Specialist Foxen Erinos vs. Lieutenant Eliwufe'en'omfo (Core Name: Eeno)

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.

Unblinking red eyes bore holes into the unhinged — literally — smirk in the side of a feathered head. The overly self-amused Shani lounging 62.36 cm across from him at his own karking kitchen table sipped their broth as though not an absolute, utter nitwit and disgrace to oxygen.

"This is a lame attempt at humor, even for you."

"I'm not joking, Foxxie." The stolen nickname grated, causing the right eye to twitch and the straight muscle fibers of the hand to activate calcium channels and pull-lock-ready in anticipation of violence. "I'm calling in one of my favors. I have actual important things I have to attend to, and this is an annoyance off my list."

"You can't be serious." Just once, it bore repetition. It was that egregious. Perhaps his hearing had malfunctioned. Perhaps Savran was laboring under a concussed state. He visually checked their pupils for dilation. His gestures sharpened, rising high then falling wide, indignant. "This is BENEATH ME. Frak, it's even beneath YOU."

Savi rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes, that's the point. It's inane. I don't want to do it. And it's so very far beneath you that making you do it is hilarious. You know. For me."

The porcelain she was holding was in no danger, but her damn dislocating jaw sure was.

"You really want to spend a favor on this, Tekuani?" He'd given them a name sign for their assassin alias long ago, and it was a testament to his respect for her skill in their shared field that it wasn't even particularly mocking. Likewise, it was a testament to her respect for him that they dealt in owing one another so seriously.

Until now, it seemed.

"What can I say? I'm in a particularly poor mood. I received some unpleasant news from Cor'neria. Your suffering will be therapeutic."

"And you wouldn't rather my blade for this unpleasantness?"

"I'm afraid it's not something you can help me with. Not yet, if at all." The Shani sighed, her posture angling 14° inward and expression displaying: drawn brows, jutted lower teeth, flared nostrils, conclusive to: distress/anger/sadness. Then they were masking it, affecting one of those terrible guises of arrogant confidence and licentious sleaze. "Now, hop to it, dear. You've got a bounty to catch."

"If this sends me somewhere disgusting," the Nautolan hybrid swore, signing, "I will end you, no matter what Flyndt says about non-lethality with 'friends.'"

He took their bowl away before she finished eating, as was only his right.

---

At least one thing hadn't changed since the Clone Wars, and that was the Hutts.

So much of the Galaxy seemed foreign to the time-lost Jedi now. Movements had moved on. New foes had risen and fallen. In some spaces, the very people he'd stood alongside were whispered of as legends and fables or hokeypokey. In others, like the territories of the Brotherhood he'd found himself in, reality was far worse than he could have once imagined.

Eeno wondered if the Masters on the Council had ever foreseen such wars and atrocities, such empires. If they had known and simply chosen to focus their efforts within the Outer Rim Regions, where they could already barely hold on. But such thoughts were also without answer and a disruption to his peace, and so like so much, he let them go.

But the Hutts, the Hutts had remained, as voracious and greedy with ill-gotten gains as ever. Their slime still coated their sector and so much of the underworld, their influence still a poison. Their actions needed to be tempered and monitored. The Chiss considered them a threat even if Odan-Urr did not. So he had come to this so-called palace, this hive of scum and villainy, to see what he could and gain his bearings…finally without an errand for Arnid to burden him this time.

Such were his thoughts when the skylights high above shattered.

Eeno's senses screamed in warning, and the Jedi was moving before neuron could birth thought. Between one heartbeat and the next, he was twisting out of the way of massive pieces of beautifully-dyed transparisteel glass plummeting to the mosaic floor like meteors. One entirely bisected a sabacc table, smaller shards spraying as shrapnel, and only the Jedi's quick reflexes saved a Twi'lek dancer atop a stack of pillows as he telekinetically yanked the man into his arms before metal and glass could crush him.

"Je nenoleeya wata!" the lithe fellow in little more than jewels yelled, lekku agitated and bleeding, as he clung to Eeno. The Jedi tried to extricate himself to get his guard up, the Light still a siren of danger all around, confusing falling glass and drawn blasters and shouting criminals. A dozen different gangs had just been disrupted. What had broken the ceiling?

