You enter one of the dozens of sparring chambers within the Shadow Academy of Lyspair, the simple square room utilized mostly by those learning the ways of the lightsaber. This five hundred square-foot room, rectangular in shape, is nearly barren. The floor is lined with simple padding, while the walls are made of dull, grey durasteel, gauged by innumerable lightsaber strikes, scarring the metal permanently.

The ceiling towers above you, nearly twenty feet in height, allowing for plenty of movement from the more acrobatic of Force users. There are no other adornments within the room, save for the entrance and lighting that bathes the entire room, yet seems to come from nowhere. All corners of the room are perfectly lit, with no visible shadows to speak of. There is nowhere for you to hide within the room, but… there's no room for your opponent to hide either.

The Hapan slowly entered the sparring chamber, and adjusted his gaze to the nothingness that was the oft battered and bloodied room. “Not this place, again,” stated Fenn to himself. This was his third consecutive battle in this chamber, and the walls were beginning to cave in on him.

Nothing. The silence of the chamber spoke volumes. The thought occurred to the Krath Priest this lull in activity was a means to set him at ease prematurely. He had experienced this ploy before. Before he could put too much thought to this idea, the chamber again opened and a figure entered the doorway.

The Human sauntered into the chamber, seemingly confused and anxious at the same time. Fenn was quick to eye up his opponent. Bentre was roughly the same height and weight, and seemingly the same age. No physical advantage would be made here, sadly thought Fenn to himself.

“Greetings to the sparing chamber. You will need to use that thing hanging from your belt in here. Clumsy and beaten as it is, I always had an affinity for my armory saber,” Zagro casually said to his assailant.

Stahoes squinted his eyes and narrowed his gaze on the Krath Priest. Obelisk, no matter what rank, cared little for other orders talking down to them regarding battle prowess with the saber.

“Do you even know how to use that trinket, Aedile?” came the retort.

Fenn smiled. “It is not wise to taunt your elders who have far more power with the Force and experience in battle. Well then, let us begin,” Zagro smiled and ignited his blade.

“Is that right now?” Bentre stepped backward slightly as he raised his unlit weapon, and waved it playfully. “Would you like to show off some of those fancy moves?” He tilted his head to the side tauntingly as he placed both hands on his weapon, and activated it. “Or did you just plan to flap your gums?”

The Hapan did not seem to regard the Obelisk very seriously. It is just his type to act as though they know everything.

A growl rising in his throat the Protector stepped forward slowly, each step more deliberate than the last. He swayed slightly as he gripped his lightsaber in anticipation.

With an almost dismissive air, the Krath turned slightly, as though readying to strike. There was no mockery or dismissal when he locked eyes with the Journeyman, though. Instead his opponent showed a cold determination. A dangerous gleam in his eye, Zagro took two steps forward, before chucking his lightsaber forward in a dangerous arc.

“What!?” Bentre shouted out in surprise as he brought his lightsaber up in a frantic block. He had never seen someone chuck a lightsaber like that. The weapons met with a crack, the red blade barely missing his head as he tried to blink the spots from before his eyes. When he looked up again, the Equite was nowhere to be seen.

The Corellian tried not to let up his guard though. That little sneak couldn't have gotten very far. The Obelisk turned slowly about the empty room, determined that he wouldn't be caught unaware. In the back of his mind, something seemed to buzz, adding to his feeling of unease. “Are you really going to run away like that?” he asked aloud, challenge in his voice.

A heavy impact on the back of his head answered the accusation. Stars filled Bentre's vision, and he clutched the back of his head while desperately trying to retreat to a safe distance. He tried to concentrate, to anticipate the next attack. He reached out his senses, searching for any trace of the Krath. As he paused for a moment, the hair on the back of his head stood up straight, and he felt a slight tickle. Not this time. With a flourish, he turned, barely missing another painful hammer, and struck out with his lightsaber. He hit something, and heard a cry echo out.

The Krath came into view, patting out a burn along the arm of his robes. Bentre hadn't hit him hard, but it left a nice little hole, and it appeared to have caught Zagro slightly by surprise.

“How about we continue this a little more straight forward?” the Journeyman growled, stepping forward with his lightsaber raised in challenge.

The Krath eyed at his opponent with derision. He had a begrudging respect for the less experienced Obelisk. The man’s determination and drive to best his adversary was palpable. Beltre betrayed no signs of fear or anxiety now, only the blood lust and desire to kill was evident. “Good,” thought Fenn, slowly inching towards the Correlian.

Fenn lunged forward, full speed toward Beltre, attempting to draw him off balance and put him at a defensive posture. If the Hapan could keep the initiative this battle would be over very shortly indeed. Halfway between the room, sabers met. Fenn’s velocity and weight almost toppled the Obelisk over, however, the training of the Protector was evident. He stood his ground and kicked the ribs of the Krath from his back-leg, shifting all his mass behind it.

The physicality and vicious blow pushed Fenn back, knocking the breathe from his lungs. The Aedile let out an audible grunt. “Not bad, I like a little treachery and dirty fighting in all manners, especially with the saber. You show much promise my friend,” Zagro retorted with seemingly more candor and regard.

The Protector did not let down his guard. He braced for the next attack and kept his saber high and at the ready. “The complement is well taken. You also fight remarkably well for a Krath…I didn’t know you types dueled much in your libraries,” answered Beltre.

“You will learn much, right now,” came Fenn’s final response. The Krath again ran full tilt at his enemy. Beltre was prepared for this stratagem. It would lead to be his downfall. Fenn dodged right at the last moment before impact, slicing his saber to the side with the Force taking his enemy by surprise. The blade struck Beltre in the palm, forcing him to drop his saber and clutch his bloody stump of a hand.

“If it over friend. Let us get to the medic,” remarked Fenn.

“Are you really sure that is what you want to do?” The Hapan's words were slow, measured, as though he reprimanding a child. He took a swing with his lightsaber, turning it in a tight arc of red light with one hand.

Bentre was tired of being talked down to. He began to move forward, keeping his movements tight and restrained. He still lacked the grace to turn his lightsaber about like that, but he was not about to back down. “As ready as ever.” The Corellian's eyes flashed as he stepped forward with a sharp swing.

The Krath batted the blow aside, meeting blow for blow. He watched as the Journeyman stumbled slightly. He smiled slightly, bringing his weapon around at a sharp angle to smash into his opponents weapon, prompting the slower human to step back as the blow struck in an attempt to roughly parry the fierce strike.

“Not bad,” the Obelisk complimented. He realized he was going to have to keep moving a little more lightly if he was going to prevail.

As Zagro moved forward, Bentre tried to step backward, keeping barely a lightsaber blade's distance between them. The two seemed to almost dance back and forth for a moment. Then, Bentre struck forward with a stab. Zagro parried his blow at a fierce upward angle, then turned his blade downward in a tight circle. His opponent had barely a moment to sidestep out of the way, striking out again with a wide swing.

The Krath threw out a hand, and before his stroke made contact, Bentre felt his feet leave the ground. He tumbled across the room, and his weapon escaped his grip, clattering across the room and deactivating loudly.

The Journeyman looked up, his head still ringing from the impact, as the Hapan held a crimson blade just above his head. As he licked his lip, he felt a dribble of blood. He spit it out and glared up at the Equite, thoroughly humilitated. “I concede,” he spoke slowly, “For now.”