Despite being on the first level of the Citadel, the massive courtyard remains hidden behind towering walls of stone and sediment. An elongated central patch of neatly trimmed grass stretches out for almost fifty-meters while maintaining a twenty-meter width. At the center of the grass is a large, ovular fountain in the shape of the Arcona emblem, with water running from the tips of each pointed edge. Vegetation grows along some of the walls, and an archaic clock-face is carved into the face of one of the entryways. A small group of rotating sharpshooters are scattered across the walls as the courtyard is supposed to serve as a safe place for Arconans to enjoy some quiet time, or to meet with visitors. It has served as the venue for multiple honor duels over time and there is a significant crater off to the side of the grass left behind as a result of a contest between Marick Arconae and Wuntila Arconae. The duel had taken place prior to either Arconae serving as Shadow Lords and in a quieter time before all Arcona knew was warfare.

Towards the back of the courtyard, closer to the base of the cliff that the Citadel is constructed upon, a tall tree shoots up from the stone, its shade guarding an entrance into the Citadel proper.

"Ay, down below!"

Karran startled, but only slightly, as a rich, rolling voice addressed him from above his horned head. The Zabrak craned back his neck to spot a man's figure nearly at the very top of the tree he sat under, swaying steadily with the wind on a precariously thin limb. It took the Hunter's eyes a moment to track the man, but less because of any attempt at stealth whatsoever and more because his skin blended in so well with the dappled multitudes of verdant greenery.

As Karran watched, the alien man sprang up from his perch, launching high into the air — high above even the garden walls surrounding them — before backflipping at the peak of his arc and descending like a comet. He landed with a predatorial grace, feet connecting with the ground first before he rolled forward, dampening his impact, and then emerged in a crouch, fist planted as an anchor and off-hand thrown back to stabilize. It looked very practiced, likely a fine bit of combat maneuvering, but also very dramatic.

He straightened up from his pose, having landed directly in front of the Zabrak Journeyman, and gave a little two finger mock salute.

Remembering the earlier phrase that had first alerted him to the man and not wanting to be rude, even less so to an obviously fellow Force-trained, the horned man inclined his head.

"Hello?" he questioned. The green man nodded and smirked in a not unfriendly manner at him.

"You Karran Val'teo?"

"That is I," responded the greener — in a sense — Force-user, standing proudly from his seat amongst the roots where he'd been instructed to wait. The message from the Lady Tameike had been quite firm, and he hadn't felt like refusing a former and formidable Shadow Lord when they demanded his presence in the courtyard of the Citadel the Arconans all called home. He only hoped for more answers, maybe a mission to wet his blade; just not a waste of his time.

"Cool. Name's Ruka. Satsi was my coach. She sent me for you." His hand settled on the weapons belt on his hips, and Karran knew a sudden dread.

This is it, the Zabrak realized. She'd finally decided on retribution for his behavior the night they fought — and flirted — at the bar while their battleteam bonded. Nearly rupturing his spleen hadn't been enough? What was his insult? His weakness in losing to her and to their Sith Aedile? His inebriated enamoration? His failure along with the rest of the team to fully apprehend the Collective agents who had burned down her home? Whatever the reason, Satsi had sent her apparent apprentice — a second, as Sith should — to slay him.

Karran shifted in a swift, practiced motion, immediately igniting his lightsaber in a two-handed grip and posed for battle. He would not go from this world easily.

"Then come," challenged the Zabrak, nostrils flared and adrenaline pounding through the blood rushing in his eardrums. "We fight to the death like warriors. I will not be defeated."

Instead of the acceptance and charge he expected from this Ruka, though, all he got was an incredulous blink. Then, the Mirialan threw up his hands and covered his eyes. He made a sound between a strangled laugh and a great sigh.

"Ayy los diosez mni Bogan ey Ashla, every time! No!" Ruka shook his head vehemently, waving at Karran as he met his gaze again. It was a very...parental look, scolding, as if to say 'put that toy away and get your chores done, young man.' Karran didn't care for it. "Ay, ay, ay, none of that!" he clucked at the Zabrak. "We're not fighting to the death. That's ridiculous and... Uh, what's that word Cor always used...? Ah! Barbaric. I just like to say stupid sithspit, but well, he's better at words stuff. Point is, we're not here to fight, you ass! Okay, well, yeah, but for like, training. Not some kriff about murdering you."

