When you are traversing the wild and untouched landscapes of the savannah, just remind yourself that you are never the apex predator. The vast and desolate area of sand, rocks, dead and ancient trees are all the same blood-orange color for a simple reason: to hide your worst nightmare from your sight, the Akul. A large, bipedal and orange furred mammal, the Akul are the top predators that hunt all sorts of bovine, dog, hooved and giant mammals. Using their extraordinary sense of smell, they can trace your scent from days long past and track you down without mercy.

Throughout the Savannah, tall and wispy Turu-grass stretches out into long ranging fields. Watering holes are sparse and spread thin, and the terrain offers little safety from the blazing sun that hangs overhead. When the sun retreats and gives way to moonlight, the Savannah becomes almost chill, but the night is dark and full of wild creatures. In the Savannah, it’s hunt or be hunted.

As dusk befell the windswept savannahs of Shili, the intense heat permeating the vast plains began to recede with the setting sun. Moisture from the humid climate accumulated on the local flora, clinging to the white underside that faced towards the west with the direction of the wind. Stalking to the east treaded the orange-furred beast that plagued these lands, devouring those who ventured too far from the native settlements.

Contrary to the cool breeze sweeping through the plains, sweat clung to the pack hunters’ rust-coloured bodies after tracking the creature for weeks on end. As it drew nearer, the Togruta drew their spears and readied themselves for the final moments of the hunt.

“Draw your bow, Kalee.” whispered the eldest of the hunters, crouched low beneath the canopied cover of tall grass shielding them. Kalee, the second of his daughters retrieved a crude arrow from a quiver fastened around her hip and set it against the nock point. Feeling the rise and fall of her diaphragm as her heartbeats began to slow, the soft-featured woman awaited the final command.

Each minute seemed like an hour, lingering for an eternity before the elder breathed “Attack!”

In one, single motion her fingers tightened around the feathered shaft and relaxing them to the sound of an audible ‘twang’. Turu-grass parted in the projectile’s wake before it came to rest in the beast’s stomach. Lodged in place with the aid of several barbs along the arrowhead, it created a deep wound that bled profusely and stained the grass a deeper shade of crimson.

Just then, the beast attacked as only cornered animal would. Before the Togruta had time to act, the beast snapped its jaws around the elder’s torso. Bones snapped under the intense pressure while razor-sharp teeth cut into flesh. Falling limp in the Akul’s embrace, the Togruta elder was lifted from his feet. Clamping down on its would-be hunter, the monster shook its prey violently. With each shake, the creature’s fangs buried themselves deeper into his flesh.

“No!” his daughter shouted with her face streaked in tears. Sensing imminent death, the Akul tossed aside its meal and darted out of the crossfire. Cradling the head of her barely-conscious father, she gave his last order, “Kill the beast!”

Hearing the commotion from several meters from the pack hunter’s ambush, A’lora Kituri raced in the opposite direction. She was determined to close the creature’s escape before it could harm another village.

She arrived too late. Amidst the bloodstained ground, the beast was dead.

However, it had not died from where the arrow found its mark. It bore a fresh wound, piercing the creature’s ribs and passing through the heart. Its death would have been painless, compared to what the angered hunter would have intended.

“These wounds, from a slugthrower.” A’lora Kituri mused to herself. However, her investigation was cut short when the elder’s daughter came running from the taller grass with bow in hand.

“The beast… is it dead?” Kalee asked, “I demand to know if my father is avenged.”

“It is, but I arrived too late.” the lavender-skinned seer responded with the calm one would expect of someone devoted to the White Current. Her soothing demeanour vanished the next moment, when a familiar presence revealed itself to her. Her features hardened, replaced with a ferocity few could match.

Letting loose a gaping grin, Turel Sorenn walked out to meet them. “Good thing I was here on time,” he boasted, examining the glistening form of the Fallanassi with interest. Beads of sweat rolled from her shoulders, showing fleeting signs of weariness from chasing down the orange-furred mammal. Her toned form was accentuated underneath the light garments she wore, baring most of her patterned abdomen.

