The Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. A vantage point on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel offers a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Simple shops and merchants peddle both legitimate and illegitimate wares. Storefronts are just as plentiful as open-market pop-up tents, and the cantina's adapt the same lowlife air as the rest of the Smuggler's Moon. Enemies could be hidden in plain sight, whether one of the Hutts’ gangsters or mercenaries-for-hire looking to earn some credits. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. They may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for one gifted in the Force.

"I still don't understand why you're his protector. The Fades who stand guard over the Shadow Lord of Arcona have always been drawn from the Erinos Clan," stated the shorter of the two armored men.

Calling him diminutive would have been a disservice. Celevon Edraven was above average height, and his Beskar'gam armor cut an imposing figure. If the man he was walking with down the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa hadn't been a giant in his own right, he'd have looked quite intimidating. As it was, the Erinos looked at best normal, and at worst small. The crowds parted before them as the two walked and talked, having crossed paths on separate business.

"Perhaps that was once so, but your Mandalorians are not so well trusted by my master."

There was a sound of indignation from under the Odanite's helm.

"He doesn't trust us!? The Ryn is a lech, a thief, and a scoundrel, all things the average Mandoa would despise. Perhaps that's why he and I have always gotten along so well," the man seemed to muse aloud the last.

"Regardless!" shouted Stres'trong'armis, bodyguard of the Arconan Consul. "His protection is my duty first. Your Captain Bly still heads his guard, but I defend the man himself."

Strong walked several feet before pausing, realizing his Odanite comrade was no longer with him and turned to give the man a look.

"You suggest the Erinos are not capable of this task? How poorly does your master think of my people?" asked Celevon, an angry tone clear in his voice.

The hulking, similarly armored figure of Strong simply shrugged, before sighing when Celevon drew a short, slightly curved dagger from behind his back. The crowd flowed around them, two armor-clad rocks in a stream, not yet aware of the brewing violence.

"You wish to test my ability, Mister Edraven? VERY WELL!" The Chiss let out a bellow which caused those nearby to shy away. He reached over his shoulder to unsling his yellow trimmed shield, grasping its handle and powering on its energy field.

Celevon wasted no more time with words, the man lowering his stance and darting in with his dagger. The alchemically treated blade skipped off the shield, sparking against the translucent field and nicking the yellow trim. People shouted and pressed to the sides of the street, causing vendors to yell in annoyance as their product was trampled. The half-Echani backed off, dagger spinning to an overhand grip, blade pointed down to better slash at the Chiss with his full strength. With the armor the two men wore, it was unlikely the simple weapon would do much harm, but that wasn’t the point.

It was about scarring the towering Arconan’s chrome form; about showing that he’d landed a strike that would show the Fade incapable of defending his charge. For what it was worth, under his helmet, Strong was grinning widely. The noble son of Garmis had a soft spot for Echani or those who followed their ways. Much more than he did for Mandoa, who sought to fight to prove who was stronger. With Echani it was always exhilarating, entertaining, and enlightening. An entire culture that revolved around understanding one another through single combat was something the mercenary had always found to be a marvelous and direct system.

What he was learning about Celevon right now was that the Odanite was quick to get to the point, as the tip of his dagger came swiftly down in a powerful arc. The Chiss knocked it aside with the shield before swinging a gauntlet-clad fist towards the other man. Celevon leaned away from the blow, if barely, his visored helm moving just slightly as he tracked the arc of Strong’s attack. The Seeker took a half step back and dashed forward once more, his arm extending in a right hook towards Strong’s midsection. With his blade held as it was, it wasn’t the punch that the Chiss was forced to avoid, but the glinting edge.

Strong awkwardly gave ground, the blade passing within centimeters of his armored abdomen and tried to put his shield where it could stop a follow-up attack. He did not see his attacker moving his left hand in a wave, but his senses were nearly overwhelmed by a sudden display of dazzling, multi-hued lights dancing before his own helmet. The Chiss grunted and shook his head, shaking off the mental assault, feeling his temper begin to grow.

”You dare to try such petty tricks to defeat me, Master Celevon!? I was made to believe your kind believed in honor!” shouted the Arconan. He followed this shout with another powerful swing of his fist, allowing his anger to drive him forward.

This was all the Erinos had been hoping for, his paltry illusion offending the nobleman’s honor and sense of fair play. He stepped towards the hit this time, twisting to allow the fist to pass him, before hooking his arm around Garmis’s elbow. He grunted, turning his waist and trying to do a classic hip toss, feeling the big man’s weight become slightly unbalanced from his efforts. Sweat ran down the pale man’s face under his helmet, and he drew deep on the Force.

”An admirable attempt, my good ma—” Strong was cut off as he felt his body rise into the air, as if being pushed up from the street, and tossed over the half-Echani’s hip. He looked up at the starry sky of Nar Shaddaa, and the somehow smug looking helmet of his Odanite comrade. ”Hmph, one to you, I suppose.”

