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.]

The sound of several rapid steps was the only warning given as the distance closed between the Umbaran and his half-Echani opponent. Beads of sweat already glistened on the pale skin above the Umbaran's black-gold eyes. He pivoted, keeping his arms almost lazily relaxed, and took almost a hopping step back as the other man skid to a stop.

"You're trying to mock me," Celevon Edraven Erinos chided. The half-Echani fell back easily into a wide stance that brought his center of gravity lower to the ground with his hands held up and ready.

Atra Ventus allowed a smirk to tug at the corner of his lips and his right eyebrow rose. "But is it working?" he asked with a faint lilt to his carefully even voice.

Due to the nature of their sparring, neither were donning their full attire. Celevon's armor plating had been mostly set to the side, leaving only the underlying body glove hugging the contours of his muscular frame. Likewise, Atra's pair of jackets stood opposite his opponent's discarded gear. He was left with only his long-sleeved shirt, which looked darker next to the paleness of his skin despite being off-white, and grey pants.

The Umbaran allowed himself a quick glance around the mat to get a sense of his positioning. The training center was always busier during the day, which is why he had opted for a time closer to evening. Still, there were several other occupants under the soft light of the large, domed room, most doing their best to work out their frustrations on the unfortunate training dummies that could do nothing more than take it. The remainder had set up a semi-circle lining the room.

Clearly, someone had leaked that the Combat Master would be engaging in a match.

There was a quick exchange of credits between several of them, no doubt placing bets. They didn't matter, however, so Atra needed to put them out of his mind. If they didn't inhibit him, then they wouldn't be a problem.

"Did it ever work?" Celevon asked before closing the distance between them again. Atra continued to dance lightly on the balls of his feet as he moved away, his boot treads gripping the mat beneath him to provide just enough traction without slowing him down. They were at a clear impasse in their methods. Celevon's style of combat relied heavily on being the defender. He needed to counter or gain leverage. Atra, on the other hand, had adopted a style that matched his relaxed nature. It was opportunistic and quick. He needed to attack, as that was its strength, but his own personal mantra was to find the perfect opening.

That opening wasn't going to come so readily, thanks to the precision of Celevon's form. Atra lacked the particulars of any more advanced techniques that would let him handle any riposte he would face. But hey...what the hell?

Atra suddenly slammed his foot into the ground as he backpedalled, halting his momentum even as Celevon trailed him. It brought the pair almost face to face. Celevon's long ebony hair framed his face as his quicksilver eyes widened. His sharp features hardened quickly as he made the mental arithmetic needed to react. Atra's right hand flexed tightly with his fingers extended, not unlike a spear, and he thrust quickly towards the soft tissue of Celevon's exposed armpit. The half-Echani twisted in a way that seemed almost painful. He flowed with the momentum of his pivot as he caught Atra's wrist with one hand, placing the other higher up the arm for leverage. His entire body torqued and his taller opponent found himself lifted from the ground heading towards the opposite side of Celevon.

Being far too late to prevent the throw, Atra curled inward to minimize what would be the point of contact. His shoulder hit first and he rolled more than he slammed into the ground. His free arm reached out to the side and slapped against the mat to absorb additional shock. It was almost an instinctual response to falling that was ingrained in even the beginning stages of any martial art.

Celevon had maintained his grip throughout the maneuver, intending to apply a pressure grip. However, Atra pulled hard and—now having the momentum on his side instead—used his more honed strength to bring the half-Echani to the ground with him.

It felt like a lifetime ago that the two had last gone at it like this, and so much had changed in the time between. Orphans on Corellia with no one to depend on, save for each other. Even that had been tenuous at the best of times. Trust among thieves was a happy thought at the best of times, and survival wasn't fueled by such idioms.

It had been a time so long ago, in fact, that the two hadn't even recognized each other upon meeting again. Life hadn't been kind to either man as they had followed their separate paths. Now, as Atra knew the Echani traditions in Celevon dictated, they were finally getting to know each other again in the only way that wouldn't lie: through combat.

"You've put on weight," Atra poked sarcastically, still on the mat. "Ditched the pauper's diet?"

The Onderonian let out a snort of laughter as he pushed himself to his feet, extending a hand to his old friend. “After almost seventeen years, I would certainly hope I had put on weight. The pauper’s diet was left behind when I got off of the streets. You definitely sprouted.”

“You were always shorter than me, Tristan.” Atra accepted, grasping the half-Echani’s forearm. “How did that happen, anyway? Last I saw you, we had robbed a bodega and you let CorSec catch you so I could escape.”