“Surprised to see the prodigal son return?” He teased, creasing a brow in mock concern. A’lora let out an audible sigh. She had grown accustomed to the silence of the Praxeum’s halls and had forgotten her lack of patience to deal with the former Odanite. In truth, she was far more interested in how he came to arrive on Shili. Few, besides Vorsa knew of her frequent visits to her home world.

Just then, Kalee shifted her bow in his direction. Her fingers gripped the arrow’s nock lightly with one hand while the limbs buckled under the strength of her draw, “On time? Our pack’s leader is dead, off-worlder.”

Supernatural reflexes guided the seer’s quarterstaff in the projectile’s path, the arrowhead making a ‘thunk’ against the wooden barrier. Turel smirked inwardly at the kind gesture - he would need to remind her of it later.

“Apologies,” the Jedi responded, calling on the Force to project calm into the woman’s thoughts. He hardly had time to comfort the native before being walloped over the head for his moment of foolishness.

“Ouch, what the frak was that for?”

A’lora continued with the momentum of her swing, guiding the blunt staff to rest at her feet. “That,” she scolded, “is for allowing Vorsa to become Pravus’ Herald. She was your master, Sorenn.”

Throwing up his hands in defeat, Turel’s mocking façade remained plastered on his face. “Her choice - not mine,” he reminded, “besides, she asked me to make sure you weren’t dragging the Jedi into some vision-induced war against the Brotherhood. How could I refuse such a tempting offer?”

A’lora almost scoffed at his candor, “Vorsa might have had the patience to deal with your judgement, but I certainly do not.”

For a moment, Turel looked hurt at her refusal, “You wound me!”

Cracking a grin of her own, she reached for the hilt of her lightsaber, “I’m just getting started.”

Kalee placed herself between the Seer and the Human, a fresh arrow in her bow aimed at Turel’s heart. Tears still streamed down the Togruta’s face in a mixture of grief and rage. “No, Fallanassi! This off-worlder denied me my vengeance against the beast who took my father’s life and now he shall taste my revenge!”

A’lora shifted her saber hilt into her left hand and approached the grieving youth. The Seer gently placed her right hand on the bow and slowly pushed it down. “There has been enough death today, but rest assured this outsider will be taught a lesson he shant soon forget.” Kalee looked up at the Fallanassi with confusion displacing the rage. A’lora patted the young warrior on the shoulder then hardened her gaze at Turel. “I shall fight the off-worlder, for the honor of the tribe, for sullying a sacred hunt and-” She paused as her own emotions rose to the surface. “For allowing my spirit-sister to wander into darkness when he could have stopped it.” The Seer waited until Kalee had rejoined the rest of the hunting party at a safe distance before igniting her saberstaff. “Defend yourself, off-worlder!”

Turel nearly fumbled his own saber in a state of shock as he struggled to assume a ready position. He ignited his own single azure blade, thoroughly confused as to what exactly was going on here. He came to Shilli to bring the Seer back to New Tython for some diplomatic incident that required the High Councilor. The Guardian could sense that A’lora’s anger was genuine but that she also did not intend to take his life, yet. A gut instinct told him that he needed to play along and engage his Consul in this ritual combat. Besides, this could be fun.

The Human’s confusion gave way to confidence; he had never crossed sabers with A’lora before and relished the chance to demonstrate his own skills. “Very well, boss. If that’s the way it’s gonna be.” He punctuated the sentence by twirling his saber around in an elaborate flourish.

A cool breeze rustled the Turu-grass as the hum of the lightsabers overpowered the ambient sounds of the savannah. The hunting party waited with baited breath as the two Jedi stood opposite each other for a few tense moments. A’lora sprung first, like a jungle cat sprinting for the kill, saberstaff in hand trailing behind her as she ran. The Human stood his ground with a two-handed low-ready grip on his hilt as the Togruta darted from side to side closing the distance.

As A’lora shifted from left to right, Force-spawned doppelgangers appeared and continued along the same trajectory. Turel found himself under assault by not one, but three angry Seers charging toward him. The Human flashed a knowing grin. It was a nice trick and would likely work on someone not as well versed in the art of illusion like he was. He closed his eyes and brought his saber up to block the blazing verdant blade of the A’lora on the left side, the true one.

