The building that has become the Chyron Embassy is not the tallest in Port Kasiya, but it surpasses all others in the city's northeast. Basalt sidewalks smelling ever so slightly of brimstone underline a time-worn facade that's decrepit from the ground floor to a dozen stories up, then morphs into a modern steel-and-glass construct with a narrow landing platform extending an easy 300 metres high over the road. Patrons have to crane their heads back quite far to see it, though, and they are often more interested in stepping through the scratched but sturdy double doors which may be flanked by clients, bouncers, drunks, and duct-taped living warnings.

Seven shallow steps lead down onto the carefully dilapidated hardwood main bar floor, though "bar" might not be the right word anymore. Mismatched tables and chairs litter the room, while more comfortable niches with couches and two smaller sidebars occupy most of the walls. On the left side, an extending stage with a pole leaves no doubt about the kind of entertainment provided here, while on the right, a discreet exit leads to rooms best suited for negotiations or private parties.

Straight ahead, between the wings of a formerly grand foyer staircase mostly frequented by pretty people with little clothing, resides the curved main counter as an island, with the dark niches in between leading to the back - but one cannot shake the feeling that entry comes with a price that might not be paid fully by coin. The staff are unerringly smiling people with hard eyes, much like the owner, the Chyron’s Chancellor, Jorm Na'trej. This bar, this whole building, is their domain, their trap and their hunting range.

One instantly realises that any wish, any pleasure and desire, is just a word and a payment away.

One knows that this place is the antithesis to every value taught and preached among normal people.

One is greeted.

"Welcome to the Playground."

As Kalen walked into the circular caged ring and saw his rather manacing looking orange and white Zabrak opponent. He didn't look overly mean or intense, just his appearance alone was starting to Kalen. He was starting to regret responding to his comm when his big pal Furious had called and asked him to cover for him at a 'competition'. In fact Kalen was pretty sure Furious probably had someone holorecording this match in the stands. Sith, Kalen wouldnt be suprised if he looked up and saw Furious sitting in the stands laughing at him at any second.

After being told it was NOT a deathmatch, the ring attendant closed the door behind him amd then fence electrified. Kalen opponent ignited his lightsaber and slowly swayed from side to side. Kalen took a deep breath, he was here now, and there was no sense in worrying about it. He grabbed his own lightsaber, ignited it and charged towards his opponent. His father had taught him in the Atreyu style of saber combat, and over the years in that other galaxy he had become the 3rd best wielder in their small isolated group of 11 Jedi. His mother had even once confided secretly that she thought Kalen was better then his father.

Leaping and twirling in the air at his opponent. As their light sabers clashed Kalen felt his opposite give way slightly. Kalen slashed spun and hacked at his opponent who adeptly defended each of the humans moves. Kalen attempted to catch his opponent off guard, and he flipped up and over the head of his opponent and as he landed his torso coiled like a spring, and he struck at the Zabrak with a flurry of very fast lightsaber strikes. The Zabrak was about to recover quickly and respond with several offensive strikes of his own.

Kalen used a moment in the action to counter when his opponent spun to perform a slashing maneuver around Kalens offhand guard, Kalen let lose a heavy whip kick with his left leg. The Zabrak had not anticipated this move quick enough. Kalen had presented in the regular rightfooted stance with his saber, but he was naturally left handed and left footed. The kick landed squarely on the Zabraks cheek, stunning him. Kalen wanted to followed uo this manuever, but his opponent force pushed him briefly and knocked him off balance.

When he recovered Kalen did a spinning leap towards his opponent with his blade pointed outward. Just before he landed his opponent smacked his lightsaber almost hard enough to knock it out of his hand. Kalen regained his grip on the handle and proceeded to unleash another twisting flurry of quick sharp strikes. After a few minutes of back and forth saber dueling Kalen started to get the sense that his opponent was trying with him. 