"...Ah," the Journeyman said, relaxing his muscles slightly and shifting back his feet. He lowered his armory saber. "I misunderstood."

"Ya think? Bogan! You're lucky I don't throw my boot at you like my boys. Act like children, the lot of you."

"I'm no child," the Zabrak growled, both certain of that fact in blood and sweat from his difficult years, and also certain that Ruka was surely no older than him. Yet he had 'boys' and judged so liberally?

"If the shoe fits," Ruka responded, looking more and more like he wanted to make good on his word and remove his footwear as a projectile. "Ugh, whatever. Let's start over, here. I'm Ruka, and Satsi asked me if I'd come spar with you while I was visiting. Not to the death. Just a duel. For training."

Ruka stepped forward and offered a black-nailed hand, and the Zabrak considered before reaching out to clasp it. He could forgive the situation. He had assumed, after all. And, any fight was a good fight to him. Especially, he thought, one from an apprentice of Satsi's!

Karran's eyes roamed over the slightly shorter and slimmer Mirialan as he sized him up. His bare forearms and face showed a plethora of scarring, and his muscled, wide-shouldered build suggested strength, his stance ease with experience. He had not only a lightsaber on his belt but several sheathed bladed weapons that looked of great value and esteem. Perhaps he was a worthy foe.

"Very well, then. Let us fight!"

"Duel," Ruka stressed, frown forming. "We aren't fighting, man."

"You sound so distasteful," observed the Zabrak in surprise as the other man walked away from the tree and found what he seemingly deemed a good sparring spot. The Mirialan stripped off his shirt, revealing more scars and expansive tattoos and rigid musculature. Clearly, a fighter. Who didn't enjoy fighting? What strange people Karran had found himself with!

"I sure as hell am. Dueling is fun. Fighting is kriffing awful. And killing," his face took on a grave shadow, "is even worse. The worst of all. I'm not going to be killing you or anyone else anytime soon."

Karran gawked at him.

"But you're— Satsi's apprentice?"

"Yeah, and? I'm pretty sure I was me before I met her, thanks."

"But... And a Sith? Those colors on your clothes..." They were black, gray, and dark blood red, common to those of the Sith Order in Brotherhood. He'd felt the Dark Side stir around the Mirialan when he leapt from the tree.

"'No chains on me,'" Ruka paraphrased carelessly, stopping to actually set his garment aside with care before he started to stretch; basic katas of the Banlanth Form Karran was himself mastering. The movement of one arm caught Karran's eye, as did the design on it. He was sure he'd seen it while studying in the Clan archives and in the reports his master, Qyriea, had him read.

"And you're... One of the Jedi flowers?" The Zabrak's skepticism couldn't grow any worse, surely.

Ruka met his eyes proudly, a glint of corrupt gold flashing in their violet.

"It's the Lotus," he corrected. "And it's not just the Jedi. The Jedi don't stand alone. Nobody does. That's what the Lotus means. Light, Dark, none, whatever."

"You are insane," surmised Karran. "And certainly no Sith. You hold nothing of our values. Our power!"

"Oh, yeah?" He got a sharp glare from Ruka as the very much not-a-Sith settled into a fighting stance. His emerald body twisted partially to the side, lightsaber hilt raised above his head in a guard, knees bent in a crouch. He looked like some beast poised with its claws to pounce. A spear of brilliant sapphire flame erupted from the emitter, humming a high keen, a warning growl. "Try me."

Karran shook his head in disbelief, but was more than happy for the challenge; and to show he was right. He slid into his own prepared defensive stance, careful and grounded as he was being schooled to wield a saber, but also not without hints of his own heritage. The twist of his torso and lightness on the balls of his feet was more inspired by K'thri combat dancing than any bit of Banlath's planted precision.

"Prove your skills then, the only worthy way," invited the Zabrak, and then stepped forward to raise both arms for a slash.

He had hardly begun to move, however, before Ruka was already surging forward, hard and fast. The apprentice tried to abort his attack but couldn't stop, stumbling. That blue blade slammed swiftly into his and nearly knocked it from Karran's grasp, throwing him off balance with the sudden invasion of his space. The Zabrak felt himself falling and rolled into it as if somersaulting into another K'thri pattern, hitting the ground hard and scraping his bald head on stray rocks. He came back up in a crouch and was knocked flat on his rear when the Mirialan swooped in on him, still so there, unrelenting in his strikes that battered at Karran's blade like storm winds against a flimsy sapling.

