Inquisitor John Blackwood vs. Adept Farrin Xies Tarentae

Located within the Moddell Sector of the Outer Rim territories, the Endor system is a well known location of much importance to the Galactic Civil War. This was the location of the destruction of the second Death Star, and the deaths of both Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader. It was this victory and this location that allowed the Rebel Alliance to become the New Republic.

The Forest Moon of Endor, designated IX3244-A, is the ninth moon of the planet Endor. Its surface is covered in dense forests of redwood trees. Several of these trees were connected via wood plank bridges and walkways by the local Ewok population, who made their homes within the trees, high above the forest floor.

You have arrived at night. The thick foliage of the trees blocks out almost all external light sources, making it very difficult to see without naturally or artificially enhanced vision, or at least some kind of light. The sounds of nearby streams can be heard, as well as the chirps of thousands of nearby insects and birds. As you begin to settle into the business that brought you here, the loud, startling “TOOO-ROOOO!” of some kind of horn rang out nearby... then another in the distance, and another.

When Blackwood awoke, it was to the sound of rain pattering on the treetops overhead. The scent of fresh earth and woodland, an ever present miasma on the forest moon, had risen to a pungent reek all about them. He stretched out from where he had been lying between two speeder-sized tree roots from the kilometres high tree behind them, and rose into a sitting position with the distinct feeling he was wasting his time.

Unlike the tournament’s prior match, the holonet message from the Brotherhood had been both simple and direct. It had offered him everything he needed – A clear location, the identity of his foe, and confirmation that they were fast approaching the system. Better yet, while Endor’s moon might have been an unending forest, it was paradise compared to Dagobah’s planet encompassing swamplands. For a brief period the news had put Blackwood in a good mood, but any initial gratitude at such clarity had soon given way to frustration.

A week had been spent waiting on the fridges of the system for any sign of his foe. Eventually, with no further messages or arriving vessels, Blackwood had risked setting down their borrowed shuttle on the moon and started hunting about the few areas of real interest on Endor. The tedium of waiting had quickly given way to fruitless searching, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

More out of habit than need, Blackwood checked his chronometer. The same number from that afternoon blinked up, marking this as the sixth day since their arrival. Six days of trudging across the forest moon of Endor, avoiding its more gargantuan predators. Six days of finding anywhere safe enough to sleep, and searching through the most likely areas for his opponent to fight him. Six days of poking through the burned out wrecks of long destroyed Imperial walkers and the remains of what had once been the Emperor’s finest legion. Enough time had passed for the Barabel’s clay red scales to develop that oily, gritty feel of too many showers taken in rainwater, and his back to ache from using his cloak as a makeshift bed.

Something jabbed hard into Blackwood’s shoulder, and only then realised what had roused him from his slumber.

With the graphite colouring of his plating barely catching the moonlight filtering through the dense trees, Orion looked like some cryptid of myth. His distended limbs and armoured plating rendered him as a skeletal giant in the dark, and Blackwood was reminded of ghost stories he had heard on Corellia; gruesome tales of long-dead soldiers of the Empire rising again to fight, possessed by some ancient Sith sorcery. Even after years of working with the KX-series droid, Blackwood had to fight the urge to reach for a weapon.

The droid was crouched against one root, braced against it as if it were a fortified dugout. Half-kneeling, one hand was shaking the Barabel awake, the other holding his rifle. The weapon was lengthening and adjusting to its sniper mode with a symphony of quiet clicks and whirrs of mechanical components.

“Trouble?” Blackwood asked, suddenly alert and unbuckling the holster of his pistol.

“Something has upset the locals,” Orion said, speaking in an oddly high pitched voice Blackwood had never fully gotten used to. “They’re on the alert.”

Swearing loudly, Blackwood scrambled to his feet, moving to join Orion. Peering over the edge of the moss enveloped root, he blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the pitch blackness of the nighttime forest. The shrill blare of horns were sounding off from somewhere above them, and he could see torches being lit among the treetop houses. Rings of walkways and small wooden huts looped about the vast trunks, clinging to each gargantuan tree like a vast creeper vine. As Blackwood’s vision shifted into infrared, he picked out blobs of heat amid the darkness, some in large moving masses indicating groups of villagers, the others as single individuals emerging from the background warmth of their homes and rushing to a platform above them.

