Seated within the Glorious Jewel of the Hutts, the Winter Palace is situated on a remote island near the planet’s equator. Although blanketed with the pollution from Hutt industry, its location makes the climate hot and humid. Surrounded with trees and vines, it could be considered to be a paradise, even among the barren wasteland of Nal Hutta. Outside of the Winter Palace, a network of sewer pipes transfer the waste from the palace to wherever seems far enough to dump into the oceans surrounding the island. Flora and fauna that have adapted to the Hutt’s environmental changes thrive in the polluted forests surrounding the Winter Palace.

Stepping through its gilded gates, the lavish interior serves as the main audience chamber. Once belonging to the wealth of Jiliac Desilijic Tiron, the gleaming stone of the main aisle leads up to a Hutt’s dais lined with an expensive carpet. Beautiful tapestries line the high walls, telling of the sordid histories of those who woven them, awaiting execution in Jiliac’s dungeons.

Finally, the antechamber to the "throne" room is illuminated from above with high-skylighted ceilings. Constructed from lightly colored stone, the antechamber might have been where the late Hutt entertained his guests before an audience with spice and exotic dancers. In the hands of the Hutt Kajidics, however, these traditions have continued as the Winter Palace now serves as a front for criminal and business ventures that come and go.

The reverberating sound of revelry sent tremors throughout the polluted swamp of Nal Hutta. As flocks of animals fled from the concophany dozens of assorted speeders skimmed through the polluted air and poisoned wastelands. The dazzlingly dressed creatures within those vehicles contrasted with the desolate wasteland jutted with sewers pipes, mists of toxic waste, and mutated plants struggling to survive on the once immaculate island. Through the hazy clouds brilliant multi-color lights sliced lines into the heavens drawing the speeders towards them like insects to the flame.

Inside the antechamber the party had been in full swing for hours. Celebrants intoxicated by more spice, liquors, and other forbidden items than an apothecary could name in a lifetime gave rise to their deepest debaucheries. Nearer to the de facto throne room several Hutts of the Kajidic clan sat on emblazoned dais overlooking the gluttony before them. Two of the Hutts marvelled as exotic dancers spun through the air on silken sheets, accenting the height of the skylighted ceiling, while weaving through the gigantic pillars supporting the massive domed structure. As the Hutts reached into their nearby tanks to feast on the still living Klatooine paddy frogs, they placed wagers on which dancer would fall and what sort of injuries they’d sustain.

From across the room, a striking figure worked his way through the crowd. Kamjin Lap’lamiz, otherwise known as Maverick to those who had the privilege to fly with him, was in his element. Years of command and politics had acclimated him to these sorts of events. To the untrained observer there was nothing but the most primal of instincts being given in too. Yet, to the more meticulous amongst the crowd they could see deals being struck. While a half-naked zabrak woman arranged a tray of spice that would soon transport the people inhabiting the table to the wildest sights of the hyperspace lanes, a deal had been struck to transport several dozen slaves to a new processing plant in the outer rim. As several Rodians tried to down liquor from an impressive three story ice sculpture, their associates were placing their bio-thumb print on purchase orders for new cargo ships recently acquired by a rival gang.

Kamjin smirked to himself as he strolled through the crowd. His command cloak partially covered his elder robes which gave him an air of danger as several of the more lucid individuals recognized the symbols and trappings of an elder Dark Jedi Brotherhood member. This, naturally, made him all the more attractive in the crowd. People are drawn to power and Kamjin exuded it. Several women attempted to entrap him with their feminine wiles, to which he politely declined with a charming grin and sweet, soothing words that he would find them later; though he had no intention of following through on such boosts. Of the men, there were many shared toasts, either to the glory of the fleet, the glory of the clan, or other false platitudes by those fearful of the power the Brotherhood represented. While others attempted to proffer new business deals; new armor, weapons, ships, and more for Kamjin and Clan Scholae Palatinae to obtain greater glory. Again, a nod here, a promise to return, and other darker whispers were returned as he made his way to his true objective.

He had come to speak with the Hutts, regarding a matter of some importance to the Brotherhood, and did not want to spend more time than was necessary with those who sought to make a quick deal. Yet, there was this sense of foreboding that he couldn’t shake. He had felt it from the moment he had arrived. At first it hadn’t bothered him. With this much depravity occurring around him it was only natural that there would be hostility felt towards him. Yet, the longer he was here the more focused it became. He scanned around the room and saw all sorts of wanton behavior. From those forcing themselves onto the entertainment to the consumption of endangered creatures and above it all the Hutts’ drinking it in, fanning the flames of sinfulness.

