The ocean world of Ahch-To looks to be nothing but blue seas from the distance of space. Dotting the oceans, however, are chains of rocky island that jut upwards to form shallow, sloping mountain ranges with small, flattened plateaus. Rich green trees and other small flora grow along the sedimentary stone, untouched by anything more than small avian creatures looking for a place to nest. Carved into the stones of the various islands are sets of winding, ascending and man-made pathways.

The crisp, clean air that wisps off the ocean helps maintain a fairly mild temperature during the day, with a healthy chill at sunset. Storms have been reported to flare up from time to time, leaving only the highest points of the islands safe from a rising tide. Porgs litter the islands, the oceans teem with a wide variety of fish, and large, docile Thala-sirens loiter on the rocky shores.

Although better known as the legendary home of the Jedi Order, a species of small-statured amphibious natives live simple lives as caretakers of the Jedi ruins. The ruins themselves are primarily small collections of stone huts, although numerous hidden caves dot the islands. Some contain evidence of previous habitation; many more house strong Force auras with mysterious effects on sentient beings, particularly Force-sensitives.

A warm breeze teased at the man’s clothes as he stood upon the grassy hill. It was a sweet ocean wind that reminded him of family trips long ago. It hearkened to memories before the pain and chaos that resulted of his affiliation with the Sadow cult. His eyes traced past the tufts of green grass that broke the gray stone of the hilly region he found himself in. His gaze meandered toward the sea where he could see the brown, gray and white of porgs littering the beach.

Compared to the death and stress that his life had dealt him, this world was proving to be a respite, a form of sanctuary against It was not until his eyes settled upon the large frame of the blue-skinned humanoid. Bentre Stahoes felt his breath catch in his chest as a smile teased at his lips.

So this is the challenge set before me. In most cases, little could have pulled the Sadowan Consul away from his duties aboard the Clan flagship, Perdition. However, the message from the Combat Master had promised him an opportunity to prove himself. Even when not serving the cause of Sadow, the Headmaster and Holocron Center keep me occupied. I actually get to engage in a bit of field work.

Excited at the prospect, the Sith stepped down quickly, but carefully to descend the height of the hillside. As he descended the height of the rocky hillside, the Battlelord kept his eyes locked upon the Chiss. As he drew closer, he was able to pick out more clear details. The musculature of the blue-skinned alien was more notable for the Chiss’s lack of a shirt. From the back, he did not appear the sort to be ready for combat.

This fact slowed the Corellian’s gait. I mean, technically I could shoot him in the back, right here and be done with it. He felt his excitement cool for the briefest moment. I mean, it is not like it would be that much fun. It is always a bit more enjoyable when you can hear a subject scream. If I leave this dude mostly intact, I could always try to apply some of the methods that old alchemist wrote about. It might be neat to work with a subject who can describe the levels of pain they are experiencing as the ancient techniques twist their flesh into grotesque new forms.

It did not appear that Stahoes had been spotted. He felt giddy as he came within a sprint’s distance of the target. That was the moment the Sith noticed that his opponent lacked a blaster weapon at his side. A large, yellow shield sat on the sand beside the Chiss. At this distance, it was clear that the bald alien was just enjoying the beautiful view, as Bentre had been doing.

“You are an odd one.” The words surprised Bentre even as they left his lips, causing the Shadow to stiffen. He had been louder than expected. Compared to the twitchy Sith, the Mercenary was remarkably calm, merely turned to face the speaker. A single dark lock slid with momentum across the alien’s face as he turned.

“Is the view not gorgeous out here?” Stres'tron'garmis’ voice was booming in sharp contrast to the soft whoosh of water the beach “Would you like to join me in watching the ocean while I await my opponent?“

The Corellian felt his mouth open, but no immediate answer came forth. He could not help but chuckle. “As positively lovely as that sounds, I have to decline the offer.” He took stock of the Reaver standing before him. Striking down a half-naked Chiss was not going to prove anything. “I had a target to track here. I take if you are the noble?”

“Yes.” The Mercenary placed hands on his hips as he looked warmly down at Bentre. “I am to understand that you are the one I have been waiting for?”

The Sith chuckled again. “Yes, well.” he let the words trail off as he peered down the length of the beach. The alien was large and muscular. Where there was strength, most sentients chose either speed or strength. “I suppose you will want to engage in this whole affair like, what, gentleman?” The Corellian lifted an eyebrow, crossing one arm across his chest and stroking at his chin with the other.

“If that form of combat suits you, I will be glad to meet your expectations.” The noble Chiss nodded. “Just remember, you must give your all in this fight!”

In answer, Bentre closed the distance between the men, striking out with his left hand. The sizable alien moved with unexpected speed and grace, easily blocking the blow before. Stres'tron'garmis took a few strides back, turning his body sideways as he brought his right hand up to head height with Stahoes.

