Faron is one of the twin cities on Nancora alongside Axio, breaking up the planet's scarred surface with their presence. Originally existing in the form of underground shelters, the city was built up slowly—layer by layer—until it became a metropolis so large that it can be clearly seen from orbit. In order to maintain an organized infrastructure, the city itself is separated into districts based on the disc-like, concentric blocks that make up its design.

The outer district is the largest of these. Here, the buildings form alleys and streets that criss-cross as they either run straight towards the center of Faron or curve along its circumference. The complexes found here are almost mathematical in design. Towers built upon towers, they all link together like geometric puzzle pieces with harsh lines and angles in lieu of softer edges. Having to deal with the elements, the durasteel constructs appear weathered and worn, but maintain a bright coloring to reflect as much light as possible and reduce its thermal conversion.

Industry thrives in Faron, and its districts embody this. In the outer district, shops meet with living centers and the lines between them blur. An apartment cluster appears much the same as a grand complex containing a myriad of speeders or other such technological constructions. Power relays, the key to keeping the city functioning in its entirely, are staggered along the streets and each level. Through redundancy, the system prevents the loss of a single relay from crippling it. The citizens flood the district at ground level, marching with haste towards their destinations while the skylanes flicker with activity high above.

In Faron's outer district, the thriving metropolis can be seen in all its many facets, but also at its most vulnerable.

“Kimba… Hey Kimba! Come on, Kimba! Look at me?”

The little girl had a wry grin on her face. She knew Jedgra would continue to call her name until she looked. He couldn’t handle being anything less than the center of attention.

“Kimba! Come on, I know you can hear me. Look at me, will you?”

The little girl held her gaze away from him for a moment longer, then let out an exasperated sigh, and turned to her best friend. “Whaaaaaat, Jedgra? Can’t you see that I’m busy? Go bother Rostel for a while and let me be.”

The boy climbed up into the little alcove that worked as their own little hide-out. Their parents knew where this place was, but hidden away in the industrial districts, they were safe from other prying eyes. They were close to Kimba’s father’s plant, and she often waited here in their little getaway for her father to head home from his job. He’d stop by and gather her on his way home to supper.

“You’re not busy, I know it,” Jedgra replied. “You had your eyes closed. You were busy being a lazy bum. I’ve got something fun for us to do.”

She turned her head slightly, a quizzical eyebrow raised at hm. He had managed to pique her interest. “What’s that?”

“Do you want to see a dead body?”

She laughed at him, and shook her head, then laid her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. “There’s no dead bodies. I’m sure you saw a pile of rags, or someone’s clothes that got stolen and tossed odd.”

“No, I mean it,” Jedgra pressed on. “It’s a real live dead body. I mean, not a live one. But a real one. It’s a real dead body. People have left it there for three days. It gives everyone the creeps! No one dares go near it. Heshel Pahn bet me five credits that I wouldn’t be brave enough to go touch it. I need you to go with me! Help me be brave. Let’s get that five credits!”

Well, now they had to go. Money was involved. Kimba still didn’t believe her friend, but she followed with. “Alright, but I get half.”

“No way! Not half! I’ll… get you… something sweet. Something cheap. But you’ll still get something.”

The two children made their way down alleys, across courtyards, and joked, and teased, and laughed all the way to where Jedgra had been told was the alley where an honest-to-god dead body had been found. It was brightly lit, but still seemed dark, foreboding. It had to be the fact that a body was there. There was nothing to be scared of. The alley wasn’t that long, maybe twenty meters or so. It stopped at the entrance to some office complex. And yet, the whole scene was odd. The office was closed. It looked deserted. But this was a thriving area. The place had to be occupied. Why would people just suddenly up and leave their office? The lights were on. Wasn’t anybody home?

“Come on, Kimba. Let’s go down and see it,” Jedgra pressed. “I need your help. Come on, make me brave. You always know the right things to say to make me brave. Or angry. Or laugh. Say something brave!”