After a while, Kamjin came to rest his gaze upon one individual that stood out from the crowd. Not because of any particular exuberance but rather the complete lack of it. He was slightly taller than Kamjin, while he appeared like one of several dozen individuals wearing a hooded cloak, he could tell that there was a weight to it; probably some sort of heavy armor weave. Again, not out of the ordinary here, nor was the way he carried himself; almost paranoid. He had positioned himself perfectly so that he had visibility of all entrances and exits. What stood out was that he was not partaking in the frivolities. He held no cup, there was no sign of food in his hands, nor were there any signs of him belonging to a group of merrymakers. Kamjin started to make his way over to this outcast figure, pausing along the way only briefly to make it appear as if he was not approaching him directly. A moment sharing a whispered conversation with several of the entertaining dances on the floor. A nod to a group of young business people clearly invited to a party above their station. A small pat on the shoulder of a serving droid and a gesture in the direction of where he was headed. All the while he continued to take in this puzzling figure.

His stance was casual, yet he knew from his days running covert operations that it was misleading. He appeared handsome by most standards but his beard was showing his age. All-in-all, he appeared very similar to Kamjin; most likely some lesser noble who had found a way to make a living in the galaxy. That was until this figure motioned away a group of girls seeking to provide a dance with his hand. Kamjin felt it then; a faint but familial tremor. Upon his hand he wore a ring. A very familiar ring as he had seen them frequently throughout the years. A signet ring of Clan Arcona. He had never been particularly close to any of the Arconians.

As he finally made his way through the crowd, he came upon the Arconan at the same time the server droid approached with two drinks. Kamjin took both as the droid went off to fulfill its next order.

“Greetings, friend,” Kamjin said, extending the glass to the stranger, “enjoying the party?” He noted that while the stranger took the offered glass, he did not drink it. Kamjin, sipped from his savoring the sweet flora and berry notes. Say what you will about the Hutts but they didn’t skimp when it came to their functions.

Kamjin slid in beside the stranger, taking in the room from his perspective. It really was a good position to take in the whole room with minimum effort. Lowering his voice to being perceived just above the din, “What brings an Arconan to the festivities?”

The stranger looked at Kamjin. Kamjin noted that his piercing blue eyes looked both at him and threw him. This was no mere field agent though he couldn’t place him. He had been away from the Brotherhood for too long and while he still recognized some of the elder Dark Council members he was woefully uninformed about the majority of Brotherhood members.

“Evening, Kamjin,” the stranger responded, “don’t you have more important business to attend to?” The stranger raised his glass and sniffed it. A noticeable sign of disgust as the sharpness of the bouquet reached his nose.

He knows me? Kamjin thought searching his memory now frantically to recognize the man. Why would an Arconan know me and why does he appear to know why I am here? “Well, friend,” Kamjin stressed the term with an iciness in his tone, “My business is my business. You seem to know me but I don’t believe I have the pleasure of meeting you.” Kamjin casually took another sip of this drink watching a small opening form in the crowd near them while another troop of tumblers made room to perform.

“I am Marick,” the stranger introduced himself with the same aloof yet informed tone. He searched the room for a server droid to place his wine glass on. Kamjin didn’t know Marick. He felt a familiarity with him though. As if they shared a similar connection within the Brotherhood.

“Marick,” Kamjin let the name hang in the air, “Never heard of you. Yet, you’re clearly aware of me. Why is that?”

“Do you really want to be having this conversation here?”

“Where else would I have it?” waving his arm across the room. Marick sighed and spoke under his breath, “I told Telaris this was a mistake.”

“What do you mean, ‘a mistake’,” Kamjin whirled to face Marick. Telaris, what does the Grandmaster have to do with this, he thought. Telaris had given this mission to him after all.

“If you’re this easily distracted by the glamour of this spectacle then we shouldn’t trust you with these types of missions.”

“I can handle negotiations with Hutts.”

“If you can handle it, why have you spent the last few hours imbibing with these denizens,” Marick spoke in a tone Kamjin had heard ages ago from the Masters that trained him. He hadn’t been spoken to as such for decades and he wasn’t inclined to hear it from someone who, for all observations, looked equal to himself.

