When the First Order beset on Takodana, Maz Kanata’s castle took the brunt of the assault. Located on the shore of a lake that was owned by the pirate Maz Kanata, it served as a haven for travelers, smugglers and other unsavory characters. Sensor grids and advanced communication gear secured the castle from unannounced attacks, giving its owner and visitors enough notice to flee the scene.

The area around it is rumored to have been the battleground for the Jedi and Sith, being of strategic value for those willing to seek control over Takodana, and is littered with ancient ruins that resemble the structure of the castle itself. Inside, the castle’s gray exterior vanishes into shades of brown, the color of sandstone. Tables and chairs fill the cluttered spaces where travelers could share tales or pursue their own controversial interests. Unfiltered smoke permeates the air, clogging the senses with a sweet odor. Various criminal groups have at some time or another sought shelter in the castle, their passage evidenced by the many-colored banners outside bearing their insignia.

Now, the castle remains uninhabited. Several of its towers have crumbled under the First Order’s assault. Stonework pillars have toppled over, scorched from turbolasers and blaster fire. Other segments lie in ruin, still too new for the forest to have reclaimed the land around the castle.

The half crescent moon gave a crimson glow over the still waters of Takodana. The air was still with an occasional warm summer breeze as if the planet itself was breathing. The insects of the night sang their songs of love in the forest that surrounded the cliff ruins of Maz Kanata's Castle; the remnants that held the restless souls of a battle that took place not so long ago. They watched as two martial artists engaged each other on its soil, treating the landmark as a training ground.

The slightly shorter human, Daven Skyfe, launched a jab with his non-dominant hand that was swiftly followed by a cross with his right. This brought his opponent's guard high, opening up the ribcage for a left hook. The Arconan was swift in execution, but a downward counterattack with the elbow from the Odanite prevented the hook from connecting. Daven transferred his weight to the front leg of his stance and loaded his hops to twist into a big low kick aimed for the knees. Creon's precognitive foresight brought the targeted knee up and outward, opening his hips and cancelling the low kick's potential to damage the joint.

"Nice try," the Jedi added, "But you'll never get me with that basic combination."

Daven immediately followed after a sharp inhale a double front jab as a feint and moved in closer to Creon. He followed with a right hook that was blocked similarly than the last attempt, and then executed a flawless jumping double front snap kick that made Creon instinctively jump back in a retreat. "Oh no you don't," Daven growled as he launched himself forward with his right heel and a overhand right jap with full force.

Creon leaned into a low stance as the moment of Daven's launch, shifted his torso to where his right shoulder was aligned with his opponents, and gripped the overhand attacking arm at the wrist with his own right hand and the upper part of the arm with his left. The soldier followed with a sweep at the mercenaries' left leg and twisted his body weight to execute a takedown using the attacking arms momentum. David fell forward but tucked into a barrel roll that brought him back on his feet just in time to block Creon's hammerfist.

The two then stood a meter from each other in the respective stances of their styles. Their eyes were locked in anticipation over who would initiate the next aggressor in their dance. "Alright, you have my attention," the Arconan said with a grin, "I can see why I was brought to you to be tested for joining [[the Lotus]]. But what do you say we make things more interesting, eh?" His gloved hands then glowed with a deep azure with the sound of charged vibrocells.

"Nice toy," Creon replied with a launched repulsor shockwave from his vambraces, "What do you think of mine?"

The impact threw Daven off balance, causing an immediate back roll that brought him back to his feet. "Woah! Not bad, it looks like I'll have to-" he cut himself off when he lost sight of his opponent. He scanned the immediate area around him and couldn't find the Jedi anywhere. "Creon?" he called out. He was just here...

Bewildered, Daven cast about for sign of his sparring partner. He saw nowhere to hide. It was late evening, but the vibrant colors on Creon's armor stood out, here. A voice whispered from the back of his mind.

Jetpack.

Daven's head snapped up—

And there were sable clouds, and a crescent moon, same as before. He took in that starry dome. The sky's crimson hue gave way nearer the horizon to layers of orange, gold and deep indigo. A shape on his right drew Daven's attention to a spot above the dense forest canopy. The silhouette of an avian creature flew lazy circles, its shrill cry audible even at this distance.