Desperate to get his footing back under him, the Zabrak concentrated briefly, manifesting his will for battle — for a back and forth and not this pitiful beating — into existence. Ruka's blade rebounded off the sudden barrier, carrying his arm and shoulder back with the momentum of his reflected strike and leaving him open. The Journeyman seized his chance, throwing his empty palm flat to the earth behind him and thrusting his legs upright with a roll of his hips and abdomen. His two-footed kick punched square into his opponent's gut, shoving him away with an explosive exhale of all the air in his lungs.

Karran twisted and bolted upright, offering Ruka his back for only a scant heartbeat as he put a more respectable distance between them. Once he turned around, saber raised again and more firmly planted this time in his footing, he saw the wheezing Equite returning to his own feet.

"Not bad," Ruka offered before darting in again with no reprieve.

The Zabrak, ready this time, swung at him to cut hip to collar, but the Mirialan only blocked and parried his telegraphed slash. Karran's footwork flew as he danced backwards, perfectly happy to give ground and parry when he had to rather than try to block the sheer number of rapid, chained strikes his opponent made. They both breathed hard, sweating under the merciless summer sun, brows beaded with moisture as he struck out with a deliberate riposte and Ruka slithered away to kick off anything nearby — small boulders, benches, the fountain — and lend his leaping attacks more force.

At one point, their lightsabers locked, and Karran debated risking sticking his neck over the cross just to headbutt the other man. Instead, he channeled the Force into his arms and shoved, intent on forcing Ruka back. The other Sith was braced, however, and neither gave ground, not an inch.

They were smiling at each other, Karran realized. Lips peeled back and teeth bared, hard smiles that ate up their faces along with their brows furrowed in effort, skin flushed with exertion.

"You're good," Karran gasped past the sound of humming, contained plasma, and Ruka grinned wider.

"You're going to be really good," replied the Battlemaster to the Hunter. "If you don't get cocky."

Then he took one hand off his blade and released a flash of lightning from his fingertips. The claws of violet light aimed right past the Zabrak's head, making him flinch away, and the moment their blades disengaged, Ruka vaulted backwards in an amplified jump that carried him across the field of green they sparred in. Karran barely caught himself before he kissed the dirt, his senses still shrieking alarms at him belatedly. He blinked once and narrowed his eyes at the Mirialan who waited for him several meters away.

Teeth grit, the Zabrak threw back his arm and snapped it forward, flinging his lightsaber from his grasp with mind and body. His will in the Force guided it in a deadly curve that Ruka dodged around, and Karran stuck out his hand in preparation for the hilt to return to his grip—

Until it redirected in midair by an opposing invisible force, flying into Ruka's waiting hand instead. The Mirialan caught it and held both glowing sabers aloft for a moment, staring at Karran challengingly.

"Try again," he called, tone halfway between stern and goading, and then uncurled his fingers from around both weapons and sent the humming pinwheels of plasma spinning at Karran through the air.

As Karran watched the two sabers spin towards him, he jumped forward, rolling under the blades as he did, and charged towards Ruka. He closed the distance between himself and the Mirialan and swung wide with his left fist. Ruka easily dodged this telegraphed strike, stepping to the side, and sticking his foot out and placing a hand between Karran's shoulder blades, shoving him forward to the ground. "I said we were dueling. Not fighting. And certainly not brawling."

Karran allowed himself to fall forward, satisfied that he had broken Ruka's concentration, and released the two weapons from his control. The Zabrak stretched out his hand, trying to make a connection with his saber and call it back to him. The lightsaber hilt flew into his hand and he activated it, but rather than a familiar crimson, the blade ignited in a vibrant blue. Karran stared at the blade for a moment then looked back up at Ruka, who had recalled the Zabrak's saber and held it up, prepared to bring it down in a powerful overhanded strike. Karran rolled away and swung his legs up and around, using the momentum to bring himself back up to his feet. He set himself in a wide stance, his oppenent's saber in a two-handed grip, angled defensively towards the Mirialan. "That is a good trick. Would you like your blade back? Or shall we continue?"

