Two towering, tinted, transparisteel doors slide open to grant you access to the central chamber of the Combat Training Halls. The main room is wide and open and as large as as a holoball field. Tall walls stretch towards a domed ceiling that is made up of rows of ambient lights that spread out and fill the room with soft even lighting that eliminates any shades or shadows. Those same walls are lined around the perimeter with racks and stacks of varied weaponry: everything from swords and polearms to rifles and flamethrowers.

There are two signs that hover over each weapon rack to create an alternating motif in the Combat Training Hall: “No Explosions” and “Accorded Neutral Territory”. While the first is fairly obvious, the second speaks to the single law of the Training Halls: all members of the Brotherhood are welcome, and no member is to be killed or maimed without incurring the wrath of the Grand Master and the Inquisitori.

A trio of training dummies are statically set up and spread out in a line, each made out of a blend of alloys and padding that can withstand blows from any standard weaponry with the exception of lightsaber blades. To the side of the dummies, a large sparring mat has been stretched out to create a larger footprint than the typical shockboxing ring. The padding is good for helping teach new combat students how to take a fall without injury and offers firm footing, but the hard rubber mat is hardly forgiving.

Behind the sparring area is a door that leads to a small archives that combat students can use to view holorecordings of fights and duels from the past as well as relevant information on combat tactics, techniques, and forms. On the opposite side of the archives at the far end of central room is the locker room that members can safely store their equipment.

The final and probably most important element of the Combat Training Hall is the onsite Med Ward. The maglock door is sealed off and can only be opened by an attending Medic. The Medical facilities feature state of the art bacta tanks for recovery and aftercare. A combination of observation and waiting room rests adjacent to the recovery center and features two large monitors that display a live feed of the central room.

The Combat Halls are staffed around the clock, allowing combat students and mentors alike to come and go as they please at odd or regular hours. It also reserved for members looking to prove their worth to compete in the Antei Combat Center.

[Venue Note: Weapons incorporated into your match are allowed to be used, even if not listed on your Weapon Load Out for the match itself. Skill usage and all other ACC rules and guidelines still applies.]

This was not their day, decided Bleu, as they dashed through the wide doorway of the training center. The Jedi alongside him, in his blue and silver armor, shook his dark-haired head.

"Why Arx, Kord? Why Arx of all places?" he asked, his tone more annoyed than angry.

"Heard they had somethin' good on tap at that place near tha spaceport. How was I ta know they'd come runnin' after us?"

Kord paused and rested his hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. I gotta quit smokin', that was harder than it oughtta be.

"'Sides," he said while straightening, "yer tha flamin' idiot runnin' about in armor with tha bleedin' Lotus symbol on it!"

Celevon shrugged, "Last I heard Arx was considered neutral ground, what with the Collective attack."

"Don't use tha blasted cyborg people as an excuse, mate. Maybe we can find a cloak or somethin' ta hide ya till we can get back ta me ship."

"Please, those were low-level Inquisitors at best, I didn't recognize a single one of them." Celevon waved a hand dismissively, looking around the training area, eyes lingering on the weapon racks. "And before you ask, yes I'm up on the players inside the Inquisitorius. After all," he gestured at the symbol on his shoulder.

"Yeah, well—" Kordath's remark was cut off by the shrill whistling of the R3 droid that had followed them in. "Uhh..."

"Probably means they saw where we went," spoke up Edraven, shrugging. "I don't speak droid any more than you."

The Arconan glanced at the astromech, sighing as he saw his own ID9 probe droid clutching to the other's domed top. "Stay outta trouble, Skitters," he directed, fishing a knuckler from his pocket with his right hand, and pulling his alchemically treated dagger from its sheath with his left.

The transparisteel doors slid open, revealing a group of black-robed figures clutching weapons. Kord did a quick mental categorizing; five of them, two with saber hilts, another sporting some kind of polearm. One with knives and the last, the only one who's robes weren't completely shapeless was unfurling a whip.

Havin' flashbacks ta that Plagueian chick, he thought, taking a few steps back. To his left, he saw Celevon unsheathing his katana. "Ya know, I prefer when we get in bar brawls, mate."

"This could be just as entertaining," stated the Odanite, the barest of smirks crossing his pale features. He directed the tip of his blade up at a point on the wall above them, then towards the holo displays atop the weapon racks. "This place is so-called neutral territory, it's monitored, and no killing, right?"