Alarm bells went off in his head. Raw instinct, a subconscious awareness of sudden danger, brought him down to ground-level. Motion on his left. Daven reacted. He never saw where the Force-user came from. A fist was beside his face. The last split-second in a fully-charged haymaker, which may as well have been a lightning jab for all the time it gave Daven to react. Whatever instinct warned him of the attack took over.

He ducked and struck low, Creon's gauntleted right fist swinging over one shoulder. His opponent parried painfully with a metal bracer against his wrist. Daven yelped, and sent out a follow-up jab. A left-side tilt of the head let it pass by Creon's helmet, as he simultaneously crossed a right-side punch over the youth's outstretched left arm. Leaning, Daven avoided this blow, and leapt away from a kick aimed at his knee. He staggered, off-balance, but righted himself while panting hard.


"Keep your eyes open," Creon said evenly. "Next time I catch you by surprise, I won't hold back." His voice crackled through the helmet's speaker. Maybe it filters out the gasps of exhaustion.


Daven's mind raced. What had happened? There was some rubble nearby. The castle's west wall was half-gone, and twenty-meters-away. No cover, nowhere to hide. So where did this neon warrior vanish to? Daven gave a few half-punches with his numb right arm, and then relaxing dropped both hands. He smirked. "Thanks. Next time I fight a ghost, I'll r—“

He shot ahead without warning. Or, at least, he thought with no warning. Laser-focused on the top part of that 'T' visor, he brought his left fist high, but then instead swung at the Mandalorian's unarmored midsection. The shockglove made a faint hum as it caught empty air, not the good, sharp buzz if it hit home. It almost sounded disappointed.


His opponent had sidestepped, and Daven withdrew his forward left shoulder while he pivoted that way, to scythe a kick at Creon's head. “Nice try.” Strong hands caught him by the calf and under his knee. “But like I said—” Creon advanced and swept a leg behind Daven's planted foot to send him sprawling. “You won’t get me that easy.”


He scrambled upright. Daven quickly put space between them. Drenched in sweat, cool air stung his skin, which meant he got a few cuts because of that little tumble. He forced a chuckle, and winced. “That disappearing act? Almost didn't see it coming. Neat trick." He set hands-on-hips, careful not to make contact with the gloves’ knuckle-portion. "Got any more?"


"I've got plenty. But here's a tip." Creon's hand made a small gesture. The power of the telekinetic blow spun Daven halfway around.

For most beings, a solid impact to the face was a shock to their whole system. He had seen it often, where some well-to-do schutta in their first fight got hit. They always stood, stock-still, with big eyes and slack jaws. Paralyzed, as their minds tried to catch up to the fact they were now robbed of a few brain cells. For Daven, it was a blow from a prison pillow, strobe lights, and a sensation as if he just plunged into murky water. Plenty disabling, but not as unpleasant as if, say, he had stubbed a toe. Far more familiar.

But enough to disable, all the same. Before he recovered, Creon stated, “Keep your chin tucked. And talk less," and so saying, vanished.

Daven blinked. Then, he went to rub his eyes. "Oops, no." He lowered his shockgloves, and glanced around, wondering if the Jedi struck him blind, but no—the mossy rubble, the towering ruins behind him, the diffuse ambient light—the world was still there. Only Creon disappeared. "Okay," he murmured, the hairs on his nape prickling. He spun a slow circle. "Okay, so he can do that, too."


He sought control over his racing heart. Was the Mandaorian invisible? If so, he wished the pounding in his ears would go away so he might listen for footsteps. The effort to stay calm wore on him after five full seconds of silence. He snarled at where Creon previously stood. "This a lesson? What, 'a warrior of the Lotus doesn't rely on their eyes,' or som—“

A boot in the small of his back put him facedown in dirt. It really hurt, this time. He rolled over, groaning, hands before his face. The bigger human's armored frame, visible once again, blocked out the stars. ”The lesson is, 'stop talking.' A warrior has focus. Be one.”


After several tries, the young mercenary stood shakily, red-faced. Daven's hand fell near the blaster on his hip. The Mandalorian brought them here, and said to spar, without disarming Daven first.

He froze. Something about Creon's stillness caught his eye. It was the lack of any reaction to the youth's movement, the supreme absence of concern. While Daven's fingers spasmed above the DL-18's grip, that black visor reflected pale moonlight at him. His faceless sparring partner merely . . . waited.


