Seated within the Glorious Jewel of the Hutts, the Winter Palace is situated on a remote island near the planet’s equator. Although blanketed with the pollution from Hutt industry, its location makes the climate hot and humid. Surrounded with trees and vines, it could be considered to be a paradise, even among the barren wasteland of Nal Hutta. Outside of the Winter Palace, a network of sewer pipes transfer the waste from the palace to wherever seems far enough to dump into the oceans surrounding the island. Flora and fauna that have adapted to the Hutt’s environmental changes thrive in the polluted forests surrounding the Winter Palace.

Stepping through its gilded gates, the lavish interior greets your presence with the main audience chamber. Once belonging to the wealth of Jiliac Desilijic Tiron, the gleaming stone of the main aisle leads up to a Hutt’s dais lined with an expensive carpet. Beautiful tapestries line the high walls, telling of the sordid histories of those who woven them, awaiting execution in Jiliac’s dungeons.

Finally, the antechamber to the throne room is illuminated from above with high-skylighted ceilings. Constructed from lightly colored stone, the antechamber might have been where the late Hutt entertained his guests before an audience with spice and exotic dancers. In the hands of the Hutt Kajidics, however, these traditions have continued as the Winter Palace now serves as a front for criminal and business ventures.

The soothing melodies of harp music and the sweet smell of perfume flooded Turel’s senses as he awoke. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on his back on a carefully arranged piled of plush crimson pillows in what appeared to be a lavishly decorated harem chamber. Such chambers were common in Hutt palaces as a menagerie to keep their pleasure slaves. A flowing fountain dominated the center of the room with a small circular dais on the far side of the room and opulent sofas upholstered in the same deep crimson. A scantily-clad lavender skinned Twi’lek girl skillfully plucked a harp upon the dais, while two more female Twi’lek lounged by the fountain taking a keen interest in the Human. A pair of Gamorrean guards stood vigil by the chamber’s only door.

As he sat up he noticed the leather collar around his neck, with a loop in the front for attaching a chain or leash. Turel also noticed that his clothes were gone and instead he only wore what could generously be described as a maroon loin cloth hung underneath a crescent shaped piece of bronzium metal fastened around his hips with gold chains. The feel of his bare feet on the cold stone floor shocked him as he stood up from his comfy resting place.

Realizing he had no recollection of how he arrived in this place, panic started creeping into the Jedi’s mind. One minute he was conducting business over drinks and the next he woke up here, ball-and-chained. Keep cool, he thought in an attempt to reassure himself. Turel flashed his best Sabaac table smile at the metal-bikini clad Twi’lek girls sitting on the edge of the foundation. “Ladies.”

Turel walked over to a mirror on the wall next to the dais to examine himself. He was as threadbare as he felt, and his skin was slightly redder than usual with nary a hair to be seen, anywhere below his head. When did I get waxed? Why would I get waxed? What have I gotten myself into? He pondered, desperately trying to keep a straight face.

The Jedi’s original mission was to infiltrate the organization of a Zeltron named Lyra Rato, who had been moving into Brotherhood space on behalf of the Besadii Hutt cartel. The Human had managed to work his way into an audience with the crime boss to allegedly negotiate a spice smuggling deal. The whole arrangement was a sham, but it got Turel’s foot in the door to snoop around and establish contacts. Lyra was a woman known to have certain, unconventional appetites. As the Guardian examined his outfit and now hairless body in the mirror, his target’s proclivities became strikingly clear.

Could be worse. Turel pondered as he flexed in the mirror and caught the Twi’lek slave girls admiring him. I could get used to this.

Lyra’s particularly gruff looking Weequay majordomo burst into the chamber before the Human could flirt with his fellow slaves. He was brandishing a chain in his hand. “Come! The mistress wishes to examine her latest acquisition.”

“Oh, I like where this is going.” Turel quipped as the majordomo roughly hooked the chain to his collar and proceeded to lead him down the hallway like a dog with the two guards flanking them from the rear.

---

The Weequay led the Human down a winding hallway that went upward at a smooth incline, clearly designed for Hutt hoverchair access. The walls were lined with intricately detailed tapestries and bust alcoves one would expect in a palace of this size. Turel had seen it all before in his many years working for the Hutts, opulence painted over a very ugly society. Finally, the majordomo led the Jedi into a makeshift throne room where his hostess sat waiting for him. The Zeltron wore skin-tight black leather pants, knee-high boots with a very cliche black corset to complete the ensemble.

Lyra took the chain from the Weequay. “Well well, now you look like a proper pet.” She tugged the chain, forcing Turel to his knees. “You’ve been a very naughty little dog, haven’t you? Telling lies.”