Not distracted in the least by the use of his real name, Celevon twisted to avoid a jab and lashed out at the extended inner forearm. It was a cluster of nerves, which rendered the hand temporarily numb when struck. The Odanite was confused as the Umbaran’s lips merely twitched into a small smirk.

“Unlike you, I opted for synthflesh,” Atra explained, moving the fingers of his left hand as his dark eyes flitted down toward Celevon’s visible cybernetic. Between their combined ritual of sparring whilst discussing the past, they had seemingly forgotten the crowd of onlookers.

“After my arrest, my father decided I should learn the ‘family business’ — in this particular case, it was weapons trafficking — and we were intercepted by pirates above Onderon. I watched from a ventilation shaft as he was... well, ventilated. Crawled into the escape pod and ejected at the same time as a failsafe bomb detonated,” the younger of the two explained as he shunted several quick jabs aside, dropping to the ground to avoid a vicious elbow. Though nearly twenty years had passed, the Combat Master retained a pattern to his fighting style from his youth: several lightning fast blows, followed by a powerful one aimed to devastate an opponent. “Crash-landed on Onderon and bashed my head. Complete retrograde amnesia. I was adopted by a cop there and former Army Medic. Didn’t fully regain my memories until... roughly this time last year.”

The Umbaran quirked a brow as the half-Echani pulled his legs back and kicked, the momentum bringing Celevon to his feet in a crouch. “And how did the officer in question take your propensity toward theft via kleptomania?”

Celevon leapt and rolled to avoid a leg sweep. “Surprisingly well. Jack taught me hunting, weapons, survival and martial arts as a method of controlling my impulse issues. Change things up a bit?”

Atra allowed a small smile to curve his lips, gold-flecked eyes almost gleaming as he stepped back to retrieve the cylinder from his right thigh. A quick adjustment to a concealed dial altered the setting to what one would refer to as ‘sparring mode’. A flick of the thumb-switch activated the weapon, a pale silver-blue blade erupting from the emitter. “I thought you would never ask.”

The Odanite stared blankly for a moment. He had meant something more along the lines of sparring with wooden approximations of swords or daggers. The half-Echani had no intention of using his own Inquisitori Dagger, so that left...

Mercurial eyes flicked back and forth around the combat training area, taking in the different lightsaber designs. Celevon extended a hand, calling a hilt from the belt of an onlooker, drawing a sound of indignance. The crossguard hilt smacked into his palm, the dial switched to the safe mode and he hit the thumb-switch.

A crimson blade sprang to life, hissing and crackling as the unstable weapon activated, the vented ports spreading outward a heartbeat later.

The half-Echani smirked at his friend, appreciating the irony. “Let’s dance.”

"Dance, he says," Atra commented with a scoff. The Combat Master windmilled his crackling saber from side to side in an obvious flourish before the blade shrank with an almost reluctant hiss. The hilt was still firmly grasped in hand and Celevon could see that the Umbaran's finger was resting against the activation switch.

The half-Echani held his unstable blade carefully out from his body. Without any practiced forms to rely on, Celevon was left to treat the lightsaber as he would any sword. Except this sword—at its usual settings—had no qualms taking his own arm off if he plied any of the usual techniques. Like pressing his forearm against the flat of the blade for more pressure. That was muscle memory Celevon would need to be careful not to give in to.

"Amnesia... that would be annoying," Atra posited before rushing forward.

The sudden movement put Celevon reflexively on the counterattack. He brought his arms down and across, the slash rushing ahead of the Combat Master's projected path to meet him. A quick kick off the mat changed Atra's course and he was easily sidestepping the attack at an angle. Celevon spun his wrists, using the force of his swing to cleave back around towards his opponent while careful not to catch himself with his weapon's side vents.

A sudden chill crawled up Celevon's neck like spider legs.

Atra was closer than he should have been. The Umbaran still held the Force tightly coiled at the core of his being, willing it to empower his muscles. It had allowed him a sudden burst of momentum. The half-smirk Celevon remembered so well from their shared childhood was locked on the other man's face. Atra engaged his saber once more as he brought his arms up, though both heading to different targets. The surging blade clashed against Celevon's borrowed weapon at the same moment that the Combat Master grabbed hold of his opponent's wrist. Both men twisted, guided by Atra's maneuver, and they ended up pressed almost back to back with their blades pointed towards the mat. Even at their reduced strength, the lightsabers managed to blacken the material with their sustained pressure.

Celevon allowed a chuckle as his muscles strained. "Annoying, but..." The half-Echani grunted as he managed to raise their locked weapons a few inches. "Put me on the path to where I am now."

"And," Atra managed through clenched teeth, "where is that?"