The Seeker grinned beneath the helm as he offered a hand to the gargantuan Chiss, whom Celevon could almost feel giving him a suspicious glance. “No tricks here, I assure you.”

He planted his feet, half expecting Strong to fling him despite the Arconan’s sense of honor. No such turnabout came, though it helped to keep the half-Echani on his feet as Strong pulled himself into an upright position.

“So, your kind does have some honor after all,” the mercenary rumbled good-naturedly. He kept a wary eye on the other man, only relaxing minimally when his comrade’s alchemically-treated dagger was sheathed.

Since his features were covered by the Beskar’gam, the Odanite gave a casual shrug. “The ritualistic duels amongst the Echani are steeped in honor and tradition. However, they are meant to test your mettle with no additional aid. No armor, weapons or powers; just the bodies, minds and souls of the two combatants,” he gently corrected the Chiss as he turned and strode a few steps away. “To break these tenets in one of these ritual duels is the highest insult to both your ancestors and your opponent.”

The Arconan bent down to retrieve his shield, trusting that sense of honor that his comrade would not attack someone who was facing away from him. “A true and worthy test of one’s battle prowess. Commendable indeed.”

As Strong turned back, shield in hand, he caught a flash of movement as the Mandalorian spun in place. The Chiss raised his shield against whatever blow his comrade would unleash through the Force—

Only to rear back as something impacted against his own helmet with the force of a slugthrower round. Something physical, as he tracked the familiar sound of metal against duracrete. Several feet away, the Shadow Lord’s bodyguard spotted the mangled remains of a throwing knife. Almost absently, Strong reached up and touched the dent it had made in his helm. It wasn’t possible... unless—

Celevon had accelerated the blade with the Force.

Once again, the Chiss felt as though the Erinos’ posture appeared particularly smug. Strong’s ire was rapidly rising, though the half-Echani appeared entirely unaware of the dangerous waters he had begun to tread.

“This is no honor duel, my massive cerulean friend. This is a brawl—” The Odanite leapt and tucked his body into a roll before coming back to his feet, dodging the yellow-trimmed shield the son of House Garmis had flung at him. “A street fight, if you will, on a planet that has been the dominion of the Hutt Cartel for countless millen—”

In his taunting, the Seeker had missed the rapid approach of the enraged Chiss. The shoulder that rammed into Celevon sent him airborne, crashing into a merchant’s stall. The jarring impact from one instant to the next caused the half-Echani to black out for a few moments. A groan escaped his lips as the pain finally registered.

Movement at the edge of his vision drew the Odanite’s attention, only to discover that the Shadow Lord’s bodyguard had drawn a massive power hammer. Silver eyes darted around frantically before he spotted something to delay the approach of his comrade. Whilst he lifted his arms and reached out with the Force, the Seeker nearly bit through his lip to withhold a moan.

The gesture required to fling the formerly parked speeder at Strong sent a wave of white-hot agony through the Erinos. He nearly blacked out again. Panting, Celevon focused inward and sent soothing ripples of energy across his battered body.

When it felt safe to lift himself into a position to see, the War Councillor of Odan-Urr blinked in shock.

The speeder was completely wrecked, though it appeared as though it had deflected off of the armor and bulk of his Chiss opponent. Strong himself had completely destroyed a stall, which had sent some green...

Oh... that explains why someone is wailing about cabbages, Celevon thought absently.

His shock was due to the fact that the Arconan had already returned to his feet — albeit his motions appeared to be hindered with a visible limp — and was nearly upon him. The Seeker’s next thought was spoken aloud, though Celevon himself was unaware of it. “Even with armor, that’s going to hurt in the morning.”

“Indeed, Master Edraven!” It seemed that having a speeder thrown at him had improved Garmis’ mood. The Odanite was unsure if his senses were still addled from being sent flying, but he felt... distinct amusement radiating from the Chiss. “I do believe that salvo makes us tied!”

Now, the half-Echani was not well-known for his sense of humor. In fact, some would describe his moods as downright mercurial. Being hit by what felt like a train did not put him in the best of moods, nor did the bone-jarring landing into a stall of what looked like jewelry.

In a normal situation, he probably would have slid a few pieces into a pouch for later inspection.

What this angle did reveal, however, was a weakness in Strong’s armor design. Under his visor, Celevon gave the hulking figure a sickly-sweet smile. “Then consider this a tie-breaker.”

He then proceeded to slam an armor-plated boot between the Chiss’ legs.

There was a resounding clank sound as metal met metal, and the half-Echani took a moment to feel self-satisfied. Instead of the Arconan’s knees buckling and crashing to the ground, the big man let out a long groan and fell forward, much to Celevon’s alarm.