"Hold onto to it. I'll take it back when I want it." the Mirialan sized up the Zabrak again. At first glance, he had thought he was just a simple brute. An animal, raging against anything in his path, but there was more than just rage. There was a purpose behind the fire. “But Satsi was definitely right about you. You are a stubborn one.”

Karran adjusted his grip on the lightsaber, he shifted his stance, returning to the hybrid of K’thri and Banlanth. The Zabrak rushed in again, this time instead of trying to pass straight through his opponent, he shifted to the right at the last moment, attempting to stay on his opponent’s weak side. He moved in like a planet around his opponent, orbiting around an emerald sun, but making his own rotations, like a circular dance. His saber strikes were still somewhat crude and unrefined, lacking proper form, but his footwork allowed him enough mobility to keep ahead of any counter attacks that may come from his opponent. Karran waited until an opening in Ruka’s defenses opened up, when the opportunity came, he lashed out with a low kick just above the Mirialan’s knee, then followed up with a roundhouse kick to his abdomen.

Ruka had not anticipated this tactic from his opponent but adapted his defense to it quickly enough until the Zabrak moved a little faster than he could shift to stay facing him and suddenly he felt a sharp sting in his leg, causing it to buckle under his weight, then a strong blow to his chest, mostly absorbed by the plates of his armor, but the force of it knocking him back. As he hit the ground, the red saber fell from his hand and Karran reached out a hand, calling it back to his grip.

Karran stood above his opponent, considering for a moment, then hooked both sabers back onto his belt before walking over and extending a helpful hand to his downed opponent. Ruka took it and heaved himself back up. The Zabrak took his opponent’s saber off of his belt and handed it back before turning around and stepping a few meters away before facing Ruka again. He took his own saber out again and held it at his side, waiting for the Mirialan’s next move.

"We'll call that one and one, huh?" Ruka remarked, violet eyes tracking the Zabrak's movements, tension tight in the air while they both coiled, judging, waiting. "First to second blood, yeah? Y'know, simile speaking."

"Metaphorically?" Karran questioned, and Ruka frowned.

"Yeah, that, whatever. Like I said. I'm not the words guy. But this," he shifted his stance again, poised nearly to touching the ground, "this I'm at least good for."

"So the next one disarmed loses?"

"Sure, not that we're playing for anything. Next one to lose his weapon."

"We fight for glory, for spirit, for living...to know one another," the Zabrak listed, grin growing. Battle was in his blood, in every bone, in the earth underfoot and clouds above and his voice within. It was the voice of his people.

Ruka didn't seem to agree, rolling his eyes. Karran nearly glared at him for that, but the Hunter had already accepted that his opponent wasn't Sith; adding on 'touched in the head' and 'bereft of joy' weren't much a stretch.

"Come on, then," baited the Mirialan.

"Have at you—" Karran began, only to cut off and leap aside as the Equite launched forward at speed that had to be supernatural.

The Journeyman got his guard up in time, braced and shoving back with all his strength. His excitement surged as their blades clashed again with a scream of sparks, showering ruby and sapphire flame. He could see victory in his mind's eye, and now that they had a defined set of parameters for it, all Karran wanted was to win. Adrenaline and giddiness lit his veins like fire and lighting, surging through him with every blow struck and taken. Their sabers met over and over, Ruka's attacks a whirlwind hammer to Karran's unyieling anvil.

Karran spun and swayed and leapt, laughing silently with breath he did not have to spare. He was patient, waiting for Ruka to take one of the openings the Zabrak feinted, but Ruka in turn tracked his movements, breaking attempted locks and aggressively striking out for vulnerable points at joints that Karran was forced to parry and block.

A flash of blue, the stink of burnt flesh.

