The Godless Matron is home to many, resembling a micro-society for those who wish to live outside the typical 'rule' of the galaxy. The Lucrehulk-class battleship's massive hangars have been converted into dwellings as a result. Chute Town is the most notable of these makeshift towns. Many shops and storefronts have been constructed to take advantage of the higher volume of foot traffic. In addition, many ships and crews arrive into Chute Town to sell their "well-earned" commodities, weapons, or artifacts. It is commonplace to find the best and the worst gear the galaxy has to offer, it is only a matter of how big your pocket book is. The 'streets' are patrolled regularly by the crew of the Matron itself, leaving would-be miscreants to be more wary, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of a pirate's sense of justice.

It is built mostly out of spare durasteel panels from derelict ships, dismantled machinery, or any other source or material the pirates could scavenge. It spans the length of the massive portside hangar of the Matron, reaching from it's heavily protected reactor — hidden behind triple-reinforced blast doors and a guard retinue — all the way to the hangar entrance where the many incoming ships unload their cargo. It is more than a mile long, over five hundred feet wide and up to three stories tall, covering most of the floor. Chute Town's streets are a miniature maze, weaving in between buildings on several levels. Verticality is key for the masses of shops and bars to operate without interfering with one another. The main street is nicknamed Murder alley, mostly because all the weapon shops are prominently opened there.

Illumination banks are staggered along the walkways and buildings to provide enough light for the society to function. Still, the 'streets' are left dim with a low hanging fog built up from the collective humidity of so many people in one space. For those calling it their home, there is no such thing as 'off hours'. A large crowd bustles along at all hours, an exotic assortment of individuals from countless planets and the warring gangs that divvy up the territory within. It's the perfect place for those looking to disappear in the crowd.

With tensions running high, Chute Town was far more volatile than it would have been otherwise. Several of the gangs had been stepping outside their territory of late. As yet there had been no outright acts of aggression, though the perceived slights had been steadily mounting for weeks. The cracks in the dam were beginning to show. The crew of the Godless Matron just needed to apply pressure to the right place at the right time to trigger an outright gang war.

To that end, a bounty was put in place. The premise was simple enough. The Herald would grant a measure of clemency to whomsoever cashed in the ID tokens that had been planted on several individuals at random. Such a prize was without measure for not just the gangs of Chute Town, but the denizens themselves.

Chute Town was about as far from the garden spot of the galaxy as one could get. The stink of unwashed sentients mingled with the pungent odor of lubricants drifting in from ships at the hangar entrance, creating a stench so powerful that the cloth Selika held to her face proved unable to fully repel it. Smell aside, Chute Town was a point of entry onto the Godless Matron where one could disappear into the throng of sentients. Moving slowly through the bustling marketplace, hidden within the hooded cloak that sheathed her from head to toe, Selika headed deeper into the Matron’s interior. The message that had drawn Selika here had come from one of the ship’s crew, promising information that could offer insight into its commander.

And by extension, one might hope, her brother, she thought to herself.

The farther Selika progressed into the maze of makeshift buildings, the more she became aware of a subtle shift in the mood of those around her. There was a growing sense of tension, an increasing amount of awareness being directed her way. She sensed people moving through the crowd behind her, at first a few and then more. The attention she was attracting made it feel as if she was bathed in a spotlight, the glare of it washing out almost everything else.Suddenly, a man detached himself from the crowd along her path, striding purposefully toward her.

“Keep walking,” she ordered, reaching out with the Force as she gestured subtly beneath her cloak.

The heavyset man brushed by her, now seemingly focused on a target he would never reach. The removal of that singular obstacle, however, did little to reduce those arrayed against her. As she reached a comparatively well lit plaza formed by slack space between the bulkheads and the ramshackle structures, Selika saw that the way forward was blocked by an assortment of sentients dressed in rags and weapons. Blasters were interspersed throughout, but most carried nasty looking blades or blunt weapons. One, a Gotal with particularly matted fur, seemed to be armed only with a club featuring sharp bits of metal protruding from the business end.

“You should get out of my way,” Selika said, trying in vain to exert pressure on the minds of the assembled throng as those trailing behind blocked off the way she had come.

“I don’t think so,” hissed a knobby skinned Saurin holding a blaster pistol. “I think the odds are most definitely in our favor.”