“Are they coming after us?” Orion asked, and Blackwood realised that the droid was taking aim with his rifle. Reaching over, Blackwood gently pushed the barrel aside.

“Difficult to tell,” Blackwood admitted, aware the droid lacked a Barabel’s capacity to pick out heat signatures through vision alone. “But I doubt it. You saw what they did to the Stormtroopers, if they wanted us dead we wouldn’t be talking right now.”

Blackwood ignored Orion as the droid did his level best to give the Barabel a look of disbelief. Even after days of rooting through the makeshift graveyards of Stormtroopers, Orion had never fully bought into the threat the Ewoks posed. For his part, Blackwood had just been thankful that their sole meeting with the villagers had not been violent. The gift of a few spare cleaning tools for his pistol had been enough for the Ewoks to tolerate their presence near their village and the relative safety it offered as the two continued their search.

Then a new sound joined the din of increasingly angry and alarmed Ewoks, and a flash of blue-white light lit up the night somewhere higher into the village. The burst came and went in a brief second, but it was followed by another burst a moment later, then a third. A new scent joined the smells of the forest, that of ozone and burning fur. Screams of pain and rage accompanied it, along with the distant rumble of running feet on wooden planks.

A larger shape was moving above them now. Blackwood frowned, tracking the shape as it dropped down from one level to the next, fleeing one of the largest hovels in the village. Far too tall for an Ewok, it was only once the figure reached the tree adjacent to their camp sight that he saw the flash of a lightsaber. Two spear wielding Ewoks fell, carved apart as they tried to oppose whoever this was.

The figure stumbled briefly in the light of a torch and Blackwood caught sight of this new intruder. A gaunt and pale skinned Human with a shock of red hair turning to grey, and moving with a slight limp. His unusual gate was exaggerated by a large metal drum container grasped tightly under one arm, its rust-tarnished surface still bearing the icon of Palpatine’s Inquisitorius.

“Please don’t tell me that’s who I think it is,” Orion said, as a black-plated astromech moved to join the fleeing Human at the far end of the rope bridge. A snub-nosed weapon extended from its barrel-torso. There was a dull metallic thunk of a grenade being launched, and the bridge was ripped in half by an explosion of fire and wood splinters.

“Farrin Xies Tarentae,” Blackwood confirmed, his disbelief now marred with exasperation. “Apparently he’s decided to fight everyone else on this planet.”

“Or he found a better prize than whatever is at the end of this tournament,” Orion agreed, raising his rifle again. This time Blackwood didn’t stop him as he took aim. “I can put a bolt through his head now if you would like.”

“No, I need to have a word or two with him first,” Blackwood answered, stretching out and loosening his muscles. “Get rid of his companion. Then see if you can get the Ewoks to understand we’re not on his side.”

Blackwood didn’t wait for Orion’s inevitable protest, vaulting over the root and sprinting toward the Ewok village. The rainsoaked earth clawed at his every step, and Blackwood skidded more than once as he tried to maintain his footing. Some way ahead, Farrin had come to a halt before a raised drawbridge of rough hewn logs and branches. There was a flash as his lightsaber connected with the bridge’s winch mechanism, and the bridge toppled to the forest floor with an echoing crash.

From somewhere above there was a sound of high pitch yelling accompanied by the bellow of a hunting horn. A rain of hastily aimed arrows fell about Farrin as he started racing down the bridge, the Ewoks yelling something obscene in their language as they tried to muster a defense.

Farrin made it halfway down the bridge, arrows peppering his steps and biting into the wood, before the astromech a few metres behind him exploded. The droid had been reversing after its master, firing its weapon repeatedly as it provided cover, when a ruby lance of energy speared out of the darkness. The shot from Orion’s rifle struck it centre mass, punching cleanly through its lightly armoured casing and burning a hole into the tree behind it. With a thunderous roar, the droid’s grenade ammunition cooked off and it came apart in a mushroom cloud of fire and shrapnel. Its domed head was ripped free of its body, lifted off by the force of the explosion and catapulted off into the night sky.

The loss was enough to make Farrin pause mid-flight, staring back in abject shock. It took him several seconds to register the sound of heavy footsteps and the slight shake of the drawbridge for him to turn and look down, seeing Blackwood striding up the bridge toward him. Surprise turned to alarm, and a look of recognition passed over Farrin’s face. He raised the lightsaber in a guarded stance, turning his body to more easily protect the container he was still clutching under one arm.