The Mirialan's blade burned a stripe across the inside of the Hunter's elbow on his dominant arm, but Karran barely felt the pain. His twin hearts beat like war drums, and he funneled his excitement and ferocity into his body, into the Force. He offered up his everything and it gave in return, generous. His swings hit harder, his feet flowed faster. While he was still aware of his surroundings and still mindful of Ruka's movements, his world narrowed to his will of fire, his burning desire for success over his opponent. The other man actually gasped in some other language when his lunge extended too far into the space Karran had left for it and the Journeyman was able to yank up his elbow fast enough to crack it into Ruka's chin. A shake of the head and a quick spurt of blood between clenched teeth, and Ruka retaliated with a burst of spinning strikes, blade practically hounding Karran across the field in another advance. The Equite threw his body into each attack, and with his inner beast howling for the end it could nearly taste in its jaws, Karran answered in kind. The Zabrak loosed a roar as mighty as his two-handed strike as he swung at the Mirialan's wrist, intending to indeed disarm the wannabe Sith in the heat of their battle and claim superiority.

In the heartbeats between his motion and its connection with his target, Karran saw Ruka's eyes widen in preturnatual alarm. They flashburned into brilliant gold, and then—

Ruka dropped like a ragdoll, throwing himself flat on his back, dropping underneath the swipe that would have taken his hand and dropping his lightsaber in his hurry too. He snarled up at Karran with those yellow eyes, his entire demeanor changed from duelist to cornered animal, and the Zabrak levelled his blade at the other's chest and reached to claim his prize on the ground while they locked furious gazes.

And then the sun went out.

Blackness, total blackness, consumed Karran. A deeper darkness than he had ever known. Blacker than a dessert night with no moon, than the depths of a twisting cave, than any silent drift through the void of space. He couldn't see anything, not the sky, not his opponent, not his hand or the lightsaber in it. For one wild, panicked flight of static between synapses, he thought he had gone blind. That Ruka had somehow stolen his vision away from him with some secret power yet unknown to him in the Dark Side.

But other details came to him even as he reeled from the blindness: the wind around him and daylight against his face, the scuffling of limbs over the earth in front of him matched with the living aura of his foe, and then, very obviously, the punches that slammed brutally into his solar plexus and elbow. Numbness, more than agony, flashed up his arm and radiated from his gut, forcing him to release his weapon and double over. No sooner did he buckle than the darkness dissipated, sudden and complete, as if it had never been at all. Karran reeled and blinked from the return of light to his senses, just in time to see a furious-looking Ruka chamber his arm, double back, and then slam his fist into the ground between them.

The explosive wave of telekinetic force sent Karran flying, a short toss across the field that ended with him skidding across rocks and grass and slamming into the stone edge of the fountain. He gagged as air left him yet again and aches started radiating throughout his body. His species was resistant to pain, but not immune, and as the rage of the Force fled him and left a deep fatigue in its place, he couldn't hold back a long groan.

The Zabrak closed his eyes and shuddered, focusing a moment on getting his breath back. His limbs felt leaden, and his diaphragm muscles did not appreciate the abuse they'd been pushed to ignore. Were he in the wild, or fighting for his life, he would have forced himself to move. As it was in the sunny, sweaty courtyard, he elected to inhale dirt for a few moments and listen to his body shout at him.

He did lift his horned head up, though, when he heard footsteps approaching. Karran watched as Ruka advanced on him, eyes back to normal but expression stormy, breathing hard, damp and bruised. He held both lightsabers in his hands and stared down at the Journeyman with a harsh anger.

"I said," the Mirialan spoke lowly, overenunciating the words in Basic, "that this was a duel. Not a fight. Not cutting each other to pieces, or trying to. Not being stupid. For what, 'cause you wanted to win? Got too caught up? That's how people get hurt, Val'teo. Not just you; people around you. People who don't have nothing to do with none of it." He made a disgusted noise, and the sun behind his head haloed him, casting deep shadows over his face. "You can see if Satsi wants to whoop your ass. She likes hurting. But us? We're done. I'm not training with you again unless you learn to grow the kriff up."

Lecture delivered, the Equite belted on his own saber and then lifted Karran's in both hands. He held the Zabrak's gaze before bringing the armory weapon down sharply over his lifted knee, splintering it in two with a crunch. Circuits and tiny bits of metal sprayed, and loose wires clinging to life connected both ends, but the kyber crystal inside fell free. Ruka tossed the ruined lightsaber in Karran's direction, calling the crystal to his palm with a little invisible tug. Its red light pulsed angrily through the gaps between his curled fingers.

"You don't deserve this," muttered the other Sith, and Karran was willing to acknowledge that title, then. He'd been bested, after all, and moreover, Ruka was showing a fierceness right then that hinted at real Darkness underneath. The change had been so sudden; now Karran knew that Ruka really could fight...and beat him. Perhaps kill him.