Selika slid her right hand out from the flowing sleeves of her cloak, allowing the lightsaber she held to be seen by those before her.

“You may have numbers, reptile,” Selika spat, “but the odds do not favor you. At the very least, yours and the heads of several of your compatriots would decorate the deck before I am through.”

Selika smiled inwardly as the Saurin and his gang seemed to falter. She still wanted to keep a low profile and a glowing violet saber slashing through this rabble would draw too much attention. Selika might not be that imposing or skilled in intimidation, but the appearance of a lightsaber was often enough of a substitute. Before she could push her way through the wavering opposition, another voice rang out.

“Cowards,” called out a man behind her.

Turning, Selika saw a vaguely human looking figure covered in the dress of a down on his luck spacer. The man stepped out from the crowd behind her, the sound of armor plates barely audible under his clothing as he walked. Two swords were sheathed across his back, while bulges in his outfit suggested other hidden weapons.

“You see a lightsaber, and suddenly you’re all startled animals,” he said, producing a lightsaber of his own and igniting the crimson blade with a snap-hiss.

The crowd remained wary, sensing the fight might have moved to a realm beyond their ability.

“Do you know who I am?” Selika asked.

“No,” the man quipped. “All I know is that the Herald’s made you one of her prizes, and I’m going to claim that reward.”

Selika concluded that Morgan had sent him after her specifically, not knowing that he was simply tracking the ID tag that had been secretly placed on her upon her arrival. Feeling that the time for stealth had now passed, Selika shed her robe and lashed out with her left hand, a stream of electricity leaping from her palm toward her foe.

The Godless Matron. At first glance, the Lucrehulk-class battleship looked rather formidable. But it didn't a genius to figure out that an ancient ship such as this one wouldn't be able to match any modern day ships. Blackhawk could however, admire the creativity in turning the old vessel into a micro society. Unfortunately, the Clawdite was not here for sightseeing. To his surprise, the Brotherhood Tribune to the Holocrons had appeared on the bounty hunter boards. Normally, he wouldn't have, but a chance to strike at the Brotherhood's inner circle was something that Blackhawk couldn't pass up, though the fact that the opportunity had arrived with all the details he needed to hunt her down, including the tracking frequency of her I.D tag, did bring up questions.

Using the tracker, it didn't take long to locate his target. In this case, he took the form of a somewhat heavy set, short man. His intention, find out how she would react to a direct encounter.

“Keep walking.” There was no hesitation in her order. This experiment was over. Any further attempt would clearly end badly. Reverting to his true form, the Clawdite rejoined the crowd just in time for Selika Roth to be confronted by the gang.

They're dead Blackhawk mused to himself. Instead, they ran off.

Damn it. He would have vastly preferred to see how she fought before he confronted her, but this would have to do.

“Cowards,” he shouted after the fleeing gang, unhooking his lightsaber.

“Do you know who I am?”

_Typical. All the people with authority thinking they can intimidate an opponent by flaunting their status. _

The lightning however, was no joke. Stepping to his left and bringing up his blade, he managed to avoid the worst of it, but he felt it when the lightning hit his blade. That's how you want to play it. In response, Blackhawk let out his own burst of lightning from his right hand. Impossible. His lightning didn't even touch her. She managed to somehow leap into the air, twisting as she backflipped, landing well to the side of his burst. Punching the air, Blackhawk could see a look of curiosity on the Tribune’s face, right before it contorted into a look of pain as she dropped to her knees. Taking the opportunity, Blackhawk sent another burst of lightning from his free hand, this time hitting her square in the chest.

“I will have that prize,” he said, advancing on his opponent.

“You will have… nothing,” she replied, coughing a little. As he brought his blade up to finish the battle, he saw a serpent coming straight at him with amazing speed. This can't be. But as far as he could tell, it was. Backing away from his target, he began confronting the serpent, severing its head from its body, only to find that it could apparently grow a new head. A nearby structure would prove to be all he needed. Reaching out, the sound of durasteel groaning in protest to some unknown force caused a halt in the streets. The small storefront wasn't very well supported, and came off the ground with very little effort. With a quick flick of his wrist, the building came crashing down on top of the serpent. But the serpent wasn't there. What? He didn't realize it before, but now it dawned on him that there may have never been a serpent. Stupid. Stupid. Looking to where Selika had been laying only moments ago, Blackhawk could see that she wasn't there. Great. First I fall for that, then I let her get away.