“Ah,” Farrin managed, looking back as he began backpeddling, trying to gain distance from Blackwood. “Hello. Look, I’m in the middle of something else right now, and I don’t have time for-”

Blackwood’s pistol boomed twice, and Farrin weaved his lightsaber, intercepting the explosive rounds before they could hit home. On the rain-slicked wood, the impact was almost enough to cost him his footing.

“I really don’t care. After the week I’ve had, you’re about to make time,” Blackwood growled, taking aim. He fired again, a longer burst this time, forcing Farrin to weave his blade in a complex network of slashes to intercept the incoming rounds. “Either you deal with me, or you deal with the Ewoks.”

Already backing away from the huge Barabel, Farrin risked a glance behind him, seeing flames from his destroyed astromech slowly spreading across the wood platform. Several more arrows fell about them, embedding themselves into the bridge, the cries overhead indicating a growing number of Ewoks taking aim. It didn’t take long for Farrin to make a decision.

Farrin raised his lightsaber and then hacked downward with all of his strength. The weapon’s plasma blade burned through the wood of the bridge between them, parting timber and rope alike. Blackwood lunged, realising only at the last second what Farrin was doing before his second strike severed the wood logs they were standing on.

There was a creak of abused lumber and Blackwood felt his half of the bridge give out under him. The half he was standing on fell away, one end still planted in the earth, the other swinging down at high speed toward the ground. Blackwood kicked away, striking the ground hard and rolling, the mud robbing the impact of its killing potential. The few metre drop was still enough to wreck the bridge, coming apart with a cacophony that echoed through the trees about them.

Blackwood came to a halt a short distance from the ruined bridge, and rose gingerly to his feet, more pained than genuinely hurt. He looked up, seeing Farrin turning and running back into the now burning treetop village, his pilfered treasure still clutched under one arm.

He had certainly been in worse spots, but if Farrin was being honest with himself, he would have to admit it had been quite a while, and this was certainly up there on his all-time “Oh, kark” list. This should have been easy - get in, interface with the locals, nab the target, and get out. Instead, practically everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. He had barely stepped off of his shuttle onto the forest moon’s surface before it had all gone awry.

Beetee had been an admittedly odd companion for years, though the former Headmaster had noticed over the last few months that its programming had been showing more quirks than normal. Farrin had planned to memory wipe it when he had a chance, but he hadn’t found the time since returning from retirement. What had first thrown a spanner into the works of the current mission had nothing to do with Beetee’s recent weirdness, though, and instead had everything to do with one of the things Farrin had long known about his droid and simply put up with: the assassin droid despised anything roughly its height. It provided the fodder for many a hilarious story in the Clan Vizsla drinking halls, but it also could - and did - cause problems. Like, for instance, during negotiations with the local Ewoks.

Carelessly, the bounty-hunting Tarentae hadn’t noticed the warning trill that Beetee had begun emitting as soon as they approached the first village. He had heard the droid’s noises before and had learned to understand a few of them, but when he laid eyes on the Inquisitorius cache that the village’s chieftain was using as a makeshift throne, all thoughts of the astromech were pushed from his mind. Whatever was in it was likely worth far more than the bounty on this Blackwood character anyway, so he decided he would secure it first and then deal with the Odanite later.

That was before Beetee started launching grenades, of course. Things got really hectic after that.

And then, because the universe truly has a twisted sense of humor, Blackwood somehow appeared practically right in front of him and began demanding a conversation - as if this was even remotely the time for such a thing. Farrin had other things significantly more pressing than niceties with his target, at least until he could get the cache secured on his shuttle. Then he’d have time to spare for the Barabel.

After sending Blackwood tumbling to the forest floor and beginning his sprint through the burning village, the Vizslan allowed himself a small, smug grin. I’ve gotten whatever former Imperial treasure awaits me in this crate, he mused, and that idiot Blackwood clearly doesn’t know who he’s messing with. The smirk did falter a little bit as he thought again about the loss of Beetee, but hopefully whatever was in his loot would more than make up for-

Something in the back of his mind, that little warning bell that he had long ago learned to trust, cut sharply through his thoughts. He barely had time to leap off the walkway to the balcony of a dwelling below before the walkway seemed to explode in a shower of sparks and wooden splinters. Looking down, bewildered, Farrin quickly spied Blackwood taking aim from directly below him with a bizarre weapon that looked like something more befitting a construction crew. Muttering curses that would give a Hutt pause, the Vizslan ducked into the dwelling just as another blast of what looked like little explosive discs ripped through the balcony.

