Hidden in Felucia’s jungle lies a two hundred meter expanse marking the ancient burial site of this world’s deadliest creatures and the location of innumerable remnants of hundreds, if not thousands of rancors. A circular enclosure of sun-bleached bones are arranged in the center of the cemetery—no doubt the former dwelling of a powerful practitioner of the Force. Cobwebs cling to the fallen beasts, a testament to the primordial age of some of the creatures.

Somewhat obscured by surrounding cliffs and the luminescent jungle, the dusted bones and carcasses are cast in a faint shadow, leaving just enough light to see by. The atmosphere is thick and stifling, with a strong overtone of dust and bone suspended in the still air. The taint of the Dark Side's influence has polluted the landmark over time, giving form to a dreadful aura that has scared off scavengers hoping to sell off a rancor tusk or two. Unlike most of Felucia, the area is nearly devoid of life aside from ravenous predators dwelling within the hollowed-out husks of dead rancors.

Cimozjen Kurios trudged through the field of ancient bones, ignoring the dust that swirled around his armored boots. His nightly visions had drawn him to this place, this graveyard. He was to meet someone here or find something. Or take something from someone, he wasn’t certain, the dreams had been vague. He shifted the rifle slung over his shoulder, feeling uneasy as he made his way deeper into the shadowy boneyard. Where the jungle met the graveyard he could feel teeming life, but nearby there was next to none. Not much deeper within he sensed a spark, someone strong in the Force. Their intentions were…

He paused midstep, eyes closed as he focused his mental attention on the being. They were uncaring. Cimozjen would go so far as to call the man jubilant as a voice drifted through the dusty bones to reach his ears. Curious, the Dark Jedi walked forward, feeling as if he’d traversed this path before a dozen times, but unable to recall what he witnessed when he would wake. Today, today he would sort out the meaning of his dream, and no doubt gain something from it.

Power, a new strength, perhaps a new ally? They sound as if they’re not a threat, he mused as he turned sideways to move between a pair of ribs. Here, he realized, was where the vision usually ended. He licked his lips and stepped through into an area that was clearer, and stopped, jaw-dropping and silvered eyes gaping.

It was, he thought, a Ryn. They weren’t a widespread people, but he’d heard about them. The tales were all the same; thieves, dancers, tricksters. Others called them honest, hardworking, persecuted. He was favoring the former right now as he watched the short, nearly naked man wandering in what may have been a dance. Cimozjen’s eyes locked onto the bottle the man was waving around and unconsciously licked his lips. He watched the man stumble and sing for a few moments, perplexed.

“Let’s not have a sniffle,
Let’s have a bloody good cry
And always remember the longer you live,
The sooner you’ll bloody well die”

“What the hell is this?” asked Kurios. This caused the Ryn to pivot on his heel and turn to face the Human, lowering one hand to his stomach and the other outwards, holding the bottle upright. He bowed at the waist, nearly touching his toes with his tail twitching upwards to counterbalance him. Even so, the white-haired man almost tumbled over, laughing and taking a few unsteady steps towards Cimozjen when he righted himself.

“‘Ello there, mate! Did ya come ta get away from it all, too? Welcome! Ta, uh…” the Ryn looked around, gray eyes squinting before coming back to the Dark Jedi. “Where is we again?”

“This is Felucia,” started the man, eyes tracking the waving bottle. He could smell the whiskey, now that he was this close. “Can I—”

“Right! Fe-fe-feluuuucia, aye. Oh, where’s me manners mate?” The Ryn attempted another bow, this time falling sideways into the dust, laughing at himself.

“Look at the coffin with golden handles
Isn’t it grand boys to be bloody well dead?”

The man on the ground took another swig as he finished singing once more, wiping at his lips and looking up at nothing. Kurios felt an underlying sadness beneath the Ryn’s celebratory nature and wondered if he wasn’t interrupting a wake being held by the strange little man. He reached down to help the man to his feet, uncertain as to why. His vision had led him here, there was something to be gained.

“Right, uh, yeah, me name is Kobleu. Bleu. Kordath Bleuuuu,” managed the Ryn, finally, reaching for the hand coming down to him. It was Bleu’s turn to be confused when the Human’s eyes twitched towards the bottle, and the Dark Jedi’s hand twitched. The bottle was jerked from Kordath’s hand, and into Cimozjen’s, who took a long pull from it, sighing in contentment.

Kordath struggled to his feet, staring in disbelief at the man, who blinked his way out of a state of euphoria and seemed to focus first on the bottle, and then the Ryn.

“I, huh, sorry, friend, I didn’t really mean—” Kurios was still so stunned by his own action that he wasn’t able to move himself out of the Arconan’s way. Kordath bowled into him with a shout, taking them both into the dirt and dust. Cimozjen lost hold of the bottle, and watched it with a sense of sorrow as it to traveled towards the ground, only for a gray, white tuft-ended appendage snag it out of the air. “How did you just—” he tried to ask, when Bleu punched him in the face.