“Nice moves boss-whoa!” His quip was interrupted by a barrage of strikes from the Fallanassi’s saber-staff. Turel hated saber staves, as they had two ends to keep track of that could strike in far more rapid succession than even two single bladed sabers could. He could almost admire the beauty and grace with which the Torgruta twirled the staff and pirouetted around him, probing for weakness in his flanks. The staff flowed from strike to strike as a seamless extension of the Seer’s own body. It was all the Human could do to keep from losing too much ground; he had no time for offensive strikes of his own as each parried blow was followed by another from the opposite side of the saberstaff.

The Human felt his body sweat and his lungs burning as the warmth of the dusk Savannah and exertion of defending against such a relentless assault took its toll. He found himself having to give more and more ground just to avoid being sliced into bait. A’lora came in close as she twisted her torso to bring the saberstaff to her right side. The Torgruta launched a close range horizontal strike from her right to her left, striking with the top side of the staff. She leaned forward, swatting Turel’s saber away with the top side of the saber while continuing the motion with the bottom side. The Seer pulled her left arm in while extending her right bringing the bottom half of the staff in a direct arc toward Turel’s now undefended head. The Human began to try to dodge in vain, but it was too late.

As the staff began its arc, A’lora deactivated the bottom blade with just enough time for the plasma to dissipate before striking Turel. The base of the saberstaff hilt struck Turel on the left cheek with all the force A’lora could muster at that moment. The Human reeled backward with his head hunched over and his saber in his right hand in a defensive gesture while he nursed his face with his left. A’lora did not press the attack and allowed some distance to form between them, panting for breath herself and soaked in sweat.

”What’s the big deal boss? You could have taken my head off just then!” Turel sent directly to his Consul’s mind as he spat a small amount of blood into the Shili dirt.

”Exactly.” Came her reply directly into his mind as she smiled, still panting from the exertion.

Turel was not sure if he should be terrified or excited by his recent near death experience. Maybe it was the way the sweat glistening in the dusk sun highlighted the curves of her torso and bustline or maybe it was this cocky, playful side he had not yet seen of his Consul but the Human found himself strangely turned on in this most inappropriate of moments.

Silhouetted against the fading sun, Turel Sorenn and A’lora Kituri circled one another as the native Togruta gathered around to watch the spectacle unfold. Howling their praise at each successful blow or parry, the Togruta cheered for their own honour-contestant that promised to teach the offworlder a lesson.

Sweat rolled off the Togruta’s lavender form, gathering as it trailed down her figure unrestricted to land at her feet, soaking the now-flattened turu-grass that marked their arena. Eschewing modest attire in favour of hand-stitched articles that left most of her abdomen bare, A’lora could feel the cool breeze against her glistening skin. It reinvigorated her limbs after the exertions of a swift, but otherwise draining exhibition of her battle prowess.

For a moment, seeing the sight of the exhausted Consul donned in threadbare clothing made Turel forget his own exhaustion. He was reminded of his weariness when the dark-coloured fabric of his utilitarian uniform clung to his torso, soaked through with dark patches where the sweat gathered with no means of escape. After removing the form-fitting jacket, he considered abandoning the drenched shirt that clung to his chest; however, the tribe had grown impatient as he struck a worried glance at the one who just moments ago had tried to riddle him with arrows.

Without a moment’s notice, the Fallanassi called her legs to action. Gliding across the distance on powerful, toned legs she constantly changed her angle of approach. With each footfall, her movements were accentuated as the native’s cheers were replaced with the opening verse of a battle-hymn that adjusted in tempo to match the combatant’s movements. For one moment, she was racing towards his left flank before darting to the right, shifting the twin-bladed staff to her left hand before beginning the momentum of her first barrage.