"Let go, get out of here!" The Chiss shoved at the man to get him away, towards the grand entrance where other staff fled. He yanked his helmet off so he could see better, hearing the nagging of recent training in his mind. Glowing red eyes searched the chaos. In the center of the chamber, splattered over the dias where once a Desilijic had sat, were the remains of some sort of body. Had someone been up there attempting a break-in and fallen through? But would that be enough force to shatt—

Again, the Force wailed, and Eeno jerked as he hands brought his helmet back up—

CRACK!

The plastoid composite exploded like little more than porcelain in his gloved grip, shards slicing deep into the meat of tendons and spraying across his face as the impact itself hurled him onto his back. His air left him in an oomph as pain radiated from his lungs, between his shoulder blades, glass biting into his black-haired scalp. He gasped around a white plastoid triangle lodged through his cheek, but there was no time to lay shocked; a massive, dark shadow was sweeping down through the hollowed skylights and dropping into a landing, silvery wings folding with a snik.

The shadow held a rifle, black as it and the nightscape above, and it lifted it once more and fired as it stalked towards him.

The Light surged into his muscles, fueling his speed as Eeno pushed himself sideways into a roll that crunched through glass, dijark pieces, and spilled drinks, barely dodging the bite of the bullet. There was barely a sound from the weapon, but a chilling crunch from the stonework as a hole easily the side of his fist blasted out from a smaller entry point where he had been laying. Leaping to his feet, blood dripping in a river from his face as he yanked the fin of his former helmet out, Eeno drew both his sabers, igniting the blades. Their buzz seemed almost deafening compared to the silence of the stranger. His right foot slid forward through the wet gore in tandem with his right arm, pointing at his almost-executioner while the left steadied sideways behind him, second saber angled across his body, guarding.

"Whoever you are, back off, or I'll do what I have to," the Jedi warned, though much of it was slurred. He spat a mouthful of blood that pinged off what remained of his bucket.

The heavily-armored alien didn't reply. Rather, they aimed the rifle and pulled the trigger.

A lightsaber came up to meet the slug, spitting a shower of harmless sparks over Eeno. He knew he couldn’t keep this up. Slugs were hard to block and unlike during his training with Windos he did not have help. Or did he?

He blocked another shot then spit out more blood. ’One problem at a time.’ Putting just a little concentration into his ability to control his body he cut off the flow of blood to his cheek and suppressed the pain in his head.

With a clearer head, he started to consider his options as he blocked another shot. Knowing he had very little time to decide he went with his first thought: go further into the palace. ’There are criminals here,’ he thought, ’money is their loyalty.’

He returned to his starting stance as Foxen dropped the sniper rifle to one hand, aiming the vambrace on the other arm. The Nautolan would not get the chance to fire, interrupted by Eeno’s shout. “One million credits to the first to capture the Mandalorian!” He yelled to the forming crowd.

While Eeno might doubt his own ability to intimidate or persuade people, a man wielding lightsabers who just took a shattered helmet to the face and survived is more than a little impressive. At the shout a swarm of onlookers began firing blasters at Foxen forcing his attention away from Eeno for the critical few seconds needed.

Amplifying his speed and dexterity through the force Eeno ran farther into the palace. Reaching a slideway—the Hutt equivalent to a staircase—he jumped up to the second level. Knowing his limits Eeno stopped amplifying his abilities before it began to exhaust him.

Jogging through the halls, Eeno could still just barely hear the wine of blaster fire behind him. Knowing the bounty hunter, (or at least what he assumed was a bounty hunter), would be following soon, he took out his comm link and called Nemo, his R3 astromech. “Nemo, get the ship over to the palace, I need a quick pickup.” ’Ten minutes,’ Eeno thought, ‘I need to survive ten minutes.’

Eeno took a right trying to get to the middle of the building where the Hutts were having some large meeting. After considering what he could do for a moment he decided going into the meeting room would be best. The bounty hunter would probably not use the slugthrowers with all of the Hutts around. Seeing one of the balconies now, he started to run towards it.

