Built from the shell of an ancient foundation, the Arx Colosseum has undergone renovations to allow multiple new configurations for battle. Its spectator setup remains largely the same, with high walls, tall enough for even the most savvy Jedi to find unscalable that lead up to spectator chairs which are divided into nearly organized sections to accommodate several thousand people. At the center, an elongated platform “box” contains a central throne of stone with various seats of smaller scale lined beside it in both directions. Two large holo-projection screens are set up on each side of the Colosseum, offering different angles of the match bia holocam drones.

Today’s setup is known as The Bridges.

High-suspended walkways cross and weave through multiple levels of platforms. Some are solid, metal and duracrete crafting an unmoving foundation. Others are mere rope and wood, swaying with even the most gentle of breezes.

Below the walkways is a void filled with mist, the ground unseen for combatants and spectators alike. Periodic ripples of electrical energy can be seen through the mist, hinting to the deadly nature of the arena floor below.

The pounding shouts of the arena crowd above made the poor, inebriated Ryn’s head pound. He groaned and rubbed at his eyes, glaring up at the people above the duracrete slab walls that ringed the expansive arena. At this point, at least, he knew why he was here. It was some kind of series of fights he’d signed on for the night before while on a bender, though the details the droids had given him were sparse. They had tossed him onto one of the crisscrossing bridges that made up the terrain he found himself in with little explanation. Having sky above him and walls to either side at least was helping with his flying issues…he kept reminding himself that this wasn’t space.

He turned and swayed across the sturdy bit of bridge, stumbling with bottle in hand. He took a pull from it, trying to maintain his buzz. Somewhere around here, there’d be someone who would knock him out, both physically and out of the competition he hoped, and then he’d get to go home to his wife. Explaining the bruises, scrapes, and the loss of his trousers would be…challenging, but he was confident he could lay it all out for his wife. He squinted around, seeing the fog below the bridges, and decided he wanted no part of it…

“Are you drunk?” came an incredulous voice from behind him, prompting the short, fuzzy man to spin on his heel, almost falling over if not for the counterbalance that was his tail.

“Who’s dat den!? Where tha bleedin’ ‘ell did ya come from!? Oughta put a bell on ya,” he shouted, looking around with bloodshot eyes, spotting a…eyeless man. “Ah frack me…ya one o’ Blinky’s cousins? I did nae ever touch her!”

The man let out a suffering sigh, his hair fluttering in the breeze of circulated air, likely systems the arena used to blow smoke away so the audience could watch.

“Who…or what is a ‘Blinky’? Also you did not answer my question.”

“Blinky be Blinky!” declared Kordath, swaying on his feet, “and…ah…what was da question again, mate?”

“I’m not your mate, friend, and I asked if you were intoxicated.”

“Well, I ain’t yer friend, buddy, so, ah…uhh…that means drunk, aye?”

Shanree pinched the bridge of his nose, brow furrowing as he realized this was the idiot he had to fight.

“Yes. That mean’s drunk. It's…” the man tilted his head as if taking stock of things around him, “...about eight in the morning, local time. Are you seriously drunk already?”

Kordath held up a finger, “Ah! Ah! Still!”

“You’re…still drunk, from last night? Is that what you mean?”

“Aye!” shouted Kordath, waving his bottle in the air, stumbling slowly towards the man. “Why, did ya want a drink? Always happy ta share with a mate.”

“I am not your mate,” spoke the Colonel, stiffly. “I’m your opponent for this round of the tournament.”

As he spoke he set his hands to the hilts of his twin sabers, pulling them from his belt.

“Ah…right…ah you do nae need tha glowsticks, mate, just clock me real good and call it a win, yeah?”

Kordath lifted his chin up and to the side, offering it to the taller man. He grumbled when twin blades came to life instead.

“Aw comeon lad…ya really want ta go through all this? I do nae even recall signin’ up fer this stuff, t’ain’t me style.”

“As much as knocking you out would satisfy the requirements for moving on to the next stage, I don’t know if the organizers would accept my victory should you throw the match. Arm yourself.”

The drunken Ryn looked down at his hands, one holding a bottle, the other a foam finger. He blinked at the foam thing, then shook it off his hand and held it up, palm open.

“Uhh…I got one hand free, if that matters?”

Shanree set himself, blades up and out, standing loosely, his grip even looking like it was slack…a man ready to move in any direction.

Kordath’s sodden brain moved as quickly as it could, eyes flickering over the armor the man wore that looked to be for moving quiet. He noticed the lightsabers that…didn’t even so much as hum, the lack of eyes, the…his gaze flickered back up.

“Well if yer so worried about appearances, why ya got two different colored lightsabers, mate?”

