Despite being on the first level of the Citadel, the massive courtyard remains hidden behind towering walls of stone and sediment. An elongated central patch of neatly trimmed grass stretches out for almost fifty-meters while maintaining a twenty-meter width. At the center of the grass is a large, ovular fountain in the shape of the Arcona emblem, with water running from the tips of each pointed edge. Vegetation grows along some of the walls, and an archaic clock-face is carved into the face of one of the entryways. A small group of rotating sharpshooters are scattered across the walls as the courtyard is supposed to serve as a safe place for Arconans to enjoy some quiet time, or to meet with visitors. It has served as the venue for multiple honor-duels over time, and there is a significant crater off to the side of the grass left behind as a result of a contest between Marick Arconae and Wuntila Arconae. The duel had taken place prior to either Arconae serving as Shadow Lords and in a quieter time before all Arcona knew was warfare.

As you walk towards the back of the courtyard, closer to the base of the cliff that the Citadel is constructed upon, a tall tree shoots up from the stone, its shade guarding an entrance into the Citadel proper.

The grass shifted aside as the warm summer breeze swept through the Citadel’s courtyard. A single figure walked the cobblestone path, approaching the edge of the yard. His pace was measured and nearly ritualistic as he first removed his officer’s vest and placed it, folded, on the stone at his feet. He next removed his boots one at a time, and placed them beside his other belongings. The final moment of the ritual was a quick check of the lightsaber at his side and the small karambit knife hidden in his belt. He stepped out into the grass and squared his shoulders, where he took a deep breath and waited.

“Life is empty. When we take life, we aren’t taking anything of value. Shadicar are killers,” the familiar voice surrounded him, and Uji opened his eyes as he heard the words repeated again as they always were before the training began. He did not bother to seek out his opponent with his eyes: the Wraith was known to be more capable in the arts of invisibility then any other Shadicar.

“When told to kill, there is no hesitation, no questioning, simply a purpose to be fulfilled.” The words were spoken almost in prayer, a mantra which represented the Shadicar. The philosophy was comforting to the Templar. Though he now served as a leader among Galeres, the opportunity to fulfill this purpose removed the weight of his fears, doubts and needs, replacing them with the single purpose to succeed where others would not.

“This above all else is true: killing is not an art, killing is not perfect. Do not seek a single perfect strike, nor to overpower an opponent; strike ten times, twenty, a hundred, it does not matter so long as you fulfill this purpose,” the final words left Celevon’s lips as he appeared before Uji, the younger man’s features shimmering into view as he dropped the cloak surrounding him. His appearance was almost delicate, his almond eyes striking, no longer hidden behind the mask he’d worn during their first meeting.

“It’s good to see you, teacher. With recent events it has been too long.” Uji bowed at the waist, his eyes never wavering, since he was familiar with the truly dangerous man standing before him.

Uji watched Celevon’s head dip in acknowledgement. Neither of the two men were prone to small talk. They had a purpose for being here: another meeting to ensure that Uji’s talents were developing as expected. Both men stepped apart by another pace, and within a single heartbeat the darkness which surrounded them was suddenly lifted by the pale glow of their lightsabers.

Uji turned to present a limited profile for his opponent. Celevon seemed to remain nearly motionless, his saber unwavering, eyes never leaving Uji’s. Seconds passed slowly as both men assessed the other. In the span of a single breath the Prelate cleared the distance between them, his first series of strikes testing Uji’s defense. The two fell into a familiar pattern of attack and parry, Uji never directly blocking the Vaapad adept’s attempts, instead turning them aside at the last instant with a quick parry or twisting aside before the blow would land.

“Take advantage of your opponent’s strengths. If they intend to overpower you, let them. Draw them in and strike when they believe they have won.”

Beginning to parry another blow, Uji turned his saber, twisting his opponent's blade as the tip of his lightsaber snaked towards Celevon’s wrist. The Prelate released the saber, letting it begin to fall, while his opposite hand lashed out. The counter nearly took his opponent by surprise, forcing Uji to twist away as Celevon plucked the falling saber out of the air before it finished falling.

“Never rely on only one weapon. The lightsaber is an extension of the Shadicar, but it is only one tool among many.”

Uji brought the point of his saber back to bear in time to catch the Prelate’s next attack. Their pace quickened now as both men began to change tactics. He watched Celevon’s movements became more and more difficult to follow as the Onderonian began to strike from inconceivable angles. The pattern varied and became unpredictable, forcing Uji to remain on the defensive and rely on his own speed to turn the attacks aside,presenting him with fewer and fewer opportunities to take advantage of.

“When confronted by equal skill in an opponent, be patient. Learn with every breath, every movement.”

With each impact, sparks flew throughout the courtyard. The cobalt blade of Celevon’s saber lashed out from every direction, driving Uji back. Each attack began coming faster as the Prelate drew on the Force to enhance his already impressive agility. Uji abandoned any attempt of a counter attack, forced to enhance his own reaction time to evade Celevon’s strikes.