“Almost had me fooled, boss.” Turel smirked, calling the Togruta’s bluff. Shifting his feet to match the trajectory of the ferocious attack, his own teal blade pirouetted to deflect both ends of the saberstaff before either could strike, ending the momentum leading into the Consul’s next blow. After their initial encounter, Turel watched the grace and movements of his Consul with interest, criticizing her form to himself, probing for holes that he could exploit. The limitations in a saberstaff’s range of motion made it too cumbersome to switch sides as easily as one could with a single blade. Instead, it relied on momentum to keep the twin blades rotating fast enough to block from virtually every angle while following through with the other blade to ignore an opponent’s defenses. Interrupting that flow gave Turel the upper hand, leaving him holding all of the cards.

His gamble had paid off. Deflecting the initial strike and counterblow of the opposite blade disrupted the rhythm of the assault long enough for Turel to have his revenge. With his free hand, Turel gave the lavender-skinned Togruta a smack across the rear while she recovered her lightsaber’s original pattern. The song broke in that moment, their audience giving into laughter despite their honour-chosen combatant having been humiliated in such a manner.

“I’ll have you bruised for that.” A’lora shouted after him, turning her face a darker shade of purple than Turel thought possible.

“Oh? I would be surprised if we both weren’t already bruised.” He quipped, delighting in the astonished face of his Consul. At the time, he relished the idea of subjecting the High Councillor to this embarrassment in front of her own kind. Unfortunately, he now realized the error in his judgement that left him too close to mount a proper defense. On the other hand, it left too little room for A’lora to retaliate without taking a step forward.

What he didn’t anticipate, was the anger-stricken face of his Consul staring back at him past fierce features. She snarled, contorting the mask of white markings covering her face. Turel was stunned, fearing for an instant that she might use those sharpened fangs; which, now that he thought of it, wasn’t so much of a bad idea. Before his senses finally returned to him, the last image he could make out was that of his High Councillor’s forehead as she lowered it against his.

Cartlidge cracked under the blunt force of the hollowed montrals making contact with the Human’s nose. The impact alone was enough to send him reeling far enough to regret his mistake. It took all of his concentration to avoid topping over his own Karpaki Fifty Sniper Rifle, which would have had him writhing at the feet of Kalee.

Determined not to let his intrusion stand without facing the consequences, A’lora grabbed onto the end of her quarterstaff - a gift given to her from Vorsa’s own branches. Still planted within the circle of red-white turu-grass, the force needed to recover the staff from the ground served as the leverage needed to swing the opposite side into the Human’s midsection.

Turel doubled over, winded from the pressure exerted on his lungs. The elder’s daughter shifted her gaze from his crumpled form to that of the Fallanassi’s and grinned a venomous smile.

“So outsider, have you learned your place?”

There is a time when a wise Sabaac player knows when to fold, when a reasonable person would call it quits. The logical part of the Human’s brain was screaming at him to just take the beating and be done with it. That voice of reason, was only a whisper now; pride’s rallying anthem presently held sway over him. Even growing up in some of the roughest boroughs of Nar Shaddaa, Turel didn’t know when to back down. Sometimes that persistence paid off, mostly it just landed him in a med bay.

The Guardian waived his left arm at Kalee in a dismissive gesture as he slowly rose to his feet, his face and chest burning with each millimeter of movement. “Not quite yet, I’m a bit of a slow learner when it comes to ‘my place’ in the order of things.”

The Fallanassi had already turned her back to Turel at this point, believing the fight was concluded. She smiled before turning back to face her opponent. The Human’s defiant spirit pleased A’lora; she would have it no other way. Beneath the man’s uncouth, juvenile and often lecherous exterior lies the soul of a noble warrior. That was the man she place her faith in when she named him to the Council, that was the Jedi who she foresaw standing at the forefront of the armies of light in the coming darkness, and most importantly that is what made him a worthy apprentice to V’yr Vorsa.

A’lora watched with interest as Turel removed his belt and holster, placing his saber hilt and holstered pistol off to the side with his rifle. The Human slowly removed his soaked undershirt and tossed it aside. The Togruta found herself momentarily turning a darker shade of lavender as she admired the chiseled curves of his chest and abdomen sparkling with tiny beads of sweat like diamonds in the dusk sun. He cracked his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders to try to shake off the previous blows. The Guardian was getting a little bit of a second wind and he intended on making the most of it.