Angrily, Farrin called down to his opponent below, “Dank farrik, Blackwood. I told you I had better things to do, but have it your way.” The response was a ruby lance of energy that tore through the wooden slats serving as the room’s walls, missing the Vizslan’s head by less than a meter.

“Sithspit, that does it,” Farrin muttered, setting the Inquisitorius cache down. He crouched low against the wall, the hilts of both lightsabers in his hands as he let his rage flow through him. There, he realized - fifty meters below, semi-concealed by the roots of the tree holding Farrin’s current hiding spot aloft, sat Blackwood. The slight Human focused his anger on the Barabel for a moment before he threw himself out of the room and plummeted down with unnatural speed. His impact on the forest floor a few meters from Blackwood, even cushioned by the Force, sent a spray of mud around them both. In a brief moment of stillness, two sets of eyes - one pair jade green, the other orange-yellow - locked as the two men quickly sized each other up.

They both lashed out simultaneously. Farrin leapt forward, quickly closing the distance and slashing forward with both silver-white blades. As he did so, however, Blackwood had just enough time to side-arm throw a length of gray cord capped with weights at each end toward the smaller man. Farrin tried to knock it away with the lightsaber in his right hand but one of the metallic weights managed to briefly connect with the Vizslan’s wrist. He wrenched his hand back as if he had touched a hot stove, the erratic movement causing him to stumble and forcing the swing from the blade in his left hand to miss wide.

Seething with anger and gritting his teeth in agony, Farrin whirled around to face Blackwood once more.

“We could have done this in a much more genial way, but you just had to stick your snout in others’ business. Fine, so be it. You’ll pay for Beetee… and for wasting my time.” Farrin twirled the two brilliant white blades - his right wrist giving him noticeable difficulty - and tried to calm himself in readiness for the Barabel’s next moves.

There were no further words to be had. With the soft patter of water droplets increasing to a steady drumbeat about them, Blackwood opened fire. A stream of explosive rounds cutting through the rain-drenched air toward Farrin. Each detonated in a miniature burst of light as they met Farrin’s blades, the lightsabers moving in a whirling display of white plasma.

There was no charge, no sudden break in the attack as Blackwood kept firing, burst after burst, feeling the drum magazine rapidly lightening. With each step back he took in the squelching mud, Farrin took one step forward, his display of swordsmanship never slowing. Each flash of an intercepted round and swing of Farrin’s blades was a flash of white light in the midnight forest, momentarily dispelling the red glow of the burning village behind them.

For a few brief seconds they were at a stalemate, before a swing from Farrin ended in an open handed gesture, fingers raised while holding the lightsaber against his palm with his thumb. Blackwood recognised the action a heartbeat too late. An invisible force with the strength of a bull Rancor ripped the boltgun from Blackwood’s hand, casting it off and into the forest. Farrin was already charging even as the weapon disappeared, lightsabers spinning as he launched himself at the massive Barabel.

Blackwood threw himself back as Farrin closed in, rolling aside from a downward swing with a speed which belied his size, and then jumping back from a horizontal slash aimed at his waist. He threw out a punch, and then retracted it almost as quickly, as one of Farrin’s blazing lightsabers rose to meet his fist. The blade missed by the barest of margins, passing so close Blackwood imagined feeling the plasma blade cutting into his hand. That was the trouble with Force users, they always knew when and where you were going to attack, almost before you did.

Farrin came at Blackwood again, using his forward momentum to keep advancing, moving in an unending sequence of slashes, stabs, and feints. Blackwood managed a snarl of frustration, realising his mistake almost immediately. Keeping the burning village behind him. Farrin was forcing Blackwood to stare into the blazing inferno. Even as they pulled further into the darkness of the forest, Blackwood was squinting, his vision a blur of background heat-hazes. Against the fire Farrin was little more than a half-defined black silhouette, both whirling glowing blades, constantly aimed for Blackwood’s head. Every effort to evade or move was met by an interception, preventing the Barabel from turning away. Half-blinded and half guessing where the next strike would land, he fell back on pure evasion to stay ahead of the Human.