Kimba stood still, at the edge of the sidewalk that led down the alley. She was taking in details. Something didn’t seem right. The alley was brightly lit. It was early afternoon. It was a work day. There should be a lot of people out and about. This was a bustling area. She couldn’t remember, but Kimba thought this was a shipping facility, that transported packages and freight all over the system. She kept scanning the alley. It wasn’t a holiday. School was out, but the adults still had to work.

The entire alley was… barren. No one was out and about. All down the sidewalks on both sides, paper blew. The buildings were clean, but looked recently abandoned. What had caused everyone to flee?

And there, at the end of the alley, was a… a pile of blackness. It looked like a slumped, misshapen form. Maybe it was a body? It certainly had the right size. Maybe a body had been dumped there. Maybe that explained it. “It could be a dead body, Jedgra. But why haven’t the police come?” Kimba was curious, but she had a nagging, creeping feeling that was tickling its way up her back, right up her spine. She felt cold. “A murder would explain why everything is empty. Maybe people were told to leave work and let the cops figure this out. But, if that was so… where are all the officers?”

“Kimba…” Jedgra sounded scared. She turned, and his lower lip was quivering. “Kimba, say something to make me brave. I’m not going to get my five credits, am I?”

The little girl pulled her friend in with her right arm, and she turned back to the alley. The pile, or mess, or body -- whatever it was -- hadn’t moved. “Oh Jedgra. It’s creepy to see a dead body, sure. But we can still get those creds. Let’s just… uhh, take a few steps. Let’s just go see what’s down there.”

A shadow slowly grew over the children from behind, and as Kimba turned to see who had come, Jedgra nearly yelped in terror. The look on the main’s face was steel. It wasn’t cold, but it was certainly strong. Proud. Determined. “You don’t belong here, children. I think you should run along. Go back home, find your parents. Either way, keep yourselves safe. Let the grown-ups deal with things like this.”

“But, mister!” Kimba looked up at the man. “We’re here on a bet! We’re supposed to get five credits if we touch that dead body down there! And it’s a mystery, too. Where did all the grown-ups go? Are you the cops?! Are you here to investigate it?”

“Here.” The man dug a couple of credits out of his pocket, and placed them into the little girl’s hand. “Run along now, brave girl. There’s plenty other mysteries to solve closer to home. Go now. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” The children stared up at their apparent-benefactor for a few minutes, then seeing as the man had given them an absolute treasure of twenty credits, Kimba and Jedgra looked at each other with the biggest grins their faces could possibly hold, and then they ran along, headed back to delight over their good fortunes at their luxurious, fantastic fort.

The newcomer stared down the alleyway for several long minutes. The Force had drawn him here. The Brotherhood had come to Nancora to strike back at the Collective, and while most of the Clans had already fled, or left in triumph, there were still some stragglers that were looking for lost brethren. Or searching for personal treasures that yet remained. Tisto Kinang was not yet sure why the Force had drawn him here, but there was a purpose. There was always a reason for every action, or even inaction. He had felt drawn here. And there was a powerful force down at the end of the alleyway. Yet, at present, it looked more like simple refuse, one of the many homeless denizens cast off from society. It certainly didn’t look like much of a challenge. Yet, perhaps more than any, Tisto knew that looks could be deceiving. It was, after all, how he had patterned much of his own combat prowess.

The Savant pulled his cloak about himself a little tighter. Best to appear as less of a threat, at least initially. He hid his hands, covered in his shockboxing gloves, under the robe, and gripped his lightsaber handle momentarily, reassuringly. He had nothing to fear. He was one with the Force, both the Light and Dark, and could draw upon vast reserves of strength and endurance to support him through any conflict. Odan-Urr had exhibited its true strength against the Collective, and all of his Clan had proven potent and true.

Tisto began to take slow, measured steps down the alleyway. His eyes, his focus, was entirely upon the huddled mass of robes and... whoever was awaiting him. Step. Slow, measured step. Precise placement of another step. His was measuring himself, watching for any reaction. Nothing.