“Impressive.” The voice came from behind him. Turning on his heel, the Clawdite was surprised to find Plagueis’ Proconsul standing behind him, saber in hand but unignited. Reigniting his own saber, Blackhawk prepared for the worst. She may be a powerful illusionist, but at least I know now what to expect.

Selika watched her opponent warily, realising that he was not entirely unskilled in the martial aspects of the Force. Her side still throbbed from the telekinetic blow he had landed while her chest ached from his lightning. His power was commendable, but, given his flailing at phantoms, it might be wise to duel on her prefered field.

“I’ll teach you to overestimate yourself,” her opponent spat.

“Oh my boy, I’m sure you will,” Selika shot back condescendingly, a grin tugging at her mouth.

Blackhawk dodged the bolt of lightning that he saw once again flash from her fingers, using the move to spin closer to his apparent prey. His blade flashed downward, traveling so fast that his opponent could make no move to activate and raise her own. The joy radiating from him was palpable as he saw his weapon strike its target, feeling the slight tug on his active blade as it sliced through her from shoulder to hip.

Standing behind him and directly opposite the illusion she had woven, Selika’s slight grin became a self satisfied smile. Letting go of the tendrils of Force energy she held, she allowed the illusion to dissipate in an instant. Blackhawk’s blade had cut, not through her body, but through a support beam that held aloft a structure precariously attached to the hangar bulkhead. The ramshackle dwelling ripped free from the rusted bolts that held it to the wall and crashed down to the deck atop her adversary, dust and scraps of flimsi billowing into the air.

“Tsk, tsk,” Selika clucked as she crossed to where her opponent now lay, everything below his waist pinned under a pile of debris. “You really should stop throwing buildings around. Someone is bound to get hurt.”

Blackhawk roared in frustrated rage as he fumbled at his belt. His right hand found its mark, and suddenly Selika was staring down the barrel of a powerful looking blaster pistol. Her blade was active and in front of her in less than a heartbeat, just in time to intercept the first blaster shot. Selika backed away from her opponent, putting more distance between them to increase her reaction time to each shot. As she did so, the Plagueian saw the metal pinning her opponent down shudder and lift slightly as he pushed against it through the Force. He kicked himself free just as the metal crashed back down to the deck.

His blaster quieted as he pushed himself to his feet, but the barrel never deviated from its target. With his free hand, Blackhawk reached out with the Force and called his saber back into his hand. Activating the blade to join his blaster, he began to stride towards her. As he walked, Selika heard a whining servomotor and saw that his right leg was dragging ever so slightly.

It’s not just armor, she realized, her eyes widening in surprise, It’s cybernetics.

It all clicked into place for her. The cybernetic armor, the not-quite-human appearance, the tattoos. He was one of the Tarenti, a low level functionary in their Grey Wolf unit.

“Not even a Sith,” Selika scoffed under her breath. “Just a Gray Jedi.”

Whatever else he was, he had been chosen wisely by Morgan. Simply slaughtering him might put too great a strain on the Plagueis-Tarentum alliance. Even if she could not simply kill him, the Tarentae would probably tolerate their dog being returned to them a little worse for wear.

“Last chance, Darkhawk,” Selika called out, a deliberate mistake on her part.

“Blackhawk!”, he screamed angrily, spittle flying from his mouth.

“Whatever,” Selika called back, reaching out with her free hand as she did so.

Acting as if she were using her telekinetic skill, she instead projected a vision of several crates stacked beside Blackhawk leaping into the air and heading toward him. As the journeyman whirled, his saber moving to intercept them while his blaster spat shots at the imagined danger, Selika’s hand reached out toward him as a blue stream of electricity leapt out to join the two combatants together. Not just a stray bolt, the energy flowed through him as Selika kept up her assault. The sergeant screamed, this time in agony, as pain receptors burned throughout his body.

After what seemed like an eternity the energy abruptly ceased as Selika gasped for air, unable to continue. Tendrils of smoke rose from the innards of Blackhawk’s armor as the Clawdite fell to the deck.

So this is the afterlife. All was dark. This wasn't like typical darkness or even blackness, he could see through that. This was nothing more than an endless void. Nothingness continuing on indefinitely. He tried to recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered… that merciless stream of lightning had fried him. He tried to recall the battle. Tried to figure out how it could have gone different. How could I have won?