"Well, killin' ain't my style anyway; heard you was avoidin' too much of it yerself these days."

Their banter was interrupted by one of the Inquisitors, the one with the polearm slamming the haft into the floor. It was likely meant to be intimidating, but the sparring mat robbed it of any meaningful impact. Celevon and Kordath glanced at one another, both doing nothing to hide their grins.

"We don't have to kill you, Lotus scum! Just beat you until we can drag you off for interrogation!"

The Arconan laughed, before stifling it. "Oh, bloody 'ell, yer serious aren't ya?"

"Of course I'm serious! I'll beat you five ways—"

"With that little stick?" asked Celevon, his katana resting on his shoulder in a show of casual contempt. "What are you compensating for, little nexu? Besides, I don't think there's anyone here higher than a Chief, not in your little cadre anyways. Hey, Bleu?"

"Yeah?"

"What rank did you hold before the purges started?"

"Why, methinks I was a, whatcha call it...Grand Inquisitor. Yeah," the Ryn grinned at the one holding knives. He twisted his hand, rolling his dagger across the back and catching it again. "As I recall, you was one yerself, or near enough."

"You know, I think I was. Maybe you kids should leave, before you get hurt, hmm?"

The sound of crimson sabers igniting heralded the start, one of each of the wielders charging at the two men. Kord stepped back, whistling through his nose with amusement as the blade swept through where he'd been.

"Comeon, lad, quicker."

"Stand still you little rat--"

"Ryn, I'm a Ryn, comeon, we was on yer list of so-called Undesirables up ta a few months back. At least read tha material, kiddo."

The Inquisitor thrust his blade forward and had it knocked away with the dagger, Kordath stepping quickly around him. The black robed figure stopped abruptly, the Ryn's tail swatting him across the back.

"Too. Slow."

Not far away, Celevon was dancing, holding his katana behind his back and sidestepping his assailant's attacks. To the Arconan it really did look like he was going through steps of a waltz. He was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

"This is embarrassing."

The apparent leader of the group waved at the other two, the knife wielder going to a crouch and creeping towards Kordath. Celevon allowed himself a smile as the one with the whip began taking measured steps towards him.

"Let's hope you're a better dance partner than your friend here," he said with a yawn, spinning away from his foe. The maneuver placed him between the two, closing in on the woman. "Course, whips can be tricky, can't they?"

She tensed and backed away from him, trying to gain the space to use her weapon.

Kordath was smiling like an idiot as he ducked a sideways swipe of the saber. He was having more fun than he'd expected he would; it'd been a long time since he and Edraven had gotten into a brawl. Bleu used his low stance to roll to the side, just as a pair of knives pierced the floor mat where he'd been.

"Grand, yer boyfriend joined ya, maybe now you'll make this fun, eh?"

And there's mister stick over there, wonder what he's waitin' on.

As the half-Echani delivered the friendly warning to the only apparent female in the room, the lightsaber-wielding opponent slashed in a diagonal manner, aiming to split him from shoulder to hip. Celevon ducked under the crimson blade, blinking in confusion as the assailant stumbled. Even less skilled than I thought...

Across the room, Kordath appeared to be attempting to get one Inquisitorius Agent to stab the other. The Onderonian clicked his tongue, shaking a finger at the one that had stumbled. “That was very rude. And you should watch your footwork.”

Absently, he noticed the start of a song from the speakers that was familiar from his youth. Someone watching clearly had a sense of humor.

C’mon man...

As the beat started up, the Inquisitor with the lightsaber did not appreciate Celevon’s criticism. “Why don’t you fight back?!” The shout came from a surprisingly high-pitched throat that did not suit the body.

Don’t call it a comeback!

The Warden tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips. “As you wish.” With a motion similar to a backhand or swatting an annoying fly, the lightsaber — Was that an armory model? — dropped to the padded floor as the Agent was launched through the door and into the locker room.

The apparent leader of this little squad watched silently as Anasi snapped her whip, then swung it in an arc toward the Onderonian. Given the warning crack, it was no surprise that the attack was rendered useless, though it was intercepted by a raised left arm. A cybernetic? The whip was ripped away from her grasp, then the half-Echani held up the hand holding the sword. Anasi grasped her throat as Drez shook his head and turned his attention toward the other fight.