“Come now,” the Reaver chortled, “The time for practiced, my man! The time for battle has arrived.”

The Corellian Sith stepped forward again, keeping his body moving as he jabbed a fist into his opponents side. He just managed to duck and pull back out of range again before a roundhouse kick swept over him where his head had just been. Gliding sideways and out of the reach of the Mercenary, Bentre watched the Chiss’s movements.

This fight is going to be ugly if I do not keep moving.

Strong found himself enjoying his time on the beach immensely. He was not overly familiar with the style his armored foe was using, but he was certainly doing his best, which was all the Chiss could hope for. What pleased the son of Garmis so much was that despite all the armaments the man carried, he'd engaged in fisticuffs!

What was disappointing him was the way the man kept moving away down the beach, focusing on defense rather than attacking as he had at the start. Whoever this was who was before him was apparently capable of using the Force, determined the Chiss, as the armored figure would suddenly grow faster, quickly dodging and ducking away whenever he pressed too near. It never even occurred to the big brawler that he was being led around, certain that the man would eventually tire himself out and then he'd lay him out.

Finally, an opening showed itself in his foe's constant retreat, and Strong's scarred fist slammed into the armored chest. His opponent reeled back on to the beach, tumbling feet over head in a spray of sand.

”You should take the offensive more, friend! Constantly running away will not find you victory.”

The armored man pushed himself up to a kneeling position, one hand unconsciously rising towards his chest. Strong noticed the helmet’s line of sight look past him, and then the sound of laughter, the man’s shoulders shaking. He stood, presenting his right profile to the Chiss, his left hand moving in concealment.

“I drew you here for a purpose, big guy,” he said with another laugh, turning to raise his blaster pistol at the Arconan. “You left your shield behind, and you might be quick, but I can still put three bolts into you at this range before you can touch me. Yield. You've been bested by the best, Bentre Stahoes.”

Stres'tron'garmis narrowed his glowing eyes at the man. The Sadowan sounded smug, certain that he'd won. The Chiss slipped his hands into his pant pockets with little regard. If this Bentre planned to shoot him in cold blood he would have done it already.

“You seem confident in your victory, sir, but you would do well not to underestimate the pride and determination that has been passed down the Garmis line for generations!” The Chiss bellowed, drawing his hands back out into the open to show the vibroknucklers now adorning them. He rolled his shoulders and lowered his center of gravity, obviously prepared to charge.

Inside Bentre’s helmet, the targeting reticle was highlighting exposed areas, which, with Strong’s stance, was most of the Chiss. He didn’t move the blaster an inch and wondered briefly if his own look of determination would have given the Reaver pause if he could see it. The painful grimace his face was set in from having to use the Force to keep from being pulverized may have helped as well.

“I’d prefer you alive, Garmis. You’d make a better test subject inta—Sithspit!” he exclaimed as the big man charged. It was madness, and for the first step, Bentre didn’t fire, not believing what he saw. On the second, he depressed the trigger, the targeting reticle set to burn a hole through the big blue madman’s chest. It sparked against something a few inches in front of the Chiss, causing Stahoes to blink in surprise. He has a forcefield!?

He fired again, cursing the slow cycle rate of the SE-44C as Strong began to fill his vision. The bolt impacted the shield again, and Bentre saw a spark from something box-like on the Chiss’s belt before a vibroknuckler drew his attention. It was rapidly filling his vision, despite his efforts to fall back and away, his boots pushing against the sand. He got off another shot and was elated to hear a grunt through his helmet just before the miniature blades of the knuckler hit. The targeting reticle and hud flash out, leaving him in darkness while his head rang from the blow. His face hurt, he felt dazed, and as the display flickered back to life, it filled with a massive blue palm. He shouted in pain when the helmet was twisted roughly and torn off his head, the Chiss throwing it to the side.

Bentre squinted his eyes against the unfiltered light, and his nose filled with the smells of the ocean. For a moment, his mind still catching up after the brutal strike, he was reminded of how nice he thought this world was. Before Strong open palm slapped him across the face, the grip of the vibroknuckler adding insult to injury when it bruised his cheek. His mismatched eyes met the Arconan’s red ones. He began to raise his left hand, only to feel it empty, having dropped his blaster with the force of the blow he’d suffered.

”I believe you began to make mention of using me as some form of test subject, Mister Stahoes? To think, I believed you to be a man of honor and integrity for wishing to do honorable battle, as gentleman, but you have proven to be nothing but a liar and rapscallion!” bellowed the big man.

The Sadowan shook his head, wondering if his helmet had been muffling the big idiots shouting before.

“Do you have to be so blasted loud?” growled the Sith, glaring down at the Chiss. He blinked anew and felt his feet dangling. With a cough, he reached out to grasp the arm holding him aloft by the front of his armor and tried to make it budge. When Strong opened his mouth to speak once more, Bentre decided not to chance it, and allowed the hidden blade in his bracer to spring forward.