And then, it began ebbing in. Slowly. Creeping up his spine. There was an odd feeling. Something… deep. Grim. Awkward. It wasn’t terrific, but… it was there. A cold breeze up his back, but there was no wind. The crunch of the dirt and rocks underneath his feet seemed more pronounced. Every ounce of his being was beginning to notice reasons why he ought to think twice. Or turn back. Or find anything else to do, but continue down the alleyway.

Go back. Just turn around and exit this place. It’s obviously abandoned. I’m not going to find what I’m truly seeking here. After all, there’s no… power to be acquired. No riches. No fame. Is that a knife? Some kind of weapon beside him? Yes, it is. I see it now. Peeking out from under his robes. I see a set of blades. A dagger and a sword, perhaps. Ahh, now I see the lightsabers. Two of them. Yes, he’s obviously ready for battle. I don’t need to be here. The odds are against me. There’s really no way to win this. It’s not my scenario. I’d much rather use the terrain against him. Incite the public to be my weapons.

“No,” he whispered to himself, steeling himself against what he knew to be the effects of the Dark Side. “No, I won’t be deterred.”

“Go back to your home, little man,” the huddled mass said slowly, haltingly. It was almost a raspy whisper, but it seemed to echo throughout the alley. The man’s was was pained, but still hinted at age, wisdom, and insight. “There is nothing for you here. Leave me.”

“You are obviously not natural here, nor wanted here,” Kinang returned. He tried to keep his voice measured and even. Deliberate. He could feel the effects of terror and darkness threatening to slow the blood in his hands, and he stretched them both slowly, trying to draw the warmth back into them. “Leave your weapons and go in peace, or I will be forced to strip them from you and bring you to the local magistrate, or the council of my Clan to decide your fate.”

The man’s hooded head raised slowly, just enough to see his chin, and mouth above. There was no smile, no grimace, no look at all. Just a straight, slender jawline and little more than a line of lips. “Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I commanded you to leave me.”

The man raised a quick hand, as though shooing away a fly, and a wave of the Force screamed across the alley, slamming into Tisto Kinang. The Savant raised his hands to call a barrier of protection, but though it was strong enough to keep him from harm, the absolute weight and power behind the man’s simple gesture sent Tisto backwards. The Savant turned into a backflip and landed several meters away, still on both feet. This was no street urchin, no homeless wretch. This man was dark, potent. Surely a Master. And now, Bloodfyre was rising to his feet, his weapons left on the floor of the alley behind him. Except for one. The Shaevalian’s hand was gripped loosely on his double-bladed lightsaber. It was adorned in symbols of death and destruction. Skulls, bones. And on it, another marking that wasn’t intuitively familiar to Tisto, but after a few seconds, his eyes widened slightly in recognition.

It was the marking of Tarentum. The dead Clan. The Collective had absolutely destroyed the forces from Yridia. This man was a survivor of the Clan of Death. He was probably still in despair, in shock. Tisto’s mind was working as quickly as he could, making plans.

“Your Clan is dead, Tarenti,” Tisto said, flipping side his cloak and grabbing onto his lightsaber. “I command you again, in the name of Clan Odan-Urr. Go, mourn your fellows. Leave your weapons. I claim them as tribute for allowing you to live and leave this place in peace.”

“Oh, no,” Bloodfyre said, almost serpent-like, hissing. “I think you’ve made your decision now, Odan-Urr. I gave you the opportunity to flee. Now... now, you will know pain.”

Tisto hesitated to bring his lightsaber forth, instead calling upon the Force, feeling it weave through his muscles, setting them against impact. As he did, Tisto felt a sudden shove against his left side as the Tarenti flicked his wrist. Debris flew by due to the strike, and Tisto found himself shoved almost a meter to the right from where he had stood. Despite the movement he remained on his feet, and grinned slightly at the Master. The Kiffar continued to weave the Force through his body, bracing for another hit.

"That's good. I haven't met a Wookiee who could do that. Even after I refused to let one win a game of dejarik," the former biker said with a chuckle. "We should tell them there is someone stronger than them."