Kalen then performed the move that won't him most competitions back home. He flipped over top of the zabrak again, carried a strike mid air, landed. And and immediately back flipped and twisted back into his original position. Letting loose another cascade of sweeping and stark strikes with his saber, he almost struck the Zabrak in the head. Passing his opponets guard, he just barely grazdd and singed one of his opponents forhead horns. The zabraks quick reactions saved him from any greater damage. As the 2 fighters each took a step back and reset Kalen noted a hint of smile from his opponent. Uh oh, Kalen thought.

‘This guy’s a lot quicker than I expected.’ Itzo thought to himself as he took a step back, mirroring the movement of his opponent. He rotated his arm and shoulder, slightly sore from the barrage of strikes he’d been forced to withstand. It had been some time since he fought another duelist as skilled as this Human was, but it was good to know that he still had it in him. The Zabrak stole a quick glance through the chainlink wall of the makeshift arena, quickly spotting his companion and ally, Brascoe. His towering B1 frame stood out amongst the crowd like an obsidian obelisk. The droid had finished collecting wagers from the crowd and now stood to the side, near the exit. When the two gazes met, Brascoe gave a subtle nod. Itzo couldn’t help but smile. ‘Perfect. Credits all collected, time to end this and get out of here.’

Kalen Joss lunged forward once again with a renewed effort, blade held high in front of him. Itzo watched his feet as the Human closed the distance. Though he was tenacious, his flurry was unsustainable. Even now he was beginning to slow considerably. The Zabrak reached out with the Force and pulled his opponent forward violently. The change of pace caught Kalen by surprise and he lost his footing, rolling to the ground at Itzo’s feet. He jumped over the prone Human and landed on the other side, with his back to the center of the makeshift arena. Holding his lightsaber out to one side, Itzo unleashed a heavy torrent of electricity from his free hand. It raced through the air and crashed into Kalen Joss, who writhed on the floor from the pain. A stray bolt collided with the chain link fence and danced along the perimeter, shocking any of the viewers brave enough to be that close.

“Listen, pal, you might wanna go ahead and call it. It's all downhill from here.” Itzo suggested, leaning over his prone opponent. In his pain, Kalen had dropped his hilt, which sat unignited on the ground beside him. Itzo kicked it over the edge of the arena, through a small gap at the bottom of the fence. It slid into the crowd and a mad frenzy initiated to find it. “Whoops. Didn’t mean to kick it so far.”

Kalen rolled over and started to push himself to his feet. Itzo took a few steps back and sighed loudly, emphasized for effect. He looked around the crowd and held his arms up, orange blade still glowing brightly.

“What are you gonna do? You’re disarmed and pretty torn up. All you did was singe my little horn.” Itzo watched Kalen rise back to his feet and stand opposite him, fists raised for hand to hand combat. He turned and spit out a wad of blood onto the floor of the arena, then turned back to Itzo and grinned, blood in his teeth. “Okay, if that's what you want.”

The Zabrak raised his free hand and once again a wave of electricity erupted from it, surging forward toward Kalen. Anticipating the attack, Kalen dove to the right away from the worst of the bolts, extending his own hand forward and sending streaks of lightning right back toward Itzo.

After being force pulled, struck by force lighting and disarmed, what his opponent had seen as a smile, was actually more of a pained grimace. As Itzo came in for what would presumably be the final blow, the memories of what had got him into this position came flooding back to Kalen.

The lightsaber he had been using, wasn't even his own, he had 'lifted' and borrowed it from a passed out patron on his way to the ring, having not realized what was about to occur. He had had several drinks in the bar before the match, and currently didn't have any weapons or gear of his own with him. He wore a plain shirt, casual pants, and lightweight boots, and that was all.

Before Itzo's saber came down upon him, Kalen snapped out of his musings and performed a sharp textbook spinning low kick from his croutched position. It worked, and he was able to trip Itzo to the ground. Kalen then leapt on top of the Zabrak. As they rolled in a flurry of grappling on the floor Kalen grunted. He tried a few strikes with his fist and elbow as they flailed about on the hardwood.

