Hidden in Felucia’s jungle lies a two hundred meter expanse marking the ancient burial site of this world’s deadliest creatures and the location of innumerable remnants of hundreds, if not thousands of rancors. A circular enclosure of sun-bleached bones are arranged in the center of the cemetery—no doubt the former dwelling of a powerful practitioner of the Force. Cobwebs cling to the fallen beasts, a testament to the primordial age of some of the creatures.

Somewhat obscured by surrounding cliffs and the luminescent jungle, the dusted bones and carcasses are cast in a faint shadow, leaving just enough light to see by. The atmosphere is thick and stifling, with a strong overtone of dust and bone suspended in the still air. The taint of the Dark Side's influence has polluted the landmark over time, giving form to a dreadful aura that has scared off scavengers determined to sell off a rancor tusk or two. Unlike most of Felucia, the area is nearly devoid of life aside from ravenous predators dwelling within the hollowed-out husks of dead rancors.

Quo scanned the immediate area. There were growls and howls from all around him, even from within the clearing in which he was standing. He was on the alert, his feet shoulder width apart, left foot slightly in front of the right and his knees bent. In his left hand he held his vibro blade, in his right was his saber pommel, and he was clad all in black. He was where he was to meet his next opponent, but he had been waiting here for the best part of ten minutes. He disliked tardiness, it showed a lack of discipline to him, and only added fuel to the fire that was constantly burning within him.

He felt the stabs of awareness at the back of his brain, his body reacting before he consciously thought about it throwing him forwards into a roll, his saber blade igniting as he rose, deflecting the blaster bolts that followed the initial volley. His blade danced in a dizzying arc around him as he intercepted the incoming fire with his own crimson energy blade. His body pivoted on the ball of his feet, bringing him around to acquire the target that was firing upon him. His eyes scanned the area where the weapons burst was issuing forth from the cover of a massive Rancor skull away to his right, some twenty five feet away.

Crouching behind the edge of the skull was a Nautolan, highly distinctive with the Lekku like tendrils sweeping down the back of his skull, the large, black eyes targetting him through the scope of his blue and white Carbine. The green hue of his skin stood out against the dusty brown of the background, and even from here Quo could see that the humanoid aquarian was slightly larger than he himself.

Now he had the target the Zabrak began to close the distance between them, his blade dancing to rebound the shots of the Nautolan as they leapt from the Carbines barrel. Several of them were deflected back towards the area where the figure was kneeling, one ricocheting off the skull, narrowly missing the Nautolan's head as he ducked back behind cover.

Beads of sweat annoyingly crept down the creature’s brow and hung at the peak. There they stayed, swaying with the Nautolan’s motion, yet failing to drop – even when the Nautolan darted back behind cover after snapping off several more shots at his intended prey. Only when the creature had fully turned around, planting his back against the cool, dense skull, had the beads converged down the slope of Raiju’s nose; tickling him as they trickled to the tip when they were quickly brushed off on the back of his gloved hand.

Damnit! He cursed before reminding himself of his next steps, Tactical retreat…Quick cover fire, then fall back to the next set of cover!

For the former Jedi, turned mercenary, the situation was all new to him. Blasters had always been a good opener for a fight, but then the real exchanged happened up close and personal. Now, that kind of combat was a last resort; even for a veteran of the Crusades. It was strange to have to plot ground between himself and the target, but he found it useful to narrate as it simplified his tasks – and helped distracted himself from the grizzly surroundings.

For one whom had attempted to travel so close to the light in the past, the setting was quite eerie being surrounded by so much death and decay. For almost a hundred metres in either direction, the immediate area was a collection of remains from the most fearsome creatures on the planet…well, minus one Nautolan. And, damn if that treasure being added to the trove today. However, it was hardly the place for a random encounter between two combatants; combatants unbeknownst to another as well.

