Two towering, tinted, transparisteel doors slide open to grant you access to the central chamber of the Combat Training Halls. The main room is wide and open and as large as as a holoball field. Tall walls stretch towards a domed ceiling that is made up of rows of ambient lights that spread out and fill the room with soft even lighting that eliminates any shades or shadows. Those same walls are lined around the perimeter with racks and stacks of varied weaponry: everything from swords and polearms to rifles and flamethrowers.

There are two signs that hover over each weapon rack to create an alternating motif in the Combat Training Hall: “No Explosions” and “Accorded Neutral Territory”. While the first is fairly obvious, the second speaks to the single law of the Training Halls: all members of the Brotherhood are welcome, and no member is to be killed or maimed without incurring the wrath of the Grand Master and the Inquisitorius.

A trio of training dummies are statically set up and spread out in a line, each made out of a blend of alloys and padding that can withstand blows from any standard weaponry with the exception of lightsaber blades. To the side of the dummies, a large sparring mat has been stretched out to create a larger footprint than the typical shockboxing ring. The padding is good for helping teach new combat students how to take a fall without injury and offers firm footing, but the hard rubber mat is hardly forgiving.

Behind the sparring area is a door that leads to a small archives that combat students can use to view holorecordings of fights and duels from the past as well as relevant information on combat tactics, techniques, and forms. On the opposite side of the archives at the far end of central room is the locker room that members can safely store their equipment.

The final and probably most important element of the Combat Training Hall is the onsite Med Ward. The maglock door is sealed off and can only be opened by an attending Medic. The Medical facilities feature state of the art bacta tanks for recovery and aftercare. A combination of observation and waiting room rests adjacent to the recovery center and features two large monitors that display a live feed of the central room.

The Combat Halls are staffed around the clock, allowing combat students and mentors alike to come and go as they please at odd or regular hours. It also available for members looking to prove their worth to compete in the Antei Combat Center.

[Venue Note: Weapons incorporated into your match are allowed to be used, even if not listed on your Loadout for the match itself. Skill usage and all other ACC rules and guidelines still applies.]

The halls of the training center were stark and cool.

Narman Losa stode through them at a precise clip, the stride of a surgeon and a soldier. His gaze scanned his environs and each individual he passed, assessing briefly.

It was his first time on Arx. The capital itself reminded him uncomfortably of the xenoists of his homeworld, like a glimpse into a stark future where the Human League won its genocidal war. There seemed to be an assortment of aliens about the Taldryan spaces, but Eos City was starkly and imperially Human.

He thought of Jules, his friend and former colleague, still on Setia Prime. The Twi'lek wouldn't leave, even when he sent word to her of the auspices of new systems he had found himself embroiled in these few months past; but neither would she leave her home, too scared of being attacked in the street, dragged off to one of those camps he'd helped dismantle and strung up.

They'd chatted last week. He'd urged her to go outside. He needed to call again, but his work from the agency had kept him busy, nevermind the recent tensions between the Traditionalists and Loyalists in the Senate and the Summit having nearly escalated to full blown civil war in the attacks…

Shaking his head, the officer put his mind to the task ahead, itself a new assignment.

Or what could generously be referred to as one, at least.

It has come to my attention that you are deficient, Doctor." Even in miniature blue Holo projection, Anders' red gaze was cutting. "You lack experience amongst Force-Users, particularly in combating them. I believe the closest you've even been to one was pulling the Lady Second from the rubble. This will be remedied. This body will suffer no shortcomings. Fear not. I know of the perfect opponent for you. A false Sith. Your life won't be in danger."

He had sounded disgusted.

That was all the information Narman had been given. No name, no dossier, nothing. Likely to simulate being unprepared in the field. Still it grated.

Arriving at the doors to the training rooms, the Human loosed a final steady breath before stepping inside as they swished apart. Before him was a tidy and commendable space: equipment, padding, a medical suite he was eager to investigate and judge. It was also notably lacking in other participants, all except one.

In the center of the mats sat a man, Mirialan by his green coloring and copious tattoos, folded in a meditative pose and reading on a datapad. He looked up at the exact moment that Narman looked at him, staring with unnaturally clouded lilac eyes.

"Yo," he said, and then, "I mean, hey, ay. You must be Narman? Nice t'meet you. I'm Ruka."