The attempts all missed, or were blocked. Eventually Itzo had managed to work himself out of the grapple and back to his feet. As Kalen moved to charge at him, Itzo landed a devastating spinning backfist that connected with Kalens cheek. As Kalen was knocked off balance by this and slightly stunned, Itzo then landed a hard straight kick with his right leg. It landed cleanly against Kalens temple, and momentarily knocked him out.

Approximately 5 seconds later, he came too, on his back, on the floor. The droid match judge was counting '5...6...'

Kalen was hurt, yes, but he was also filled with a rage he had never felt before. He placed his hands on the floor above his shoulder, pushed, and leapt back to his feet in one swift motion. Itzo, assuming that Kalen was out cold, had his arms raised, and was stalking back and forth performatively infront of the crowd on the other side of the fence. The crowd had grown since the match had started, and they were loudly cheering and applauding. But it wasn't over just yet.

Kalen reached out with his own force lightning from both hands. He also channeled his telekinetic and other powers and force pushed Itzo into the fence, while still maintaining the force lighting aswell. Itzo was slammed face first into the fence, and the fence itself began to spark and sizzle all around him. This burst of force energy was not sustainable, and Kalen knew it, but it was all he had left at this point. After a few seconds, he let the Zabrak fall to the floor. Drained of energy and starting to feel the effects of the blows he had recieved, Kalen slumped to his knees. To his shock and horror, he saw the Zabrak shudder on the floor and then rise to his feet A few seconds later after the droid judge had counted to 3.

'You are certainly a valiant and worthy opponent Zabrak" Kalen sighed, mustered his strength, or what was left of it, and rose to his feet again. He was so loopy he couldn't even remember his opponents name, though it had been announced by the Droid Judge mere minutes before. Kalen assumed a defensive stance that he had learned as a teenager in the Corellian Kickboxing classes he had attended. He likely wouldn't win, but he certainly wouldn't give up. The steadfastness instilled in him as an ancestor of the stalwart survivors, who had made it through 3 generations of toil in that other galaxy, ensured that he wouldn't stop as long as he was still capable of fighting.

The Zabrak’s eyes went wide as a shiver passed over his body, warning him of imminent danger. He jumped to the side and avoided the bolts of lightning from his opponent, but was forced to drop his attack in the process. Kalen crashed into the floor hard and rolled up against the fence a few feet away. He reached out and caught his fingers in the chainlink, managing to use the momentum to pull himself to his feet. He quickly turned and kicked off the fence, lunging toward the Zabrak.

Unfortunately, Itzo was ready and waiting. His opponent’s movements were sluggish now, giving him ample time to prepare. As Kalen lunged forward, a heavy haymaker caught him right across the chin. His head whipped to the side with a sickening crack. The blow took his legs right out from under him and he clattered to the ground.

“Stay. Down!” He brought the fist down and a massive concussive Force slammed into the Human’s back, pinning him to the floor. Blood trickled from his open mouth. Kalen reached his arm out weakly toward the Zabrak’s feet and pulled, willing the Force to bring him down. Itzo watched with a hint of pity, but could feel a small tug at his ankles. It was clear he was exhausted, but there was still a little bit of fight left.

“Okay, it’s bed time.” He swung his fist one last time and another haymaker of Force slammed into the side of Kalen’s head. It bounced against the hard floor and stayed motionless. “Good night, sweet prince.”

Itzo stepped over the unconscious Human carefully and pushed open the gate of the arena. He walked down and around the perimeter, past the mass of spectators still frantically searching for the lightsaber hilt beneath them. His companion, Brascoe, was still waiting for him by the exit. He sidled up next to it and nodded toward the door.

“Let's get out of here, before they realize we’re not payin’ out.” Itzo snuck one more glance over his shoulder as he spoke. Kalen was still snoozing peacefully in the arena, in a small pool of his own blood. “Lead the way, big man.”