This was not how he'd envisioned his death… or the afterlife for that matter. He wasn't ready. He'd envisioned going out in a blaze of glory, not getting fried by an annoyed sith. This can't be the end. Unfortunately for him, it was. Or so he thought. Suddenly he saw a light. Not a large one, bit a small blot of light. Furiously, he ran toward that light. Exiting the tunnel, he was overwhelmed by the flood of sensations as they came to him. The faint sound of a humming lightsaber. The feel of a boot prodding his side. A blaster firing. Pain. Extreme pain. All of this came to him at once. Looking up, he saw a figure shooting near him, and Selika moving closer to the figure, saber in hand. It was obvious to him that the civilian was falling for an illusion. Stretching out with the Force, Blackhawk focused on the civilian. Selika drew close, bringing her blade up to strike.

This was Blackhawk's opportunity. His revenge would come now. Selika had made the mistake of turning her back on him, leaving him for dead. He would not allow her to leave here in one piece if he could help it. With a flick of his hand, the civilian flew. Not far, but far enough to put him out of blade range. The momentum of the strike carried the Plagueian forward, right where he wanted her. His blaster kept to his hand and fired… straight into his enemy's knee. Blackhawk allowed a brief moment to enjoy the look of suprise and pain on his opponent's face before continuing. Rising from the ground, Blackhawk felt power flowing through him the likes of which he’d never felt before. He had promised himself that he would never allow this to happen, but right now, any promise of restraint flew out the window. His anger drove him. She would not leave until he let her. A burst of lightning leapt from his fingers,connecting with her lightsaber. Angered even more by her continued resistance, he decided to kick things up a notch. With a snap of his fingers, a flashbang went off in the Proconsul's face, minus the bang. Before she could recover, Blackhawk was on her, his hand around her neck.

“You thought I would let you leave after that,” he shouted, another burst of lightning leaping from his fingers, her lightsaber falling to the floor as he screamed out in pain. He let go, allowing a burst of the Force to send her flying. Now he would test his own abilities. The armour’s cybernetics no longer functioned. They would only hinder him now. Quickly detaching any loose plates that he could, he prepared for what would be his end game move.

Selika’s arm was still twitching with residual electricity as she heard Blackhawk moving toward her. The pain in her arm, however, was almost eclipsed by that which burned in her knee. The fact that it was still there at all and somewhat functional was a minor miracle, as a heavy blaster bolt to the knee should have nearly blasted the joint apart. Luckily, the lightning she had poured into her foe must have arced into his weapon, disrupting some of its delicate components. So, instead of a nearly severed leg, Selika was left with a severely damaged one that would likely do little to support her weight.

“I’m going to take your head as well as your bounty, Tribune,” Blackhawk’s voice came to her ears, Selika still unable to see her foe.

Gritting her teeth, she set her mind against the pain and called the Force to her. The throbbing pain in her leg ebbed to an at least bearable level as she focused her power upon it. Now, able to shift her attention, she pushed herself deep into the Force’s flow and gave herself entirely over to her Force sense.

She saw an image of the world surrounding her, somewhat less distinct than what her eyes would reveal. She sensed the momentary interloper running away, fear radiating from him like a beacon. She could feel the energy ebbing from Blackhawk as the fatigue that inevitably followed that sort of raging energy set in. There was only so far that the Force could take the body and mind, the Tarenti having finally passed beyond that point. She could even feel the subtle energy flowing through the transmitter of the ID token hidden on her person.

Setting aside the distractions, Selika grasped the tendrils of Force energy that surrounded her and attempted to weave them into a familiar pattern. It was all she could do to hold them, nearly losing her ephemeral grip on them as her concentration slipped, first once, and then again. Finally she had them firmly, just as Blackhawk stood over her with his saber blade at the ready.

“Give my regards to the Keepers,” he said quietly.

As he raised his blade to strike, Selika threw her arm across her face. Perhaps, just for a moment, Blackhawk thought that she couldn’t stand to face her demise. As a grim smile began to form on his face, a light brighter than the sun flashed between the two combatants. Momentarily disoriented, Blackhawk stumbled and fell to his knees. Selika pulled her lightsaber to her with the Force, pushed her torso upward with her left hand, and drove the point of her now-activated saber into her enemy. A guttural scream of agony ripped itself from her foe’s lips.