The Human began to panic but endeavored to keep a straight face. What did she know? How did she find out? “Lyra baby listen-” He was cut off as she yanked the chain in disapproval. Taking his cue from the scowling Weequay, Turel continued. “I mean, Mistress, there’s been some kind of mistake; I would never.”

The Zeltron tapped her lip in a mocking gesture of thought. “I don’t know if I can trust anything you say. We found another of your dog friends sniffing around here for you.” A side door opened to the chamber and a pair of Gamorreans dragged in a familiar looking male Miraluka with dark hair. whom Turel immediately recognized his former Qel-Droman comrade. Revs wore his signature jeans and leather jacket and looked a little scuffed up, but otherwise in good condition.

“I have no idea who this man is.” Turel bluffed with confidence.

“Oh? Well in that case you won’t mind fighting him for my amusement then.” Lyra clapped twice to signal the guards who promptly dragged both of the “combatants” to the center of the throne room. Licking her lavender lips, she pointed at Revs. “This one is a little, over-dressed.” The two Gamorreans stripped the Miraluka out his jacket and shirt, leaving him only in his jeans and boots. Twi’lek attendants appeared from seemingly nowhere and hastily rubbed both men down in oil. Lyra nodded with satisfaction once both men’s bare chests were glistening in the ambient light of the throne room. The guards shoved them into the center. “The winner gets to walk out of here and the loser gets to serve me until I tire of him.” She punctuated her edict by playfully tossing back her shoulder length indigo hair.

Just relax and follow my lead. Let’s put on a good show. Turel spoke directly into Revs’ mind, sensing the Miraluka’s confusion.

I’m here to bail you out. The Arconan sent back, referring to the original joint DIA-Sentinel Network operation. “What the frak are you wearing?” Revs inquired audibly as the two began to circle around the center of the room as if they were in a Nar Shaddaa Sumo wrestling ring.

Turel leaned forward and whispered, “Uh, you can see that?”

“I wish I didn’t.”

“This crazy broad waxed me, like all over. I feel like a twelve year old.”

Revs shook his head in disgust. “I couldn’t see that much detail but thanks for the mental imagery.”

Lyra clapped twice again and the Gamorreans around the perimeter of the circle lowered their pikes in a threatening manner. “If you two won’t fight, you’ll die.”

Turel cracked his knuckles. “This is going to hurt you a lot more than it’s going to hurt me.”

“Don’t be so sure of that old man.” Rev retorted.

The two fighters moved into ready stances, Revs stood with his left leg forward and knees slightly bent. His left hand stretched out in front of him while his right was even with his shoulder, poised and ready to throw a punch.

Across from him the Human’s stance was almost identical. Turel’s left leg was forward, but instead of crouching, the Jedi kept his weight on his right leg. His hands were pulled up in something that almost resembled a boxer's stance.

The large room they were in was completely silent, except for the sound of the Crime Boss shifting in her chair impatiently.

"Well, old man, you sure you don't want to give up? She seems like she will at least let you have fun—” The Miraluka's words were cut off as the Peacekeeper punched him in the face.

Revs’ head spun for a second while he recovered from the blow.

"You sucker punching son of a bantha!" he snapped, twisting forward to throw a kick at his opponent’s front leg. Turel spun, avoiding the blow then came back around swinging the back of his hand at the Shadow’s head. Revs gracefully ducked under the blow and countered with two quick jabs to the Human’s stomach. As the Arconan threw a third punch the former Quaestor grabbed his wrist and twisted his body around in an attempt to throw Revs.

The oil that covered their skin caused Turel's hands to slide down Revs’ arm to pull the Knight up against his back.

"Well, this is awkward," Revs said, trying to pull his arm away from from the Jedi.

"Maybe for you," Turel responded before he slammed his elbow into Revs’ abs and pushed him away. The Miraluka let out a small cough as he put one hand on his stomach. That is going to leave a bruise. Until then, Revs had been pulling his punches and not intent on actually hurting his opponent. It seemed he was not going to receive the same courtesy.

Getting back into his ready stance, the young Knight smiled. "You know, I don't really see the need to fight. With all of the half-naked women I've seen around here, I'm sure there are way better forms of entertainment other than watching us fight," he directed at the Zeltron who watched them with a mischievous smirk. "I'm even sure you would enjoy us taking turn_" Revs’ words were cut short as the Jedi punched him yet again in the face.

"I don't share, pup," Turel chuckled.

I've got to learn to quit talking inside of my opponent’s range, the Miraluka thought, wiping away the blood that was trickling from his nose.

"Okay, old man, I'm done playing nice with you. It’s time to fight for real," he snapped as he stepped in, throwing a punch at the Human's face. The Peacekeeper moved his head to the right then moved in aiming a punch at Revs.