Still, it did not stop him from hearing the cheeky comment from the traitor.

“You didn’t even ask for my safe word, darling. Bad form.”

Nikolai appeared to have either been tripped or thrown into a rack of rifles. Either way, his knives were abandoned on the ground nearby, with Nikolai himself groaning in place. He always did have a low pain tolerance. Probably just broken ribs.

The Ryn was clearly as tricky an opponent as his half-Echani friend, though in different aspects. Where Kordath used his shorter stature to his advantage, Celevon used his athletic ability to wear down an opponent with little energy expended. The taunts and mockingly polite commentary wore down their tempers.

Drez could not hear what was said, though it was clear that Malachi was taunting the Arconan. Probably telling the Ryn tales of how he killed his people. Malachi still talks too much. At the last moment, the leader noticed a slight motion and opened his mouth to warn Malachi, only for it to be too late. Kordath had toppled a large glass display onto the unwary Inquisitor. He’ll feel that in the morning... or whenever Malachi wakes up.

Ignoring Drez as though he were unimportant, the Arcanist took notice of his friend’s actions. “Hey Cel! Methinks she likes the choking a bit too much. Miss kink isn’t complaining at all.”

The Warden dropped the unconscious woman to the ground, shaking his head as the two of them walked to the center of the training area. Almost in unison, the pair pivoted to face Drez. “Overcompensating is right. Look at how tight his pants are, Bleu. What do you think, envious of your average house pet?”

Beyond his control, Drez’s cheeks reddened.

“Oh, would you look at that. Rage issues as well. My sister told me about this...” Celevon trailed off, pretending to be lost in thought before he snapped his fingers. “Impotence! Probably couldn’t get the little twig up if he tried.”

Drez sighed, glancing at his fallen and groaning compatriots. He lifted his staff, giving it a spin to check the balance — a habit more than anything else — and spread his feet wide. The black-clad man bent his knees and whipped the staff out in a two-handed grip. His right hand grasped the trailing end near his hips, his left further up supporting its weight. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he used his grip at the base to move the staff up and down. To the two trespassers, it looked as if the length of the weapon was languidly spinning. Drez’s cold eyes closed briefly, his entire body tensing briefly under the dark clothes as he took a deep and shuddering breath.

Fools, he thought as his eyes snapped open and he took a half step forward, his left leg bending to extend his reach and lower his profile.

“I guess he does intend to—” Celevon was cut off as the staff suddenly struck the flat of his blade, causing his whole arm to ring. The Inquisitor’s weapon rebounded, and Drez used the reaction and a slight twist of his guiding left hand to redirect the staff down, striking the Jedi’s right shin. “Blast!”

“Really, he’s got a bleedin’ stick, Cel!” spoke Kordath with a laugh, before he yelped. Said stick smacked the side of his head, sending his brain spinning. A sweep of the staff took his knees out, sending the Ryn sprawling. From the corner of his vision, the Arconan could see his friend’s limping lung in an attempt to counterattack and saw his life flash before his eyes when the katana was knocked out of his hand. The blade shuddered from the force of impact when the tip embedded itself in the sparring mat near Bleu’s face.

“Wha—” he tried to get out, head still ringing.

“Fools,” spat out Drez, aloud now. “You, think to unbalance your foe with mockery and to use their force against them. Against a seasoned opponent perhaps you take things seriously, but you’ll be dead before you know they’re capable with such an attitude!” He followed this up with a punctuating swing of the staff towards Celevon’s head, making it clear who he was speaking to. The Odanite ducked and stuck a hand out towards his katana, willing its return. Quicksilver eyes widened in suspicion and alarm when his attempt garnered little more than a twitch from his weapon.

“And you,” continued the staff-wielding man, his tone contemptuous as he laid a blow across the Ryn’s rear end. “So reliant on the currents of the Force; you represent everything I try to break these students of. You have survived on luck and speed alone, using the Force as a crutch.”

Another quick strike to the Ryn’s side as he rose forced the Arconan to roll on to his back and cry out in pain. Gray eyes darted in panic through the grimace set on his face, as he processed the lack of warnings from the Force.