“[As I have told you multiple systems in the Corporate Sector are ripe for the using. If we start making connections, we could have operations for smuggling there within six months],” a particularly fat Hutt with a large white stripe down its back said in Huttese before seeing a blue-faced man jump off one of the balconies.

Ten minutes…nine minutes...

The armored Jedi-cum-soldier out of time hit the massive table the Hutts gathered around in a roll, and somersaulted back to his booted feet, grunting from the impact. His senses lit immediately with the rustle and clatter of many different weapons being drawn at him. A blaster bolt unceremoniously flew his way, and his saber spun as it reactivated, batting the volley aside.

"Wait!" he cried out, only to be shot at again a few more times before the Hutts began jabbering over him. The appearance of his two humming lightsabers deterred more violence, but only briefly. "I'm just passing through…"

Eight minutes.

He edged toward the windows, considering risking an escape into the swamps to get to his ship.

"'Stay,'" said a long Hutt with red spots, echoed by the protocol droid at its tail. A muscular Zabrak nudged a scattergun barrel into Eeno's lower back.

"But—"

From the hall, there was screaming and then silence.

A moment later, his pursuer stepped through the chamber doors. His armor had fresh-enough scorch marks to still smell like ozone. It was faintly smoking, and blood was splashed over various pieces in various colors. The massive shadow flowed abruptly to a stop in the doorway, assessing the scene. He saw the Jedi standing hostage on the table, the multitude of bruisers and guards, the multiple Hutt bosses, the droids.

The rifle was across his back, but there was a pistol and knife in his hands. With deliberate slowness, he raised both, showing he was holstering the implements. Then, he began gesturing.

"The second interloper has statements for the masters," one of the other translator units said, a brassy 3P-O series that gave the Chiss vertigo, "regarding the first interloper."

The largest Hutt decreed, "'...They may entertain us before we kill them for interrupting this meeting.'"

All Eeno could do was watch the minutes slip by, seven, six, five… in his head while calculating his chances of escape. Pain was a constant in his side, and a headache steadily grew from the effort of suppressing blood flow from his wounded cheek.

"'I know you,'" began the mercenary through the translators, directing the statement to the white-striped Hutt. "Ubbuo Gnuda Aparro of the Gnuda clan. You attended one of my pit matches on Tatooine. Five galactic standard years, six months, thirteen days ago. Then I was called R-A-T-H-A-R-O-S. You bet one-hundred and sixteen thousand credits on me against a gauntlet fight and won one-point-two million.'"

He pointed across the room at Eeno, and the sole gesture — apparently not a word as the protocol unit was silent — was as damning as the barrel of his gun had been.

"'My target is a Jedi of the Republic. You want entertainment? Your disgusting self and all your despicable slither of slugs could watch me kill him with vigor.'"

The Hutt's four massive chins jiggled wildly as it tossed his head back and laughed, a belching sound. The droid played its part in echoing each bilious word of Huttese that spewed forth.

Two minutes…one minute…Remo should have landed by now… He could make a jump from this high easily enough; it was the multitude of muzzles that concerned him.

"'Disrespectful and impudent, but amusing, are you, alleged Ratharos? The Great Ubbuo remembers that fight! Its Gluttunousness most fondly recalls your ripping the two hearts of a Zabrak out with those puny hands, and the use of the corpse's horns as weapons. What would you surprise me with this time? If you are who you claim. The Great Ubbuo is willing to entertain the notion, but would know how you knew this information of its finances, and the name of the informant it will flay.'"

"'No informant. The Pit runner liked to frakking yap and thought I was a thing to talk at. To that bastard, I was furniture during your payout meeting. If you liked my fighting then, you would like me today and when I hunt him down.'"

Blood and sweat stuck under Eeno's armor. His humming sabers weren't half as loud as the rushing in his ears as he awaited the decision of his fate. The table talked back and forth at each other, gesturing between them, and then finally the sentence.

"'The Great Ubbuo accepts this entertainment, but forbids Ratharos from the use of those guns. Boring. Fight hand-to-hand for Great Ubbuo. Its Massiveness wishes for your blood to wax his floors. The Jedi may have his lightsabers. The Great Ubbuo says you may begin.'"

