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.

“A training match, eh?” Jon looked at the togorian appraisingly from beneath the brim of his hat. “Not the kind of request I normally get from a Force-user. What brought this on?”

The two of them had just completed a mission on Felucia. Rumors were circulating that the Collective was building a base hidden in the massive Rancor Graveyard - false, of course. The base was nothing more than tech-smugglers, not worth dealing with. Jon was a bit caught off guard when the Neophyte propositioned him for some impromptu lessons, but he didn’t let it show.

“I want to test my skills,” Tassk replied immediately. “Aura and the Jedi can teach me plenty about the Force, even about lightsabers, but-”

“But, you want to learn more about swordplay, is that it?” Jon smirked.

“I want to see what my limits are,” Tassk said with a snarl. “And everybody says you’re the best non-Force using swordsman in the Clan.”

“If that was your attempt at flattery,” Jon said, leaning back against the bone of some great animal, “It was painfully heavy handed and dull.”

“Is that a ‘no’ then -”

Tassk started as he found a pair of white and black swords at his throat. The togorian leaped back, drawing his own vibroblades as he did.

“What the krayth Silvon?” he demanded, but the captain was already on him, a blur of black, white, and red. The togorian was pushed back, step by step, countering the cuts and slashes, but never quickly enough to counterstrike before the next attack was incoming.

Tassk tried to side step, and get a strike in from the side, but Jon spun one of his swords around into a reverse grip, and deflected it with an uppercut; Tassk was forced to retreat to avoid the countercut aimed at his head.

“Come on,” Jon snarked, “Where’s that skill with the blade I’ve heard so much about?” Jon parried one strike, and spun around to deliver a devastating blow. His cape trailed behind him like a blood-red river. “‘Cause so far, I am not impressed!”

Tassk grit his teeth, as his swords locked with Jon’s, the mercenary’s face in an infuriating smirk. Fine, Task thought. You wanna be impressed?

Tassk dropped the blades mid-lock, and Jon had just a second to looked surprised before being blasted with bright-green lightning from the togorian’s fingertips. As the captain stumbled backwards, Tassk telekinetically called his swords back into his hands, and went on the offensive.

As his emotions overcame his sense of fair play, Tassk tapped into the palpable dark energy all around him. He lowered himself into a predatory stance and let the Force flow throughout his body augmenting his muscles. Jon leaped to his feet and spun away, with an amused look upon his face.

“Well, you can certainly put on a lightshow, but your swordplay needs work,” Jon said.

“Sorry for the disappointment, Jon. Should I up the voltage next time?” asked Tassk, angry sarcasm in his voice.

Impatient, Tassk lunged forward with lightning speed, sending a barrage of attacks at Jon from numerous angles. Silvon was quickly on the defensive, but once again proved his prowess, blocking the strikes. Their feet moving in an elegant dance, both duelists were kicking up dust with their powerful steps. Cautious, Tassk spun away onto his back foot, disengaging just as quickly as he had launched his attack.

“Has it ever occurred to you to maybe not goad your opponents that draw on their emotions?” asked an angered Tassk. This is getting out of hand. If I stick to a straight up duel, I’m going to get diced more ways than a porg on a chopping block.

“I’ll poke the rancor as I much as I want if it can’t do a thing to me.” Jon’s face was a mask of complete confidence, but he was already planning his next fifteen moves. He wasn’t sure what to expect going into the fight, and still wasn’t sure where this was going to go.

Both duelists looked into each other’s eyes, searching for a hint at their opponent’s next move. Sensing an incoming offensive, Tassk’s eyes narrowed, and he slashed downward towards the ground at the same moment Jon lunged forward. Before Silvon could strike, Tassk’s blades connected with the ground at his feet, striking with all his strength. A plume of dirt shot up into Jon’s face, just as Tassk darted toward his side.

With Jon stunned for a heartbeat, Tassk began sprinting away. As Jon recovered, he saw Tassk’s bright orange fur, contrasting against the bleak landscape as the Togorian ducked behind the skull of a long dead beast.

Jon narrowed his eyes as he thought through numerous scenarios. Smart, Jon thought. Tassk’s approach was interesting, and Jon strode forward, eyes flickering over the landscape for the telltale orange of Tassk’s fur.