The sound of soft mud underfoot was giving way to the crunch of dead wood and fallen branches as Farrin drove the fight further and further from the village, The constant assault only ended as he brought up his hand again. The telekinetic shove caught Blackwood in his chest, launching him into the air. The world tumbled, sky and ground, treetop branches, and dimly lit forest floor. Brief flashes of shining moonlight, and then abject darkness. How far he flew and how high he could not tell, but it was only when he felt the momentum ebb that it came to a sudden end.

Pain erupted across Blackwood’s side as he collided with something hard. The bone-jarring impact accompanied by the noise of splintering wood, and the scent of decaying matter. With a groan which was equal parts frustration and pain, Blackwood reached up until he felt something solid, before dragging himself upright. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light now that they were away from the fire, and making out broken bark and rotting timber around him. He stumbled away, looking back and seeing the vast remnants of a fallen tree-trunk, overrun with carpets of lichen and quietly rotting in the darkness. A large crater in its side marked the site of his impact, and he could see scuttling things which had been eating through the wood fleeing deeper into the trunk.

Blackwood shook his cape free of insects and bark fragments, then discarded it entirely after noticing the ragged tears in the armoured fabric. It had done its job, protecting him from the worst of the damage from his landing, with only a handful of jagged splinters having punctured through into the overcoat beneath. Taking a moment to stretch and loosen his muscles, he staggered away, peering about in the dark woodland. The flames of the Ewok village were little more than a splash of dull red among the trees, and even the cries of its inhabitants seemed distant now.

“Are you starting to think this was a bad idea?”

Farrin’s voice seemed close and distant at once, the forest giving it an echoing quality which seemed to amplify his mocking tone. Blackwood looked over his shoulder and then all about him, the adrenaline from the initial fight still coursing through his veins. Nothing moved, even as he briefly shifted his eyes into infrared and back, trying to pick out any heat haze of movement from the Human. The vast scar the fallen tree behind him had rent a hole in the arboreal canopy, enough for the silver light of the moon to reach them. Enough to give him some space from wherever Farrin would come from next.

Without warning, a mass of ferns meters to his left parted and Farrin came sprinting into the open, both lightsabers spinning again as he charged. Blackwood's armoured tail lashing out with the speed of a whip. The strike was true, catching Farrin in the back of both knees, and passing clean through without resistance. The shape of Farrin came apart in a billowing cloud of black smoke, disappearing with a chorus of distorted laughter.

He half turned again at the noise of running footsteps on wood, seeing Farrin’s grinning form sprinting along the fallen tree before fragmenting like a shattered mirror. Then again running between the trees only to fold in upon itself.

“You have caused me far more trouble than you’re worth,” Farrin’s voice echoed out of the darkness. “You cost me a droid and a clean escape, but I am sure the credits on your head will cover the worst of that. Those seeking you were offering a very generous award.”

Fists raised, Blackwood backed away. He was keeping the fallen tree to his back, slowly turning left and right as half-signs of motion crossed his vision, of black shapes somewhere among the trees. Farrin’s Corellian drawl carried a note of amusement, but there was no hiding the underlying fury in his words.

“Perhaps they’ll stuff and mount your head for this. I’m sure I can come up with a few suggestions.”

“I’m sure you can,” Blackwood said under his breath in answer, listening carefully. There was a subtle change to Farrin’s voice compared with his earlier threats. A laboured quality to his voice as he spoke, dotted odd pauses and rushed ends to sentences. Both of them still had cards left to play in this fight, but Blackwood was starting to suspect Farrin was attempting to hide something. Had the fight truly taken that much out of him?

“They might even let me keep your hide. I could use a new pair of boots after this.”

There was the sound of movement somewhere to Blackwood’s right, a noise of careful breathing and slow steps over rough earth and tree roots. Irregular and odd, as if someone unaccustomed to hiding was trying to move quietly. Clumsy, slow, and far too obvious. Blackwood ignored it as it stopped and then started up elsewhere. He risked a brief look behind him and then sighed. There was only one thing for it.