If the Miralukan could blink he would have, his Force-imbued sight looking down at the hazy energy that made up his twin sabers, then back up at the Ryn.

“...they’re both green, you drunken buffon.”

“Are they though?” asked Kordath, leaning in slightly, voice dropping as he played it up for the crowd above them, “cause from where I’m standin’, one of ‘em looks a bit yellow. Course maybe yer fine personality does nae allow ya ta have any friends with workin’ eyeballs ta tell ya, or they’re all too worried about embarassin’ their mate.”

Shanree could sense the ill intent of the words this little Ryn was speaking, trying to creep under his skin.

“...are you trying to make me mad? Make me lose control? It won’t work.”

Kordath shrugged, caught in his lie by the perceptive man, “Aye, well, was worth a try, just tryin’ ta run out tha clock.”

“There isn’t a time limit on these fights.”

“Oh frack me, there ain’t?”

“No! Did you not read any of the rules?”

“Fraid I did nae have anyone ta read them to me, Marbles.”

The Miralukan’s face began to turn red, “Did you just call me…what!?”

“Well on account of, ya know,” Kordath waved his hand around his eyes as he spoke, not realizing the gesture might be lost on the other man. He yelped and jumped back as twin emerald blades sank into the duracrete where he’d just been standing. Backpedaling further, he reached inside of himself, past the drunken mist permeating his being, and grasped at the threads of the Force, pulling them to him.

“You think it’s funny to make fun of someone because they’re different? Typical…” the Colonel grumbled as he advanced on his retreating foe.

“Aye? Typical what? Typical Ryn? Now who’s bein’ racist!? Uhh…speciest?” Kordath felt the Force gathering in his palm as the man lifted both blades to strike, hesitating at his words.

“What? No, I mean, I would never, I meant…ableist…”

“Oh so ya consider yerself disabled now, is that it? Sure all tha lads who lost a limb or two ta tha Collective will welcome ya to physical therapy.”

“No, I mean, I, that isn’t what I,” Shanree shook his head, trying to focus past the gibberish the Ryn was spouting. It was giving him a headache. The Miraluka set his jaw and prepared to attack. having backed the man up towards the edge of the bridge. He noted the Ryn holding a hand out placatingly in defense, a weak shield at best before he sensed a building concentration of the Force before him.

The brilliant flash of Force-fueled energy that overwhelmed even his senses a moment later caused him to stumble back, the entire world of his ghostly vision going bright for a few costly seconds. He prepared to parry an attack, only to realize none was coming. As the blinding light presence faded, he reached out with his senses and realized the Ryn had…fallen off the edge of the bridge to land on one below them, a rickety rope and wood one that he was staggering drunkenly across.

Let’s end this quickly, Shanree’s thoughts were tinged with disgust.

He’d spent months training for this tournament, he’d spent countless hours leveraging his considerable access to Taldryan’s intelligence services to glean every last bit of data on his potential opponents, but this Ryn hadn’t popped up on his or anyone else’s radar. Shanree was here for the sport, and the chance at glory, but it was the spirit of the fight he enjoyed and this Arconan was ruining what was supposed to be special.

He stood and considered his options for a moment and decided he didn’t like the look or the feel of attacking an unarmed Ryn with his lightsabers. The emerald blades slithered back into their Wroshyr wood hilts as he took a calming and centering breath with his chest. Shanree gracefully leapt off of his elevated platform and landed on a lower level across a small stretch of the seemingly endless chasm below them.

“Get yourself together, this is embarrassing for us both,” Shanree called across to Kordath.

The Ryn, doing his best to ignore the Miraluka, merely fired off a rude gesture with his fist which Shanree could not miss. Grinding his teeth, Shanree flexed his knees and launched himself across the void. His feet touched down with the lightest of toe-taps, but it was enough to startle Kordath into stumbling away from Shanree. He turned as he moved, his feet crossing clumsily but somehow he managed to atop them, as he threw his bottle at the Taldryanite SAG agent. It was child’s play for the seasoned soldier to bat the glass vessel away with a Wroshyr wood fighting stick.

Now empty handed the Ryn looked around and then fixed his unsteady gaze, one eye squinting against the glare of a distant light, on Shanree, “Listen Mate, I– I–”

Shanree could perceive the Arconan’s emotional state like he was reading a book; he watched with uneasiness as they swirled and turned green with sickness. Kordath turned away from his opponent and leaned over a railing, hurling some of the contents of his stomach into the void and its storms. It took a lot to disgust the old soldier, but apparently embarrassment on behalf of another was the short path to it. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his Wroshyr wood fighting sticks as he determined what the sportsman-like thing to do here would be. The tournament rules were pretty spare, making only a few definitive statements on what was in-bound and out of bounds as far as the judges were concerned. For the soldier in Shanree the solution was simple: quick, decisive violence to end the threat and achieve the mission. The athlete pleaded for good-natured sportsmanship and honorable conduct.