There was an icy current underneath the Combat Master's careful monotone that Celevon hadn't noticed before, but as they were now—locked in combat, at one's most honest—he caught on, causing him to withdraw inward a step mentally. "What?"

"Where is Odan-Urr hiding?"

Atra suddenly disengaged his weapon, removing the main obstacle keeping them locked together. Celevon's arms swung upward with force and the Combat Master had to take several unsteady steps back to avoid the arc. 'Safe mode' only meant he got to keep his limbs. It didn't mean the burns wouldn't hurt and Atra knew it.

Celevon squared off against the other man as both drew heaving breaths. His eyelids narrowed around his quicksilver gaze, refracting the light from his unstable blade. It was the same old friend from Corellia that he was looking at, but now Celevon found it hard to look past the differences, the changes that marked their deviation from one another.

He watched as the Combat Master rolled his neck from side to side and could even hear the quiet cracks that answered the other man's movements. Finally, Atra sighed and brought one hand up to the bridge of his nose. "I investigated Arcona personally, Tristan." Again, the Umbaran used Celevon's real name. "You disappeared. I followed the thread."

The half-Echani widened his stance, bringing his two-handed grip towards his right shoulder as his knuckles whitened around the hilt. "Is that why I'm here? This how you interrogate now?"

Silence hung like a curtain between them and left their ears with only the sound of blood pounding through their veins. Finally, Atra sighed and glanced towards the ground before his black-gold eyes flicked back up towards Celevon with a raised eyebrow. "I had to try, at least," the Combat Master stated with a shrug. "Let's wrap this up, eh?"

Celevon relaxed a bit, sensing a bit more of his old friend than he had the moment prior. "No holding back then."

Another warning whispered through the tendrils of the Force and Celevon found himself bringing the blade up, held horizontally in front of his face defensively on almost instinct alone. Atra's right arm had whipped forward, tossing his inactive hilt to his other hand as sparking tendrils danced between his fingertips. A single lancing surge of concentrated Force energy arced through the air, lightning licking at the shielded length of Celevon's borrowed lightsaber blade. As the energy dissipated, the half-Echani lowered the blade ever so slightly to reveal a questioning glare at his friend. Atra merely offered a half-committal shrug and a lopsided grin. "You said no holding back?"

Celevon rolled his eyes and then rushed forward. He swung low, sweeping right as the distance closed between them, which Atra stepped over. The Combat Master worked into a pivot that allowed him to swap his saber between hands once again while Celevon followed through with his swing. The half-Echani let go with his left hand to avoid fully twisting at the waist, letting his right arm complete its path before bringing it over his head for a downward cleave. Atra dropped to one knee and activated his saber. His arm swung towards Celevon's exposed torso, but it was Atra's turn to feel a warning crawl up his spine.

Celevon thrust his left palm towards Atra with his brows furrowed in concentration. The ethereal shove sent the Combat Master tumbling backwards, off-balance as he was already. His saber hilt clattered across the mat and away from him as Atra's back crashed into a training dummy. The force of it took the air from his lungs in a rush and the Umbaran bit his own lip. The metallic tang of blood touched Atra's tongue, which elicited a growl low in his throat. The familiar cold fire of the Dark Side roiled within him, begging to be unleashed. The Combat Master reached out towards Celevon and tugged hard.

Unseen tendrils of power lashed out and gripped onto the half-Echani. He let out a grunt as he was pulled from his feet and found himself tumbling towards Atra. Celevon ended up crashing against his old friend and they combined into an unceremonious mass of lanky limbs. That mass began to shake with low, almost restrained laughter as the two untangled themselves.

"You should get going," Atra stated flatly as he hopped onto his feet. "There will be too many questions otherwise."

"You're probably right," Celevon admitted.

They clasped hands quickly, appraising each other despite the sweat stinging at their eyes. Old friends, together again but separated by the distance forged by the sides they had chosen. Opposite sides.

Atra busied himself with cracking the knuckles of his hands one by one, affixing what remained of the crowd with a raised eyebrow. A few muttered utterances answered him and they began to scatter. The Combat Master turned his attention back towards Celevon as the other man finished clasping the panels of his armor back on. They shared a mutual nod before the half-Echani made his way towards the exit.

The Combat Master worked his jaw from side to side and wondered, just for a moment, if Celevon would check his escorted shuttle over before leaving Arx space. If he did—and Atra decided he would—the half-Echani would surely find the tracking beacon Atra had ensured was placed there.

He had to try, after all.

“I wouldn’t consider us close enough to dance as of yet,” Atra deadpanned, the snark as natural as breathing. He almost expected the half-Echani to charge in on the offensive, as had been a habit in their youth, sparring with discarded broomsticks as though they were swords. In his mind, however, the Umbaran knew no such attack would come.