“You mean the several smaller deals I’ve made. While blending in. You stuck out like a gundark in a Nabooian palace.”

Marick grunted. Kamjin had his ire up over the apparent scolding he was receiving. “It’s to be expected though,” he started to goad Marick, “your whole Clan is founded by someone who stuck out.” Marick narrowed his eyes at Kamjin.

“Oh, yes, I knew Donitz. Did you know he was originally a Palatinaean? Yet he always found a way to needle people. Had to do things his way and stick out in a crowd. Whether it was his little independent house or flying around in those Z-95 Headhunters he was fond of.” Kamjin had inched his face closer to Marick’s, “So naturally, people who followed his example would also stick out.”

Kamjin took his finger and jammed it into Marick’s pectoral, unknowingly hitting up the tattoo he had with the mark of the Arconae, and emphasized, “Now, let me go about my business.”

Marick, not raising to the jab, shook his head, “You sought me out and now blame me for why your mission is in jeopardy.” He smirked as he said, “What else should be expected from someone who refused the invitation to join us on our Exodus.” That did it, Kamjin had suffered enough ridicule by the younger members of the Brotherhood over their perceived slight that he hadn’t joined them in their Exodus. Kamjin took his finger, still pointed squared into Marick’s chest, and shoved him backwards. Marick was jostled backwards knocking into a Kel Dor and causing him to drop his drink onto the unsuspecting patron. Kamjin, gloating that his supposed “better” had so easily been jostled didn’t see the Kel Dor push Marick back forcefully causing him to slam into Kamjin. Whether it was the drink, the spice in the air, the verbal jabs, Kamjin wouldn’t be able to say for certain later. At the time, he had simply had enough and he took this as the excuse he needed to release his pent up fury at the sideways glances and whispered criticisms since his return.

As Marick, now raising his arms to brace himself, came moving back towards Kamjin, he took his glass and smashed it into his head. Kamjin grinned broadly as the glass shattered, sloshing what remained over Marick’s head. It was mostly a symbolic move, the razor thin glass shattered with barely any force and no damage would be caused to Marick.

Marick saw what was coming just as the glass shattered. He felt next to nothing as the glass made contact but enough was enough. Telaris had wanted him to make an assessment of Kamjin and whether he could be trusted with larger responsibilities again and, though he was in disagreement, set again on a path to Master. Very well, he thought, if he wants to fight then that’s another way of assessing his worth. He slid his hand up, catching Kamjin’s wrist still clutching the stem of the shattered glass, and pulling him forward rotated Kamjin behind him and directed the now off-balanced opponent into the same Kel Dor. The Kel Dor brushing the spilled liquor off his clothing looked up as Kamjin toppled into him, face first. The two of them went to the ground.

Kamjin pushed off him, as the Kel Dor left out an oof of air as Kamjin’s hands depressed his abdomen with enough force to spring him back to his feet. At this point the crowd nearest to them started to part as Kamjin and Marick sized each other up. Kamjin popped his shoulders as he cocked his raised fists to fight. Marick, tucked his elbows with his hands open waiting for Kamjin to make the first move. He did not have to wait long.

Ow.

Marick was accustomed to rolling with the punches. Glass bottles to the head, strangely, were a relatively new one for him. While the impact caused little more than a reflexive wince and a dull throb, he could feel the fresh cut in the side of his temple. A faint, thin line of blood trickled down beneath his shoulder-length hair but not much further. The half-Hapan paid little attention to it. Instead, his senses were focusing on the subtle shift of patrons in the room forming a makeshift circle around the two combatants.

A quick glance left located the table of Gamorreans who, up until that point, had been enthralled with a dancing male Zeltron who sported a full sleeve of tattoos across his barely-clothed body. The three hulking humanoids snorted as they shoved aside a few smaller patrons to get a clearer view of the shuffle. Whether they planned to simply observe or join the fun remained to be seen.

A glance to the right revealed ranging sets of humanoids of varying in shape, size, and attire. Some carried their weapons openly while others attempted to keep theirs concealed. Surprisingly, none of them seemed inclined to draw on the two men that had started a fist fight. If anything, they seemed more enthralled by the intrigue of why they were fighting.

Marick tuned out their voices as he idly calculated an escape route to the nearest exit. His hands lowered towards his sides, held flat like knives, while his trailing leg stretched backward for balance.