“Listen,” Shanree was tense, but he lowered his voice into a pleading yet advisory tone, “you’re in no shape to be here. Let me submit you and we’ll both move past this.”

Kordath wiped his mouth off with the sleeve of his outfit, leaving more than a few of his whiskers in an even more disheveled state, “Wha? You don’t think I can FIGHT!? You think I’m a quitter!?”

“No! No, not at–” Shanree tried to interject, but his words were lost as the Ryn rolled on, suddenly finding a fighting spirit ignited within him.

“You think my dear Mother, bless her heart, raised a yellow-bellied coward?” The Ryn raised himself to his full stature, still slightly shorter than Shanree, with some considerable dignity and nobility that he managed to find somewhere.

Kordath rolled his head backwards and inhaled deeply, his arms suddenly moving and spinning around him with some considerable grace. He allowed his head to roll to both sides and then lowered himself into a leisurely fighting stance. Shanree studied him, unsure, as his opponent swayed gently atop his bent legs. He saw no indication that the man would in fact fall over on his own. He sighed inwardly and made his decision: if the Arconan wanted to flail around in an attempt to fight, he’d oblige him and put him down quickly. Subduing a drunk was well-within Shanree’s competencies having spent years on campaign corralling his own soldiers back into line.

The Miraluka moved first, and he moved fast. Like a predatory animal he lunged upon his prey with both of his fighting sticks spinning. His Teras Kasi preferred erratic and unusual movements to keep opponents off-balance and on-guard. It was an aggressive and showy martial art and Shanree hoped the impressive display would put the Ryn off balance. Surprisingly however the Ryn instead met the attacks with open palms that gently intercepted and redirected Shanree’s fighting sticks each time one made to strike him. Frustrated, Shanree shouted a kihap as he bore down on the Ryn, channeling his inner strength into the physical attack. Kordath smoothly moved aside and around Shanree before he buried a fist in the Miraluka’s kidney.

Kordath tried to say something pithy but a wet burp interrupted him at the start. Shanree fought through the blunt pain and suing around trying to catch the Arconan in the knee with his weapon. Kordath lifted that leg, allowing the fighting stick to swing harmlessly below him. Shanree launched himself bodily at the Ryn and tackled him, taking them both off of their feet. Shanree was atop the diminutive alien and he used his mass to aid him as he sought the dominant position. The Ryn was wiley and he wriggled like a fish making it all but impossible for Shanree to gain control and submit him.

“Hey! That’s my arm!” The Ryn shouted as Shanree grabbed his wrist and tried to lock it with a fighting stick. Kordath snatched his limb back through some sort of drunken magic right out Shanree’s hands leaving the old soldier dumbfounded for a moment.

Just as quickly Kordath found his escape and slipped out from under the Taldryanite. He scrambled to the edge of their shared platform and looked around for one desperate moment. Shanree looked up, seeing him in his own peculiar way filled with swirling and churning emotions, only to see the Arconan fling himself over the platform’s side– This time on purpose. He scrambled to the edge as well and peered over just in time to see the man land ungracefully. Shanree flipped himself up and over the edge and landed a few meters from the Ryn who was rifling through a pile of debris. As the Taldryanite moved toward him Kordath turned and began hurling anything and everything at hand at Shanree. The SAG Agent winced as the first thing hit him in the face, though it wasn’t very heavy or painful, but was able to get his weapons up in time to deflect and bat away everything tossed at him. Durasteel tools, scrap metal, trash, food containers, the Arconan flung it all.

It was trash—, a lot of just debris and garbage, probably from the denizens of Arx tossed all over the arena to create atmosphere. Kordath didn’t care where it had been, he was chucking whatever he could find. He was pretty sure an orange, animal-shaped rubber thing was a chew toy for…something…because it let out a shrieking ‘squeak’ when Shanree batted it away with one of his wooden saber hilts. Both men winced when that one happened…and then he found…

“Thank tha Maker!” exclaimed the Ryn, lifting a bottle from the trash and upending it to his lips with no hesitation. He doubled over and started coughing and hacking, spitting. “Oooh….no…mistake…oh gods…mistake…” he whined.

’If he dies of poison that I didn’t inflict…do I still win?’ mused Shanree, watching Bleu struggle to breathe. “Did you drink something foul? Fouler then whatever you splashed on me? Do you need to forfeit?”