Sheathing Kanshou and Bakuya for now, Jon instead drew a bevy of knives, holding them at the ready. He considered, briefly, arming his vambraces. He decided against that idea right off the bat, though.

Tassk wanted a lesson in blades, right? he thought, wandering through the field of bones and rocks. Didn’t say what kind of blades though.

“Taask,” Jon called out in a sing-songy voice, eyes scanning the bones around him. “Come out to play!”

Jon knew from experience, of the painful variety, that trying to sneak up on a Force-wielder was an exercise in futility if you didn’t have it yourself. As such, he didn’t bother trying to be stealthy as he strolled through the graveyard, tossing one of his knives in the air and catching it repeatedly, whistling to himself all the while.

Sooner or later, he knew, the cat would come to him.

He wandered in a clearing, the colossal ribs and fallen spines forming a kind of rising circle. It almost looked like some kind of crude arena, or gladiator pit.

A crack, the sound of something snapping, and Jon turned and tossed a fan of knives. Tassk bolted out of the way, and the knives buried themselves in a massive femur with a series of thunks.

“Here kitty, kitty!” Jon called, throwing more knives at the fleeing Togorian. “Come out and play!”

He heard Tassk hissing in annoyance, but the cat never once looked to him as he swung on a fallen rib, and kept to a spinal cord that he climbed like some kind of tower, before vanishing again into the maze of bones.

Jon sighed. “Ok, Tassk, the cat and mouse thing,” heh, “was fun for a bit, but it’s getting old! Come on out so we can finish this!”

Tassk heard Jon’s taunts and Grimaced. Just you wait. Tassk crouched down behind a bone and made himself take a deep breath, focusing and calming his emotions. Jon was trying to play with his mind, and he couldn’t afford to let his emotions cloud his judgement right now. He had tried that before, and he just ended up here, hiding behind some oversized bone.

With his mind set back on track, he closed his eyes and tapped into the Force, feeling around him, and his confidence grew from what he saw. Perfect. All he felt from Jon was a growing sense of annoyance, and a shrinking sense of caution.

Tassk flattened himself towards the ground as he heard the not so clandestine footsteps of the brazen privateer. Carefully, Tassk rose up from the ground and extended his mind towards the large rib bone he had recently become closely acquainted with. Using his hands as a focus, he began lifting the bone. Beads of sweat formed on his face, adding another layer of filth to his fur. Breaths of heavy exertion were coming from Tassk, and were not ignored by Jon. As the mercenary spun around blades in hand, Tassk sent the bone flying toward him. Jon had plenty of time to dodge the bone after his early warning, but he didn’t have time to dodge what was next.

Tassk drew in the extra energy he hadn’t used on the bone and put it to good use in his muscles. The Togorian dug his hind legs into the ground and shot off like a proton torpedo aimed locked on to Silvon. Tassk was quick to reach Jon who was mid whirl with his cape fanning out behind him, a scarlet tornado colliding with an orange tidal wave of force.

Four blades were coming at each other with a head on collision inevitable. Tassk’s power strike knocked away Jon’s blades with him narrowly recovering. Tassk was hitting hard, and his strikes were increasing, going faster and faster. Soon, the towering Togorian was in a rhythm lethal efficiency. Silvon stood strong, but the scales had tipped from their previous battles. A cry of determination came from the aggressive Force disciple as he stuck with both blades simultaneously focused on Silvon’s chest. Once, twice, thrice, then Tassk abruptly lunged toward Jon’s legs. The sudden strike hit its mark, but not deep enough to sever any limbs.

Lunging away, Jon fell to a knee, clutching the wound. “How’s that for swordplay, Silvon?” asked Tassk, taking in his moment of victory. Tassk stood watching, panting heavily, exhausted from the surge of energy he had executed mere moments before.

“What, cat got your tongue, Jon?” asked Tassk. He took in every little detail, down to the metallic scent of blood, the stinging in his eyes from the sand, and the shiny bit in Jon’s hand. Wait, shiny? Tassk’s eyes widened as a barrage of knives came hurtling toward him. Tassk rolled to the side, but not fast enough. Two silver daggers sprouted from the orange fur of Tassk’s shin, accompanied by a gush of blood.

