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.

A light breeze could blew through the courtyard, shaking the leaves in the nearby trees and bringing a slight chill to the air, a chill that was welcomed by the Miraluka who was running through the garden. The wind failed to reveal to him just where his master was hiding though, lying in wait to ambush him.

Sweat dripped down Revs’ forehead and caused his hair to stick to his face and back. He had long since shed his jacket and shirt, trying to stay cool. His blaster and lightsaber bounced at his hip, attached to his belt. Marick Arconae had this training session to help build the assassin’s endurance, while also making him keep his senses alert. It consisted of Revs running around the courtyard while the Hapan would hide and attack him when he thought the Miriluka wasn't aware.

The Elder Grey Jedi had tripled the training sessions the pair did each week after they both had been marked as undesirables. The rigorous exercise had started wearing the Miraluka down and was starting to show. Revs could feel his legs growing tired as he approached the large tree near the end of the courtyard. A tingle ran down his spine as he passed into the shade of the lower branches, alerting him to incoming attack.

Revs dove forward, rolling out of the way as the Arconae landed where the young Knight had been less than a second before. The Miraluka sprang to his feet and turned quickly, kicking at his Master's left knee. The Shadicar hopped backwards a couple of feet to avoid the blow and stood before his Shadesworn apprentice with his emerald dagger drawn, poison glistening on its blade. He didn't really want to hurt Revs, but pain was an excellent teacher, he knew well. Marick moved with speed enhanced by the Force, striking out at his apprentice.

Revs, also using the Force to amplify his movements, managed to avoid the blade and catch his Master's arm. Using Marick's momentum against him, Revs managed to turn quickly and throw the Hapan over his shoulder. The Elder seemed to recover without any effort, and rolled back to his feet with ease.

The Hapan’s voice was smooth and calm to the point that it sent goosebumps over Revs’ skin “You have to stay more alert, Apprentice. There will be an unlimited number of assassins hunting you now, for their Master’s favor. It will not matter how tired you are, or how long you've fought. They will take advantage of your weakness. You must get stronger if you are to survive. “

The Miraluka thought back to the three assassins that had tried to take his life within the last month alone, one of which has almost succeeded in killing him.

“I understand, Master. I will do better,” Revs panted as he tried to catch his breath.

“Don’t say you will — do,” Marick stated coldly as he cloaked himself in the Force, fading away. Taking the hint that this training session was far from over, Revs resumed running his laps around the courtyard, making sure to keep senses alert this time.

Marick Arconae watched as Revs returned to his running regimen around the courtyard. The Miraluka had shown promise during his Journeyman trials, and had remained loyal to Arcona through the trials and strifes of the vendettas and war that followed. Revs had also been one of the first of the few Knights to show up when Marick had put out an offer to train the next generation of Arcona’s Shadicar. After the dust had settled, however, the cadre of Arconan assassins had dwindled down to two: Master and Apprentice.

Cloaked in the shroud of the Force, Marick ghosted away from the center of the courtyard to give himself some space from his apprentice. The Miraluka were born with both a blessing and a curse. Fortunately, the Adept had experience training one before, so the lessons he had imparted to his new apprentice still held true. He watched, silent as the shadows cast by the sun overhead, as the Knight wiped sweat from his brow.

Sticking to his training, Revs remembered to keep his head on a swivel, constantly turning and listening and looking all around him with his unique spectrum of vision. Reaching out through the Force would not help, since he knew that Marick could mask his signature even while cloaked. And even if he could detect his Master that way, he could never be sure if it was a trap or not. In the past, Marick had purposely waited over an hour before striking. Those instances had driven Revs to storm out of lessons on more than one occasion.

With those thoughts no doubt hovering in the back of his mind, Revs was focusing instead on the world around him, seeking for clues and warnings that would alert him to danger. It could have been something as simple as a displacement in the blades of grass around the courtyard here, or the sound of a twig crunching underfoot there. Attacks could come from anywhere, at anytime, and anyplace.

That was the lesson for today.

Marick continued to wait, idly calculating and timing Revs’ pace. The Combat Master knew that the mind often broke down before the body, so he was pleasantly surprised at how his apprentice never seemed to back away from the task at hand. Revs wanted to get better, stronger and faster. The Knight also knew that the Arconae’s teachings were the key. His determination came from a strength of heart, rather than from the resilient willpower of the mind. Marick could work with that. Mold it, even.