The half-Hapan looked his opponent up and down, noting his stance and posture. The slightly shorter man kept his feet squared and his fists up in front of his chest, left hand extended slightly out in front to the right. The cut of his tailored robes showed no bulges or imprints, no hidden weapons or trinkets that were easily discernible even to Marick’s trained eye.

What did stand out, of course, was the one weapon he did seem to be carrying. The conversion hilt lightsaber holstered to Kamjin’s thigh hovered well within easy reach. The Palatinaean did not seem to care to hide his identity as someone who openly carried the legendary weapon of the Sith and Jedi alike.

Strange.

Marick kept his own lightsaber clipped horizontally to the back of his belt, concealed inside of the sash and beneath his armorweave Shaed cloak. The Sith Dagger on his hip looked perfectly normal and at home in a place like Nal Hutta, as did his throwing razor and knives.

The half-Hapan had spent years hiding his abilities from both his allies and enemies alike. Between serving on the Dark Council—and battling the likes of Capital Enterprises spymasters—subtlety and subterfuge had always proved to be the keys to victory and success. The Arconae knew of the Kajidic clan, certainly, but nothing more telling than what circulated on the Inquisitorius channels that he still checked regularly out of habit, or on the dossiers he had idly leafed through to stay aware of current events.

These thoughts sobered the former Master Assassin, reminding him why he had walked away from all of it and chosen a different path. Still, there was a part of him that recognized that two Elder members of the Brotherhood fighting openly in a Hutt's place of business was not always the best of public relations.The crowd here just wanted to see a fight.

If Telaris had wanted Marick to keep a low profile, however, he knew damn well to be more specific.

A ghost of a grin formed over Marick’s face as he let go of the air of pretense he carried as the former Voice of the Brotherhood. Here, he was simply Marick Tyris Arconae—just another humble patron in a typical barroom brawl—

Squish-kkiik

His foot slid over a sticky patch of what he hoped was dried-out beer. When he went to lift his foot, he could feel and practically hear the gunky noise. Then he smelt it, and yes, it was definitely some kind of spilled beverage. Combined with the stench of the amalgamation of drugs, alcohol, and diverse body odor, Marick almost crinkled his features into a scowl. Almost.

Before he could let out a grunt of disgust, however, Kamjin was on him. The copper-headed Sith led with a series of left-swerving jabs and a tight right cross angled at Marick’s wrist. Reflex and discipline compensated for the temporary lapse as Marick nodded his head away from the jabs and batted Kamjin’s right fist away with the back of his extended right palm.

Tyris side-stepped back to the right, avoiding the fairly predictable I.M.A.S pattern that the Palatinaean seemed to favor. That tracked with Lap'lamiz’s claim of being a pilot, and it was not exactly an industry secret how Clan Scholae Palatinae felt about the Imperial method of doing, well, anything.

As he continued to probe the half-Hapan’s defenses, Kamjin made a good show of lifting his hands up into the air and engaging with the crowd. Riling them up, no doubt, and leveraging the social points he had sowed earlier while Marick had idly watched and waited. If things escalated, it was clear who the masses favored. Not good for the lone Arconae.

Still, as another set of punches came in, Marick continued to evade and deflect, sliding his open-handed fists in tight but flowing circles. Kamjin growled as he snapped off a roundhouse kick for Tyris’ jaw, then dropped to the floor suddenly and tried to sweep his leg.

Marick tapped into the Force, if only for a quick surge, and used it to propel himself up over the sweep while he flipped backwards with preternatural grace. He landed neatly on an empty table top, toes touching down first before his heels clicked down. While he had not intended the maneuver as a form of showmanship, a serving man in a full latex suit clapped excitedly and nearly dropped his tray of drinks.

The half-Hapan shrugged slightly but offered a slight bow, his cloak shifting but remaining in place over his shoulders.

“Enough!” Kamjin sneered, tired of his adversary refusing to face him head on. “ Is this how the ‘First Clan’ operates? Dancing and running away from fights? You’re an Arconanian, are you not?”

Arconan, technically, Marick idly thought to himself.

“‘First to wake’ after the Exodus!?” Kamjin continued.

I guess Telaris can be right about a few things.

Marick would never understand why people like Telaris, Howlader, and now Kamjin stressed so much about the Brotherhood’s Exodus—the younger Elder had not even known that the Emperor's Hammer or the Brotherhood even existed at the time.

“—Last to die,” Marick finished, reciting the lesser known Arconan adage.