He rose, fluid and pantherine, padding over on bare feet that were near-silent. The doctor studied him for a moment.

The eclipsing cataracts in the eyes weren't something typically seen outside the geriatric of most Near Human species like his, and the heavy silvering of his dark hair supported that. However, the skin visible around the predominant scar tissue, what little there was, looked firm and vibrant in hue, no age spots, no thinning. And that was just the physical characteristics; for all his language was casual as might be attributed to either culture or youth, his demeanor and the actual look in his gaze were so much older.

How old was this man?

"Uh…?"

"Doctor Narman Losa," the Taldryanite corrected idly, extending his hand to clasp the one Ruka had offered while he was appraising. The Mirialan was frowning at him, an expression that pinched his whole face. "Narman will do for our purposes. Pleased, Ruka."

"Right, ay…"

Their hands dropped.

He supposed some small talk was in order.

"Anything interesting?" Narman gestured at the datapad. The Mirialan blinked at him, brows scrunching, then followed his pointing fingers down to his own side where he'd seemed to have forgotten his reading.

"Oh! Ay, uh, would you believe 'Self Help For Peedunkies?'"

"I have no reason to disbelieve it. Anything valuable?"

"Not sure yet." A beat. "We don't gotta chat. If you just want to get to the lesson…"

Relief. Narman sighed and followed Ruka back onto the mats, taking his cue to peruse the training equipment.

"Certainly. You work for Anderson, then?"

"Kriff no!" now it was the Mirialan who sounded disgusted. Narman filed the mutual antagonism away. "I don't work for him. This is a favor." He sighed long-sufferingly. "His son's dating our daughter. We try to be nice sometimes. He asked. I said yeah. Better me than whoever else he'd franging toss you at, ay ay ay. He'd kriffing have you tortured or half-dead just to make a point."

"Well then, I'll thank you for sparing me."

The mild gratitude only seemed to hitch the Mirialan's shoulders more. He rolled them, grunting an acknowledgement.

"So you've never fought a 'User?"

"Not that I know of."

"You might be in for a hell of an intro," Ruka muttered, and then inhaled deeply. "Speakin' of, ay. Gonna set out some ground rules for how this gonna go."

They stopped in the center of the mats, Ruka's datapad suddenly floating off out of nowhere to join a folded pile of robes and armor that presumably covered the body suit he wore normally. He had no visible weapons on him.

"Point of this is to give you a chance to fight a Force-User no holds barred in a safe environment. Kinda. You can come at me with everything you got, and that includes live fire. Powers, lightsabers, blades, hand to hand, whatever. Only caveat is that if you're using live rounds not to go for my head. If, and only if, you want it to happen, I will hit back. Otherwise, your goal's to try and take me down." He shrugged a bit. "If my husband was here we'd show you what it can be like fighting a team of us, or someone with support abilities. He can protect me at any time. But for now we'll start with me. Med team is on standby mostly for me when I can't move anymore, but they're here for you too. I cleared the place in case of stray shots. Got it?"

"Understood," Narman replied, though he couldn't help but feel it was all quite blindingly foolish. The Mirialan 'false Sith' grinned at him a bit.

"Ay, I know, sounds stupid, right?" Was he easy to read, or was the other man just preceptive? Perhaps the cataracts weren't blinding. Or was it something more? He'd heard rumor of mind reading but considered it nonsense. "But it's really not. So. Come on. Try to hit me."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

Though skeptic, Losa reached for his belt and drew his blaster pistol. He lifted it, aimed steady across the space, and fired a single shot.

Ruka sidestepped. The bolt splashed into the wall far behind him, alabative plating apparently assuaging the scorch mark. Narman felt his eyebrows shoot up. He looked at his blaster, then back again.

"C'mon," the Mirialan urged.

He flicked the setting around to semi-automatic burst fired and loosed a salvo of three.

This time Narman didn't get to see the whole movement; his opponent moved too fast, a blur of color that was then several meters to the side and noticeably unscathed. Gritting his teeth, the Human fired again.

Again.

And again.

Bursts of burning blasterfire chased a ghost across the ground, Ruka always seemingly ahead of his shots or somehow out of the way, twisting and turning faster than any humanoid should have. His body shouldn't have been able to do that. It wasn't anatomically capable.