The two struggled, and the Dark Jedi found himself at a very odd disadvantage. Hand to hand combat wasn’t his forte and the drunken Ryn seemed to have more limbs then he should, throwing elbows and kneeing him wherever a blow could be landed. At one point he was certain the smaller man tried to use his nose to peck an eye out. Out of the corner of one eye he saw the tail gently set the bottle on the ground, out of reach of both men.

“Ya do nae just take another man’s drink without askin’!” ranted the near-naked Ryn as he flailed at the Human. “Man can nae even mourn properly,” grumbled Kordath. He felt the Force surge through and around his wrestling partner, Bleu went loose, relaxing his body for what was to come, though he didn’t know what it would be. It felt as if a pair of hands dug into his coat of hair from the back and pulled him backward, hard. He tumbled with it, ending up face down in the dirt and spitting.

“Bit o’ peace was all I wanted,” he sighed, “did nae want no trouble.”

"Why of course," the human grumbled, "a thrown punch is the greatest indication of one’s non-violent intentions.” Silver-blue eyes took a measure of the Ryn as he stepped backward. For a moment, he considered pulling the lightsaber at his side. The thought was a fleeting one that brought a measure of shame with it.

Instead, the Dark Jedi began to backpedal, trying to buy a moment to think. Here he was, standing in Inquisitor’s armor and by comparison the Arconan was clad in naught but his underwear.

He dipped to the left, How heroic it would be, telling the Sadowans all about how he won a fight against an inebriated alien? Whipping the blaster around his shoulder into proper shooting grip, the Savant popped off a couple of blaster bolts over the Augur’s head. The shots went wild. To his surprise, iring a blaster was not at all like handling a slugthrower.

Even as the human shuffled backwards, t seemed like Kordath was practically on top of him in a surprisingly short amount of time. Throwing out a hand in desperation, Kurios drew the Force in on himself in an imaginary ball, before releasing the pent up energy in a burst. The impromptu attack had an exaggerated effect on the inebriated Ryn. Though the shorter alien did not topple, his steps did falter for a moment. Taking the opportunity to shuck off and throw off the unnecessary weight of the E-22 blaster, Cimozjen planted a foot on the ground to half his backward momentum.

“For a man with so much apparent grief, you seem to have a lot of fire.” Kurios dropped his right hand to his lightsaber, this time unclipping the weapon from his side before bringing it to bear and activating the glowing green energy blade.

Kordath shifted from foot to foot, circling around the now-waiting Dark Jedi. As the human took an experimental swipe, the Ryn handidly side-stepped out of the path of the attack. He remained in motion however, quickly juking back into striking range to deliver a sharp jab at Kurios’ side.

“It’s clear that ye dinnae spend many nights carousing ‘n fightin’,” Bleu remarked. “Yer tae stiff fer that.”

The Human thrust at him, taking a quick half-step towards the Ryn. Probing at his defenses, Cimozjen watched the slippery Arconan carefully. Even as Bleu shifted and moved around he was swaying alarmingly.

How much did this guy drink before I got here? Half naked and singing in a graveyard was a sign, sure, but he thought he was alone. We all do weird stuff when we’re alone.

The Dark Jedi moved smoothly towards the capering Arconan, blade slashing in an effort to strike the man from shoulder to thigh. Kordath danced out of the way, looking more like a stumble than a dodge. The Ryn looked to trip over his own feet, hitting the dusty ground before rolling up, right hand tucked up against his side and blood-shot eyes fixed on his foe. Kurios felt a threat rising in the Force from the man, and caught the glint of metal on Bleu’s fist when the drunk came at him.

Cimozjen shuffled back to avoid the first poorly aimed kick, almost losing track of his foe’s actions when a tail followed the foot around and wiggled at him. He sidestepped and prepared a quick thrust towards the leg the Ryn was using as a brace and pivot when the Force called its warning to him. With a curse the Human fell back, Kordath’s knuckler-shod hand passing close enough to his chin to feel the air move. On instinct, as he felt himself falling, Kurios launched a booted foot into the air. He had the pleasure of seeing the overextended and committed Arconan’s eyes cross, air hissing from the man’s fluted nose.

“Kicked..me..in...tha…” Bleu coughed and looked alarmed, knees hitting the dusty ground. One hand went to the Ryn’s mouth, covering it, while the other kept him from falling face first into the dirt. His cheeks bulged and the Human looked away in disgust, not wanting to witness what happened next. The sounds alone would haunt him for years, he was certain. Cimozjen turned when he caught movement from the corner of his eye, keeping his saber low but ready.

The Ryn was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and limping towards the bottle sitting on the ground, ignoring the Human. He bent at the waist and picked up the bottle, taking a short swig from it and rolling the whiskey about in his mouth, before spitting on the ground. Kordath coughed a few more times, turning to face the Sorcerer with a hand over his bruised vittles.