“Worse,” gasped Kord, throwing the bottle at his confused opponent. The Colonel twitched a finger off one of his hilts, willing the bottle to halt before him with the Force. He sniffed at it, detecting nothing. What was it that had put his foe in such straits as to sound like he was near death—

“...is this water?”

“Frak me it is,” whined Kordath, spitting and wiping his lips on his furry arm.

With a suffering sigh, Shanree began to stalk towards the five-foot-tall obstacle between him and the next round of this tournament, his boots silent on the bridge. Just as he came into striking distance with his unengaged saber hilts, the Ryn turned and hurled a handful of powder in his face, shouting ‘sand!’ or something.

Shanree stood there, looking at him with his hollow eye sockets.

“Oh…yeah…did nae think that through, but hey! Take it as a compliment, yeah? I see ya as a person and not yer handicap”

The hilt swung so fast at the white-haired little man’s head that it whistled, the Ryn barely falling back away from it. He stepped in after Kordath, hilts moving quickly to try and pin him down again, the still somewhat drunk man’s fatigue starting to catch up to him after a night out on the town. Both sticks came down like an X, framing Bleu’s throat; he turned on the blades, digging them through the duracrete below them.

“Yield,” demanded Shanree, growing tired of the farce. He could feel Kordath squirming below him, surprisingly slippery even now. “How are you so…so slick? It's like your clothes don’t even catch on anything, it makes you surprisingly difficult to pin down.”

Kordath lifted a single finger to stall, before letting out a raucous, foul belch into the Miralukan’s face, causing the man to gag and pull back slightly.

“What ya mean? Me clothes? Like…me boxers?”

“No,” coughed Shanree, spitting to the side. He could taste whatever the Ryn had for dinner during his pub crawl last night, “the rest.”

“Wot? What rest?”

“The rest…of your…are you naked?”

“Oh, right, Blinky told me you lads have trouble with patterns and such…guess ya look at me and think I’m just real plain-like on me clothes, eh?” Kordath was grinning, “nae, am nae nekkid, still got me boxers on.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Aye, that’s what yer mum said when we was do—OW!”

The headbutt was just uncalled for, in Kord’s opinion, leaving him a bit dazed as Shanree withdrew. The man was visibly trying to pull back from his own robes as he realized he’d been rubbing up against a naked drunkard while trying to pin the Ryn down.

“I should just run you through and call it a day. I’m sure the medics would get to you quickly enough.”

An emerald blade sprang to life, eerily silent as it did.

“Well…now let’s not do nothin’ we can nae take back, mate,” slurred the drunken, possibly concussed Ryn

“Did you forget? I’m not your ‘mate’, friend,” stated the Colonel, driving the blade down towards the prone Adept. The tip skidded off a Force projected field of energy, stabbing down into the bridge below. “Still have some fight in you, hmm?”

The Colonel stepped back as Kordath tried to kick at him, the man staggering to his feet…his hand went down into his boxers, much to Shanree’s chagrin.

“Aye…t’ain’t done…yet…mate…uhh..laddie…,” mumbled Kordath, clearly close to taking a nap, after all, was said and done.

Shanree stepped in, disengaging his saber once more to batter the stubborn little man over the head till he quit. The Force flashed a warning as he got near, something telling him to be on his guard.

For Kordath, time seemed to slow…the fingers of his right hand threaded through the grip of his brass knuckler, withdrawing it from its questionable hiding spot. The Force flowed through him, bolstering his lean frame’s strength. He turned into the oncoming Miralukan, right arm cocked back, swinging up at the taller man with all the strength could muster, aiming for a definitive knockout.

Which the older man saw coming a mile away, either through experience, the Force, or just having paid attention to how the drunk had been acting this whole time. He leaned back a few inches, the knuckler a burst of air just in front of his face as the fist passed him by.

“Well…kark me,” muttered the exhausted Ryn, who looked up, “guess I’m outta tricks, so we’ll call it a dra—”

The wooden stick slammed into Bleu’s temple, even with all the sense of impending danger from the Force, he couldn’t will his body to move out of the way. The second, and third smacks were probably unnecessary, but Shanree had to be sure his foe was down for the count. The little kick at the end was uncalled for though.

“...ow,” mumbled the Ryn, clutching his head.

“Oh for—you’re still awake!?”

What little the rules did say in this tournament, they were clear on what would end a match: so long as a participant was conscious, capable of moving, and refused to voluntarily submit they were still considered to be in the fight.

Shanree cursed inwardly again but it escaped his mouth in exasperation, “Chutta, just quit already.”