He sorely wanted to see more.

Not that that meant the Zabrak wasn't pissed to not only have lost, but that the other man broke his weapon.

"I'm going to take that back," Karran promised, an echo of Ruka's earlier statement in their fight, gaining back his feet and staring down the shorter Mirialan. Already he wished to go again. The green-hued man only stared back.

"Earn it," challenged Ruka, tilting his head. "Or don't. Find another and keep doing this frang like you do. See how far it gets you. Not my kriffing problem. Not anymore."

He turned on his heel, moving back for where he'd left his shirt. Karran watched him go with narrow eyes, observing the play of black-ink wings on the Equite's back.

"Oh, we'll see," muttered the Zabrak, rubbing idly at the purpling on his arm and the shallow burn further up. He smirked.

He'd been challenged, after all. And Karran never backed down from a challenge.

Ruka did not make his opponent wait long. He darted forward igniting his lightsaber as he moved. As the Mirialan reached Karran, he swung his weapon from the left side up to the right, across his body. Karran stepped back and parried the strike away before ducking to the side and readied himself to counterattack, but was forced to block again, then again. Ruka's tactics had changed, he was more aggressive, trying to push through Karran's defenses instead of just testing them. The attacks were coming faster and faster and the Zabrak struggled to keep up his blocks.

"So this is how you really fight. Impressive." Karran grunted with each block, giving ground each time.

"I told you my friend, we are dueling, not fighting." the Mirialan struck again. Each of these blows was fast, deliberate, and full of potentially lethal intent.

Karran could no longer keep up with just blocks. He was forced to switch to holding his saber in a single hand, weakening his blocks but allowing him to bring up shields of energy to defend himself. Finally Karran jumped back to allow a gap between himself and Ruka before charging back at him, bringing his weapon down from the right. The Mirialan stepped to the side and swung his fist in a wide, slow arc, and energy rippled around his fist as it came towards the Zabrak. Karran barely managed to summon another shield to block the blow. The explosive force from the Mirialan's fist shattered the defensive corona and sent its summoner flying back several meters. Karran hit the ground and tumbled a little farther before stopping. He lay where he was for a moment before pushing himself up, coughing and trying to regain his breath. The Zabrak got up onto one knee and looked up at Ruka. He felt hate and anger burn in his chest, but pushed it down. He did not need to tap into his rage for this fight. Best to not do that frivolously, knowing what had happened to Skar.

"That was...impressive. I suppose I am lucky Satsi didn't actually send you to kill me. But she definitely still hits harder than you." Karran laughed and coughed, wiping his mouth as he stood up.

"You are lucky. And believe me, I know she does. She's a tough one." Ruka stretched and laughed. He hated to admit it, but it had been a while since he had dueled someone who could defend like this Zabrak. He wiped the sweat from his brow. "It's getting hot, surely you're getting tired."

Karran shrugged off his black outer robes, then his standard robes, leaving him in just his loose-fitting pants and boots. "I grew up in the desert, on a planet with two suns. I am just fine. And do not call me Shirley."

“Ay, so you want to keep going?” Ruka flourished his saber, readying himself for the next engagement. watching the muscled Zabrak.

Karran stretched and flexed, loosening up, taking his blade in both hands before charging forward, swinging aggressively, feinting, countering, until the sweat dripped from his head and ran down his back. The two Sith locked sabers, their eyes met, and the Zabrak reared his head back, intending to drive his forehead into his opponent’s face. Ruka dropped back in response, stepping to the side, when the horned head came forward, the momentum carried him off balance. The Mirialan brought a knee up to Karran’s ribs, then an elbow to his temple, turning everything black.

When Karran came to, he was on his back, with a cool wet cloth on his temple and the purple eyes of Ruka over him. “Sorry about that friend, I didn’t t mean to hurt you.” Karran sat up, wincing at the pain in his side.

“Well, now you have given me a bruise to match the one Satsi gave me. But do not worry...friend. People get hurt in...duels.” the Zabrak smiled. Ruka extended a hand down to him, and Karran took it, they gripped each other’s forearms and the Zabrak heaved himself up. They parted ways, both expecting to see each other again one day.