“So you do know your history, Arconan,” Lap'lamiz

“Arconae, actually,” Marick corrected calmly, as a whisper of his will summoned the Elder lightsaber clipped to his back. As his fingers closed around the molded hilt, the black-cored violet blade sprung to life. The Master shifted his stance and pointed the two fingers of his free hand towards Kamjin while his saber-hand mimicked the motion from its chambered position.

If the patrons wanted a real show, they would sure get one now.

Arconae, actually, Kamjin thought to himself. Of course, there's always a lesson when dealing with a Master. He shook off the bitter taste of still being taken to school and absorbed what had begun to take shape around them. They had become the entertainment and if there was one thing he coveted, it was being the center of attention. If they want a show, I'll give them one, his grin was a genuine one as he reached out his hand and with a flourish spun a single handle up into the air. As it twirled, he brought it effortlessly into his hand and ignited the vibrant blue blade.

The crowd responded exactly as he hoped with a series of Ooos and Ahs. His blade now in his hand he made several horizontal figure-eight slashes before mimicking Marick's stance. The patron's roared with laughter. Marick, outwardly maintained his composure. Yet, inwardly, he was frustrated by this previously unknown Sith and his connections to several Dark Council members and his wanton exhibitionism. No wonder he's still an Adept, he thought as they began to slowly circle each other.

All around them, wages were being made.

"Ten credits on the blue saber human."

"Twenty!"

As the wagers went higher, those who had spoken with Kamjin earlier were quick to place bets in his favor. While the more astute gamblers, having taken stock of Marick, countered those quickly. Kamjin half listened as he focused on Marick. They stepped towards each other and a series of strikes and parries were exchanged. First low, then high, a jab by Kamjin knocked aside by Marick. They retreated back to their original distance and continued their lazy walk around their make-shift rink.

"You fight well," Kamjin stated matter of fact.

Marick shrugged his head to the side in a noncommittal response.

Kamjin struck first again, a series of alternating low slashes before taking the push back from Marick to loop his blade up and then down hacking at Marick's chest. Marick reacted by snapping out his other hand. An invisible Force repelled Kamjin's attack. The crowd applauded at the display and bets were raised yet again.

"What do you think, should I place a bet as well?" Kamjin was trying to goad him into making a mistake.

"Only what you're willing to lose."

Kamjin smirked and turned to the crowd, "A thousand credits that I win!" The crowd hushed at the impressive wager and then erupted as the denizens raced to match the wager. Upon the dais the Hutts had taken notice and were instructing their servants to place several impressive wagers upon both combatants. Kamjin kept an eye on this particular transaction as a servant droid brought forth an emblazoned datapad for the larger Hutt to authorize the bet.

Marick, sensing Kamjin's focus had waivered pressed the attack. Reacting with moments to spare, Kamjin met the violet blade. Black sparks shadowed the white from Kamjin's blade. As their blades snapped and hissed, Kamjin said with strain, "How...am...I doing?"

"You'd be...ugh...doing better if you hadn't been seen," Marick retorted.

Kamjin had been watching Marick and had noticed an opportunity. While adherents to the Soresu form keep their feet planted, almost a shuffling of a step to maintain their root, Marick's one foot was catching. Something was causing a fraction of a delay when he went to move it, almost as if it was suctioned to the ground and the bound needed to be broke.

I have you now. Moving to the side, Kamjin pushed forward with his weight such that Marick had to step back with his other leg. As his balance shifted, his other leg lagged slightly causing him to shift his weight to compensate. Kamjin broke their locked blades and swung his blade from the opposite direction seeking to land a decisive blow.

To Kamjin's surprise, Marick had sensed the move and in an uncharacteristic display of showmanship, had reached out and pulled one of the silken sheets still being swung on above them to his other hand. As the stretched material recoiled, it pulled him up into the air. The poor girl who had been upon it tumbled to the ground, her arms and legs flailing wildly before she landed in the lap of a rather obese Twi'lek. His drink fell clattering to the floor as the wind was momentarily knocked out of him. He then gaffawed as the girl clung to him as if for dear life. He roared his approval at Marick's move as he continued to swoon over the girl.

That son-of-a-womprat, Kamjin was impressed and a bit jealous he hadn't thought of it first, and I'm supposed to not draw attention to myself. Kamjin watched Marick's arc through the air as he hung with one hand upon the sheet while the other held out his blade. You know...that might just work. He reached out his hand and drew the other sheet to his hand and joined Marick up in the air. Unfortunately, the move caused the previous occupant to come crashing down into a group of Gamorrean's entertainment. The poor Zeltron was crushed beneath her, a tattoo sleeve arm visible beneath her body.