Bloodfyre looked at the Odanite and scowled. Activating the double bladed saber the Saevalian's hand moved towards himself. Tisto felt as if the world was trying to force him towards the enemy, his feet sliding forward slightly before stopping. Tisto fought back, feeling the Force flow through his body, grinding him to a halt. He struggled until the pull was over, looking the Tarenti in the eye throughout it.

Time to attack then, he thought to himself, gathering the Force into his right hand. He shoved his hand out, unleashing the gathered telekinetic energy, focused in to shove Bloodfyre into the wall.

The Tarenti responded in kind, sending out a telekinetic shove to meet his foes. The two opposing energies collided, forcing both Force Users to concentrate on the strike. Debris spread away from where the two shoves had met, pushed out the the force of the two colliding attacks. Beads of sweat slowly rolled down the Kiffars forehead as he tried to force his way though the larger power. Tisto's hand cracked audibly under the pressure, though before any damage could be done he was overwhelmed and blasted out of the alley.

Dust followed the blast obscuring Sith's vision as he moved to make sure the mouthy Kiffar didn't start talking again. He had a decision to stick with. A familiar instinct told him to flee for half a second, though in his mounting anger he ignored it, clearing the dust. He felt the blow before he saw where Tisto had come from. The right hook hit the left side of Bloodfyre's head. Rationality rose up as he realized he had wasted the warning he had about this, then faded before rage. The Kiffar had used the dust from the clashing shoves to hide himself just enough for a single punch. The Master felt some swelling and a shock along side the blow.

Tisto went to follow the punch up with a knee strike, bringing his right knee up in a swift motion. He misjudged the distance from his lunging punch however, and Bloodfyre was able to pull away at the last second.

The Master readied his double bladed saber as Tisto got back into what looked like a personal take on the Corellian Kickboxing stance, with both feet on the ground, though the left foot was not fully planted, but merely raised enough for either a quick kick or a quick shift into a firmly planted stance.

"Well," the Kiffar said haughtily. "I thought you were going to teach me pain. Instead all you taught me was strength crumbles before something like some dust."

*I thought you were going to teach me pain…

Strength crumbles before something like dust…

Crumbles before something like dust…

Crumbles like dust…

You are dust…

Dust…*

The words echoed somewhere within the Shaevalian’s mind, but though Sith’s gaze and focus seemed on the Kiffar, his mind was actually not registering what Tisto had been saying. Rage had been filling the Master’s being, his entire soul. His blood seemed to rush into his head. The sound of his own heartbeat filled Bloodfyre’s ears. All of existence was receding away, drowned out in the power of the Force. The Savant hadn’t physically wounded the former Consul of Tarentum, but the man’s pride had certainly been assaulted. Tarentum had been destroyed. The Collective had wounded him, wounded his Clan. And swallowed in the enormity of that loss, Bloodfyre now had a target on which to unleash his rage. An almost sadistic, gleeful smirk touched upon the Shaevalian’s lips, and perhaps Tisto even saw a glimmer of eyes from beneath the shadowed hood where the Master’s eyes likely rested. Fear crawled back up the spine of Tisto Kinang, that nagging, gnawing fear that something was about to go terribly wrong.

It started out small, but continued to burrow its way into the sound resolve that had bolstered the former biker. Tisto backed away, keeping space between himself and his dark foe as the Shaevalian slowly stalked forward. Step by agonizing step, and the smile remained on the Master’s lips. Kinang saw that this assault was not going to work as planned, and he quickly began formulating alternative methods to down the Tarentae, and claim him as bounty. He could still defeat this man somehow. Suddenly, the fear blasted over him like a wave, an almost sweltering tide of heat and doubt that clutched at Tisto and held him dead in his tracks. He tried to turn his head and find any means of escape, but he realized he could somehow see the pale, light blue eyes of the Sith Master. The Shaevalian had locked gazes with the Savant, and those piercing, oddly pleasant blue eyes were filled with malice, and demanded that Tisto face him, and hang on his every word.

“You will know pain, whoever you are,” Bloodfyre hissed, “and you will begin to relish its terrible embrace.”