The Ryn peered up at him through unfocused eyes, several blows to the head now compounding his inebriation, “I don’t know the meaning of the w- the wor– of the work. Word? Word.”

The Ryn flung himself at Shanree’s feet, but the Taldryanite merely stepped back and out of the way. Kordath beat the deck with a fist in frustration and then rolled over. He tried to focus his eyes on the Miralukan. Shanree towered over him, holding his lightsaber hilts in each hand. As his eyes came into focus and his view dropped his heart leapt. The bottle, the one that had accosted with its water content, lay within arms reach. Without a second thought the Ryn snatched the bottle and whipped it against the Taldryanite’s ankle. The glass made a hollow bonking noise as it hit bone, causing him to swear loudly.

Kordath sprung to his feet and identified the next suspended platform he wanted to jump to, swaying uneasily atop his feet. Shanree snatched at his fur but missed, allowing the Ryn to take several steps at a dash. The Arconan launched himself into the void between the platforms with heroic athleticism summoned from one last reservoir. He didn’t hear the indicative snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting but he did see the green glow of its light reflected on the metal of the suspended platform ahead of him.

In slow motion Kordath mouthed a foul Spacer’s curse as he approached his landing spot. The green glow grew stronger with each passing moment and the Ryn didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that there was a whirling lightsaber spinning through the void behind him. He landed hard and rolled over a shoulder clumsily, keeping intentionally low so as not to lose his head. The Lightsaber arced over him a heartbeat later and slashed through the durasteel cables suspending his end of the platform. Kordath was showered with sparks of metal as the metal screeched in anger at the emerald blade. The platform dropped out from beneath the Arconan throwing the little bile remaining in his stomach to the top. Kordath’s hands scrambled to find something, anything to grab onto as he began to plunge towards the gaping void of clouds and electricity far below.

His hands brushed a support but failed to grab hold of anything. He watched with sudden despair as a rod he grasped slipped out of his grip and then the lip of the platform bid him a hurried goodbye as he dropped past it. He wailed helplessly as he fell until invisible hands caught him by the wrists. The wail trailed off as he opened his eyes and saw that he was suspended in the middle of the air, held there hanging with his arms over his head. Shanree’s brow perspired as he concentrated, holding his hands out before him a dozen meters above him.

“I’ve got you”, he shouted down to the Ryn, “I’ve got you!”

“Ah bless you, bless you and the Maker”, the Ryn laughed with sudden relief.

Shanree didn’t return the Ryn’s laugh which sobered the alien up somewhat, now very aware of the situation he found himself in. The Miralukan watched the sea change in the Ryn’s emotions and then said, “Now would be the time to say you yield. Your alternative is that I let the mists below say their piece.”

“Frack you! I’d rather fall!” The man’s obstinance, even in the face of his own impending doom, was admirable Shanree had to admit.

Shanree shook his arms, jostling the suspended Arconan, “Say you Yield!”

“No!”, Kordath fired back with spirit.

This wasn’t working. All he was doing was triggering the Arconan’s pathological demand avoidance and it was forcing his hand in a direction he didn’t want to live with. Shanree needed a different solution, he needed to attack this problem from a different angle. His mind raced as he ran through a dwindling list of options, ones he’d been over before as he tried to tackle this problem in the minutes prior. He reached out with his senses and focused intently on his opponent’s mind. Due to his nature he somewhat always studied and understood the thoughts of people around him but Shanree had always had a knack for knowing the thoughts of others. It didn’t take him long to find the key he was looking for once he started to focus.

“No one deserves to grow up without a Father. Do it for your girls”, Shanree used the voice he’d adopted for years when counseling his Soldiers. It was authoritative and unimpeachable, but it was warm and understanding like a father advising a son.

Kordath’s body went entirely still, “What do you know about any of that?”

“I know that I’ve made more orphans than I care to think about, and you have it in your power to prevent that happening here again. Yield– do it for them.” There was a long moment of silence between them. Kordath’s swirling emotions were unclear on how they’d resolve. Shanree could see the man’s obstinance doing battle with emotions he judged to be love and fear for his daughters.

When the moment dragged on Shanree gave the Ryn another shake with his invisible hands dangling him above the void. Kordath’s shrill voice immediately responded, “I quit! Gods dammit I quit! Put me down on something solid!”

The unseen hands lifted the Ryn up to Shanree who reached out into the air and grabbed the man’s grasping hand. They gripped each other’s forearm as Kordath was pulled onto the platform. Safe on solid deck again the Ryn fell to his hands and knees and dry heaved several times as the Arena’s lights came up and the chamber was filled with the roar of the crowd. It had been a strange fight to watch, but its end had evidently captivated their attention.