When did I become suicidal? Glacier-slow, Daven lifted his hands, palms out. "Uh . . . sorry."

"That's good instinct. Switching between fight or flight is geurilla tactics," Creon said as his right hand gestured his holstered pistol. "Do you have a stun setting?"

"Aye, though I think you have me outclassed with the weapon on your backside," Daven nodded with his eyes looming over to Creon's blaster rifle.

"Don't worry about it. The M-5 is meant for war. I won't be using it for this, you have my word."

Silence returned to the field with a slow breeze of cold wind that caressed the two combatants' loose garments. Daven had been in a standoff before, and would watch a man's eyes while honing in on the hand with his peripherals. Looking at a helmet made it somewhat easier in this sense. At the slightest twitch of the Jedi's fingers, Daven's survival impulse took over. The infiltrator ducked his right shoulder, ran in a side stepping motion to the left, and drew DL-18 at his raised hip. The stun circle from Creon's shot whizzed by him just slightly above where he had jerked his torso by the shoulder and with a flick of his thumb at the selector from kill to stun he returned the shot. The Mandalorian's voice leaked a growling yelp of pain and he took a knee. His muscles were locked, and he fell over on his side on the ground. He took a slow inhale and watched Daven's barrel as the infiltrator contemplated between firing again or just waiting for Creon to pick himself back up.

"I guess that's it, huh?" Daven said with confidence. Almost a second later his eyes widened at the sight of Creon's pistol rising in the air on its own and aimed at Daven. The Mercenary booked it towards the ruins for cover and fired another stun round at Creon. Creon's body rolled over as he gave out a mixing sound of a cry of pain mixed with hurting laughter before fading from consciousness.

20 minutes later

Creon woke with a tight ache that stretched along his entire body. He groaned as he picked himself back up and slowly removed his helmet. He looked to see Daven shifting through his sabaac deck until he notice Creon's emergence.

"So is that a pass?" Daven asked.

"Almost," Creon replied. He started to stretch his limbs and pop the aching joints from the stun blast. "That's one hell of a stun, by the way."

"Sorry, it doesn't have a power setting like my A/KT. So what else do I need to do?" He watched with surprise as the Jedi removed his vambraces. "Well," Creon said, "There are two ways most Force users use the Force in a fight." Creon detached the jetpack on his back with the blaster rifle attached and set it to the side. "Some use it to enhance their physical attributes, reaction speed, or to manifest phenomenon that technology has been trying to emulate. The other uses the forces of nature as a weapon. There are also those who affect the mind, but I'm not good at those kind of tricks."

"So you're going to use nature against me? When do we begin?"

Creon threw Daven away with an extension his arm without warning. He slid across the grass field back towards the castle ruins. Creon rose him in the air and dangled him like a rag doll above the ground. The mercenaries' limbs waved frantically in an attempts to reach for his blaster before the Jedi shook his body furiously in the air. Both of Daven's weapons fell to the ground at his side and he was tossed just a meter away from the edge of the cliff above a lake. He scrambled back on his feet and scurried behind a boulder. A series of unkind words escaped his lips before the boulder he took cover behind started to lift off the ground and hover over him. He dashed from left to right in a zig zag pattern as nearby stones around him crashed into the ground like rain.

"This isn't fair!" he shouted to Creon who waved his hands like an orchestral maestro.

"It's not meant to be!" Creon shouted back, "You'll be encountering a Sith at some point, and being fair isn't in their dictionary."

Daven panicked. He was out of weapons, options, and time. His eyes looked over at the cliffside and be took off in a dead sprint to the edge. His heart rate raced and his adrenaline surged through his veins when he took the leap off the edge towards. The waters below had to have been at least 400 meters, maybe more. He expected his body to be flailing, with the air passing him like a whirlwind as he would accelerate closer to the waters that reflected the starlit sky. Instead he remained suspended just a few short meters below from the cliff's edge. He turned to see Creon at the edge, with an outstretched hand and pulled him back up with the Force.

3 minutes later

"That was some bantha fodder," Daven growled as he holstered his weapons.

"Consider this a win. You have a fast eye, which will give you the initiative in conflict. All of my nice toys will never compensate for keen perception. You also have good instincts, knowing when to fight and when to run. This will help you in unfair circumstances. As much as I hate the idea of it, I've had to run away from Force Users more powerful than I in an few instances. A coward isn't one who runs, but one who betrays out of fear."