“Ow,” he whispered and glared at the man.

“How’s that for fighting, then?” spat out Kurios, grip tightening on his saber hilt.

Kordath’s free hand rose to rub at his face with a resigned sigh. He lowered himself gently to the ground with a wince when he crossed his legs under him.

“That, mate, was nae skilled nor clever. That was bleedin’ dumb luck.” Bleu shifted and grunted again. He looked up as Cimozjen began to approach him, slowly.

Kurios licked his lips and felt his gaze torn from the strange Ryn to the bottle he held, still recalling that sweet burn from his earlier taste. He sensed no further hostility from the Arconan, though he had no doubt the brawler would fight tooth, nail, and tail should he have the need. With a slide of his finger, the emerald blade dissipated from his weapon and he made a show of returning it to his side, lowering himself to a similar position as Bleu.

“I was lead here, by dreams. Visions, but I don’t know why. I knew I’d meet someone. I have to believe these glimpses into the future are important, that I’ll learn something when they arrive, otherwise…” the man trailed off, paling a little as he realized where his speech was going.

Across from him, Kordath chuckled and then winced again. “Otherwise yer bleedin’ nuts and they mean nothin’, yeah? So, what, ya thought ya was meant ta learn somethin’ in this graveyard? I was just tryin’ ta find some time away from me job, rememberin’ a friend and gettin’ blind drunk.”

“I can see that, uh, sorry for interrupting as I did.”

Bleu sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Yer apologizing for tha wrong thing, mate. Maybe that’s tha lesson you was meant ta learn?”

Cimozjen blinked. “What?”

The Ryn waved the bottle in between them. “Maybe tha lesson was, ‘do nae go and take a man’s drink without askin’ him’, eh? Could care less that ya found me tha way ya did, but that was uncalled for.”

“Huh, you may be right. I acted on impulse. I, uh, may have a drinking problem.”

“Not today ya don’t,” grunted Kord, offering the bottle. “Not till its gone, anyway.”

Kurios licked his lips and took the whiskey, staring down into its amber depths. “Maybe the lesson was ‘not all battles end in death’, you think?”

“Ya gonna make eyes at that drink all day, or have some, mate?”

“Well no kriffing joke, little man.” Cimozjen scoffed at the statement. “The cost of drink out in the cantinas can be costly. Besides,” there was pain in his words, “clubs, bars and the likes bring up memories-” His words trailed off. A moment passed before the dark-haired man brought his weapon up parallel with the floor, pointing the tip of the lightsaber blade at Kordath.

As the Dark Jedi jabbed the lightsaber uncertainly, the Ryn seemed to be a step ahead, smoothly kicking out of the reach of the weapon. The two quickly became engaged in what would be more acurately considered a dance than a battle, with Augur and Seer moving around. The Arconan kept a step ahead of the human, always seeming to stay a step ahead despite his shorter stature.

Kurios watched the Gray Jedi’s smooth motions with great scrutiny, hoping that the next twirl or stab of his lightsaber could end this painful farce. He hated combat of this sort. Given a choice of any other weapon, the human would almost have sacrificed his own effectiveness if it meant sparing this poor creature more pain. Cimozjen had been the one at fault, hewho had inadvertently stumbled upon this seemingly sorrowful party. The whole situation was deeply confusing.

As he reflected on this, he failed to notice his opponent closing in until it was too late. The Dark Jedi had dropped his stance enough to allow the Arconan to slip in past his lightsaber. The Corellian was repaid a sharp pain for his sloppiness as Kordath drove something hard into his gut. As he was doubled over, Kurios felt the impact of a leg striking the back of his knee. The blow brought him down hard, a combination of pain and suprise driving the breath from his lungs.

“What,” he gasped, “are-are you doing?”

Bleu chuckled at the question, his eyes flashing with a less-than-kind fire. “You ‘ere the one what brought a lightsaber against a Ryn wi’ a bottle. Must be terrible, fighting so fearful ‘n enemy.” There was a tiredness to the quip. “You dinnae have to step into things, but-”

“You know,” Cimozjen paused, drawing a painful breath, “maybe we should start from the beginning. I mean, hell, it isn’t like I am in a position to argue with you if you want to beat my ribs in.” His conscience pricked at his heart even as he spoke. He had not given the Ryn much cause to be patient. Thankfully though, the smaller man seemed to be considering his words.

“Oh?”

“M-maybe,” the Dark Jedi winced, “I can make it up to you. Buy you a fresh bottle. We could hash this out, like gentleman.” He chuckled painfully. “After all this stress, I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink. We share a couple of bottles before we part ways, peacefully. What do you say?”

Kordath Bleu looked hard at the Corellian for almost a minute before his expression softened. “Get on yer feet,” he offered a hand, “and maybe we can see about that drink.” “