Black Spire Outpost is a small but thriving settlement on the Outer Rim world Batuu. Although Batuu’s remote location — it’s so far off the grid that couriers have to carry interstellar messages to a planet with a Holonet beacon — has given it a reputation as a good place to lay low and avoid attention, Black Spire has witnessed skirmishes in both the Clone Wars and the more recent war between the Resistance and First Order.

The Spire is a market town where Batuuans and the occasional outlanders come to buy and sell a surprising variety of wares. The main bazaar features handcrafted toys, clothing, pets, and the pervasive, mouthwatering scent wafting from Ronto Roaster’s grill, a converted pod racer engine. Customers interested in specialty goods tend to stick to Dok-Ondar’s Den of Antiquities or Hondo Ohnaka’s latest “highly legitimate and extremely legal import/export business venture.” The most out of place customers must be the trickle of spiritual seekers who flock to Saavi’s scrapyard to pick through rusted durasteel and droid bits in search of something special.

Although people from small Rim communities are known for a certain aloofness with outsiders, Batuuans have gleefully adapted to the increased foot traffic in the bazaar and the planet is something of a minor tourist destination for coreward travellers with a taste for the exotic. Smiles and cries of “Bright suns, traveller!” invariably lead to foreign credits lining Batuuan pockets.

Although the planet has its share of thugs, typically found in Oga’s Cantina, even a First Order garrison couldn’t shake the feeling that this is the happiest place in the galaxy.

At nightfall is when Oga's Cantina gets the most of its profit. The most beautiful of female species are scheduled for work to coerce the customers to purchase the most intoxicants, as an altered mind is more inclined to waste away their wealth. How such a gaze of a beautiful female easily empties one's pockets. Cimozjen knew this well yet did not fall under the same temptations as the other customers. His reason for debauchery was that the mental induction provided a way of thinking he would not have had sober. He contemplated deeper questions that no philosopher could answer for him. His knowledge was both a gift and a curse within the confines of his mind. These thoughts were all he had left. He was alone; went into hiding at the command of Grand Inquisitor Marick Tyris. His exposure to the inquisitors’ enemies forced him into hiding until the manners were resolved, lest he gives a lead to the secrets Lord Tyrus worked so hard to protect. "Lay low", he told the disciple, for the Lotus hunts those susceptible to loose lips. It was almost insulting as if his loyalty wasn't enough to earn the trust of his silence. But the White Lotus was hunting, and in recent years they have learned more than they should.

The cantina's best dish was spicy porg wings, best paired with hard ale. This was Cizmozjen's favorite way to spend his time when the girl of his choice was off that particular night. He had made Batuu somewhat of a second home in his time spent laying low. He had comfortable savings with an easygoing job of delivering goods with fun nights as a regular. It was enough to debate his return to the Brotherhood, but never would he deny any orders given when the need arise. Life in the Outpost was routine; wake up and go to work and party at dawn. Should Marick never have need of him again, dreams of making a family and nesting in the Black Spire didn't seem all too bad.

One thing about living in a routine came with the awareness of new things, such as an ID10 that was spotted roaming the roads a few days ago. It was a rare model of droid, and it stuck in his mind ever since it scanned him. He tried to ignore it, but his paranoia warned him to be alert for otherwise. Those suspicions came to fruition when the next drink he ordered came in the form of a thermal imploder canister tossed through the bar window. He couldn’t save everyone, not the bartender or its patrons, nor the girl he spent the better night flirting with. Cizmozien kicked himself off the barstool and rolled off the floor to his feet. He leapt from table to table for a direct path to another open window that led into the back alley. The wave of heat could be felt on his back just before he dove out, and upon landing he heard the catastrophic explosion that soon followed. There were no screams or rummaging of furniture, only the silence of death remained. The door opened, and Cizmozien peeked over the edge of the window to catch a glimpse of who had been the murderer. He didn’t see anyone until the “thoompf” of a grenade launcher brought a frag round to his window. He cursed and used the Force to enable his speed to escape the alley and turn the corner. The Force came to him much sooner than expected, as if it was enhanced somehow. His daily training was merely routine, and Batuu didn’t exactly have a strong connection lest there be Jedi or Sith temples already established for that very reason.