Marick drew one of his shoto lightsabers from his belt and bent into a crouch. His eyes narrowed as he focused and drew a bead on his apprentice. Just as the Miraluka was about to reach the farthest point from the Hapan’s position, Marick thumbed the activator and sent it flying through the air like a throwing glaive.

---

Though he detected no movement or changes to his immediate surroundings, Revs heard a faint, familiar sound from across the courtyard. He slowed his jog to a halt. It sounded just like...

“Oh frak me...” he grumbled as his Master’s lightsaber appeared out of thin air and made a beeline for his torso. The spinning plasma blade quickly crossed the distance of the courtyard as it homed in.

Duck, the Force whispered, and the Miraluka’s muscles obeyed. Revs dropped down to the mossy ground with both hands spread to either side of his chest.

“WOAH!” Revs shouted as the scything blade whizzed through the space his head had occupied a moment ago. “Are you actually trying to kill me, Master!?”

His muscles bowed and flexed as he pushed off of the ground and back up into a standing position, fumbling for the blaster pistol at his belt. Marick offered no response but to simply raise his open hand and gesture. Guided by the Force, the Adept’s lightsaber completed its parabolic arc and pinwheeled back around for a second pass at the back of Rev’s neck.

Reflex preceded precognition as Revs twisted and spun out to his right. He managed to keep his balance by bending his knees and spreading his stance, the whirring lightsaber passing harmlessly by on its return path. He raised his blaster and fought to get his breathing under control as he took aim and fired a volley of bolts in his Master’s direction.

Marick was already in motion, juking and weaving his way through the stream of crimson dashes. His shoto saber returned seamlessly to his open palm and immediately went to work batting aside each of Revs’ next shots.

But Revs had been counting on just that. He knew that landing a hit on his Master with a blaster was pointless. It did slow him down enough for the Miraluka to try and think of what to do next. The courtyard offered no immediate answer, though. That really only gave him one option.

Quickly holstering his blaster, Revs whipped out his lightsaber and snapped the emerald blade to life. He exhaled slowly as he turned his shoulder and extended the tip of his lightsaber outward. His knees bent as his heels slid perpendicular to one another to form a right angle. His free hand flared behind him for balance. No sooner than he had settled into his dueling stance, Marick was on him, cyan and jade plasma hissing angrily as their sabers collided.

The Adept’s blade angled hard to the left before cutting quickly back to the right. Revs flicked his wrist in time with the motion, meeting each strike on the inside of his opponent’s saber to deflect it outward and away from his body. His feet wove smoothly backwards through the grassy courtyard as he ceded to the Hapan’s kinetic, sweeping slashes. While Marick’s shoto lightsaber had less reach than Rev’s, his freakish reflexes limited any attempt of leveraging that factor towards his favor.

He hesitated momentarily when Marick seamlessly passed his lightsaber from his left hand to the right. Without skipping a beat, the Adept twisted and spun in the opposite direction, sweeping his blade low for Revs’ knees. Revs hopped backwards, planted on his hind leg and then darted forward with augmented speed. He swung high with a backhanded slash and followed it up with a flourish. Marick leaned away from the first and parried the second, but had lost enough ground for Revs to continue his counter.

The Miraluka thrusted and jabbed the tip of his saber into Marick’s gut three times. The Hapan’s saber bounced back and forth between the first two as he started to spin away, but the third caught the trailing fabric of his longcoat. It was not much, but Revs felt himself smile at the notion of almost landing a fatal blow on his Master.

Before any further sense of triumph could sink in, Marick become a blur and called a second weapon into his off hand. Revs reflexively parried the Hapan’s saber high and to the left, but left his flank dangerously exposed. Marick capitalized on the opening by rolling smoothly off of the cross-block and lashing out for the Miraluka’s side, quick as a vornskyr tail.

The offhand dagger drew a thin line of blood that trailed the arc of the emerald blade. The Knight swore as he backpedaled a few paces and touched his side. His hand came away sticky and, on a hunch, he lifted it towards his nose and sniffed.

“Frak,” he spat. It smells like Deadnettle, no, Nightfern no...I really should pay more attention when he lectures.

Then the pain of the neurotoxic poison that had coated Marick’s dagger blossomed as it flared through the Miraluka’s bloodstream. He yelped and doubled over, stubbornly staying on his feet and keeping his blade ignited and between himself and his opponent.