“No, no, no!” muttered the Erinos, trying to scramble to his feet before he could be crushed. Bits of jewelry and the shattered frame of the stall were caught under his boots and feet, denying him traction. He fell back on the Force to try and hold the larger figure up, though his speeder assault earlier had drained him greatly. “Okay, maybe that was uncalled for,” he admitted with a grunt.

Through the visor of Strong’s helm, the Odanite could see the burning red eyes of the Chiss who now seemed frozen in mid-fall. Chrome plated gauntlets reached out to wrap thick fingers around the Jedi’s upper arms.

”You have attempted to cause irrevocable harm to the future of my bloodline, Edraven,” growled the larger man, pain and anger in his voice. There was a scrape of metal on duracrete as Strong dragged his booted feet back under his body, pushing back up to a standing, albeit swaying, position. He raised his arms till Celevon’s feet hung several inches above the ground, still glaring through his helmet.

“So, what now?” snarked the Odanite, flexing his arm so his hidden wrist blade could be at the ready.

”Now? Now, we take a journey together, Master Erinos!” boomed Strong, his jovial tone not quite covering a malicious intent.

“Wait, wh—” managed Celevon, right before the Arconan turned them towards the edge of the street. Speeders zipped through the skyway between Nar Shaddaa streets, their engines whining “Strong, let’s not do th—!”

The Chiss bodyguard hunched over slightly, activating his rocket pack and flying them over the low wall that separated the street from the speeder ways. Within Celevon’s mind, the Force screamed warning after warning as the Arconan took them on a jetpack fueled ride of terror through the busy thoroughfare. He struggled in his opponent’s grasp and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt an overwhelming sense of danger approach, trying to let his body go slack. His mind was already having trouble parsing up from down with the way their uneven weight forced the rocket pack to send them into a spiral. All sense of direction was lost when they careened off of passing speeder that had the misfortune of not noticing them in time.

Celevon didn’t feel the impact, though his stomach was displeased with the situation, so he figured Strong had taken the hit. He managed to crack an eye open, looking out through his T-visor to see the other side of the skyway fast approaching. Another jarring impact sent them sideways, and he caught sight of a speederbike tumbling down into the street below. Already people were scattering from the commotion, and a figure clad in leathers and helmet went skipping and skidding down the road. The two armored men hit the ground in a cacophony of screeching and crumpled metal, bouncing across the duracrete and separating when Strong lost his grip.

The Erinos slowly sat up, wondering if anything was broken beyond repair, and had a minor moment of panic when he opened his eyes and saw nothing. A quick tug on his helmet brought it away, somehow having been spun about in the crash, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Crazy frakker,” he mumbled to himself, struggling to stand up, ears ringing. The Erinos staggered sideways a few feet before finding balance, stomach threatening revolt. He looked up as he caught movement out of the corner his eye and groaned, seeing the chrome plated Chiss struggling to stand and shrugging the rocket pack off. It was a twisted mess, and much of the Praetorian armor his comrade wore was marred and scraped, plates missing. Strong wasn’t moving quickly, taking slow and measured steps towards the wrecked speederbike.

“No you don’t,” muttered Celevon, drawing his slugthrower and firing a round into the Arconan’s shoulder. “I’m aiming for where the armor still covers, big guy, how about we call it a draw before what passes for security shows up?”

Strong recoiled from the impact, pausing for a moment before grasping the steering vane of the speederbike. He yanked on it, tearing away the front half of the fuselage and turning to approach the Erinos who was now firing slug after slug into his armor. The Chiss’s step slowed the magnetic coils in his armor turning on to absorb the kinetic force of the rounds. Celevon could hear a groan of pain from the big man as he advanced, moving even slower, as well as the click of his pistol running dry. As the Arconan lifted the bike assembly like a club, the Odanite took a deep breath and held a hand up, drawing on the Force despite the fatigue he felt.

”Calm down. Rest. I am not your enemy.” he intoned, his words falling heavily on the larger man’s mind.

The twisted metal in Strong’s hands seemed to waver as the big man stopped, makeshift club held aloft, head turned slightly to the side.

Celevon was banking on the other man being as tired as he was, and hoped that Strong would see past his battle rage to remember that the man he was about to turn into paste wasn’t his enemy.

”Focus, Son of Garmis,” croaked the half-Echani.

The Chiss loosened his grip and slowly sank to the ground, ”Apologies, friend Edraven, I fear I lost my temper.”

Celevon let out a long sigh and then stood up, staring into the distance as the sounds of sirens approached.

“We should leave.”

”Indeed. Also, I believe the score is three to two in my favor.”

“We can talk about that later!” shouted Celevon, already stumbling in the opposite direction of the sirens.

The moment his boot made contact, the half-Echani winced in sympathy as he felt no resistance whatsoever. An odd keening wail escaped from under the now-scarred chromium helmet as the Chiss dropped his hammer.