Yet, this was the new era they lived in – in the time of Darth Pravus’ War on Undesirables. Murder was legal, so long as it was upon an Undesirable, and the perpetrator needn’t fear justice even if the victim were from another clan so long as they fit upon the list provided by the Inquisitorius. And hell, if they were from Clan Odan-Urr; even better! Dangerous times they were living in, but danger sometimes came with a boon. Pravus and the Inquistorius weren’t the only ones with a list, and there were some easy, gullible pickings. Spar in the jungle? What Bantha fodder….

Compared to the now eerie quiet of their surroundings, the repeated crackle and buzz discharge of Raiju’s custom carbine was deafening. A spray of blue discharge rang out at the approaching Zabrak, checking the Sith in check and not getting too close to the Nautolan while the Corsair retreated from the carcass to checkpoint he had set up at the berm behind him. Dust was kicked up from the harsh, gravel ground from Raiju’s flight adding to the growing cloud made from the combatants’ movements. Launching himself into a skid, Raiju felt his weight drop to the ground harder than he expected and he nearly knocked the wind from himself as he slid to a stop on top of the berm; lying with his body pointed directly at the seething Zabrak again.

A series of control bursts were discharged from the Nautolan’s weapon, this time while the weapon still climbed from the recoil; his short sessions of fire kept his aim in check. A grin formed upon the man’s face as he watched the troubled Knight halt his approach to focus on deflecting the fire. Arrogantly, though, the Sadowite held his ground in the open and refused to move to cover as Raiju had predicted. Instead, Quo-Wing-Tzun seemed obsessed with foolishly batting every last bolt Raiju fired at him. Yet, Raiju knew he could wrestle control back from the exchange. Continuing his assault, the Nautolan began to switch his aim from various parts of the Zabrak’s body to thin his defense. His grin could only grow as he now imagined the Zabrak had now started sweating while straining to keep up with all the new angles of attack.

The sabre blade whirled in circles, deflecting the blasts that were coming in from the crest of the rise. Volley after volley arrowed down towards the Sith, his own weapon rising and falling to counteract the fierce fire rate that the mercenary was keeping up. His opponent had proved to be a good training partner, it was very rare these days that he could train against a real blaster. The computer simulations were all well and good, but this, this got his heart pounding. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his blood supply, powering his muscles whilst his eyesight and hearing became more acute, time seeming to slow around him. The crimson of his blade beating a counterpoint to the rhythm of the percussive 'pakow' of the shots raining down towards him.

Inside he was calm and controlled, the velvet touch of the Dark Side of the Force enveloping him in its welcoming grip, caressing him as he moved within its folds. His mind was centred and his focus was clear. His lightsabre was gripped lightly in his right hand, the fore and middle fingers applying all the grip he required as the pommel twirled within his grasp, his ministrations minute and lacking any tension allowing the metallic cylinder full movement with the twisting of his wrist.

The clearing full of decay and death were a magnet to the Dark Side, even those who were not fortunate enough to be sensitive to the Force felt the place as oppressive and cloying. The demise of the beasts who's carcasses littered the battle field were fuel to the energy, their violent conclusions driving the Light Side from the area. It was a place that Quo felt at ease, which he was sure that mercenary opposing him did not share.

Working his way forwards pace by pace the frequency of the shots increased with the closing of the range. Faster and faster Quo's sabre spun before him. Looking through the barrage he could see the head of his opponent peaking above the earthen berm from which he was firing. Deftly Quo changed his angle of deflection for a couple of the shots. He was not as proficient in the skill as he would have liked, however he tried to rebound them back towards the shooter. One of them impacted harmless into the earth barricade, kicking up dust and debris in the face of Raiju, showering the Nautilan with minute particles of sand and stone. The other flew low and fast, the brilliant blue of the energy bolt grazing one of the tentacles as it careened past the prone mercenary.

Quo braced his feet into the gravelly surface of the clearing, his toes curling as he sought grip. His knees were bent as he summoned the connection to the Force. Augmented by the energy field surrounding the clearing he leapt, his blade still redirecting the blasts targeting his body. With a seemingly superhuman feat he somersaulted over the head of the mercenary some twenty meters away. Landing on the balls of his feet he was balanced and ready for any assault directed on him. Raiju's fire followed him in his leap, the blue bolts describing an arc, that for anyone observing it would have been both aesthetically pleasing, and an impressive display of control.