“Getting ahead of ourselves, now aren’t we, Tassk?” asked Jon as Tassk slowly and painfully rose to his feet.

Jon flicked a button on one of his cuffs, triggering his suit’s bacta injector, sighing in relief when he felt the blistering pain fade to only a dull ache. It wasn’t enough to completely heal the wound Tassk had inflicted on his leg, not completely anyway, but it was enough, at least, to let him walk. More importantly, it was enough to let him fight.

“Next lesson,” Jon said, raising Kanshour and Bakuya, “Keeping focused while trying not to bleed out. Study closely.”

Tassk bolted back to his feet, just in time to meet the captain’s renewed barrage of cuts and slashes. For a man with several knives sticking out of him, Jon noted, he was holding up impressively well; still, it was obvious he was favoring the right side, now that the left was all cut up.

Jon took advantage of the weakness, focusing his strikes specifically on the left side, forcing Tassk to adapt to defending himself there. At one point, Jon tried a kick to the togorrian’s ribs, just to see what kind of a reaction he’d get; he wasn’t disappointed when Tassk blocked it, and turned the block into a hold, pushing the blade of his sword against the mercenary’s neck.

Jon grinned. Creative. Not just defending himself, but looking for an opening. He quietly flicked a switch on his left vambrace, triggering the repulsor built into it. A ring of white light belted out, forcing Tassk to stumble back. Jon swept his feet out from under him, and watched his opponent land once more on the ground.

“Thought... this was a… a sword fighting lesson,” Tasks said between breaths, glaring up at his impromptu teacher.

“Didn’t stop you from using the Force, now did it? Never assume you’re opponent is going to stick to one trick, Kitty Cat. And absolutely never do that yourself.” Jon planted the blade of Kanshou into the ground, leaving on it like a cane as he bent down to look Tassk in the eye. “The galaxy is not going to play fair with you. Lesson one: return the favor.”

Jon was flippant, but he wouldn’t say he wasn’t impressed. Well, he wouldn’t say it to Tassk obviously, but still. The young one had shown creativity, as well as determination, to say nothing of skill and experience.

The captain reached out a hand to help the fallen neophyte to his feet. Tassk reached out a hand… and Jon leaped back just in time to avoid the glinting knife swiping for him.

Jon’s eyes widened. Tassk had pulled one of the knives sticking from his own side to use as a weapons?

“Return the favor,” Tassk said, brandishing his own sword in one hand, and Jon’s knife in the other. “Right?”

Jon’s grin grew even wider. Oh, this kid was fun.

Silvon stood right in front of Tassk, but he seemed so far away. Tassk felt the pain burning in his calf, and his left arm was shaking from exhaustion. He knew there wasn’t much more he could do except fight, and fight he would.

Tassk raised his shoulders, held his head high, and growled slightly as he watched Jon sink back into a more defensive pose. Tassk didn’t have much left in his tank, and Jon’s caution could either signal a similar level of energy, or simply a readiness for Tassk’s assault.

The Togorian shifted his weight forward as his opponent turned away slightly, reaching for his pack. Tassk watched with curiosity. This could be interesting, he thought as Jon put on a black glove.

At this, Tassk almost laughed. “Fashion isn’t going to help you now, Jon.”

“So sure? I thought it rather complimented my cape,” Jon said. Despite all that had transpired the mercenary had a confident smile on his face, but his eyes showed his mind was ready to fight no matter what happened.

Tassk having enough of this lunged forward attempting to stab Jon with the mercenary’s knife. With ease, Silvon struck the knife out of Tassk’s weakened arm and did the unexpected. Dropping the blade in his gloved hand and holding it out, Tassk felt his blade being pulled out of his sluggish arm right into the glove which was now lighting up with glowing blue threads along the knuckles. Dropping his other blade, Jon lunged back and threw a small circular object in the air between them. As a red light lit up on the small sphere, it shot out a tight ring of blue particles and the world went black.

Tassk woke up some time later, his head pounding. He looked around a dimly lit room, and he saw he was back in the ship with his gear laying on the floor nearby. As he got up and moved toward the cockpit, he saw Jon there. Silvon turned around and looked Tassk in the eye and spoke.

“Nice training session. Next time maybe don’t pass out in the middle of it.”