The Knight ducked under the blow, sending two quick jabs towards the Human’s ribs and one directed at his armpit. All three blows found their marks and caused Turel to drop his right arm and lower his guard.

Revs sidestepped back in front of his opponent and punched him twice in the face, sending the Quaestor to stumbling backwards. In one quick, fluid motion the Shadow dropped down and kicked Turel's legs out from under him.

As the Human hit the stone floor with a solid thump, Revs jumped back up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Having fun yet, old man?"

The Jedi slowly stood up as the Knight continued shifting from left to right, ready to resume the contest. “Is that all you got? I would have thought Celevon would have taught you more than his moves for light foreplay.” Turel made the quip to keep up appearances, but began to formulate a strategy for getting out of this situation. Lyra was just as apt to butcher them both on the spot as sleep with them, it was about a fifty-fifty split. He didn’t like those odds.

“Well, Cel did say you were good at taking it.” The Miraluka retorted without missing a beat, he could tell from the distortions in the Force surrounding the Jedi that his barb hit home. Everyone else in the room could see Turel’s face turn a bright shade of red at the mention of his former lover.

The Human cocked his head from side to side in a gesture of defiance. “Well if that’s how it’s gonna be.” He extended his left arm out, palm facing inward and made a ‘come here’ gesture to his opponent. “Show me how well you can give it.”

Lyra fanned herself upon the throne in an exaggerated gesture. “Oh, I love it when pets have such spirit. I may just keep both of you and see who I can break in first.” She punctuated her sentence with a promising wink to the combatants.

Turel tried very hard to focus on the task at hand, lest his excitement become visible to all through the flimsy loincloth. Revs launched a barrage of strikes at the Human while continuing to hop around on the balls of feet, probing for weaknesses. Left, right, left; the blows lacked power, but fulfilled their purpose of keeping the Jedi on the defensive. Turel kept his palms open as he either dodged or deflected the Miraluka’s jabs. He managed to rapidly deflect with his left while landing a palm strike to Revs’ solar plexus with his right. The Knight hopped back and threw up his arms in a defensive reflex.

The Jedi did not press the attack, instead he took the opportunity to whisper between pants of breath. “Listen, we still need to get out of here.” Revs discreetly gave Turel a thumbs up to indicate he was onboard with whatever the Jedi had planned. “Just keep up the show for a bit longer, I have an idea.”

“Your sister hits harder than that! Come on old man!” The Miraluka quipped.

Turel shrugged. “That’s probably true. Clearly, you’ve never met Morgan.” Revs frowned when his insult failed to find its mark. “I need you to hit me in the face, just make sure to pull your punch.” He sent to the Miraluka’s mind, who gave an ever-so-slight nod in affirmation. The Human launched into a wild assault, making sloppy attempts at punches and kicks. The Arconan easily fended off the Odantie’s assault and found his opportunity when Turel made an almost absurdly telegraphed attempt at a haymaker. Revs countered by ducking below and to the left of Turel’s incoming blow and landed a solid uppercut to the Human’s jaw. He pulled his punch, as instructed, but put on a convincing show.

The Jedi flopped down to the group in an overly dramatic fashion and feigned unconsciousness. Revs threw both hands in the air in celebration. “Looks like I won after all old man!”

“Indeed you have prevailed,” The Zeltron hostess of the evening’s festivities cooed seductively. “Now about your reward.” She tapped her lip in thought. Turel stood up and made it point to rub his jaw as the crime boss was talking. “I can’t have my pets having bad blood between them. Now kiss and makeup.”

“Excuse me?” Revs blurted out without thinking.

The Zeltron’s gaze intensified on the Miraluka. “You heard me, I want you two to kiss and makeup. Though, I want to see some passion or you are both going to have to be punished in my dungeons by my guards.”

Turel turned to face Revs. “You don’t want to displeasure the mistress now do you?” He slowly walked toward the Miraluka, exaggerating the movement of his hips with each step. Once he got face to face with the Arconan he brushed his left hand slowly up the Knight’s bare chest starting at the navel.

Revs flinched at the Guardian’s touch. “I ain’t like you and Cel man, no offense.”

The Human wrapped his right arm over the Miraluka’s left shoulder and lean closer only instead of a kiss he tilted his mouth toward Revs’ ear. “I know, just listen. Our stuff is on a table behind the throne, when I let go you take the two guards behind me and I’ll take the two behind you. One of us should be able to make it to our weapons.”

“I bet I can take out more guards than you old man.” The Knight whispered back.

“You’re on.” Turel retorted before breaking the embrace and rushing toward the two Gamorreans behind Revs, calling on the Force as he ran. ”A Jedi is never unarmed,” He thought to himself as he traversed the center of the room.