With a roll Quo used the downslope of the natural bowl to gain a modicum of cover behind the pelvic bones of a demised Rancor, the blaster bolts tracing across the ground a split second after his movement. The massive bone vibrated and rumbled as the rain of fire continued across the broad surface of the ivory plates of the massive skeleton.

His teeth were gritted so tight each set could have crushed another leaving the Nautolan with a mouth full of painful shards. Still, the pain from such an event wouldn’t have interrupted the creature’s focus as he quickly moved to his feet from the prone position on the berm. Rolling his index and middle fingers over his trigger in the double tap technique he had learned, Raiju’s carbine washed the setting with a spray of blue while he continued to bare the snort of his weapon at the fleeing Zabrak. When the Sadowite finally took cover behind the skeleton at the base of the ditch, Raiju disengaged; cautiously circling the edge of the pit to find a better vantage point while having his weapon fixed on his prey below.

The lack of a Force connection was an educating experience for the Corsair. In previous engagements, the acrobatic display from the Sith wouldn’t have given the Nautolan any pause. Today, worry was hard to fight off as it tensed his muscles and paled his complexion. He underestimated the Knight, thinking he had been at a safe distance, and it gave worry where else he could have underestimated the Sadowite in his plan. His confidence was drawing, and for a split second all he could think about was how much he could use a good smoke. The urge drew on as he completed his circuit around the pit and its imprisoned carcass, as did his concern of the Knight’s abilities.

What if he is just concealing himself down there is plain view? The paranoia rushed in like a flash flood. What if the mynock had feigned the move and was still back by the other skull? Without the force to aid me, do I still have the resolve against a Mind Trick-

Raiju was slow to wipe the parade of sweat from his forehead, taking comfort from the touch and attempting to push away the worried thoughts. Flicking the sweat from his fingertips in one swift motion at the ground back his right foot, he used the now free hand to fumble through his chest pocket for a cigarette. When Raiju brought up the lighter afterwards, he noticed the trembelling movements of the flame dance around the tip of the cigarette. A long drawn out sigh of annoyance flared the Nautolan’s nostrils then suddenly, as if spooked by the sigh, the flame held still – quickly sparking the cigarette and then disappearing in a fluid motion as the lighter was closed and tucked away back in the breast pocket.

The cigarette burned brightly for a few moment as the Nautolan drew in a long breath. He had continued his circuit, clutching his carbine hard into his shoulder as it was fix down at the skeleton again. Curiously directly in front of Raiju a bone fragment, the size of a shoe, lift from the ground with its jagged edge pointed at the Nautolan. When it hurled forward towards the Corsair, Raiju noticed the dark figure of the Sadowite reappear behind the resting place of the shard; yet the creature was incredibly more focused on the vaulting piece of harm coming his way – so much so, he completely ignored the lite cigarette falling from his mouth and skipping across his clothes to the ground.

Instinctively, the Nautolan felt his shoulders and head drop back from the danger – as if he were to limbo under the assault. However, the shift to his balance forced the Corsair hard off his feet and Raiju dropped out of danger. Smacking his buttocks off the edge of the berm, and his feet catching his balance on the slope and launching him forward, the Nautolan sailed towards Quo-Wing-Tzun with the added momentum at his back. A howl, with a mixture of intense momentary courage, anger, pain, and a little worry he had wet himself at the sight of that floating bone shard, erupted from the Corsair’s lips and he felt a familiar surge of energy tense muscles and hammer on his trigger. A lifetime of a warrior’s memories rushed through the Corsair’s mind, returning with it a sense of confidence to the proud creature, and he now recognized the familiar symptoms of a Dark Jedi’s terror tricks.