The impetuous behavior of youth had been tempered by experience and vigilance. Naivety had been eroded away by paranoia. The Combat Master knew enough about the younger man from the Inquisitori dossier and numerous holo-recordings of past battles.

Despite almost twenty years of separation, the two of them were still remarkably similar in some aspects and complete opposites in others. Scarred from hard lives, yet became stronger from it; the cybernetics on each man was a scar in and of itself. Atra teetered on the edge of darkness, whilst Celevon barely stood in the light.

Fire and water.

The irony of their respective blade colors for this sparring session had brought a small smirk to both of their lips, no matter the fact that Celevon’s was ‘borrowed’. The half-Echani had been hot-headed in his youth, temper almost as unstable as the weapon he wielded, the tip barely a hair's breadth from the cushioned floor.

Both stood as though they were statues, waiting for the other to make the first move. Black, gold-flecked eyes took in the way his old friend gripped the saber; not all of lightsaber combat had been forgotten. High on the hilt, index finger and thumb almost touching whilst the middle and ring finger were tight on the grip itself. An eyebrow lifted in silent challenge as Celevon slid a foot back.

Really?

Quicksilver glinted back, amusement in their depths as the Odanite tapped a finger against the borrowed hilt.

The unspoken conversation that passed between the pair went unnoticed as their observers took in the two with baited breath, more credits passing between them as bets were taken.

The silence was broken as both figures blurred, lightsabers clashing overhead, one attacking whilst the other defended. A second later, the roles reversed as the blades crashed against one another much lower. Celevon and Atra separated, observing one another curiously; both men were circling one another slowly.

“Really Tristan? Not even using a traditional form?” The Umbaran mocked lightly, accent barely perceptible. He clicked his tongue twice.

The Onderonian smiled, not phased in the slightest. “I left these weapons behind long ago in favor of blades. Nowhere near as conspicuous when secrecy is your aim.”

Unbidden, Atra’s gaze flitted to the Inquisitori dagger on the half-Echani’s waist. His eyes narrowed, moving toward Celevon quickly, pale gray-blue lightsaber coming from above. The crimson rose to meet—

Nothing.

The Umbaran had flicked his thumb over the switch, his own lightsaber extinguished and reignited to bypass the unstable one. It happened so quickly, the blink of an eye would have caused someone to miss it.

Celevon grimaced at the burn on his wrist whilst the Combat Master backed away, lips curved in a small smirk.

Point to me, Tristan, The youthful voice of Atra Ventus seemed to drift across time along with a bark of laughter.

Caught up in his memories, the Onderonian rushed toward the Umbaran. He regained awareness of himself when their blades met, a slight shift in position redirecting the unstable crimson away from the Combat Master. Decades earlier, this move had never failed to send Celevon stumbling away.

Now, however, the Odanite used the momentum and spun in the opposite direction. Atra curved his body just enough to let the blade swing by him, his own blade catching the crimson as it was brought down toward his knee.

The onlookers watched, mesmerized as the pair of blades whirled around one another; attacks, feints and ripostes exchanged rapidly in crackles of energy. The half-Echani ran up a wall and flipped over the Combat Master, barely catching the silver-blue blade that lanced out toward him by his smirking opponent.

“Nice tricks, twinkle toes. Don’t forget who taught you that.” The slight taunt of the Umbaran had barely reached the crowd before the two of them were moving once again.

In one of their exchanges, Celevon was going for a controlled swing when Atra struck, the crossguard hilt flying from the younger male’s grasp. If they expected the Onderonian to surrender, they would have been disappointed as the Odanite started what looked like a dance.

Every flip, somersault and dodge around the saber of the Umbaran brought them closer. Just as suddenly, the two of them stopped when Atra deactivated his weapon, the emitter an inch from Celevon’s chest.

“I win,” the Combat Master smugly pointed out.

The Onderonian laughed. “I’d call it a draw.”

As Atra glanced down, the others realized what the Assassin meant. The tip of the Inquisitori dagger was a mere inch from the Umbaran’s ribs, pointed directly at the Combat Master’s heart.

“You cheat!”

“No honor among thieves, mate,” Celevon grinned as he stepped away and sheathed the dagger. His voice seemed to have shifted as his own lilting accent became thicker, clearly imitating someone with a higher pitched voice. “Who’s to say I cheated if you knife the other guy, eh?”

Atra’s lips gave a miniscule twitch in what would only be assumed was a smile. No one else knew, but the Onderonian had quoted him from when they first fought. Or, more correctly, when he gifted Tristan with a pilfered dirk.

“Touché.”