Celevon, on the other hand, was moving again. A few steps back from the black-clad figure found his sense of the Force returning to him. An outstretched hand drew a practice sword from one of the weapon racks, and his face set in determination. He’d been caught off guard, but unlike his small, furry friend lying on the ground groaning, he didn’t rely on the Force to guide his strikes or defense.

The figure in black gave the Jedi a deadpan look, planting his staff on the ground near the Ryn’s head.

“You intend to be serious, finally? If I’d been armed with a pike or polearm you’d both already be dead.”

“No killing,” snarked Celevon, a short nod to the signs above the weapon racks. “You’re good at following your own rules, Inquisitor.”

“Rules separate us from the beasts,” stated Drez, his off-hand statement pairing with a quick jab of his staff at Kord’s exposed midsection. The Ryn began wheezing, curling up into a ball.

“Tha’ frak did I do?” he managed to cough out.

“You failed to remove yourself from my striking area, Arconan, if you’d prefer to pass out now you may. The interrogation, later on, will be unpleasant, of course.”

“Usually are,” grunted Bleu, trying to crawl away from the Inquisitor. He froze when he felt a gentle but firm pressure on his tail.”Don’t be a dick, mate.”

Drez allowed himself a brief smile, which hardened as his vision swept the sparring area. Some of the others, little more than students, were starting to rouse from their injuries.

“This is just as much my failure as theirs,” he stated bluntly, “a fine lesson for their, and my, shortcomings. Very educational, Lotus scum.”

“Oi, I fer one ain’t a bleedin’ Lot—” Kord was cut off by the increased weight on his tail, changing his protest to a high pitched keening.

“I do not care — ah,” began Drez, before he was forced to guard himself against an attack from the Odanite. “You are capable of being quiet in your attacks, good, very good.”

Celevon’s training blade cracked against the staff, forcing the Inquisitor back a few steps as he changed stances. On the ground, free from the pinning boot, Kordath began scuttling off to the side with the speed of desperation. He’d just managed to pull himself to his feet using a weapon rack when he felt sensations returning, far enough away from the Inquisitor finally. A new presence was nearby, a dark figure at the other end of the sparring area watching intently.

Well, tis a public place. Wait, who was pumpin’ that bleedin’ music through tha intercom earlier? Who can do somethin’ like that...here...oh, oh no.

The two dueling in the center were focused on one another, knocking blade against staff and moving around the sparring mat like a pair of dancers. Celevon didn’t skip a beat when they neared his katana, thrusting with his practice weapon to gain a moment’s breath and abruptly tossing it at the Inquisitor. He stepped away and grasped the hilt of his sword, jerking it free and flourishing it with a quick spin. Silver eyes slid towards Bleu, who didn’t need the Force to tell him what his old mate was thinking.

Parrying a staff blow and sidestepping to put himself between the Inquisitor and Kordath, Celevon went on the defensive, slowly backing his way towards the Arconan. From the corner of his vision, he spotted the bulky figure on the edge of the mat and felt a tug at his lips. That explained the music he decided, briefly meeting the Combat Master’s gaze. An old connection, but not one to be renewed today. From what he knew of Kordath’s past encounters with the man, now wasn’t the time to catch up.

“Well, this has been fun,” stated the Jedi with a smirk as he took in Drez’s sweat-soaked face. The man’s effort to cut the pair off from the Force, coupled with the aggressive sparring. was taking its toll. That several of the other black-clad forms were rising to their feet and regaining their weapons suggested it was time to leave. “Perhaps someday you’ll be able to actually follow through on your threats.”

“And where do you think you’re going, Jedi?” breathed the Inquisitor, eyes narrowing. He began a last, desperate push, trusting his students to back him up or at least finish the job.

“What do you say, buddy? Is it impotence? Oh, right, I know how to check.” The Onderonian’s appearance seemed to shift as facial features grew softer, clothes changing to a very revealing, metallic slave outfit as he seemed to fade into a female figure. “Nothing, eh?”

Kordath gave his friend a wary glance, wondering if the lapse in sanity was returning. He’d never heard the half-Echani goat someone this mercilessly before. A quick look revealed that the Inquisitor had actually grown enraged by the last. Must’ve been true...

Having seen this as well, the Onderonian turned to the Ryn with a slightly sheepish smile. “Too soon?”