Free from the Zabrak’s unnatural mind games, the mercenary kept his fingers drawn on the trigger and continued to spray the Sadowite as he approached. The wild attack forced the Zabrak to stumble back as he tried to put distance between him and his assailant and left his guard open as he still attempted to bat away every bolt, the conclusion of his efforts and the Nautolan’s added momentum was realized when Raiju crashed hard into the Sith’s chest – knocking the wind from the Zabrak with a painful gasp.

Both men fell to the ground, with the Nautolan rolling over the Zabrak and flipping onto his back, leaving the combatants in a heap resting against the skeleton. Raiju was the first to start making his way back to his feet but discovered that he had lost his grip on his carbine, experience lead the Corsair’s hands to his belt and onto his baton rather than digging through the pile for his carbine. Armed again, he flailed the baton out into its engaged position but where he was expecting to hammer the end of his weapon upon a downed Sith; his weapon collided with the rising blade of the Zabrak. Despite visible efforts to catch his breath, the other creature pressed on and managed to catch blow after blow on his crimson blade.

Anger fueled the mercenary now as he couldn’t believe this creature’s drive, and he batted at the Sith from multiple angles – overhead, from the side, and even backhanded. However, it when he spun on the balls of his feet and barring all his weight around in a circle to crash, he still crashed his baton onto the blade of the Sith; however, this time the Sith was forced to the ground after being knocked unbalanced.

The time to end this is now, Raiju thought, as he brought his baton above his head and swung it down at the Sith. However, the mercenary jerked forward as his baton stopped mid-swing and held its place in the air above an outstretched hand of the Zabrak. Yet, pulling his own legs out from under himself again, as he did on the berm’s edge, Raiju felt the weight of his body crashed hard on the solid ground below. And while he gave a large grown of pain from the impact, his hand was lucky enough to find hand of his slugthrower amidst the confusion.

Without even drawing it from its holster, the Nautolan jerked his thigh inward so the weapon was pointed at the other floored combatant and squeezed off several shots at the Zabrak. Pain shot up the Nautolan’s leg from the heat of the weapon, and several shots buzzing close over his skin, but a couple slugs found their target as was evident if only from the baton dropping from the air as the practitioner’s focus was broken. But Raiju could see this as he slowly draw his weapon and forced himself onto his feet because past his sights he could see blood bubble from several spots on the Zabrak’s chest. Determination still shun on the Zabrak’s face though, causing Raiju to wonder at what point the Sith realized this hadn’t been a drill before he used his foot to sweep the lightsaber hilt from the Zabrak’s hand.

Squatting over the downed combatant, Raiju drew himself close to the Zabrak and firmly planted his slugthrower on Quo-Wing-Tzun’s temple. It was at this point the Nautolan realized how out of breath he was and he choked up for a moment before he could speak. The entire time, an angry glare remained unbroken from the Zabrak.

“Should you survive this, I want you to know something.” Raiju began, grabbing the Zabrak at the chest and pulling hard on the robes to shake the Sith. “I had friends on New Tython, and I will never forget what your filth did to them. The rebellion will strike back, and we will ravage the Brotherhood two-fold for what was done there. So should your anger be enough to keep you alive, I want you to come find me on the new battlefield. Because at some point I will get my connection to the Force back, and I will show you want a real practitioner can do.”

After the last of Raiju’s words were spat at the Zabrak, a deep sigh of relief came from Quo-Wing-Tzun after the slugthrower was pulled from his temple. Whatever quiet, seething response out of the Zabrak was ignored by the Nautolan while he stood and foraged around for his weapons. Once all were collected, the Corsair carefully climbed the dirt slope and took another look down at the Zabrak before looking to the source of the bird calls that had started to the west of them. In the distance, at the edge of the unholy graveyard, many scavenging birds had begun collecting on cliffs and trees and calling out that they were hungry. Yet, none of them made a move to enter the grove.

A final look down at the wounded Zabrak was responded to by an insulting gesture from the Sith before he began sway his body back and forth so he could roll himself over. Afterwards, the creature began clawing his way towards his lightsaber, however the attempt was pathetically slow and not a danger to the mercenary whom has begun walking away with a smug grin on his face as he thought to himself.

What a worthy rival to look forward to.