All the guards parted, providing Eeno with a path down from the table as the pressure at his back left. The Jedi was faced with no choice but to comply. He stepped down to the floor with gritted teeth, disbelieving as his hunter actually tossed down his pistol and removed his rifle carefully. He drew only that single knife. Against two full length lightsabers.

He was either foolishly overconfident or suicidal. Or much worse: just as confident as he should be.

The enforcers began to jeer. Huttese slurred as bets were placed, business supplanted with gambling. A loose half-circle formed around them as the mercenary paced five steps out and held perfectly still, caging them towards the next exit and the open floor but away from the windows.

"Hold on," the Jedi called out, mind racing. "Great Ubbuo, wouldn't you like to see his face? To confirm who he is? And make it fair, of course."

That was the wrong angle to take. What Hutt cared for fairness? But the slug did gurgle consideringly before gesturing in the positive.

Even through that helm, Eeno could tell his opponent disliked the arrangement. His predator-still movements stiffened with something more like displeasure. Nonetheless, as blaster barrels aimed at him, he moved to begrudgingly remove it, revealing a curiously horned and scarred Nautolan, black with spotting, red, vicious eyes. He cradled the headgear for a moment, turning it towards him, and pressed his forehead to the wing-styled surface before reverently setting it on the tabletop.

The Chiss noted that hesitation a heartbeat before his senses screamed to him.

His body jerked around, pulled by preternatural instinct to pass under the blade thrown for his head. Seconds and thundering steps followed as the behemoth barreled towards him, and Eeno brought his lead saber forward, a lifetime of the Paradoxical Form never leaving him. He flowed away, chased by the roars of criminals and glints of metal as another one, two throwing knives went past, cutting a line through his black bangs and nicking his ear. The Chiss stepped smoothly backwards onto a chair, riding it as it tipped back and then hopped up onto a pedestal, a vase crashing down to the floor. From there with a surge of the Force in his legs, he launched himself overhead of his attacker, landing behind him and exploding upwards to swing with his trailing blade.

The Jedi didn't wish to kill the man, but if it had to be, it would be.

Eeno swung. The Nautolan spun. Plasma sang—

scrrrrttt!

—and stopped.

Twin clangs sounded bell-peal as pieces of fan blades fell to the floor, but the arm under them remained. Ratharos stood living, in one piece. For a moment, Eeno gaped at his lightsaber held glowing and sputtering against the sleek, stainless metal of the vambrace that held firm against it.

Then with a heave the Nautolan shoved him away, throwing him into the furniture with enough force to smash it under him and saber tumbling from his fingers, and everything fell into place.

Screams rose in his ears. Smoke. Thick clouds. Blasterfire and sabers marching relentless through the fog. What had to be done. What had to be done.

He'd seen armor that could block a lightsaber before. Beskar.

This wasn't just a mercenary, but a Mandalorian.

The alien couldn't be a true one, clearly not a descendant of Mandalore, but the familiar shape of the helm, the armor, the relentlessness for his life, it all made sense. Not just a bounty. Revenge.

"Wait," the Chiss began again, spitting more blood. Fighting was dividing his concentration from the wound. "Whatever you think, I have never hurt your people. None of them looked like you, or bore symbols like yours. It was one clan. Traitors. We'd been ordered to. It had to be done, it was for the Republic, for the Galaxy."

"'I don't know kark about what you've done, who you are, Jedi,"' supplied the 3-PO for the Mandalorian. "'One of my people wants your head, and that's it.'"

He stalked forward, raising that dagger of his — a beskar one, Eeno now suspected. Stomped viciously on the saber Eeno had, cracking it before kicking it away. Loomed closer. An executioner shadow.

Was this what they had seen, when Eeno and his fellows came for them?

"NO!" the Jedi shouted, pushing that doubt away, pushing. His empty fist swung out, and a telekinetic blast followed it, punching into the Nautolan. The hulking warrior staggered back, and it was all the opening the Chiss needed to roll back upright and light his secondary saber again. He crossed it in front of himself, readying, and then attacked with a cry to the laughter of the Hutts and phantoms of dying screams.