“The Force is merely another tool. The Shadicar must succeed even when every advantage is taken from them.”

Another strike shunted aside, Celevon pivoted, angling up to one side before he brought his saber down towards Uji’s right thigh. Parried. His wrist twisted and the swing reversed, aimed for Uji’s left shoulder, coming within a hair’s breath of contact before it met with the Templar’s blade. Their muscles strained as they engaged in the first instance of a forced contest of strength began as the two pushed against one another, so evenly matched they appeared for a moment as living statues with expressions completely calm amidst the struggle.

A flurry of movement followed as both men struck: Uji twisted his blade, spinning his opponent’s aside, sending Celevon’s saber flying away. In the following instant, Uji felt a sharp impact as his opponent’s free hand struck his forearm, causing his grip to loosen. The next blow sent Uji’s weapon flying from his fingers.

There was a breath, and then the two began exchanging strikes: knees, elbows, fists, every part of the two warriors’ limbs being used to batter and assault. Uji sensed the moment Celevon’s fist broke through his defenses and, unable to block he tensed attempting to absorb the shock..

Uji’s reacted without conscious thought, gathering the Force into a barrier that lessened the impact of the blow, though it still drove the Templar back. He used the momentum to tumble away, distancing himself and Celevon. The two paused, taking a few deep breaths, recovering from the exchange.

The Prelate calmed his breathing, observing his opponent carefully. The Galerian had come a long way in his skills since the Shadicar had taken over Uji’s training. Now, their respective lightsabers lay discarded in different locations of the open courtyard, collecting the dew from the rising mists.

The only thing he had discarded before the Templar had entered the courtyard was his katana, which rested on a stone bench beneath the tallest tree. For this battle, it was not needed; it had become habit to carry the weapon.

Without warning, Celevon leapt forward. The Galerean had come to know the Qel-Droman’s fighting style to the point where he was barely ever surprised.

The pair exchanged punches, kicks, attempted takedowns and every dirty trick either knew. Each and every motion was either knocked aside or countered. Several minutes of this passed before the two stopped, ghosts of a grin on either face.

“Camp Hell?”

“Indeed.”

Both of them had trained at the same place. The identical fighting style was telling, as it was taught only at the Arconan Special Forces camp, fondly nicknamed ‘Camp Hell’.

As though moving to an unheard cue, Templar and Prelate altered their stances. Uji adopted a more solid stance, lowering his center of gravity whilst he shifted one foot further back to present a smaller target. His opponent's changed stance was much less notable.

This time, the Galerian attacked first, dropping into a leg sweep. Celevon anticipated the move and dodged in a somersault, twisting in mid-air as Uji spun to his feet. Before the Onderonian fully landed, the Templar was already moving, Force-enhanced speed making each blow pass in a blur of motion. Each movement was fluid from the hip, the former Captain of the Nighthawk’s weight behind every punch and kick.

The Shadicar outright dodged or knocked the strike aside as he attempted to put the older male off balance. Celevon then struck back in a series of quick jabs, aimed towards vital areas and nerve clusters.

For the pair, this was fun. Testing one another’s skill in all manner of combat, learning about each other without the need of verbal interaction or a witty retort. To any watchers or commentators, it was brutal and violent. But that was farthest from the truth.

Both viewed this as the truest expression of themselves.

A blow to a cluster of nerves in the shoulder of the Galerian rendered his left arm temporarily useless and Uji backed off, attempting to shake off the numb feeling.

“Shall we test ourselves without the aid of the Force?” Celevon called softly, taking advantage of the moment to calm his breathing.

“Only if you care to up the ante,” Uji retorted, drawing his karambit, emblazoned with the sigil of the Nighthawk.

A hint of a smile curved the Prelate’s lips as he drew a similar weapon from his own belt.

“Shall we?”

The two Arconans stood apart from one another, both stilling their breath as they reached out to the Force and felt the bruises, scrapes and injuries they had gathered during their match begin to ease. Relaxing as the tension in their bodies diminished, both settling into familiar stances; the training Nighthawk’s Talon’s received aboard the Nighthawk closely resembled the same training Celevon had been instrumental in developing for Galeres “Camp Hell” on Eldar.

“Form I.”

The two came together in a series of strikes, each blocked, parried or maneuvered past as they executed the precise form. The attacks were so fluid it would appear to be more of a dance than combat, were it not for the deadly consequences of a single mistake. Without hesitation they moved into Form II and their pace quickened as they recognized one another's thoughts without the need to speak.

The sound of fabric tearing accompanied Uji’s hiss of pain as a crimson line opened across his chest. Celevon’s lips curled upward at the tips into a small smile, until he felt Uji’s off-hand close around the nape of his neck. Pulling the younger man in as he brought his knee into his opponent's chest, Uji was met with the satisfying gasp for breath as he drove his leg into his opponent's chest. Uji brought his leg up for a second strike, but felt it connect with Celevon’s forearm.

