The Godless Matron was once a Trade Federation battleship, crewed by countless droid workers. Since then, many sections of the ship have fallen into disrepair due to the sheer amount of manpower involved in its maintenance. As a result, parts of the central sphere of the Lucrehulk-class battleship has been left to the ravages of time and the scars of the Clone War itself.

The crew has come to refer to this section of the Matron as The Gauntlet, largely due to the danger it represents. Located in the lower regions of the command sphere, it is a crosshatched network of ruined and damaged hallways, repair bays, and even crew quarters. While most power has been shut off to this section — save for critical systems such as life support — the systems and circuitry still require occasional maintenance in order to keep the entire framework operational. Such tech runs have become a matter of betting amongst the crew, earning it the nickname: running the gauntlet.

A heavy layer of dust sits mostly undisturbed along the debris of the halls, save for the footprints of the few crew that have tread the path before. These previously walked paths are a safety net for those who venture into The Gauntlet unknowingly. It is also thought that the remaining Separatist forces staged a last ditch defense within this area of the ship, and did so by any means necessary. Many traps, ranging from explosives to spring-loaded mechanisms, are littered throughout the untravelled pathways — or even still undisturbed within the known sections. Further still, malfunctioning B1 droids and even semi-active Spy Drones remain, ready to ambush the unsuspecting observer and adding to the dangers of the dark, debris filled tomb The Gauntlet has become.

Countless perils awaited those who ventured into the furthest depths of the Gauntlet. This fact was known to the crew of the Godless Matron better than most. There was opportunity, however, when the right circumstances presented themselves. The Herald had offered safe passage and not an entirely small sum of credits to whomsoever managed to 'run the Gauntlet' successfully. The proof of such a feat lay deep within the labyrinthine halls themselves, with a banner bearing the Herald's crest waiting to be claimed.

The risks of the Gauntlet alone were enough to dissuade most, but the crew of the Godless Matron had insured that the ante, so to speak, was to be raised. Those who entered the Gauntlet would do so from varying access points, and all would gain entry at the same designated intervals until the prize was claimed.

"Sithspit!"

Terran Koul dove for the floor, hitting the deck in an ungainly tangle of limbs as a construction boom swung across the ramshackle corridor. The articulated arm, caught in the mental grip of his competitor, whooshed by overhead, ruffling the Kiffar's dark, tousled hair. "Let's run the gauntlet," they said. "It'll be fun," they said. The Arconan grumbled to himself as he recovered his footing, cursing his companions. Last time he had seen them, Isshwarr had been a hundred meters ahead, with Kolot riding on the Wookiee's shoulders, an outsized blaster cannon in the pint-sized Ewok's grip.

Hastened by the footfalls of the Human trailing him, the bounty hunter gritted his teeth and started running again, deftly dodging fallen ceiling panels and jumping over discarded equipment that littered the hallway. He spotted another boom ahead and reached to his belt, pulling free a small, gray sphere. Right on cue, the boom swung towards him and Terran threw himself into a forward roll. He let the small sphere slip from his fingers as he hit the ground, then rolled back to his feet, clear of the boom.

Counting to himself, he drew deeply on the Force to strengthen his legs, putting on a blurring burst of speed. As he reached five, a high-pitched hiss sounded behind him, followed by a guttural grunt. Smiling to himself, he patted the remaining glop grenade at his belt as he dodged to the left of a tangle of exposed circuitry protruding from the corridor's wall.

The hallway curved sharply up ahead, but a subtle shade of red blinked across the far wall as it bent out of sight. The intermittent light set off a jangle of warning in the Kiffar's Force-attuned mind and he drew up short of the turn. Casting his eyes across the refuse-littered deck, he spotted a box of self-sealing stem bolts. He reached down and brought out a handful, tossing them into the air and sending them hurtling down the corridor with a telekinetic shove. As they passed the turn's crest, a dozen crimson lances ripped through the hallway, slagging the bolts and filling the air with an acrid stench.

With a shake of his head, the Arconan cocked his wrist and deftly caught the lightsaber that sprung from its concealed sheath. The blade sprang to life, an ochre glow suffusing the underlit corridor, and Terran turned to the door on the hallway's starboard side, closest to the curve. He slid the blade forward where the two durasteel doors met, its plasma tip slowly melting through the unyielding metal. He felt the blade slip through to the other side and painstakingly dragged it upwards. As he reached the halfway point, a soft huff sounded from the doors as the locking mechanism gave way. Closing down his lightsaber, the Augur resheathed his blade and caught the two durasteel panels in a telekinetic grip. Grimacing in effort, he shoved the pair apart, slipping into the darkened crew quarters beyond just in time to hear the hurried clip of his competitor.

Well, he thought to himself, drawing his WESTAR-35 blaster pistols and flipping one from kill to stun. This should be fun.