arconan.

Methinks this one loses his cool, he thought with a grimace, giving up on the gimmick of guile and tossing his dagger from tail to hand. Deescalate? Maybe?

Bleu made a show of spinning his knife, fingers dancing around the hilt as it twirled around his palm, and dropping it back into its sheath upon his thigh.

“Aww, no more cutting, Ryn?”

“Look, mate, this was meant ta be friendly, yeah? I do nae wish ta gut an Odanite, alright! Your boss ladies would never let me hear tha end of it,” Kord spoke with a strained, but wry tone.

Tisto’s eyes widened, the grin deepened as he pressed his attack.

“You really think you could stab me, Kordath? That’s fracking adorable!” shouted the Kiffar, laughing as his sheathed hands abruptly sparked. The Ryn had hardly a moment to figure out what the hell that meant, thinking the Odanite had just been sporting some fancy gloves before. When a punch glanced off his arm, he was shocked, literally and figuratively, by the pain that erupted up and down the muscles.

“Oh kark,” he groaned, dropping to a knee and sucking in a shuddering breath. Tisto let out a bark of a laugh, and Kord could hear an edge of coldness entering the man’s voice. The Odanite wasn’t being sadistic or seeking to cause lasting harm, he just seemed incredibly focused. And dangerous, decided Kordath, clenching his knuckler wielding hand into a fist and driving up from the ground towards the man.

Tisto knocked the poorly executed blow aside with almost contemptuous ease, his eyes flitting to the Ryn’s empty offhand at the flutter of movement. The Kiffar’s hand darted out as Bleu tried to recover from his attempt, grasping the trailing tail of purple ribbon and yanking the Arconan off balance.

“Mother frakker!” shouted Kord, a flash of anger driving him to reach out to the Force. The muscles in his right arm went taut and his gray eyes flashed. “Let that go,” he growled.

Tisto wasn’t listening, having a verbal jab about the Ryn having two tails for him to grab onto die on his lips as his inborn ability picked up images from the fabric. He blinked, his eyes clearing of some of the focused aggression and near-anger.

Just in time to see, and finally free of distraction, sense, the incoming brass knuckler that impacted on the side of his face. He felt something crunch, likely a tooth or three, as the Ryn’s enhanced right hook landed. Kordath swallowed nervously when the boxer didn’t fall. He felt apprehension, rather than relief, when the Odanite let out a bark of laughter, right until he released his grip.

Tisto rubbed his jaw, probing the inside of his cheek tenderly with his tongue as he gave Bleu a smile.

“So, who was that I just saw? A lot of love in that ribbon of yours. Might have pulled me back from the edge, there, hah.”

Kord swallowed and let out a sigh, unceremoniously plopping down on the nearest rock and letting his knuckles slide from his hand. He didn’t respond right off, instead, he reached into his coat and withdrawing a bottle and uncapping it.

“Me lady, wife ta be, all that. Gave me that as a gift, uh, sorry about tha punch,” stated Bleu, sheepishly coming down from the adrenaline rush. He lifted the now open bottle towards Tisto in offering. The Kiffar took it, sniffing the mouth and raising his red eyebrows before taking a swig and returning it. Kordath opened his mouth to speak but was brought to pause when the Odanite lifted a hand towards the beach. The box near where they’d began shifted and then floated across to set at their feet, Tisto lowering himself to the ground as well.

“Solid hit, crap form but nicely thrown,” he spoke with a grin, pulling a spicebrew out and placing the still cold bottle to the side of his jaw.

Bleu snorted. “Aye, not my type o’ fightin’, sorry.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, passing the whiskey back and forth and staring out at the sea. Tisto broke the quiet first.

“Felt like home, you’re a lucky guy,” he spoke softly.

“Long as I do nae kark it up,” sighed Kordath, before sitting up straighter. His vision had caught something moving in the water. “Tha frak was that?”

“Oh.” Tisto waved his spicebrew around vaguely. “Probably one of the Tsw’ells; hear they’re some kinda tentacle beast living in the water, or something. Tides coming it, looks like, so they’ll be getting closer...to...shore…,” the Odanite trailed off as he looked around.

“Kordath?” he called out, bewildered at the Arconan’s sudden absence. He looked up towards higher ground and saw the Ryn picking his way up the rocks with great speed. The Odanite could vaguely hear a ‘Nope, nope, noooope’ as the tailed man ascended, and laughed.