And yet.

"Enough!" Narman called when he was close to just turning to full automatic fire and shooting wildly. His gaze sparked with an intense curiosity, bordered with horror. The veteran found himself feeling as if he was examining a new class of weapon. "I want to see what else you're capable of."

"And that means…?"

"Hit back."

Ruka nodded at him, still just standing in place. He didn't so much as lift a finger.

And yet, suddenly every training rack around them rattled as the weapons within them lifted free, slowly spun towards Narman, and stayed there, suspended in the air, a breath held. Twenty, thirty, no, more—

One by one, they flew towards him, a riptide of metal and wood.

The screech of the weapon racks sliding forward and the whistle of steel cutting the air were the only sounds that alerted Narman to an incoming attack. Within seconds he found himself under a steady barrage from both sides as all manner of weaponry, armor, and assorted gear pelted his body. When the initial salvo arrived, he attempted to dodge every strike, but the quantity and persistence of the improvised missiles made that impossible. Blocking a series of small hand weights with his forearm and ducking under a spinning dagger, he scanned the room. A cloud of shimmering steel surrounded him, with each object waiting patiently for its opportunity. All the while, Ruka stood still, reactionless, arms relaxed at his sides.

The Doctor had sidestepped to avoid a heavy blaster pistol when a sharp pain radiated from the back of his head, flooding his vision with white. The blow staggered him for a moment, but he quickly shook off the fog; a helmet in the Mandalorian style clattered to the ground behind.

‘I need to keep moving forward,’ Narman thought to himself, deflecting a pair of gauntlets with his elbow. ‘I can already feel the injuries accumulating, and he hasn’t even moved yet.’ He took a step and ducked an attack. Another step, then a step back to avoid a durasteel shelf. The Taldryanite was beginning to perceive a pattern to the attacks, whether conscious or not. His eyes fell on a long, thin rapier that was twirling to the left, and he tracked it all the way as it flew in to strike. At the last second he contorted his body out of the way and grabbed onto the hilt as it passed, redirecting the momentum into a spin and throw.

The blade covered almost half the distance to Ruka before it froze, suspended in the air between them. The Mirialan remained still, his clouded eyes locked on Narman’s, maybe slight amusement on his lips. The Doctor panted slightly, suddenly aware of how little distance he had covered. He felt a tinge of shame. Why had Anderson really sent him here? His thoughts flashed back to his enlistment training, the relentless hell their bodies had been put through. The drill instructors had relished the pain they caused, but not Ruka. He hardly seemed interested.

“I suppose you did that intentionally.” He called out across the room to the Mirialan, who nodded in response.

“Ya, no use in going all-out. You didn’t even know what you were up against, ay.” The remaining suspended objects clattered to the floor around the room. “Figured out the rhythm pretty quick, though.”

Narman released an out-of-character exasperated sigh and shook his head. Outmatched was an understatement. He was fighting a brick wall, one hundred feet tall and reinforced with durasteel—it didn’t even know he was there. The thought of coming across a Force User of this calibre on the battlefield was sobering. What hope would he have in that scenario?

“Most aren’t as strong as me,” Again, the ‘Sith’ responded to him as though he could read his thoughts; at this point Narman couldn’t rule anything out. “But plenty are.” The Taldryanite had encountered powerful Force Users within his own ranks, but he had yet to see them go all out. Or this one either, for that matter.

“I appreciate the restraint you have displayed up to this point. When the training began, I was skeptical of your warnings—they hold much more weight now. Consider me humbled.” There was no hint of disdain in his words, only respect. “It’s clear that I am outmatched. Now I need only determine to what degree.” The Marialan shook his head.

“Ay, don’t think that's a good idea.”

“Respectfully, this exercise does me no good if I leave here without knowing truly what challenges I face. I need you to go all out. Just please try not to kill me.” Narman reached down to his belt and unclipped a long, slender blade that was tucked inside. Light glinted off the razor sharp edge, highlighting the thin coating of inhibiting poison. If he could just get close enough for a single strike, perhaps it would even the odds a bit. That is, if he could even touch him. The Doctor suddenly bolted forward, trying to catch his opponent off guard and close the gap.

Ruka had anticipated this move and stood with one hand outstretched before him, azure bands of electricity crackling between his fingers.