When he came around the corner he noticed the door opened again, only this time outward. Although he couldn’t make out a clear target, he drew out his pistol and fired. A metallic ping was heard but for a moment before his assailant was revealed. A metal man with a helmet resembling the Mandalorians, with a nasty-looking rifle that proceeded to fire rapidly in his direction. Cizmozien moved for cover in the alley across the road. To distract his opponent he sent a flash of blinding light from the Force and immediately and used slow in subsequent. When he reached the corner to give another round, he found his enemy had disappeared once more.

The Mandalorian’s concealment had worn off after the surprising flash of light that shortly stunned his eyes through the shaded visor of his helmet. The Inquisitor then felt his presence in the Force. The man was an enigma; a culmination of both the Light Side but also with something very very dark. From this hunter the energy field of the Force became denser, and made Cizmozien’s sensitivity more refined. His powers came to him much sooner than expected and felt amplified in a way.

"Tell me how you are able to empower the Force, and maybe I won’t kill you for destroying my favorite bar," he relayed telepathically. Although unseen by the naked eye, Cizmozien could feel the presence of his enemy through the Force. It was so finely tuned that he could approximate and send a direct message of warning.

"You are in no position to give me a warning, Inquisitor. You have an important choice to make. Marick is no longer the Voice, and a Mandalorian has taken his stead. This includes control over the Inquisitorius. Your old master has retired to Arcona and has given the White Lotus the locations of their scattered remnants that have gone into hiding. It is why I am here. If you are loyal to your old master then come willingly. If you align with the new Voice then you will be slain. This is your ultimatum."

It was a bit intimidating that this hunter could speak back through the Force. Idris counted the limited rounds he had left in the chamber. He would need to reach his apartment if he was going to get anymore. His foe may not give him that chance. Should he trust those words? Instinct always told him to remain on the side of caution. This man had killed without warning or hesitation. It could mean Cizmozien’s life if he chose to trust those words instead.

Cimozjen felt the fear gripping at his nerves. His eyes searched his attacker as he considered his options. Of all the visions and premonitions that he had experienced, this had by far been the greatest surprise for the man. It placed him far off balance.

Still, he had learned a lot on the path to the powers afforded one of his standing. He always had options. The Force Disciple knew he had betrayed none of his own loyalties, and he was mildly disturbed he was being sought in so violent a manner. He had surely earned his rank among the Sadowans, he reasoned. He could not imagine that the new Voice would be any less inviting of what he had to offer than did the old. That thought led to another, as a wicked idea pricked at the back of his mind.

"So, how did you expect this to go?" The Elder did not bother to project his thoughts out. He considered it wasted energy and focus. Instead, he spoke aloud, projecting his voice aloud, causing it to echo slightly as he reached the alleyway where he hoped to find some chance of reprieve from continued assault. "You come find me, try unsuccessfully to kill me, don't even give me the courtesy of a fair fight, and then insist that I come with you if I want to live?"

Your choice is clear. That voice crawled in the back of the Sorcerer's mind.

"Ah." He let the word hang. "Kriff the Lotus, then. Kriff the Voice." His tone was becoming louder. "Kriff the Grand Inquisitor." Cimozjen spat. "And above all, coward, kriff you." His lip snarled at the words. The Sorcerer's eyes wildly searched for any sign of his attacker. The alley created the choke point that he would need to lure his opponent. "I thought that the Sith had a corner on brutal, authoritarian government but it appears the Lotus want to compete with that."