Kamjin, didn't care. As he flew up into the air his saber clashed with Marick's. The force sent them rebounding in opposite directions. They each manipulated the sheets to pass again, two slashes of their sabers sent sparks showering down. From the floor, it was as if fireworks were erupting and they cheered and hollered in support. Kamjin shifted his weight to bring him back from another angle. This time, Marick was ready and with an arcing cut he cleaved the sheet in two. Here we go, Kamjin though, I've gotta time this right.

As he continued in the last direction, he was traveling his found himself headed directly for the largest Hutt. Releasing the sheet, he extinguished his blade and clipped it back to this thigh. Tucking in his flipped so that his feet were in front of him. As they connected with the dais, he pushed off, grabbing the datapad while at the same pretending to be out of control and crashing into to the servant droid. The Hutt shook as the fight suddenly was made real to him as several of this attendees rushed to separate Kamjin from the droid. In the midst of the commotion Kamjin slipped the datapad under his cloak and attached it to his belt.

"Oh great and powerful Lord Kajidic, a thousand apologies," Kamjin winced as he bowed. The whole right side of his body would be bruised before morning in a ghastly purplish-black. Already a dull yellow-green could be seen forming under the skin. "My Lord, allow me to avenge this injustice delivered upon you by this cad!"

Kamjin turned and stretching out his hands, sprayed lightning upon the silken sheet carrying Marick. As it burst into flames, Marick released and gracefully landed back into their original fighting area. He stood, holding his lightsaber much as he had at the beginning, his two free fingers pointed towards Kamjin. An invitation to continue.

The crowd parted and allowed Kamjin to make his way towards Marick again. Like a celebrity, people would reach out to touch him, cheer for him, one woman crying ran up and kissed him and then hollered hopping away with her group of lady friends to boost of what she had done. Kamjin fought back the tears each time one of them touched him as his body ached.

As he came again to the impromptu arena, he drew his lightsaber again. He held it down loosely. He did not ignite it, attempting to regain his casual attitude.

"Ready to call it a night?" he inquired?

"You wanted a lesson. That isn't done yet."

"You're right, I did want a lesson. But that doesn't mean I'm not also the teacher." Kamjin took two fingers from his other hand and placing them within his mouth let loose an ear piercing whistle. The sound filled the chamber and hung there as silence overtook the room.

"I had meant for this to be a distraction to cover my escape. But, it'll serve a different purpose now." Kamjin winked at Marick and ignited his blade. At the same time, all the various creatures Kamjin had spoken to throughout the night, started to react. The boastful men who had toasted with Kamjin threw their drinks at each other and began to brawl, the woman who had sought out he companionship screeched and began tearing out the hair of the other women around her. Dozens of others that Kamjin had interacted with began going mad and soon a full riot was upon them. The circle began to break apart as people had to choose between joining in the fray, fleeing, or being to intoxicated to make either movement and being run over.

As they rushed past Kamjin and Marick, the master was impressed. I had though he was being flamboyant but he was drawing them in like flies to the trap. Planting these seeds into their minds to cover whatever he had been planning. Despite himself, he was impressed with the foresight.

"Nice trick,"

"I'm full of surprises, now come Arconae, let's end this."

Marick’s eyes flitted back and forth with mechanical precision. The Master tried to flag and keep tabs on everything unfolding all at once around them, but there was simply too much mayhem for even his preternatural cognizance. Instead, he fell back on a lifetime of training and let his muscle memory guide him.

Two ruffians lunged at Marick from behind. One brandished a broken bottle while the other grasped a length of metal pipe. The half-Hapan blurred to the right, reached back over his shoulder, and caught the thug wielding the bottle by the wrist. Marick twisted and slid under the ruffian’s reach, applying pressure so as to quickly pin the weapon hand between the man’s shoulder blades. With another step and a bend of the knees, Marick shoved the hooligan into his compatriot and sent both stumbling into the fray.

Marick readied himself for the next attacker he saw closing in on his now-exposed back. It was the attack from in front of him, however, that ended up catching him off-guard. Kamjin laughed with delighted glee as he cast a streak of Force Lightning from his fingertips. Marick tried to get his saber activated and up in time to catch the strike, but the blue-white tendrils of energy sent shockwaves through his entire nervous system and made his fingers go numb.

