A cesspool of the downtrodden, the Refugee Sector on Nar Shaddaa is home to both the misfortunate and criminals alike. Offering their protection for credits, the criminal organizations that control the sector tax the populace outrageous sums. Unable to provide these fees, refugees are forced to work under hazardous conditions producing glitterstim and adrenals for their overseers. Some of these refugees are addicted to the substances themselves—for which the cartels increase the price of their tithes in exchange for a share of the product.

Crammed with stalls and makeshift hovels, several of the sector’s inhabitants find refuge on the streets and in the alleyways. Those who managed to avoid the dangers of drug production can be found selling their limited and often defective goods to others. Behind these stalls, a selective stock of black market wares is hidden, reserved for mercenaries and thugs.

Littered with garbage, it is obvious that no maintenance droids have been programmed to maintain the sector. The surrounding towers have fallen into decay, bits of debris falling every so often into the middle of the street. The duracrete streets are covered in a film of filth and chemicals from the abandoned warehouses, making movement cumbersome when traveling through the most inhabited areas.

Patrols armed with blasters and vibroswords come through these areas regularly, making a show of force to advertise the merits of their ‘protection’ while extorting the occasional shopkeeper. Screams and shouts are a common enough sound, which is never in the refugees’ best interests to interfere in.

A small figure strolled down the filthy streets of the Nar Shaddaa refugee sector. Trash that littered the ground was illuminated by the neon lights of the buildings above. The harsh lights contrasted the figure’s matte black robes and the deep blue hood he wore over his head. The figure paused mid-step to glance at the inhabitants of the street. Broken glass surrounded a cluster of bodies; passed out from drug use or an overdose? The figure could not tell. “The more you smoke, the quicker you croak,” the figure muttered to himself as he returned to his business.

He resumed his walk, heedless of the debauchery committed around him. The figure ducked into an alleyway off the Main Street, his short strides carrying him forward as his black cloak dragged upon the ground. After another minute of trudging through the filthy alleyway, the figure paused in recognition.

The figure removed his hood to reveal a set of large black eyes and red fur with a small patch of grey. “This is the location of the drop off is it not?” the furred figure spoke seemingly to the air. “Of course, Master Jedi,” a voice called out in reply. The voice decided to make itself known. A disheveled Weequay stepped out of the shadows, a sealed container in his hands. “Would a Jedi truly resort to a deal like this?” to which the furred figure replied, “I may carry a lightsaber but assure you that I am no Jedi.” The Weequay placed his cargo upon the alley floor, “Jedi or not, as long as you have the credits to pay the business is good. I assume that you have made good on your part of the deal?” he inquired. The furred figure reached into his robe, out of which he withdrew a small credit chip which he tossed to the Weequay. The Weequay caught the chip and inserted it into a data pad hanging from his belt. He stared intently at the screen for a moment before a smug smile broke across his face. “Pleasure doing business with you, non-Jedi.” The being placed the data pad and chip on his belt.

CRACK! The Weequay’s head exploded. The furred figure reached down to his belt and drew his lightsaber. The blade ignited in a stream of emerald, illuminating the dark alleyway. The figure reached for the mystical energy known as the Force, searching for any sign of the shooter. He felt a vague presence from the nearby rooftop. A shiver crawled up his spine at the feeling generated by this presence, a predator eyeing its prey, eager for the hunt to come. The shooters footsteps grew closer. “I’ve been looking for you for quite a while, Calenhad Mobok’tel. I have foreseen this very moment. For months I have received visions of this worthless planet and the coming conflict. Now I have finally found the opponent that my visions have spoke of. The Force has sent me to face many opponents but I have never faced an Ewok before. Do try to make this hunt enjoyable.”

The shooter stepped into Calenhad’s field of view. The man was of short stature, but nonetheless towered over Calenhad’s diminutive frame. The man’s bizarre silver-blue eyes, dark black hair, and massive beard traveling down to the man’s stomach gave him a rather intimidating appearance. “My name is Cimozjen Kurios. Today, I shall be your executioner.”

The Human leapt from the rooftop, wrapping the Force around his legs. He landed in a crouch, legs bent to further reduce the shock of the impact. Cimozjen stood up slowly, his right hand grasping his lightsaber and held it to his right side. Silver-blue poured into tar black as a second beam of green ignited in the alleyway. “Well then my furry friend, shall we begin?”

Calenhad refused to dignify the Human with a response. He gripped his saber tightly with both hands and rushed toward his opponent. Not for the first time, he bemoaned his small size, it took far longer than desired to reach his stationary foe. Calenhad lunged forward, saber aimed toward the human’s right leg. Cimozjen swiftly responded, stepping back with his right foot and parrying Calenhad’s blade downward. The human continued to apply his strength, forcing Calenhad into an undesirable bladelock. Instead of fighting against his opponents saber, Calenhad dragged it backwards upon the ground, leaving a scar in the duracrete. Cimozjen humorored the Ewok’s attempt to escape, pivoting on his left leg and sloppily smashing his right foot into Calenhad’s chest. The Ewok flew through the air, bouncing once upon the ground before landing upon his back.

