The Echani walked into the cantina wearing little of his normal battle attire, his slugthrower and blaster accompanied by a second slug on his belt, but his Brotherhood protections were replaced with his armorweave body armor.

The ruckus of the people within the bar was something he counted on, numerous people walking around, chatting at tables, drinking at bars, a normal sight, but still one he was glad for being in effect.

Ordering a drink at the bar, his eyes roam the area around him. The warrior would normally worry about being obvious, but at a bar, doing such a thing was normal, if anything, it’d be weird if he didn’t. Species of all kinds filled the area, middle and low class dress permeated the area, there was plenty that made this tavern as common as any other.

Thankfully, it also made his search for the tell-tale armor of his prey far simpler. A group of individuals surrounded a table decorated with chips and cards, some standing, some sitting, had a small number of helmets sat atop it, clearly of Mandalorian make and style. While sighted was good, next was set up.

With his drink delivered and payment made, Azler took it and began to make his way around the area, looking at each table he walked near. Unbeknownst to those he approached, the man focused on his Sense and purposefully came nearest the most nervous or agitated feeling, raising a hand as if to talk to them, but with the predicted scowl thrown his way, he quickly backed off and moved to the next. Planned rejection after rejection, eventually he came to the assorted table and this time changed target, this time heading towards the one who gave off the most confidence.

**”Any chance you guys have room for one more to test his luck?”** Inquires the Echani, looking between the group.

While some gave him the similar scowls he had already passed by previously, his proximity, and attention, being mainly given to the one next to him, his hopes paid off.

**”If you got the creds, by all means, I’ll gladly lighten your load.”** Answered the cocky individual, waving a hand towards an empty seat.

The man sat and soon enough was dealt into the group. From there, he played it straight, made small talk, giving honest answers when questioned; details about a life from an area far away, having made his credits through bounty hunting and odd jobs, about running into a few personal problems that made a tempting job offer in a whole new region very tempting, but upon arriving in a new area, and the job proving to be not quite what he was expecting, well, he had to figure something out.

And a simple but honest story like that? Not much to really pry into, not with strangers of course, and no lie to see through, yet still relatable to most. So after a bit of time, getting more friendly with the group, drinks had, rounds won and lost, eventually he finally felt confident enough to get the information he was wanting.

**”So, like I said, being a new guy around here and probably going to stick around long enough to make the time and credits wasted on fuel worth it, what’s good to eat around some of these systems?”** Wilder inquires earnestly.

**’Well, in these parts, you can’t go wrong with Old Baron’s, their burgers are fantastic.”**

**”Their burgers are great, you’re right, but ain’t much else, trust me, if you want some real food, go to the Clink-Clank, best chili for systems.”**

**”Hey hey, no worries guys, I’ll gladly give them all a shot. Gonna be stuck here for a while, why not?”** He says with a chuckle, taking out a data pad and jotting down all the names mentioned, as well the names of who suggested them, though he purposely slightly misspelled any suggestions made to him by the non-Mandalorians.

Even after getting the information, he still stayed and continued to play, chatting until it felt like a natural time to do so. A job well done, simple enough.

He continued to visit that cantina a handful more times, tagging new Mandorian-suited individuals with much the same setup, but even revisiting ones he had before simply to avoid suspicious behaviors.

Throughout the week and more, he also kept a tab on the local bounties, talking about them with the groups only after the bounty had been captured and turned in, inquiring curiosities of the circumstances of the capture, looking for interesting stories and blunders.

After a while, he stopped and moved onto the next cantina a notable distance away and repeated much the same, again and again, the same stories, the same truths, and the same innocent enough questions that only made sense for someone new to the area.

Every small detail added to the greater whole;

Cross-referencing the bounty stories he had heard from everyone, the locations of the fights that had broken out, even marking cleaner stories that were more likely done by the more professional and organized Mandalorians, he could make decent guesses at the areas they patrolled more heavily. If a certain section of space was constantly being ‘cleaned’, well, the people there wanted it spic and span obviously, perhaps even hiding something. That bit was the more straight-forward portion of his map.

The food was the fun part, contrary to what his apprentices thought. “People on a job or just off a job eat local”, he explained to them. “You don’t get a ‘favorite place’ by eating there once, and it is a ‘treat’ when you go somewhere far away and expensive.”