Marick watched his apprentice calmly and waited. It was a small dose, and the cut shallow. Revs would still be able to fight, but he would have to do so through the pain. He slid the emerald dagger back into the sheath on his boot, deactivated and stowed his lightsaber. He replaced it with the curved Inquisitorius dagger from his belt.

Revs staggered backward a few steps, trying to put distance between Marick and himself. Whatever type of toxin the Adepts emerald blade had been coated in was rapidly spreading through his bloodstream, giving the Miraluka the feeling that knives were stabbing him all over.

The Arconan spoke coldly as he started to circle around his Apprentice. “Well? Did you even listen to my lessons? What type of poison is running through your veins?”

The frak do I know? Revs thought as he stepped in sequence with Marick, keeping the tip of his lightsaber pointed at his opponents’ head. He had learned from prior lessons that when one did not know the answer, it was just best to remain silent.

“No, of course you didn't. I take it that means you don't have an antidote ready for it either, and I take it from the fact you are starting to tremble that you haven't learned to filter toxins with the Force yet, either?”

Karkin’ observant ass son of a bantha, The Miraluka swore to himself. He had intended to learn that technique, but other priorities had come up. Yea, what's her name was totally a priority.

“Of course not. I guess I will just finish this quick now so I can stop wasting time,” the Hapan said irritably. He dove forward, ducking under the green lightsaber blade as he slashed at Revs’ chest.

The younger Arconan managed to sidestep at the last second, avoiding the Inquisitor's blade by less than an inch. Revs stumbled back a few steps and turned to bring his lightsaber down at his Master's back, only to be picked up and thrown through the air by an invisible wave of Force energy.

He could feel his chest tighten as his breath was knocked out of him upon impacting the ground. The toxin from his previous wound had intensified, and the pain was starting to overwhelm him. The junior Assassin could hear the elders footsteps crunching the falling leaves as he moved toward his downed Apprentice.

In an act of desperation Revs drew his blaster from his side and fired one shot off at Marick. A small feeling of triumph came over him when he heard that Hapan curse, followed by the thump of his body hitting the ground.

“For the love of the Force, Revs! You shot me in the knee!” Marick hissed through gritted teeth.

“Well I guess I need more practice, because I was aiming for your head,” The Shadesworn said as he tried to laugh through the pain.

“I am going to make you pay for this later, Apprentice,” the Hapan barked

“Yea, well, right now I think we need to figure out how to explain to K’tana that we both ended up in the hospital from a training exercise,” Revs forced out through gritted teeth as another wave of pain washed over him. Hopefully some help would get here soon.

Pain.

Revs knew the many shapes it could take. Marick had been creative in exploring the different kinds of assaults he would be expected to face. An invasion of the mind could reduce the body to rubber, and lead to fatality. Broken fingers did a better job of crippling an opponent than a shot to the body, inevitably leading to an opening for a lethal blow. Come to think of it, every kind of “pain” that Revs had become familiar with under his apprenticeship to the Combat Master could lead to some kind of undesirable outcome.

By contrast, the straightforward pain-inducing toxin was a relief. At least he could fight this, head on, instead of worrying about his own shadow lashing out and strangling him. Or something like that. He had heard rumors that the Arconae had once been able to do such a thing. He had never seen any proof, of course, so he wrote it off as tall tales they told to scare journeyman.

Speaking of shadows, Marick stood stoically as one just a few paces away. The Hapan looked perfectly at ease with his dagger held in standard grip at his side. It was hardly a proper stance for any kind of melee fighter, but Revs had seen his Master go from sitting to throat-slitting in the blink of an eye. Or, well, what he assumed would be as quickly as one blinking their eyes.

The Miraluka could identify the blade more from the shape than any markings that made it distinct. He knew that it was the dagger reserved for only the highest ranking Inquisitors. Without saying it, Marick had presented him with another potential obstacle he might face. Revs was about to make a comment about how the Inquisitorius dagger was actually a knife--based on the shape and single edge--but was interrupted by a surge of liquid fire in his gut that nearly caused him to cry out.

“Damn poison,” he grumbled as he recalled a discussion from earlier in the week.

“Martial ability is only good for as long as you could maintain it. You either need to strike quickly and efficiently the first time, or be prepared to handle the consequences of a drawn out encounter.”