Daven couldn't keep track of all the times he had to run just to keep his own skin. To hear that reprieve coming from a man of tradition rooted in honor gave a warm confidence in the choices he had made. He smiled and thanked Creon.

"I think you're ready for initiation. What do you say, Davin, would you like to join the Lotus?"

"Hmm... I don't know. I thought the work would be more covert."

"It will be. This was just to prepare you for the worst case scenario."

"Oh..."

"You get a cool vambrace with a poison coated hidden blade," Creon added.

"Frak yeah! I'm in!"

For a long time, nobody budged. Minutes ticked by. The Arconan swore he saw the blood-drenched moon change position, before at last he lowered his hands. Still, Creon did not move.

The younger fighter was hesitant to continue having a friendly spar after he had just threatened the Jedi. Even so, the cost of a no-questions-asked shuttle ride to Takodana wiped out his savings. That was only an investment in his future if this intimidating, laconic soldier vouched for him to the [[Lotus]].

“So, ah, we’re doing this?”

“Hurry up,” Creon said flatly. “I haven’t got all night.”

Grinning at this, he raised glowing fists. He advanced a pace—and froze as the Odanite’s arm went up. Daven clumsily dove sideways. The dart made a deafening hiss as it whipped past his ear, off by centimeters. The wind of its passage ruffled his hair.

He scrambled away on hands-and-knees while the ground behind him exploded. Well, it was more like a pop. A fearful, noisy pop. Creon’s repulsor went off, again and again. Tiny geysers of dirt and stone choked the air with dust. Daven was running, bent-double, hands on head, toward a hole in the castle wall nearby. Maybe it had been a door, maybe not. Successive showers of pebbles rang and sizzled off the shockgloves.

The mercenary scurried inside an instant before a repulsor blast caught the wall above the hole. There was a crash, he tripped over his own feet, and by the time he raised his eyes, Daven was in darkness.

Coughing, he rose and took stock. Whatever this room had been, it was chillier than the inside of a cooling unit. He got the impression of a large space, with a high ceiling. The youth took three steps in a straight line, and bumped up against a table. Unless it was a chair.

He already missed the annoying song of stupid, mindless insects. It was crypt-quiet in here. Leaning on the unidentifiable obstruction for support, he glanced back. Daven ceased breathing. Oh, no.

But for a narrow strip of light above a rubble pile, his exit was blocked. The masonry framing that hole must have been extremely lose. He inhaled sharply—and resumed coughing, harder than before. It became impossible to stop. He edged around the chair-table, and bumped into numerous other formless objects, shuffling and hacking and coughing all the while. He kept telling himself to calm down. It was hard, when he could only get through calm d— before the coughing began again.

The hole outside was surrounded by scorch marks. Perhaps that meant it was a hole blasted in solid masonry, and was not, originally, a door. Which, in turn, would mean there was a door inside this room, somewhere, connecting it to the rest of the castle. Better not keep that Mandalorian tin can waiting.

At last, Daven found a solid wall. Ran into it, more like. He slid one hand along the surface, but soon paused. A faint noise caught his attention. Motionless, he eventually made out a nigh-inaudible thump. There came another. This time, he heard dirt flake off the ceiling, and rain down. It came from behind him.

Daven slumped when there were no further attempts. Apparently, the repulsor lacked enough power to shift rubble. Perhaps, now, Creon might enter the castle by some other means, and track down the Arconan?

That idea made him queasy. Until his eyes adjusted, he was trapped in darkness with a Mandalorian bounty hunter. A skilled one, which probably rendered low-light-and-thermal-scanners a given. Every corner he took from here out, Daven would be terrified of running face-first into the hunter.

On the other hand . . . was a nexu-and-womp-rat game too indirect? The way the Jedi had been testing him thus far was rather brutal. And Creon gave up awfully quickly, after just two-or-three repulsor blasts. Did he really seem the type to go around an obstacle? It took Daven another moment to remember the WESTAR-M5.

OH N—

A wall of fire and sound flung him deeper into the dark space. ‘Up’ and ‘down’ switched places too-many times per second, miniature pieces of rubble flew in all directions, and then he abruptly stopped being airborne. The collision with a wall was followed by a vicious impact with the ground, and then something heavy slammed down atop him.