As her vision finally cleared, Selika saw that her Force senses had guided her weapon perfectly. The blade had passed straight through Blackhawk’s shoulder, sublimating flesh and bone as it went. His humerus and scapula now no longer connected with one another, leaving his blade arm hanging limply at his side while his hilt rested on the ground where it had fallen. Selika quickly deactivated her own weapon, leaving a round hole in its wake. Wasting no time, she wrapped her telekinetic grip around her enemy’s neck and, with an effort accompanied by a grunt of exertion, slammed his head down into the ground with enough force to drive consciousness from him.

Selika mercifully collapsed back to the ground with a painful thud, then rolled over to try to rise to her feet. With a long pipe from the building wreckage serving as a crutch, Selika pulled herself upward. Suddenly her eyes widened, realizing how how her foe, and the inhabitants of Chute Town, had been tracking her movements. Slowly taking the few steps back to her opponent, she pulled the tracker from where it had been attached to her clothing. With some effort, she crouched down beside the Clawdite’s form and jammed the tracker into the gaping wound in his shoulder. The act elicited a moan of protest from him, but did not force him back to consciousness. Rising carefully once again, Selika hobbled away in search of a med droid.

Perhaps someone will find him, Selika thought to herself. And, thinking that he is their target, take his head to the Herald. If he dies at someone else’s hands, Bloodfyre surely couldn’t hold it against me.

“How dare you,” Selika snarled as she slowly recovered her feet. Blackhawk gave no verbal response. Instead, he picked up his opponent's lightsaber laying at his feet, and ignited both her weapon and his own. I have you now. Slowly, he advanced. She had been throwing illusions at him the entire fight, and now was no exception. A being appeared, armed with a DC15 blaster rifle. Unfortunately for the Plagueian, this had occurred so often during the battle that he expected it. Even so, survival instinct dictated that he destroy the threat, and it took some concentration to ignore the primal urge.

“Pathetic,” Blackhawk taunted. “You use illusions to take me down, but now, when you fight one who can see reality, you are powerless.”

Quickly raising one of the sabers, he blocked a blast of lightning the lept from the human's fingers. Time to finish this.

Moving forward, he began swinging. Slowly at first, but eventually faster. She was a food athlete. Continually, she would evade him, and continually, Blackhawk would press on. Eventually, the test of endurance failed him. It was clear that she was fatigued, but his repeated use of the Force, his rage, and all the hits he'd taken during the battle finally began to catch up with him. He had to finish this soon, otherwise she might finish the job this time.

“You… will… not… win,” Blackhawk rasped out between breaths. “No… you… will.. die,” the Proconsul responded, similarly raspy.

They were both tired, and both had been hell bent on shredding each other. Both were to fatigued to continue however, and something would have to give. No. I will not fail. I will destroy her. I will claim victory. Again, he swung, but so slowly that his opponent had very little trouble, even in her own weakened state.

“Why do you continue? You know you cannot win. You are too tired. I can destroy you,” Roh questioned.

“If you could, you would have done it already,” Blackhawk replied. “I may be too tired to finish you now, but you are not powerful enough. You may be a good illusionist. That, you have made clear from the start. However, in a battle against one who is unable to be affected, refuses to be fooled, expecting the lack of a physical threat, you are nearly powerless,” Blackhawk stated.

“Is it worth that much to you,” she retorted.

“You aim for power, you know my answer,” the Clawdite replied.

With that, he extinguished both sabers and placed them on his belt. His pistol returned to his hand in an instant.

“So, you truly intend to kill me. So be it,” Selika said, resignation in her voice. He pointed the weapon at her head, but hesitated. She may have tried to kill him and left him for dead, but he had started this. Not only that, she was the proconsul of clan Plagueis. Killing her would put extreme strain on the Plagueis Tarentum alliance. It may not start a war, but the Plagueians would certainly seek revenge, and he could not take on the entirety of the clan. “You were a worthy opponent,” he said. “But the time and effort it would take me, my team, or my clan to deal with the repercussions that would come with doing so, assuming I would even have help in doing that.” With that, Blackhawk dropped her saber on the deck, holstered his weapon, and walked away.