Lieutenant Commander Eeno vs. Inquisitor John Blackwood

You had arrived on Arx after hearing word of a fighting tournament. It had been set up by the Combat Master and had been advertised as a Revival of the long held tradition of naming a Champion of the Antei Combat Center. As you had arrived at the signup table after waiting in line, you were met by a Trandoshan who looked you up and down, said nothing, and slid a form attached to a clipboard to you. A cheap chain linked a pen to the clipboard.

You read it over and it was a standard legal waiver noting that you could not hold the Combat Master or the Brotherhood liable for any injuries or even potential death that occurred during the tournament. You were entering this tournament of your own free will. Any and all repercussions of doing so were at no one’s fault but your own.

You signed, and the Trandoshan hissed with delight as he pointed to a door behind the table. A cheap paper sign was taped to the door that read “ACC Championship Introductory Meeting” in what looked to be felt-tipped black marker. You stepped inside the dark room and that is the last thing you remember until you woke up just now.

The world around you was dark… and soft. The area that you lay on felt just a bit more firm than a standard pillow. A quick check of yourself revealed that you still wore and carried everything you had when you had signed the waiver. While vision was extremely limited, you could tell that someone else was in the room with you. Four ceiling lights clicked on, one at a time, giving the room a bright glow beneath the four lights, but an eerie darkness outside of their radiance. You were in a padded room with a barred and sealed door. Every surface of the room was covered in thick, firm padded square tiles. You lay on a bed made of the same material in one corner of the room, while someone laid in another bed in the opposite corner. It was too dark to make out their figure well.

A holoprojection dropped from the ceiling, giving the room a pale blue glow. It was Combat Master Vincent Brujah. The Sith smirked as he began speaking.

“So, you’ve signed up for the tournament? Where I come from, that makes you a little crazy. I’ve taken you to a more appropriate environment for someone with your condition.”

As he smiled, pink mist began spraying from the ceiling at the same location as the lights. Slowly, what little you could see of the full room began to tint pink. The Combat Master’s smile grew wider.

“And if you weren’t crazy before… well… we can fix that. The effects of this drug will be pleasant… at first. You must be careful, though. Take too big of a dose and things can get downright terrifying, or so I’ve heard. Prolonged exposure will result in death.”

He shrugged slightly.

“The only way out of this room and into safe air is when I tell my crew to open the door, and I’m only going to do that when there is one of you left capable of walking away. Until then, enjoy the ride.”

The holoprojection blinked away. There was no starting whistle. No horn. No audience. Just silence, dim light, and the realization that the longer you sit there, the closer you would come to death.

Eeno quickly secured his rebreather in his mouth and placed his helmet on. If those fail, I can control my breathing to stay the effects of whatever gas this is, he thought as he looked around for his astromech. Nemo, his R3 unit, was on the opposite end of the room and a KX droid was opposite his opponent’s bed. Both were deactivated, but Eeno reached out with The Force to activate Nemo.

There was a small amount of light as the droid powered up, and it quickly turned its holoprojector onto a setting to just shine like a glowrod. Eeno took a few steps from the bed but did not go towards his opponent. He arrived at the wall and ignited his lightsaber, cutting into the padding. As the blade went in, sparks began to fly, and the normally pristine, elegant lightsaber looked more like a plasma torch. He pulled it back and it returned to its usual state. It’s not cortosis, that would have drained the blade’s energy, he thought as he looked behind the ripped padding at the black metal wall. It looked to have been completely unaffected by the blade. It must not be beskar either, that melts.

Nemo had his welding torch out and was cutting away at the padding looking for the door. The padding was forcing him to move very slowly to keep from his treads getting jammed. It was a slow process, but the droid did not care. It did not even know why its master wanted out of the room, only that it needed to find the door.

Eeno felt a sense of heat hitting his back, and before he could even register that it was precognitive his body moved to deflect the slug coming at him. It shattered into a harmless dust of superheated metal, harmless to his armor that is, it could kill him. As he turned, he saw the other man in the room. Without stopping to see the man’s features, he projected a message he had prepared into their mind, I am not here to fight you.