The now unarmed Human held out his right arm at the Togruta and made a taunting, ‘come here’ gesture. The tribe resumed their rhythmic chorus of battle as the Fallanassi set her saber hilt down and drove her wooden staff into the ground. The challenge had been issued and would be answered. ”I won’t go easy on you,” she broadcast to his mind. “I’d be disappointed if you did,” he sent back with a smirk. He still had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, his face and chest were throbbing with some visible bruises, but he was not about to tap out.

Several members of the tribe began to root for the off-worlder, even as they continued their proud battle song. A’lora calmly stepped forward, “Very well, you have proven to be a worthy foe this day off-worlder.” The Torgruta charged forward toward the Human. Her speed was noticeably slower than before as the previous engagements and the hunt had taken their toll, but the Seer was still a force to be reckoned with. She immediately launched into a right cross aimed directly at the Guardian's bruised face.

Turel leaned backwards to dodge A'lora's blow just barely regaining his balance before his opponent followed up with a Force-enhanced left kick. Blocking the blow with his left forearm, he felt the impact all too clearly, wincing in pain.. The Human countered with a strike from his left side which A'lora nearly fell over trying to evade. The rhythm of the tribe's song sped up as the two combatants began to exchange blow after blow. Strike, block, kick, evade, the cycle went on for what felt like minutes and hours to the exhausted combatants though only seconds may have passed.

The Togruta immersed herself into the flowing currents of the Force, feeling Turel's next strike moments before it would land. The Seer tensed her muscles in anticipation, putting those precious seconds to good use. Feeling his stamina start to give out, Turel attempted a risky right haymaker in an attempt to end the bout. A’lora was ready for him. In a smooth motion she ducked slightly to her right, grabbed his right wrist with her left hand and directed his momentum away. She channeled as much un-enhanced strength into her right arm as she could, leveraging her entire torso and body into the blow. Her counter connected right on target, striking Turel's already bruised left cheek.

The Human stumbled back in shock as his already throbbing face now burned with such intensity that it threatened to overpower his concentration. Before he could regain his senses, A'lora connected a solid kick right to the hunched over Guardian's chin. Turel went limp and fell backwards onto the turu grass, out cold.

---

When Turel came to it was night out and he found himself on a mat next to a bonfire in the village. He was surprised to find two young females from the village painting intricate patterns on his bare chest. The tickle of the wet brushes must have been what woke him. "Hold still, they are nearly done," A'lora stated with an almost serene calm. The Human complied and remained still for a few minutes until the young females finished their work with simultaneous nods of satisfaction, muttered something Turel did not understand with a bow and scurried off to join the others.

Turel looked up to see A'lora sitting next to his head in a meditative pose. "How long was I out?" He inquired as he noticed his face feeling swollen.

"A few hours." The Seer replied matter of factly.

The Human looked down at the patterns on his chest, which were artfully placed with verdant colored paint. "What's with the war paint?"

A'lora smiled. "The tribe made you an honorary warrior." She paused. "And before you ask, yes it comes off."

"But I got my butt kicked?" The Guardian remarked with confusion.

The Togruta nodded. "Indeed you did, but you fought well. You did not yield in the face of a stronger opponent, you fought until you physically could not continue. That showed that you have a warrior's spirit. I avenged the Chief's honor and the stolen kill when I beat you, but you proved your own honor in how you fought."

Turel sat silent for moment as he took all this in; he certainly didn't expect to be honored for taking a beating like that from a female. "Look, I'm sorry about during the fight-" He was interrupted when A'lora raised a hand for him to be silent.

"You got caught up in the moment, just never let it happen again or I'll have to leave you with even more bruises next time."

"Yes ma'am." He replied with no small amount of relief in his voice. "Just one question though, those girls with the body paint just now, what did they call me?"

A'lora smiled wide. "Loosely translated they called you sapling, for Vorsa would have been proud of you today."

Turel beamed for a moment, the name was somewhat silly, but he could think of no higher honor he could receive.