Daven might have fallen unconscious, at some point. If so, not for long. A few seconds at most. The next thing he remembered was the aftermath of his sparring partner’s little trick with the WESTAR’s under-barrel grenade launcher.

Grey smoke, tinged an infernal shade of red by the light of Takodana’s brilliant moon, billowed into the room like a fog bank. Out of the new entrance he blew open came Creon Okami. Smokey tendrils clung to his spare frame, wreathed his limbs and trailed after him.

Daven, pinned beneath a table, squirmed free. The table probably saved him from worse injury. Propped up against the wall, he coughed uncontrollably as Creon drew nearer. Shoving-off, Daven attempted a jumping kick to the face, but his opponent blocked downward. The Jedi’s stiff fingers missed his throat when Daven swayed aside, but then he was sent staggering by a backfist. Without first withdrawing his hand, Creon had turned his wrist and struck again, coming alongside the Arconan as he did.

The youth tripped and folded himself over a fallen chair. His lips curled away from his teeth. Rage energized the scrawny Arconan, and he whirled, swinging wildly. His sparring partner evaded or deflected each amateurish, imprecise attack with practiced ease.

Daven struck twice rapidly, a one-two combination the Mandalorian beat by bobbing first left, then right. Creon bobbed again under a third, wide-open swing, this time coming up inside Daven’s guard with his right flank facing the youth. Before the Arconan could recover from the punch, his forearm was seized in a durasteel grip. Creon’s other, right arm snaked around behind Daven’s neck, and he swiveled and bent forward until the youth’s hips were pushed out, and slung the much weaker man over his hip into unyielding stone.

Daven was curled-up in a ball for a while. He was done. He was absolutely, one-hundred-percent finished. When he sat up at last, breathing shallowly, he glanced at Creon with the intention of saying so. Daven went still. A WESTAR-35, he reflected, was a ridiculously large blaster pistol.

“H-hey,” he mumbled, slurring. “I thought we weren’t doing that. Just give me a s—“

“We’re not doing anything,” Creon cut him off. “You’re done wasting my time.” Daven blinked, uncomprehending. He went on, “This has been fun, but I have a job to do. Nothing I’ve seen tonight shows you’re [[Lotus]] material. When you couldn’t see me, instead of stopping and listening, you quit, and threw a tantrum.”

Daven flushed angrily. “You were inv—!”

“When I made myself a door, you should have had an ambush ready. Instead, you attacked head on. A warrior is brave. You’re just reckless. You have a short-fuse that’ll get you killed, kid. You even wanted to shoot me when we were fighting unarmed.”

“You never said no bl—“

“You’re no warrior. A warrior has honor. As long as I have anything to say about it, you’ll never join the [[Lotus]].”

Daven gaped, then slowly lowered his gaze. He tried to appear deep in thought, and when he looked up again, to seem contrite, as if mid-epiphany. “I—“

He batted the WESTAR-35’s barrel aside and surged to his feet with an uppercut. Creon caught the inside of his elbow, and stomped Daven’s foot. Little bones went crunch. Daven wanted to scream, but Aleena-quick, the larger man shoved him by the grip on his arm. Daven toppled over backwards, with his trapped foot still planted flat on the floor.

As the screams forced their way up and out of this throat, he had a single thought. The Mandalorian set their initial meeting spot out in the forest, in a big clearing. They trekked a considerable distance to arrive at Kanata’s castle. My ship is ten miles away.

Powerful hands scooped him up. Creon slung the Arconan unceremoniously over one shoulder. At the fresh pain shooting up from his injured ankle, Daven let out another shriek. “Put me down!”

“Fine. If I do, I won’t pick you up again.” Daven’s mouth shut so fast his teeth clicked.

They emerged into bright darkness. A map of pale stars decorated the inky dome overhead. A wider variety of insects now sang far louder than before, easily audible even over his whimpers of pain. The humans passed several crumbled towers, marred by scorch marks, and headed across a patch of emerald grass separating these outermost towers from the treeline.

Daven decided he had to know. He grit his teeth against the pain, and in a tremulous whisper asked, “Why not just leave me?”

“For the same reason I could join [[the Lotus]],” came Creon Okami’s voice with its metallic filter, “and you can’t.”