“Gotta love the irony of meeting a pacifist in a fighting tournament,” the low bass rumble of the approaching figure answered Eeno. “Funnier still to see one dressed as a Clone Trooper.”

The ground shook slightly with each step forward, and Eeno raised the humming lightsaber in a guarded stance as he kept looking up.

And up.

And up.

The Chiss’ eyes widened slightly as a red scaled reptile in an immaculate three-piece suit and cape stepped through the choking mist of combat stimulants. The figure was massive, head almost scraping against the sterile grey ceiling tiles and looked like he could arm-wrestle a Wookiee. Eeno was by no means short but this newcomer, a Barabel, was easily a head taller than him with inches to spare.

“Before we start, let’s do this properly. No interference.”

Giving what could either be a grin or a snarl, the Barabel holstered an odd drum-mag pistol into a holster and drew a one-handed crossbow. Eeno raised his blade again, but the Barabel ignored him and took aim at the lights. There was the subdued crack of a bolt being loosed followed by a high pitched hiss which overrode the noise of the gas valves. The bolt exploded as it struck home and in that same moment the light, valve, and all, were sealed in a smooth casing of ice.

Eeno stepped back as the Barabel reloaded and repeated the action several times, ice closing over each of the gas emitters. The thickening pink cloud dissipated, quickly fading to little more than a thin mist drifting about their ankles.

“If you’re using a rebreather, it’s probably safe to unseal your helmet now,” the Barabel said, holstering the pistol and taking a few steps back before dropping into a combat stance. “The name’s John Blackwood by the way.”

I said I am not here to fight you. Eeno repeated, broadcasting the message clearly into Blackwood’s mind. And my name is Eeno.

Neither moved for some seconds, only the noise of failing gas valves backing and soft hum of the lightsaber filling the silence between them. The already dim lighting had taken on an oddly aquatic quality casting the ripples and motions of where the ice had formed about the cell. Blackwood’s gaze was fixed on Eeno, but after a few seconds one amber eye imperceptibly winked in acknowledgement.

“The silent treatment isn’t going to cut it I’m afraid,” Blackwood said, unbuckling his cape and throwing it over the astromech at Eeno’s bedside before removing his jacket. “We almost certainly have an attentive audience watching from hidden cameras, and one I most definitely ticked off with that little stunt. So we either start throwing punches or wait for a lot of angry people baying for blood try something nasty.”

Blackwood raised both clawed hands, revealing the pair of Mandalorian crafted vambraces previously hidden beneath his jacket. He made an elaborate fighting gesture, raising and spinning both hands in the kind of exaggerated pose worthy of an Eastern Expanse Holovid, but ending in a clear tap to his mouth and then his forehead.

It took several moments for the meaning to fully sink in before Eeno nodded in acknowledgement. One would give his thoughts mentally, the other answering verbally for what little privacy it would offer. All the while they would stage fighting, giving each the time needed to talk.

For the benefit of whoever might be watching them, Eeno raised his blade in salute before his lightsaber in a curving repeated circular slash, advancing toward Blackwood. The downward slash it ended in was the kind of blow a punch-drunk Gamorrean could have seen coming. Blackwood deflected it with one vambrace before returning it with an equally predictable swipe of one fist.

Thank you, Eeno ducked under the punch and then rolled out the way of the follow-up strike. I only joined this tournament as I couldn't get in contact before you signed up. What are you even doing here?

“For what it’s worth this is nothing personal,” Blackwood advanced after Eeno, trying to pass off his reply as a distracting comment. “I’m just here on another case. Specifically to get into a match with one very evasive Sith and kick some answers out of them. I’ve no grievances with Jedi as a rule.”

The Barabel lunged, one arm reaching out in the first stage of a grapple only to dart back as Eeno finished his roll in a crouch, slashing upward and to one side. Eeno rose, quickly following it up with one slash after another, a series of broad strikes more typically applied to back a foe into a corner than deliver a killing strike. The sky-blue and white core of the lightsaber added a shifting element of the room’s ambience, banishing shadows as it came and adding sudden intensity to the light reflected in the ice.