A sudden, cloistering, suffocating darkness enveloped the two men. Tisto almost felt as though dark tendrils had grabbed a hold of his, and were pinning his arms to his sides, and stuffing terrible, loathsome hatred down his throat. In truth, the debilitating, paralyzing fear of the Sith Master held the Savant in its grasp, and kept him firm. Fear continued to build inside of the Savant. Whispered, hissing promises of torture echoed throughout his head. His own thoughts and conscience were assaulting him with promises of the Sith Master stripping his flesh from his bones. Cutting bits and pieces from Tisto’s body. Hanging him from broken limbs above snapping, hungry rancors ready to tear him apart. Cold, terrified sweats begin to drip from Tisto’s brow. The Dark Side was cose, clutching at the Savant. The Light fled, but Tisto Kinang was not unfamiliar with the Dark, and as it clutched at its throat, the Savant gave way to rage, to darkness and anger, and tried to lash out and free himself from the terrible darkness and suffocating blackness.

A hand shot out and blasted Tisto square in the chest, sending him flying meters away. Kinang landed flatly on his back, the wind knocked momentarily from his chest. The suffocating power of the Sith Master was gone, however, and at the very least, he could begin to chose and gasp, and try to force himself back onto his feet. Tisto’s rage pressed the Force into every inch of his body, and isolated the pain, pushing it away and allowing himself to come to action. Bloodfyre stepped out of the darkness and it disappeared, in time for Tisto to see Bloodfyre’s hand sweep almost instantaneously from right-to-left, and a door from the nearest building was torn from its hinges and launched at Kinang. Still gasping and choking, Tisto leaped forward towards Bloodfyre and out of the way of the projectile. The Savant tucked into a roll and up onto his feet, activating and bringing his lightsaber to bear as the Master’s hand shot out, gripping tightly into a fist. Tisto felt the unseen hands of the Force grip onto his throat tightly, as though a dozen rancors clutched him firm, ready to devour him.

Sith’s lips were twisted into an almost maddening snarl. Tisto dropped his lightsaber and clutched at his throat in futility, before reaching out in a moment of desperation, trying to draw something -- anything -- in as a projectile of his own. A rock. A twig. Anything to at least try and break the concentration of the Sith before him.

“Everything… everything has been taken from me,” Sith hissed as he squeezed his fist tighter, as though he could break the neck of the Savant before him. “In my despair, the Dark Side seemed to flee, but it has given me a renewed purpose. You -- all of you -- need to die. Destruction will purge me of this despair. Deaths will empower me. And you will be the first in my rebirth. I will snuff out your light, and the rest of the Brotherhood will follow suit.

“I will destroy everything.”

“Go… lick a… Hutt, Tarentae,” Tisto almost croaked in his defiance. His eyes almost seemed to bulge out of his skull, and he was on the cusp of unconsciousness as his vital organs continued to be deprived of oxygen and nutrients. His arms fell limply to his sides, and his skin took on a bluish hue as cyanosis spread from his lips and fingertips to the rest of his face and limbs.

Sith unclenched his fist, and Tisto fell limply to the ground. Bloodfyre glanced down and waved two quick fingers at the Savant’s lightsaber, which flew a dozen meters away, the blade flicking out into lifelessness. Kinang struggled to breathe, gasping and choking loudly. His mind was swirling as though stuck in a perpetual loop on a stomach-churning carnival ride. His consciousness was slowly returning, but there was little rational thought to his being. He knew he was in danger, but had no rational perception where the danger would come from, or how to defend himself. Yet, Tisto knew he had to do something. He waved his arms out in front of himself, trying to bat something, anything away from himself. Or grasp a hold of it to keep it at bay. Bloodfyre looked down at the wretch before him, his face appearing as stoic and rigid as granite. He may very well have been a carved marble statue in that moment.

“Do you now feel pain, wretch? Do you understand what torture I have endured in my years to attain mastery?” Sith gripped his lightsaber firmly, almost lovingly. He deactivated one of the blades, and pointed the single active blade at the Savant. “In another life, you may have been offered a choice. But now, there is only death.”