“Yeah, Cel... I’m fairly sure pointing out the impotence six seconds after questioning how small his bits are count as ‘too soon’.” His old friend had to be drunk. “That or the leader of this little goon squad bats for the home team.”

“Maybe that’s where the impotence came in.” Celevon nodded to himself, bringing a hand up to rub his chin. “He was laughed at when he only lasted six seconds. What do you—”

The Assassin dodged the thrust of the polearm, returning with a slash of his katana, which was deftly shunted aside. He continued to taunt the Inquisitor as he started using his acrobatic skills, running up the wall and somersaulting over their enraged opponent. Celevon started laughing quietly, leaning back as the blade end of the polearm was thrust toward his throat. “I was right, wasn’t I? What did the ladies call you? Six second Steve?”

The other male released a roar of fury, a hand released from the polearm.

Kordath pondered what he should do, as the masked male seemed to have forgotten about him in the zeal to butcher Celevon. He watched, stunned as the half-Echani nimbly leapt and rolled away. The world seemed to slow as the Ryn glanced back, seeing the sparks of ultraviolet light leave the fingers of the Inquisitor.

The pure hatred, manifested into a bolt of energy, struck the dumbfounded Arcanist in the chest. Kordath went flying across the room, back slamming into a display of wooden practice swords, bouncing off to land bonelessly on the mat.

The grunt of air being forced out of his friend’s lungs and wood splintering was the only audible sounds as mercurial eyes saw the Ryn fall. The half-Echani was barely restraining his temper, hearing a voice within his head urging Celevon toward releasing his inner darkness. The last time that had occurred, a large number of slavers within the Dajorra System had been systematically slaughtered.

“Aww. Do you think the little ratman found the cheese before they both got cooked?” The Inquisitor laughed, assuming Celevon was simply stunned at Kordath being downed.

Flames arose within his mind as the Odanite dropped his sword, pivoting smoothly to face their opponent. To hell with the rules; they were made to be broken.

Tendrils of energy were woven through the very air around the masked male as Celevon lifted both arms, teeth bared in a snarl. With his motions, the Inquisitor lifted in the air and started to moan softly.

The Onderonian made motions a butcher or chef would recognize when a chicken is being disarticulated. With each, a small scream scaped the lips of the halfwit as joints were systematically torn out of socket. A growl escaped Celevon’s lips as both hands were waved, the Inquisitor impacting the wall.

Within his mindscape, the half-Echani regained control as the embers turned cold. The realization of how little thought had gone into his actions had forced a state of calm on him. He abruptly released the Telekinetic hold on the Inquisitor, sending the man falling to the mat.

Drez lifted his head, panting laughs escaping as he removed the mask to spit out a mouthful of blood. “Don’t have it in you anymore, eh, traitor?”

Celevon grabbed and returned the katana to the sheath over his shoulder, drawing his slugthrower as he approached the downed Inquisitor. Drez started daring him to pull the trigger. The hand on the grip twitched, almost wishing he could.

“You talk too much.” He lifted the weapon and depressed the trigger; the discharge echoed oddly in the training room, immediately followed by a yell from Drez.

“I thought there wouldn’t be any killing,” a hoarse voice spoke up from behind Celevon. Kordath leaned against the wall, staring pointedly at the Inquisitor.

The half-Echani smirked slightly as he holstered the firearm, moving to intercept his friend. “There are bacta tanks in the next room. And a medic will likely be here soon. He has a chance of survival.”

The Ryn grunted, glaring at Celevon. “I would punch you if it wouldn’t injure me more. What say we get out of here before more of them show?”

“If you want to get out of here quickly, I’ll have to carry you.”

Kordath sighed, nodding in clear reluctance. The half-Echani lifted him over a shoulder, a hand flat on his friend’s lower back.

Great... Now, instead of seeing three of Cel, I’m seeing three of Cel’s arse...

“Erm... Cel, would it be weird to ask you to resume the illusion from earlier?”

Though the Ryn couldn’t see it, Celevon directed a confused glance in his general direction. “What?”

“Sorry... Pay it no mind. Concussed ramblings... Heh... What say we get out of here quick? I don’t fancy being dropped if you get into another fight.”

“You’re the one who arranged the meeting here of all places, Bleu.”

Kordath blinked. “You’re just not gonna let that one go, are ya?”