“So what’s with the armour? Trying to relive the Order’s glory days fighting clankers?” Blackwood asked, a flash of white amid his clay-red face indicating a grin. In a blur of motion he raised one arm in a striking gesture. A pair of jagged darts whistled free from a launcher, skimming over Eeno’s pauldron and harmlessly bouncing off of one wall.

Far from it, Eeno said, making an attempt to flinch at the action in surprise and giving Blackwood a moment to recover. I entered a cryo tube while that war was still being waged. For me, those battles were yesterday.

The answer made Blackwood momentarily falter just as Eeno made a reverse strike. There was the hiss of the lightsaber striking home and the scent of burning fabric. Blackwood winced, growling and stepping back, grabbing the severed halves of his tie and tossing them aside.

“Damn. That’s not happened in a long while,” Blackwood said, stepping away and momentarily checking his shirt for damages. “I’ll have to visit the tailor once we’re done. But no first blood to you I’m afraid. So, where were we?”

Raising his fists, Blackwood gestured for Eeno to continue. Eeno, thankful for his armour disguising his moment of concern and then relief at having not accidentally run the Barabel through, nodded and came forward in a jab and a hack. Each motion was slower, just enough for Blackwood to turn one aside and make his own retaliatory strike.

As I said, for me, the Clone Wars were just yesterday, Eeno continued, as the pair played out their faux duel. Palpatine smothered the flame of the Jedi Order and scattered its ashes. A detective might help find anything he overlooked.

“Come on, surely you can do better,” Blackwood snorted, again making a reply disguised as bravado. “Can’t you call on one of your Jedi friends to help you here, or even your droid over there?”

This matter is a personal one, and the galaxy has changed a great deal since my time.

Both paused as they exchanged several more blows, each leaving clear openings and botched strikes to deflect at a moment’s notice. It was the kind of display which would have driven any Battlemaster to apoplexy – Clumsy, slow, and predictable. Blackwood darted to one side again, allowing Eeno to strike the wall, testing the strength of the chamber which held them.

Eeno came around again, facing Blackwood as he stood his guard. In a two-handed hammer blow Eeno brought his lightsaber around and met Blackwood’s crossed vambraces, the blade crackling as it met with Mandalorian iron. The two strained, corded muscle against the enhanced strength of Eeno’s armour, both making more of a show than genuinely pushing against one another.

“I’ll need a few more details,” Blackwood whispered, voice low and leaning in as if he was delivering a quiet insult. “But you’ve got my attention.”

I am looking for someone, he projected into his ‘opponent’s’ mind as he made another theatrical slash that was easily blocked. I knew a Wookie. I do not know if it was her full name, but she was called Kula. I know she survived until a year before The Death Star was destroyed over Yavin, after that I don’t know.

“I said,” someone over the room's speakers boomed, presumably the combat master, “only one of you gets to walk out of there. Since you will not fight, and managed to disable the geaseous death timer, I will have to make a winner.” Two points on each wall opened and out of them emerged eight droids. Each of them was only a few inches shorter than Blackwood. Each droid’s right arm ended in a long spike while the left had a slug thrower pistol.

Eeno, finally speaking out loud said, “I think I could take six, you just don’t die.” He used the force to call his second lightsaber to his left hand and activated the magnetic locks on the palms of his gloves. He tapped the wellspring of The Force and began to fight at a speed that was almost a blur.

Unlike with the walls, the droid’s silvery metal began to turn orange from the heat, though each individual strike was not enough to melt through. He continued drawing the attention of all the droids away from Blackwood before slowing down. He let them beat on his armor and break through. Eeno did not bleed from the strikes because he used The Force to control his own body and keep himself alive. After he was sure he would look incapable of continuing to fight he let himself fall down limp. As his consciousness faded he saw Blackwood exit the room and projected one last message, Go finish that case.

Eeno’s head looked away briefly and then down as if considering something. Even beneath several inches of reinforced plasteel, there was an element of sudden uncertainty to the Chiss’ body language. The moment lasted only a second before pressing back against Blackwood, the Barabel grunting and making a visible effort to imply any kind of physical struggle.