As Strong began to collapse, he lashed out with a fist and struck the Odanite where his jaw would be. As the Chiss landed amongst the remnants of the stall and miscellaneous pieces of scattered jewelry, his hands clutched his sore groin. The son of House Garmis moaned and managed a few disparaging comments about his comrade in his native tongue.

Celevon had been seeing stars since the impact between what may as well have been a boulder and his helmet. It was fairly possible that he was hallucinating, but it sounded as though the Chiss’ voice was a higher pitch.

Unless the Mandalorian was mistaken, his visor had been damaged by the colossal blow. Not to mention the possible concussion.

He didn’t speak Cheunh at all. In fact, the War Councillor had rarely heard the language of the Chiss spoken. However, one need not be a linguist to note that the words were anything but complimentary.

“If you have ended the line of Garmis, you shall pay dearly,” Strong rasped in Basic.

It was not Celevon’s imagination, nor was it a hallucination; the booming bass was now more a strangled baritone. The half-Echani was ripped from his musings by a roar from the Chiss. Though... he couldn’t help but notice that the other man’s voice was back to normal.

“UNHAND MY POSSESSIONS, RUFFIANS!”

The Odanite could sense the hostile intent, both from Strong and those he had bellowed at. As he recalled a similar incident years earlier, he turned his focus inward and bathed himself in the healing energies of the Force.

If the duo were in the territory that Celevon remembered, he would need every advantage possible to aid the Arconan. By the sound of things, his comrade was pushing himself to his feet.

“See, I don’t think so.” A voice drawled, further from their position. “The merchants in this district give us a cut of their earnings for... protection.” Sycophantic chuckling followed this statement. “You destroyed two of their stalls in your little fight, big guy. That means you two are going to pay for it, eh?”

“‘Ey boss, I got ‘is pretty sh—AAAH!” The gangbanger screamed as a blade cut clean through his forearm in a glimmer, the shield and severed appendage landing on the duracrete.

The Erinos picked up the yellow-trimmed object, which now had an additional spray of crimson, and tossed it to Strong. As the Chiss caught it and removed the riot baton from his waist, Celevon pointed his alchemical sword at the first one who spoke, the blade glinting in an eerie manner due to the lack of natural light. “Perhaps my friend did not speak clearly enough. He said unhand his possessions.”

“I believe they do not find your joke particularly amusing, Master Edraven,” Garmis added in an aside as he stepped alongside the Mandalorian, activating his baton as he did so. “Perhaps they are slow to understand your meaning? Shall we teach them a lesson?”

The half-Echani sensed the wariness and tension rise within the gang members’ ranks the moment the Arconan stood beside him. In a split-second intuitive decision, he increased that fear with a minor illusion.

To their enemies, it appeared as though the eyes of both heavily armored figures glowed from within. Had their respective helmets been removed, it would have revealed identical smiles on the visages of each. A smile only prey recognized shortly before they became a predator’s meal.

That sense of fear lifted a notch as the Chiss stretched, tendons audibly popping above the buzz of his anti-riot baton. Despite his injuries, Strong appeared to be prepared to handle himself.

“Do let’s.”

As the final word passed through his lips, a warning screamed through the Force and Celevon heeded it. He pivoted in place, using the flat of his sword to deflect an emerald-tinged blaster bolt away from their position.

It looked more controlled than it actually was. It was only sheer luck that it had worked.

Behind him, Strong roared as he gave a wide swing of his charged baton, sending the gangster who had grabbed the power hammer flying into a wall.

The Erinos dashed forward, a swipe of his alchemically-treated sword sent the blaster skittering across the duracrete. He followed that with a twist of his wrist, slashing in the opposite direction. Without waiting to watch the decapitated head roll off the shoulders, the War Councillor moved onto the next.

An almost careless bash of his shield intercepted a more foolish one. It was at this point that the Chiss realized the others had fled. His comrade had the tip of the sword a hair from the leader’s throat.

“Master Edraven, his blood is not worthy of coating your blade!”

Although Celevon did not change his position in the slightest, Strong saw the relaxation of his shoulders. It was as though a coil had released its tension.

The Odanite gave a theatrical twirl of the sword before it was returned to the sheath on his back, the amethyst leather hilt still visible. “You should run before I change my mind.”

Garmis bit back a chuckle as the gangbanger nearly tripped in his haste to flee the wrath of the duo. “Until next time, comrade?”

“Indeed. Perhaps a more... honorable duel?”

A snort of amusement escaped the chrome helmet. “Expect more than a punch in the face if you EVER pull a cheap shot like that again!”

Celevon winced in remembrance of both of the actions the Arconan spoke of. The strain of their brawl and subsequent response to the small gang had started to make itself known. “I suppose I did deserve that.”

“That you did. Fare thee well.”