Uji felt Celevon’s hand wrap around the leg he was using to balance, and then the Qel-Droman’s take down brought the two tumbling down. Each maneuvered to avoid the others knife while attempting to gain position in the grapple. The two came to a stop, Celevon’s blade hovering inches from Uji’s throat, the Onderian’s weight pressed against Uji’s hold on his forearm.

“Satsi says she always ends up on top when you two fight.” Celevon’s smirk grew into a grin as he teased the older man.

A growl escaped the Templar’s throat as he brought his legs up, wrapping one around his opponent’s arm the other around his neck, pushing off of the ground and forcing separation between the two. Celevon rolled away, coming back to his feet in a low crouch. Uji used the momentum to tumble backwards, coming to rest in a stance mirroring Celevon’s.

“You’d be surprised with that one on how often it’s not my choice,” Uji responded with a wry smile. “Ready yourself!” Uji’s warning was accompanied by clearing the distance between the two of them. Ducking under his opponent's strike, Uji pivoted into a spiral, his foot lashing out towards Celevon’s mid-section. The Prelate’s offhand intercepted the blow, twisting Uji’s ankle nearly to the breaking point while beginning to bring his knife down towards his opponent’s achilles. Without hesitation, Uji grabbed hold of Celevon’s shirt, dropping his weight and pulling his mentor forward into a take down. Celevon landed flat sprawled on his back, pain coursing through him as he caught his breath. Uji knelt nearby rubbing his ankle attempting to restore feeling to it.

Less then a heartbeat later they both returned to their feet and squared off again.

The Onderonian flexed his back as he searched for a tell-tale glint in the damp grass at their feet: his kerambit had been knocked out of his grasp during the Templar’s take-down.

Uji rushed forward the moment he noticed his mentor’s distracted state, his own curved dagger held in a reverse grip as he lashed out with a fist towards the ribs. The Galerian Aedile stumbled as the strike missed, his body just a split-second slower than that of his opponent, who had moved instinctively in a blur.

A sinister sound forced the former Jedi to turn his stumble into a roll as the Qel-Droman reflexively released the retractable wrist-blade of his left bracer. Uji’s quick thinking saved him from a blade to his kidney, though it still carved a line through his trousers and into the meat of his hip. As he followed through the roll, the Templar’s free hand found the molded grip of his mentor’s kerambit in the grass and closed around it.

The Galerian turned to face the Shadicar, a dagger in either hand. A frown creased Uji’s brows at the wide grin that had spread across Celevon’s face. Subconsciously, the Templar shifted into a more defensive stance - his mentor smiling in that manner was never a good sign.

His caution was proven true after a moment when the Onderonian sheathed the wrist-blade and vanished on the spot. The Templar blinked before glancing around, actively searching for the tell-tale shimmer that would give away the Prelate’s position if he moved.

Black smoke suddenly obscured his vision as though it were cued by the very thought, confusing the Templar who waved his hands in an attempt disperse it. It took several more seconds before he realized it was a mere illusion and suppressed the urge to sigh. An amused shake of his head was the only other physical reaction Uji showed as he dropped his hands to his side, remembering another lesson Celevon had emphasised upon.

“Deception is a possible part of any adversary’s arsenal that you must keep in mind. For a Force-user, the ability to distort the minds of others through illusions can make your target even more unpredictable and, therefore, dangerous.”

Just as the Galerian was opening his senses to locate his mentor, the false smoke disappeared as though it were never there. Uji froze as his dark eyes fell upon the bloodied form of his twin sister, prone and unmoving in the grass.

His protective instincts over those he cared for pushed the Templar to abandon the search for his mentor as Uji rushed towards Satsi. The Galerian Aedile dropped to his knees right next to the unmoving figure, fury and concern warring within his mind as he took in the various injuries - it looked as though she had undergone a long interrogation session. Hesitantly, he reached out to check for a pulse.

The moment his hand would have touched smooth skin, the construct vanished. Cold steel against the back of his neck caused Uji to tense moments before he relaxed, bowing his head in a silent admission of defeat.

“I will not make this mistake again, teacher. I swear to it,” the Templar murmured as the sound of the blade retracting hit his ears.

“This is why I teach you, Uji. Once you have learned all that is needed, you will not longer make such errors in judgment.” Celevon extended a hand down to his friend.

Uji glanced at the limb and reached to accept the assistance to his feet when the Shadicar’s hand closed. He glanced up in confusion, only to meet the amused mercurial gaze of his mentor.

“You can get to your feet on your own. I want my dagger.”

The Templar scowled and flipped the blade in his hand as he rose to his feet. Uji shoved the weapon into Celevon’s hand with the only Mandalorian insult he knew: “Shabuir.”

Rather than being insulted, the Onderonian smirked back as he slid the blade into the sheath near his belt. “I never claimed to be nice. Ask your sister the next time you see her; she seems to like it.”

Uji gritted his teeth, glaring at the back of the Prelate’s head as the younger man gathered his coat, sword and lightsaber that littered the courtyard.

• Shabuir - Extreme insult: Jerk, only much more harsh.