After a few seconds they broke apart, Eeno shifting to a guarded stance while Blackwood reached for another of his weapons.

I have a list of names and locations, Eeno pulsed. The psychic echo of his voice seemed to rise in volume. Whether that was due to excitement or concern, Blackwood couldn’t say. Most are situated on the Outer Rim. The one I need investigated first is on -

There was a burst of pale blue light as the same individual who had greeted them made his presence known, the artificial ghost of the hologram displaying a thunderous expression.

“What in hell have you two done?” Vincent Brujah asked. He spoke the words with enough weight and finality that he might as well have screamed the question. “The entire gas system has backed up now and the gearheads are shutting it down.”

“Whoops,” Blackwood said with an unapologetic shrug and then indicated Eeno. “He’s very good at being in exactly the place my cryo-bolts aren’t. I guess a few of your toys got caught in the crossfire.”

Brujah’s stony expression remained both unchanged and unamused as he regarded the pair, and for a brief second he seemed to be contemplating dealing with the match personally. Then his mouth twisted into a cruel smile.

“The others – save for those frenzied by the gas – have since concluded their bouts,” Brujah said. “If either of you had any talent, you would have done the same. Finish it, before I order this chamber purged with you in it.”

He snapped his fingers and, between the two, a floor tile slid away. A tongue of white-hot flame lashed up from a space below the floor, bright enough that the dingy combat chamber was momentarily lit up with the brightness of a midday sun. Brujah repeated the gesture and it shut off, the tile slotting back into the floor. Brujah looked between Eeno and Blackwood, silently challenging either to push him.

“And we were just starting to have fun,” Eeno said, speaking for the first time since they had arrived. He swung his blade in an exaggerated taunt, the tip slashing through Brujah’s holographic form and causing ripples through the projected light like disturbed water. Then he raised one hand, challenging Blackwood to fight him once more.

Just hit me hard enough that I can fake unconsciousness.

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” Blackwood laughed. He smashed his fists together in a brawler’s gesture and charged.

Blackwood moved with none of the artificial slowness of his previous blows, rushing the Jedi at full speed. He saw a familiar reaction of surprise in Eeno. It was that split-second of shock that someone of Blackwood’s massive frame could move so quickly, their brain trying to process the threat even as the Force, their nerves, or even just age old experience told them to run or fight. As simplistically primal as it was, it gave Blackwood an easy opening to exploit.

Blackwood turned aside the lightsaber with a vambrace, smashing a fist into Eeno’s more thinly armoured abdomen. There was a gasp from Eeno, and a half-registered moment of pain from Blackwood’s thickly scaled knuckles, as Eeno bent about the blow. The lightsaber tumbled from his fingers, blade extinguishing as it fell through the air.

Before the hilt of Eeno’s weapon struck the ground, Blackwood’s other fist came down in a chopping blow. His hand stopped a fraction of an inch above the back of the Jedi's neck, but Eeno jerked anyway, mimicking a sudden impact and went limp. There was a clatter as both lightsaber and Jedi fell and were motionless. The room was silent once more, save for the quiet hum of hologram projectors.

“Satisfied?” Blackwood asked, turning to Brujah. The Combat Master raised an eyebrow before the hologram blinked out of existence.

Blackwood waited several heartbeats to see if Brujah would purge them anyway, but relaxed as the bolts on the doors slid open once more. In the same moment, both of their droids came to life, the astromech which had accompanied Eeno squawking as it tried to move out from under Blackwood’s cape.

“Afraid your friend lost this fight,” Blackwood said, retrieving his jacket and then pulling his cape off of the entangled droid. The astromech rocked back slightly at the sight of the Barabel looming over him. “But he’s still alive. When he wakes up, tell him to wait for me at the Tipsy Tusken. I get the feeling we’re going to have a lot to discuss.”

The door screeched open with a protest of metal and several Iron Legionaries entered, flanking a trio of medical personnel. Blackwood stepped away from Eeno, allowing them to carry him away and watching as the Jedi's droid rolled after them. Quietly he wondered what Eeno had been about to tell him, before pressing such questions to the back of his mind.

He had a case to finish first. Anything else could wait until tomorrow.