As he spoke, Cimozjen pivoted from foot to foot. His opponent had yet to reveal themselves again and he knew that his opening to retaliate might be even more restrictive than his movement in the confined space. "Where I come from, you show yourself and kill someone properly. Since I am not going to let you take me off to kill me in secret, you might as well get it over with here and now. Better to fight me face to face. " Though he placed extra emphasis on the last sentence, the dark-haired man drew upon the Force to give the words a greater weight. His former masters had taught him how to obscure, befuddle, and bend the mind. He hadn't had any reason to practice the skill in any serious capacity for a long time since coming to Batuu.

The Force Disciple tried to stretch his mind out into the Force. He sought its ebbs and flows, its waves and whirlpools as he ever did. This fight could be over in a flash, or it could be long and drawn out. If it were the prior, he could evade and strike. If the latter, things might get stickier. For far from the first time in the day, Cimozjen grumbled. He wasn't nearly drunk enough to deal with this nonsense. He would have to draw upon the Force fully, and let it guide him like never before. He drew a hand close to his chest, drawing the Force close to himself, imagining his anger and fear as a small ball clutched in his closed fingers.

The Mandalorian Jedi watched from behind a veil of the Force, watching the nervously pacing man. The expletives did not bother him. The accusations of cowardice did not bother him. The attempts to attack his courage was of little consequence. The challenge, from this enemy of the Lotus had to be answered, though.

Creon strode forward with purpose, carefully choosing his steps in order to close the distance between the pivoting challenger and himself. He briefly considered using the lightsaber at his side, but he found himself considering the traitor's words. If he was going to have to finish Cimozjen, he would rather to do so in a clean manner. The closer he got, the less likely it was that the Sorcerer would be able to turn the slugthrower he was brandishing against Creon. The Mandalorian smiled behind his mask.

Cimozjen Kurios watched the alley, for any tell tale sign of an approach. Finally, the barest movement of dirt brought his frantic searching gaze to a halt. He had barely a moment to start turning before the form of the armored Jedi slipped into view. In the moment, it was as though his senses kicked into automatic. The hand he had clutched close to his core shot out as Cimozjen splayed his fingers outward in the oft-practiced gesture. He knew that certain powers had poor refractory periods. To his surprise, the blue-white forks of energy shot from his fingers, curling around the form of the attacking Jedi. Creon paused for a moment, as though receiving an unexpected punch to the stomach.

Oh, the dark-haired human was struck with a realization, does this work both ways? Taking a step back, the Adept let out a yell of anger. Thrusting his hand forward again, he was pleased to see another fork of lightning arcing from fingers to armor. He heard a grunt of surprise from the armored man. Drawing more deeply on the Force, he took two steps back and poured the anger and newfound adrenaline of the moment into the Force and another bolt of energy lanced through the air, this time striking the Okami Mandalorian in the chest.

This changed the fight. He had dealt with flashes of the future and the almost secondary instincts of the Force for years, but never before had Kurios found the experience either half as effective or half as effortless as he did now. He wondered for a moment if this was a result of his newfound power or due to the machinations of this masked warrior.

Creon had been taken aback by the attack. He had not expected quite the show of power from the former Lotus agent. It was not often that he saw such utilization of the Force in such quick succession. He had taken just a moment to push past the pain, emboldened and empowered by his newfound connection to the Force. Gripping his blaster tightly in his hands, Creon zeroed in on the retreating form of the Force Disciple. His target was retreating down an alleyway, and while it was not a long alleyway, it did give him a pretty narrow avenue in which to maneuver. Pulling slightly to the right to account for a sudden change in direction, the Mandalorian was pleased to see the blaster bolt closing in on its target.

The moment before it made contact, almost as though out of pure instinct, the dark-haired man threw his hands up and the shimmering of a barrier caused the energy bolt to splash harmlessly short of its intended destination. The Sadowan did not pause long, choosing to kick himself up to dart down the remaining alleyway. Ducking suddenly down a dark opening, the target disappeared from sight, and Creon Okami gave a grunt. Dipping into the Force as though stepping down into a pool of cold water, the Jedi disappeared from view and started to stalk down the alleyway in pursuit of the fleeing man.

He would not return empty-handed.