Predictably, his lightsaber slipped from his grip and clattered onto the floor where it was quickly engulfed by the sea of stampering boots, hooves, claws, and more. Gritting his teeth to fight through the discomfort, Marick barely managed to duck under a swipe at his neck from Kamjin’s saber.

The half-Hapan was saved from the follow-up skewering by a flailing patron that had the misfortune of being thrown between the dueling Elders. The Sith sneered as his saber seared through the Togarian’s furry torso instead of his intended target. “Out of the way!” he growled as he retracted his lightsaber and shoved the lifeless body off to the side.

Marick took the opportunity to scramble back, and started to scan the room to find a particular BD-unit droid that he knew was waiting for his signal. Before he could spot the droid, however, Kamjin closed in. The copper-haired Sith lunged with a heavy, over-head blow that aimed to cleave Marick in two.

With a reflexive surge of speed, the Master drew the Sith Dagger at his belt and brought it up to catch his opponent's overhead strike. The alchemically-treated blade hissed as it clashed against crimson plasma, the obsidian metal glowing defiantly as it refused to break.

The Sith had not expected a simple dagger to stall his saber. Building off his momentary boost from the Force, Marick disengaged from the blade lock and lashed out with a quick slash at Kamjin's ribs. The Adept tried to recall his saber to parry, but the full-length lightsaber was not as swift as Tyris’ dagger. The poison-coated blade bit through Kamjin’s robes and drew a thin red gash in his flesh just below his ribcage.

Lap'lamiz reeled back and gasped as pain blossomed. He took that pain and channeled it with the dark side, lashing out once again with a volley of lightning. This time, Marick was ready and dove for cover behind the nearby bar. Glass bottles crashed and liquor spilled as the half-Hapan crouched and used the bar for cover, whistling as loud as he could to try and draw his droid's attention. As he did, he took a moment to draw on the Living Force all around them, replenishing his reserves.

Tyris leapt out from behind his cover and balanced himself on the edge of the bar. It was easy to spot his adversary, lightsaber still lit, as he waved it like a warding stick in front of him to clear a path toward the bar. While it was not yet obvious to Kamjin himself, the homebrewed poison from Marick’s dagger was definitely starting to slowly take effect.

"Beep boop boo bee."

The familiar droid chime drew Marick’s attention to a rafter up above. Sure enough, Biddy blinked his optical receptors in acknowledgement.

“Now!” Marick’s voice whipped the command without needing to try and shout over the frantic din of chaotic brawling. Biddy chirped happily as his hidden compartment slid open and he ejected a small cylindrical hilt towards his master. The Arcanist extended his hand and guided the shoto lightsaber to his palm the rest of the way with the Force.

“Thank you,” Marick murmured, more out of principle than the practicality of his droid actually hearing him. He ignited the cerulean blade and hopped back down to the ground, just in time for Kamjin to greet him.

“You continue to try to play the role of mentor but it is not I that serves as the student here, Arconae!” Kamjin shouted as spittle flew from his lips. His conversion-hilt saber clicked into place as he activated both ends of his saberstaff. He lunged for Marick with a flurry of alternating flourishes and sweeps.

Fortunately, the rabble of rowdy patrons seemed to realize the danger of getting too close to the warring blades of light. The Master wove his shoto lightsaber in tight, defensive coils, turning away each ambitious strike. With every furious attack, Kamjin’s momentum seemed to be slowing. After a few more attempts at Marick’s defenses, Lap'lamiz felt his muscles begin to lock up. Even straightening his stance was becoming a strain, it seemed.

And then the table right beside them went up in a blaze of glory. The unruly crowd had found fire, and the Hutt overlords seemed that now was the time to dispense their bouncers.

Marick stepped back from his opponent and disengaged his shoto lightsaber. The half-Hapan offered a slight bow of respect with his head. “Thank you for the lesson, Kamjin, but I think I’ll leave the rest of this to you. Give the Empress my regards,” he said as he slowly called on the Force once last time. He pulled up his hood just as his BD-unit droid landed on his shoulder and perched. “She is an old friend.”

With that, Marick cloaked his body from view as he stepped back into the throng of the frenzied crowd. While he was no longer a true Shadow, he still had a few tricks of his own.

Kamjin blinked, and then Marick was simply gone, leaving the Sith alone to reap what he had sown.