You stand in a room, nearly dark but for the pulse of rhythmic flashes of bright colored lights. Besides your opponent and yourself, you note a large number of bystanders who are sure to take exception to the coming carnage. Then again, knowing this crowd, they could just as easily find entertainment in an old-fashioned brawl. Spanky's is, after all, one of the more fashionable drinking establishments of Karufr.

The patrons seem to be a mix between the scantily clad women hawking their charms and the well-dressed gentlemen eager to part with their hard-earned credits. The odors in the tavern assault your senses and threaten to muddle your reflexes. Among them, you recognize over a dozen various types of stimulants—both legal and illegal—and the heady scent of, what is quite possibly, the most varied collection of liquor this side of the Galaxy.

The tavern itself is fraught with tactical advantages and disadvantages. Designed in the familiar style of all amphitheaters, the floor is slightly slanted toward a central stage where a lithe, twi'lek female is currently dancing. Littered amongst the floor are drink tables, heavily laden with glassware and other potential missiles. Uncomfortable, heavy metal chairs surround each of the tables in a semi-circle, so that the occupant's view of the stage is never hindered. The only exit, aside from the doorway where you stand, is a vaulted staircase—guarded by two very well-dressed, and heavily muscled, gentlemen—leading into parts unknown.

Small bars bracket the tavern on either side, filled with a glittering rainbow of bottles. Whatever is about to go down, you realize it would go down better with a stiff drink.

This place is always such a hole in the ground. Bentre glanced around the room, taking another drink of Corellian Ale. He hated the flashing lights, the music, and the people dancing in the middle of the room and on the stage.

It was just too loud between the thundering beats and the taste in music was questionable at best. Between this cacaphony and the pulsing of the lights I don’t know why I keep coming back to this poodoo hole. Bentre scratched his cheek as his gaze returned to the Twi’lek on the stage. At least the view isn’t bad, he mused as he placed the glass down upon the bar.

“Would you like another?” The heavyset bartender paused from wiping a glass and motioned to the empty glass with a filthy rag as he spoke. The Obelisk glanced at the man from the corner of his eye, and shook his head. I don’t need to waste my time drinking myself into unconsciousness.

The Sadowan’s eyes flitted from being to being, his eyes studying each form intently. Surely there has to be some kind of trouble I can get myself into before I head home for the evening. There has to be some fun to be had. Throwing down a few credits, Stahoes glanced over the crowd. There were a fair number of non-humans in the crowd, but it wasn’t until a glint of light flashed from the crowd. It wasn’t very bright. It was probably just light reflecting off of something.

With each pulse of light, he seemed to be getting closer to locating the source of the flashes of light. Finally, his eyes rested on the muscular frame of one of the aliens. The Assassin strode up quickly and quietly. As he drew closer, he recognized the source of the flashes of light. The light is glinting off of the metallic arm. That looks fancy. A smile played at the edges of his mouth. I bet there is a funny story behind that.

As the grinning Human drew closer, the alien’s ears seemd to perk slightly as though had sensed Bentre’s approach. He turned to face the Obelisk. “Is there something I can help you with?” His voice was polite in its question, but there was no kindness in his eyes.

“Uh, well I-” Stahoes opened his mouth, finding himself slightly flustered. His hand moved unconsciously toward his empty holster as he stuttered. As his fingers grasped air, he realized he must have left it on the shuttle. The Cathar, as he could more clearly see now, stood up as he ears bristled with irritation.

“What?” there was a low growl in the voice.

“Oh screw this,” Bentre’s hand dropped to his side. He unclipped his lightsaber and ignited the sapphire blade. A few patrons turned in interest as the Obelisk clasped the weapon in both hands. “This whole evening has been a bust. I am sure you have a nice story behind that souvenir,” he nodded at Arron’s cybernetic arm. “If it was bad enough to lose an arm, I figure you must be a bit tough. So, let’s see what you are made of.”

The Cathar bared his teeth, putting a hand to his own lightsaber. The Krath’s eyes glinted in the flash of a light as he regarded the Obelisk crossly. He seemed to be trying to decide between running or standing and fighting.

After a few moments, the Inquisitor shook his head in a gesture of warning. “Don’t make me hurt you, buddy,” his tone was nowhere as kind as the words may have come across. To punctuate the words, the Cathar ignited his own lightsaber with a snap-hiss, casting a violet light glow from the immediate area surrounding him. He grasped his weapon loosely, and turned his body slightly toward the Obelisk.

This is getting even better now.

“I am not going to let you go easily after a statement like that,” Bentre smiled widely as he waved the sapphire blade challengingly. Closing the gap between them, the Assassin lifted his weapon above his head before he brought his weapon down hard. He was determined to either cleave the Krath in two, or force him into a fight.

This is going to be fun.

The sapphire colored blade came down quickly, and Arron put a stop to it with a horizontal block. His self-proclaimed opponent didn’t lose any momentum, pulling his saber back and trying for a sweep at Arron’s legs.

Rather than blocking this time, the knight leapt back with force enhanced agility, landing on top of the bar and a few feet out of Bentre’s range. By this point most of the customers had fled, with only about a tenth of the previous occupancy being brave/stupid/drunk enough to stay and watch the fight.

“Just what the hell is your problem?” Arron asked with fury in his voice, while his hand moved his lightsaber into a defensive position. He needed to shout for it to be heard over the obscene music, and the mix of cheers and shouts as customers either fled or egged the two Dark Jedi on.

“I was bored and you were here.” was the straightforward reply. Arron could only stare back in reply.

The one night I decide to go to a bar he thought with some disdain. The universe hates me.

His inner monologue was quickly interrupted by the realization that a table had been telekinetically launched at his perch on the countertop, forcing him to leap out of its way back onto the main floor. Arron vaguely noted the loud crashing as several hundred bottles of booze were destroyed before their time, but he had little time to process said tragedy as his assailant chose this time to resume the swordplay.

Despite his obvious drunken state, Bentre’s skills with a saber were clearly not diminished as Arron noted grimly. Enough people had fled he should be able to make a break for it; after all he really had no desire to continue this fight in the first place. It would just be a matter of getting around Bentre, who was currently directly between Arron and the doorway.