“So, what you’re saying is: ‘I need to either crap, or get off the pot?’”

“...I guess you could look at it that way, sure.”

Revs grinned as the memory flitted from his mind as quickly as it had come. He should have spent more time listening and less time focusing solely on just his fitness routine. He should have spent more time meditating. He should have studied the Force beyond what it could do to enhance his natural abilities. He should have done this, and he should have done that. Well, none of that really mattered now, did it? Without the Force to push away the pain, he would simply need to do things the old fashioned way.

His way.

The Knight took a deep breath through parted lips. He counted off numbers in his head as he slowly exhaled through his nose. He tuned out the chirping of the birds and the ambient chatter that the wind carried through the courtyard. All that mattered now was to show his Master what he was made of, and finish the fight.

Revs lurched forward and lead with a high slash from his lightsaber. Marick slid backwards just enough to dodge, idly spinning his dagger-knife between his fingers. As the saber completed its downward arc, Revs deftly flicked his wrist and reversed the blades momentum with a backhanded sweep. The emerald beam of plasma passed harmless in front of the Adept's midsection as he shuffled backwards and away from the rest of Knight’s follow up strike sequence.

The Miraluka knew that he would not be able to do much against Marick in a head-on melee, even if he had not been fighting off the effects of a debilitating poison. He did have two things going for him, however. First, he had spent so much time sparring with his Master that he felt he had a pretty good understanding of his style of combat. Second, he had the distinct advantage of his lightsaber’s longer reach. Who said size did not matter? Clearly someone who was not very good at handling their sword.

Rev’s lightsaber thrummed as he spun the blade through a series of tight spirals and cross-cuts. As his speed increased with the aid of the Force, the Miraluka had to bite down hard and grind his molars, chewing on the pain that was coursing through him. His Master bobbed around each attack, feet weaving smoothly through the grass even as he backpedaled through it. Revs knew he had to keep the Hapan on the defensive while also tuning his senses for a flank or a feint.

Nothing else mattered but the attack and defense of a classic duel. This was where Revs felt most at home. There was no rhetoric or philosophy. There was just saber and blade, footwork against footwork, technique against technique.

His lightsaber whipped left and right, spinning into a flourish. The Knight was rewarded as more strips of cloth from the Combat Master’s jacket started to singe and then dissolve as they trailed in his evasive wake. Each swing hastened with purpose as he felt he was getting closer to scoring a hit.

Marick leapt over a low sweep that was meant for his knees and landed deftly to the right of Rev’s. The Knight pivoted neatly on his back foot and snapped his blade down and to the side. This would force Marick to quickly retract the dagger-knife to avoid being seared in half by the saber. This was also something Revs had working in his favor.

Except Marick’s dagger-knife did not retreat. Instead, it met his lightsaber head on. The blade hissed in protest against the superheated saber, but did not break or bend. There was a metaphor in that realization, but Revs was too preoccupied to call it out.

“Wait, that thing can deflect a lightsaber!? How is that even fair--”

Marick must have augmented his strength with the Force as he held the blade-lock in place with one hand while the other blurred into a series of quick blows. The first was a palm to the Miraluka’s jaw. The second was a fist to the gut. The third was more of a grapple than a strike as the Hapan stepped in close, grabbed a hold of Rev’s wrist and flipped him over his shoulder.

The Knight felt a strange sense of vertigo as his vision inverted and gravity took control of his body. His twisted awkwardly and felt the pain flare double as he hit the ground with enough force to send the wind rushing out of his lungs.

Revs’ lightsaber collapsed and clattered to the side. Marick moved like quicksilver and pinned the Miraluka down with a knee to the chest and a dagger pressing into the meaty flesh of his neck.

“So what did we learn today,” Marick asked, his voice calm and cool as a winter breeze.

“That you’re a frang-faced nerf that has to resort to cheap tricks just to pin me down?”

“Knowledge is power, Revs. Know your enemies, and what tools they can use against you.”

Marick smoothly pushed himself away from his apprentice and rose to his feet. He reached into his coat pocket and took out a vial of liquid. An antidote. He casually dropped it next to his apprentice. The small vial disappeared between the tiny blades of the green grass.

“Take the rest of the afternoon off to recover. We start again at first light tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

With that, the Combat Master turned and walked off, leaving his apprentice to reflect on today’s lesson.