Calenhad shifted his body upward, growling in pain and anger. He glared at his opponent who was currently aiming his Slugthrower at the Ewok. “Frack,” Calenhad muttered as a sharp Crack! filled the alleyway. Crack! Crack! Crack! Cimozjen continued to fire as he walked toward his opponent. After each shot he adjusted his aim, keeping the Ewok guessing at where the next shot would come. Calenhad intercepted each shot with his saber, growing more agitated with each deflection. The Slugthrower’s slow rate of fire was more than compensated for by the randomness of Cimozjen’s shots and the accuracy that he possessed.

Cimozjen reached towards his belt and withdrew a spherical object with his left hand. He continued to stroll forward as he primed the thermal detonator. He held the detonator behind his back as he continued forward. One second, two seconds, three seconds passed. The human hurled the grenade forward, increasing its velocity with a slight nudge of the Force.

The thermal detonator landed at Calenhad’s feet. The Ewok’s eyes opened wide in fear. In desperation he reached for the Force. Gathering as much kinetic energy in his legs as he could manage the Ewok leapt upwards in a vain attempt to escape the explosion. The Thermal Detonator exploded, engulfing the kinetic energy and tossing Calenhad out of the alleyway.

The Ewok groaned in pain. The implant within him dulled the agony of his left arm, covered in third degree burns but could do nothing for his battered back. He reached for the calmness that only the Force could provide, a balm to his aching body. Calenhad limped forward, desperate to find a place he could hide from his pursuer.

The pale human shook his head sadly as he followed after the retreating Sadowan, easily keeping pace with the fleeting Ewok. “You were so valiant in my dreams. You fought to the very last. Where is that small warrior I once beheld in visions? Are you implying that my dreams lied to me, in running like this?” Waving his slugthrower in the air, the Sorcerer chuckled. “If it means that you will realize your potential, this can remain a battle between equals. We will fight as the Jedi would do.” The Seer gave a nod to the still-retreating form of the Knight as he holstered his slugthrower. His opponent did not turn back, ducking down an alley without a word.

The bearded Force Disciple felt a tinge of melancholy. His visions were so trustworthy. Had he ruined the correct path by use of his slugthrower? Had the thermal detonator severed the synchronicity between his visions and this moment? Turning down the alley he had watched the Ewok retreat down, Cimozjen drew himself up. If he had to face the unknown, he would do so with the same dignity he expected of his Sadowan opponent.

A gust of cold wind coursed down the alleyway, tugging at the clothing of both Human and Ewo and bringing the smell of rain with it. “Come on, little furry one. Let’s not continue this hunt with such half-hearted fervor. The battle was glorious in its breadth and its intensity.” The man lifted his lightsaber, igniting it’s emerald blade with a snap-hiss. “Return and fight me, little Knight.” The human gave the slightest of bows, holding his lightsaber in a semi-relaxed grasp. He leveled the lightsaber until it was nearly parallel with the ground in a duelist’s pose, with the energy beam floating just below chest level. “Show me that you are more than a small* threat.”

The third jab at his height seemed to kindle a fire in the Ewok. With a snarl, Calenhad turned back to face his pursuer. The anger which flashed across the Ewok’s face brought a wry smile to Cimozjen’s face. Squaring his shoulders, the diminutive Arcanist raised his lightsaber in answer to the challenge. The Human just smiled as the Ewok tried to push past his pain, taking pained step after pained step forward.

“I suggest we end this quickly. My detonator will doubtlessly draw the wrong kind of attention soon enough. If the authorities decide to show up, neither of us will show up very well in their sight. So, if you will be so kind as to die-” Kurios shrugged with his lightsaber still held at the ready before he began to stalk forward.

As he drew within striking range, Calenhad swung his lightsaber in an upward arc, pushing his opponent’s lightsaber aside easily. The Seer smiled at the Knight, bringing the lightsaber back into position. His motion drew another angry strike from his fellow Sadowan. “What is with you?” The Ewok growled at the taller man.

“I want a fair fight. I want an opponent who will not merely lay down and die. The hunt is half of the fun. If I cut you down, where would be the fun in that for you? If you do not grow from this encounter, what is to be gained? I want to push you. Only the animals that escape predators live to grow to full age. It is the same with Jedi and Sith.”

“I am no Jedi.” Calenhad swung his lightsaber in a tight arc. “I am no Sith.”

“Nor am I, and yet I am here.” Cimozjen brought his weapon down in two light, sharp strikes, bringing a painful sidestep and block from the Knight. Three more light, quick strikes followed, forcing Calenhad back onto painful heels. By keeping his strikes in a tight, controlled range the Seer had managed to keep the Ewok pinned by his own pain.

“Enough,” Calenhad grunted, “is enough!” Letting out a screaming growl of fury, Calenhad leapt at Cimozjen. He was liked a wounded animal, pinned in a corner. The time for flight or fight had come, and he was determined to make the Seer eat his words.