Tisto struggled for air, looking at the blade in front of him. He stopped moving, calling on the Force for one final strike. As he did clarity found him, pushing the fear aside. The young Kiffar had faced death many times, starvation, blaster bolts, bombs, knives. Each time he had struggled through it, but he remembered the face of death well. Death was a being that took loved ones, destroy nations, broke someone down by destroying everything they cared about. This wasn't the face of death that he was facing, it was the face of another broken man.

"Before I die," Tisto croaked out. "You should know you screwed up."

Tisto curled up his finger and flicked it in the air, unleashing a Force shove that connected with his opponents chest. Taken off guard, the Master was sent flying back, losing his grip on the lightsaber. Without missing a beat Tisto pushed himself back up, calling on the Force again. This time it ran through his legs, weaving through his muscles. He ran with enchanced speed, falling back on experience of fighting people stronger than him.

That's right Tisto. Don't let him breath!

Tisto reached Bloodfyre as the man began to call out to his lightsaber. Tisto punched out at groin level, bringing the shockboxing glove down with as much might as the Kiffar could muster. All of the power and pain tolerance in the world was not enough for Bloodfyre to ignore this strike. His lightsaber dropped once more as he let out a high pitched groan. The Master's eyes went wide as the force of the punch was followed by an intense burst of electricity. His face went pale, and the Shaevalian's stomach betrayed him. His jaw fell, as the man purged what he had been eating over the last few days. The Bile Gyser covered Tisto's shirt, some spilling inside his cloak, meanwhile a large amount of the vomit poured down Bloodfyre's chin.

Tisto stared into the eye's of the Tarenti, displaying only pity. "You are not someone to fear," the Kiffar stated simply, seeing the man trying to recover. "You aren't death, or the last Tarenti, or anything more than a broken man, vomiting because he had his groin smashed by a shockboxer. You would be lucky if one of your family jewels didn't just burst."

"D..d..die ... you" Bloodfyre forced himself into saying, silenced by Tisto slamming his knee into the Tarenti's jaw.

"What was it you promised me?" Tisto asked. "That you would show me pain? How does it feel knowing you may never be a full man again after that punch? How does the smell of your own vomit make you feel?"

Bloodfyre reached out for his lightsaber with the Force once more, but dropped his hand when he saw Tisto pull out his own. At this range a mere button push would kill him, likely before he could strike back.

"How does it feel, wretch, knowing that all of your work to attain mastery was taken away by a mere groin punch?" The Savant said.

With his right arm Tisto slowly curled his fingers, calling on the Force. Bloodfyre felt immense pressure on his right hand, and heard a crack. His eyes darted across the area looking for something to kill the impetuous Kiffar with when he felt another strike hit his groin, this clearly from the mans boot. While he would have been able to ignore the punishment under normal circumstances, this was too much. A punch, an electric shock and now a kick, all of them had shoved their way into becoming pain. The Master curled up in shock, recoiling from the second hit, wishing he could pass out, yet at the same time wishing to kill the Kiffar. This shouldn't have happened.

"Goodbye old man," Tisto said, his voice full of pity. The Savant turned away. "I would suggest next time you try not to follow in the steps of your clan."

The Kiffar waved arrogantly, using the back side of his hand. Taking the opportunity for what it was, Bloodfyre pulled out his single bladed saber and performed a hobbled lunge from the ground, spearing Tisto in the side. A cry of pain and furry bellowed from the Kiffar as he turned his head and clenched his hand down. Bloodfyre cried out in pain as well, feeling immense pressure on his groin. His voice covered a sickening squish, and he relinquished the lightsaber, the hilt falling to the ground as the blade was deactivated.

Tears formed in both men's eyes as pain washed through them, each realizing the damage they had taken. Bloodfyre looked to Tisto to see him seem to fight off the pain of the strike after several moments, placing his hand over the wound and hobbling off.

"I'd say go frak yourself," Tisto said as he left. "But it seems you can't"