These were truths, simple enough, and information that was all too willing to be shared by most people. A group of guards aren’t going to drive or fly too far away from their stations to grab some grub for their lunch break, that wastes break time. If you’re off duty and looking to go home, you tend to get food on the way, not out of the way.

So by collecting this information from various groupings of Mandalorians across Clan Feros’ territory, listening for specifics in regards to if it was somewhere they went to often or rarely, somewhere they ate because it was ‘cheap and close’ versus ‘actually good but a bit out of the way’, little details that made it clear where they were most of their time.

Put those data points onto a map with the same data points of where most bounties were picked up and it doesn’t take the wisest Jedi Master to figure their highest concentration of units are quite likely where they overlap the heaviest.

After visiting each recommendation once just to see their stock and prices, he even had some base data for an idea of how well some of them were paid based on how often they went somewhere pricier than the average costing diner. Less reliable than figuring out their location, but still a surprisingly good rough guess.

Eventually, it finally culminated in the map he laid out for his higher-ups that marked heavy concentration of where he believed Feros forces to be, even if he’d probably never tell them how he got it.

A steel door slides open as a man enters the room, taking a deep breath to calm his mind and body. It has been many years since the last time he did anything within one of these facilities, and much had changed since then, about both them and himself he was sure. Hells, just thinking about names alone brought a chuckle to his lips.

Entering into the Combat Training Center, Azler glances around the room for a moment in a slight bit of confusion. Where there were previously weapon racks, mats, dummies, and people filling the main area, there was nothing. The lights were dim, save for the bright blue illuminated sign of the Medical Ward across from him. When he had heard of this 'obstacle trial' put forth by the new Combat Master, he was already surprised that this venue was chosen, given that it was possibly the first one that any combatant smart enough to hone their skills would visit, but to see it as bare bones as this? That was a step too far and only made the fighter more cautious. This was his first interaction with the new Combat Master, if indirect, it would prove a good gauge of his personality in its own way.

A light buzzing sound disrupted his attention, and the illuminated sign changing suddenly color to red focused it again as an electronic voice rang out, echoing within the empty arena.

"The only rule is simple. Discover the true path to the opposite side of the arena without triggering a reset." States the announcer.

Once again, the simplicity strikes him. Memories flood the Hybrid's mind for a moment of all the tricks being a part of the Brotherhood brings, and a sigh escapes his lips. No, he supposes that isn't a fair judgment; most living creatures play tricks in their lives, but by the stars does the Brotherhood revel in it. Still, kettle, pot, truly he has no room to speak.

Kneeling down and taking a closer look at the ground, he notes that the rectangle of the entrance seems normal, but beyond that, the entire open floor of the Center is broken into a chessboard-like pattern, filled with squares to the sides and across the way to his goal, each big enough for both feet to be planted but not much room to spare. Directly in front of the entry are 5 possible choices.

"Let's find out just how cruel this man is." Azler mutters after a moment's thought, lifting a foot and moving it forward to the far right and placing it on the square leading to the side.

A deep red light illuminates the square, and the moment his brain registers the color, his body tenses as his leg yanks away, mind already prepared for whatever pain is about to be unleashed on him.

Yet it doesn't come.

The sigh of relief that comes from his lips is audible, as is the soft laugh that comes after. "Alright, no immediate elimination, no loss of limb, seems that the man knows that even the rookies may give this a shot and doesn't wish to raise the medical bills."

Rolling his shoulders and given at least the confidence that he won't die, the man moves back to the center. Most people would try the most forward approach and the center gives the most options for branching out; it makes sense that this would be it.

Taking a step forward with his full body in motion this time, he stands upon the center square, but his enjoyment of the green light that illuminates beneath him is quite short lived as his head snaps to attention, a full-bodied hologram of Anders materializing in front of him and it swings his blade horizontally at the warrior, the man jumping back to avoid the attack. The moment both his feet land on the entrance area, the previously approving light changes its color and the hologram vanishes.

A furrowed brow is the initial response from Wilder, huffing slightly in frustration. "Alright, noted."

