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.

As they came upon the access point, the Onderonian watched as the tattooed beauty at his side typed in a code. The moment the door opened, Celevon could feel the change in atmosphere immediately.

“Try not to die on me, Cel. Good luck,” she smiled, glacial blue eyes almost boring through the Arconan.

“What? No good luck kiss?” The Assassin grinned back, only to be pushed through the open doorway. He stumbled for a moment, then turned to face her.

“Gotta have something to live for,” Morgan Sorenn winked as her palm moved to the control panel. As the access point slid closed, Celevon pivoted to take in the area where he had been set to start. All of the walking to this particular access point had left him completely confused as to his location or orientation within the vessel itself.

A glance to the floor revealed a layer of dust that had built up over the decades, boot prints layered within the grime. Following them with his silver gaze, the Onderonian saw that the path ahead had already been taken in the past and set off at a run. Celevon skidded to a halt, glancing both ways as he came upon a fork in the path. From the left came a scream, which was abruptly cut off with an explosion that could be felt underfoot.

“Definitely not going that way,” the Arconan muttered as he turned and ran along the path to the right, only to turn the corner and find himself at a crossroads. “Now I know why some of them called this a labyrinthe... I’m going to get lost. I can just see it.”

As the Assassin pondered upon which direction to take, a humanoid ran from the right, firing what appeared to be an older model blaster behind him. As she caught sight of Celevon, the woman slid to a stop and leveled the pistol in his direction. The Onderonian, however, gave no reaction, staring behind her where he heard the clanks of metal upon metal. The sentient of mixed ancestry flit her violet eyes back in the direction she had come and clearly came to a decision.

“Stay outta my way!” she spat, a strange accent to her words. The humanoid sprinted past him, taking the path to his left. As she rounded the corner, a faint click followed by an almost deafening retort ripped the woman to shreds. Celevon leapt back just in time as several fragments from the blast ricocheted off of the walls. One piece - a steel ball roughly the size of a marble - rolled past him, leaving a line of crimson in its wake.

Ears still ringing, the Onderonian glanced around the corner. The wall behind where the woman had been appeared as though it had been struck by thousands of those little spheres.

“Great. Bad enough that this place is full of crazy people ready to shoot me, there are traps as well,” Celevon grumbled. The sound he had heard before was louder as the echo of the blast cleared. Turning around revealed three droids carrying similar blaster carbines. His movement seemed to have triggered something, as the one closest to him pointed and spoke in a high pitched, nasally tone.

“A Jedi! Blast him!”

Jedi? Why would they assu— Celevon abruptly pushed away the distracting thought.

The weapons were leveled in his direction amidst affirmative replies from the other two. The Onderonian shot off at a sprint in the only safe direction he could think of: away from the battle droids and where the remains of the humanoid littered the wall. Moments after, Celevon heard the telltale whine of blaster fire.

As he came upon the end of a long corridor, the Force screamed a warning. Channeling the energies into his legs, Celevon leapt up, landing on a support beam in what had likely once been a part of the ceiling.

His instincts served him well, as a red bolt of energy ripped through where the Arconan’s torso had been moments before. The Shadow wove energy around himself, vanishing from view and, as he crept along the beams, a figure stepped out of the darkness. In the dim lighting, Celevon could only just make out cerulean skin and red eyes.

Closing his own eyes, the Onderonian drew upon the Force and willed an exact replica of himself into existence several beams behind him.

Hopefully that keeps this guy distracted long enough to get past him.