Again he takes a step forward, again a green light, again the hologram swings, but this time he ducks beneath the weapon, dodging under the attack by kneeling below it - or so he thought, as another illuminates to his right, the dark blade of the Combat Master stabbing forward and phasing through his shoulder. Again, a red light, again a vanished assailant. Taking a step off the square and returning it to gray, he returns quickly, dodging the first strike and pulling out his own saber for the second, the red-tinted blade phasing through the hologram, stopping nothing, but causing the failure light to shine even faster than previously.

Once more the Priest returns to the Entrance area and thinks. Taking a deep breath as part of this obstacle course begins to click in his mind, he loosens his body, relaxing. "Step in the right spot, don't get hit, don't block, just dodge." Part of him was thrilled; this was a style of combat he thrived in, except for one small detail - his dodges were always designed to be counter-offensive oriented. Each movement was meant to help him step to where he wanted to, not where his foe did. Embrace half of his learnings, rebel against the other, play purely defensively. If the lesson was to play into your opponent's hands, it was one that was not going to be easy for him, or anyone really. What was this test?

Letting his muscles take over to a degree and embracing his connection to the Force, he steps forward for another attempt.

A wide horizontal swing that he kneels under, a piercing stab that he turns and backs away from - another green light below him indicates progress, but another hologram is his only reward, another stab but now from the front where he just was, he kicks himself backwards another step to another green light, this time the Chiss imitation appears from his right side and sweeps at his legs, forcing him to finally move forward, only to turn to the side and step to the right as another stab thrusts forward. Azler's eyes track the black blade with each new appearance of the man holding it, little time to think as each new movement directs, and unfortunately, overcoming one's instincts proves a difficult ask as the next attack, striking from behind, is dodged, but as the man moves to the right, a red light indicates clearly that it was the wrong direction and so the annoyed warrior makes his way back to the beginning.

"Is he trying to teach people how to beat him?" He ponders as he turns around. "No, even ignoring how foolish that’d be, it'd only be teaching this specific scenario, and very few people wouldn't counterattack for this long."

Another attempt, more fluid this time, but a hiccup in his movements causes another failure before he gets back to where he was. Onto the next, he manages to reach his previous point, then the next step, the step after, even the third, but the fourth once again resets him as his reaction speed is just not fast enough against the Combat Master's quick and precise movements. Memorizing the pattern would help, but he had to be fast, rely on his instincts more than his thoughts.

It is in this next attempt, as he bends, pulls, pushes, and spins his body in the directions he knows to be correct, that his body begins to fall into the rhythm, the next hologram barely stabbing forth before he is already stepping to the next square, and it is in that moment that the realization dawns upon him - unfortunately disrupting his instincts and causing another fail.

But this time the frustration is gone, a smirk on his lips as he shakes his head and returns to the starting area. Rolling his shoulders, he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, exhales, and opens his eyes as he steps forward once more. Memories of when he first joined the Brotherhood come to mind, and key among them, the brutal teachings of a man who spoke with his fists; a lesson in letting the flow overtake you.

Bow, turn and step back, the same again, twist and sidestep to the left, step forward, step to the right, turn and step back, the black saber stabs, swipes, and slashes again and again as Azler's body continues to weave and spin, each foot moving to a new square, never sharing the same one, always in motion, his body being pulled along with it as again, a step forward, a turn to the right, a twist to the left, a side move to the left again, right, left, forward, right, left, back, forward, left, right, forward, right, the motions continuing endlessly as the emotionless program proceeds with its constant new illusionary attacks from every angle.

Until finally, with one last stab forcing him to step backwards, a blue light illuminates nearby and no new hologram appears.

So lost in his instincts that it doesn't quite register to him, the wanderer shakes his head to snap himself out of it before looking behind him and seeing the Medical Ward door and sign behind him.

"Congratulations on your success." The electronic voice rings out, hollow and unrewarding sounding, yet the Krath couldn't care less.

A smirk upon his face, Wilder looks back to the floor plan before him and though he did not have a hologram to display it for him, in his mind's eye he can see the pattern and the movements he just partook in. Never had he been more glad that he had looked into someone's history, what little there was to be gleaned anyway. A dedicated master of Form II Makashi with a splash of Dun Möch, possibly the best hint to this whole show the Combat Master had put on.

"He isn't just looking to maybe teach some people how to dodge better; he taught us how to perform a waltz..." Azler mutters in dry amusement. "I'd be more pleased by this if the phrase 'dancing in the palm of my hand' wasn't likely an inspiration."