Blackwood reached in, tapping into that slight trickle of Force potential he had allowed himself to refine. His senses uncoiled, reaching out into the ether and overlaying the sense of life surrounding him. He felt the panicked hunger of the wood-eaters he had disturbed, of prey fleeing the fire, and the hunger of predators some way off, wary of the growing scent of smoke. Yet above it all, he felt a single distinct emotion coming from his left: rage.

Blackwood’s head snapped in the direction of the intense fury. He spun about just in time to face Farrin as the Human seemed to boil back into existence, the illusion of invisibility falling away. Both white energised blades were already falling in a killing stroke, halfway to the Barabel’s head. Blackwood brought up his arm at the last second, the lightsabers cutting through the sleeve of his coat, before rebounding against the beskar vambrace hidden beneath it.

Farrin’s expression shifted from expectant glee to bewildered shock. That ended with a winded squeal as Blackwood drove his other fist into the man’s guts, then a loud crack as he backhanded Farrin across the face. Both lightsabers hit the ground, falling from unconscious fingers before their owner joined them a moment later.

It was still night when Farrin awoke, a dull throb of pain thrumming through his skull. He did his best to stifle a groan, already feeling one eye having swollen shut from the blow which had felled him. Both arms were raised above him, and he could feel the cold metal bite of stun-cuffs bound to his wrists. He looked up, seeing the half-severed branch looped through his arms, and felt the lack of ground beneath his feet. He knew immediately he wasn’t alone.

A few metres from him Blackwood was sitting on a massive tree root, yellow eyes squarely fixed upon Farrin. The Barabel had shed his coat and was holding a comlink which seemed ridiculously small in his taloned hand.

“He’s beaten, but alive,” Blackwood said into the speaker. “Mark me down for the next round in your tournament.”

“Done,” the voice of Vincent Brujah emanated from the comlink, distorted by a hiss of static. “And don’t drag out the next one for weeks.”

With a chime the communication closed and Blackwood reached over, handing the comlink to a towering KX-series droid Farrin had missed at first; the dark colours of its casing blending into the shadow of the vast root. The droid was clutching an assembly of items, and it took some seconds for Farrin to recognise his arsenal of weapons.

“Fine,” Farrin said, spitting the copper taste of blood from his mouth before glaring at the Barabel. “You won, now kill me or let me go. Just get on with it.”

“Not until we’ve had a talk,” Blackwood answered. “Just a few small matters. Like what you were doing when we were supposed to be fighting here, who put a price on my head, and especially about your interest in these.”

Blackwood nudged something at his foot, and the Inquisitorious container Farrin had attempted to pillage fell over. The lid had been forcefully ripped away, and within it spilled a cache of data crystals.

“And when I don’t?” Farrin said, managing a bloody grin. He was already certain he wasn’t walking away from this one. Better to end his tale with bravado than a whimper.

“As I said earlier,” Blackwood muttered, retrieving a silver case from a pocket and pulling a cigarette from it. “You deal with me, or you deal with them.”

There was a scrape as Blackwood sparked up a lighter and brought it up to his face. As he lit the cigarette, the minute flame was suddenly reflected in over a hundred watching eyes. A hundred eyes all fixed upon Farrin, staring out from among the shadowed trees of the forest, unblinking and entirely silent.

“And after what you did to their village, they are keen to have a very long talk with you.”

Blackwood snapped the lighter shut. The world went dark and Farrin fought the urge to start screaming.

Farrin didn’t have to wait long, though the next salvo in the fight between the Human and the Barabel came from the side - a fact that momentarily caught the former Headmaster by surprise as he hadn’t noticed the tall KX droid crouching behind the nearby tree. Intently focused on Blackwood as he was, Farrin only had enough time to throw himself sideways to avoid a direct hit from the droid’s rifle. Even still, the ruby bolt still grazed his right shoulder, causing the Vizslan to bare his teeth in pain yet again.

Not wasting a moment, Blackwood raised his wrist toward the prone Human and clenched his fist. As he did, his vambrace-mounted dart thrower activated, sending a thin, poison-tipped metal dart whistling rapidly through the air. While it easily found its target, the dart wasn’t able to penetrate the cloak and light armor that Farrin had long ago learned never to leave behind. Not for the first (nor likely the last) time, the former Headmaster was thankful for its protection.

Though Farrin’s injuries weren’t severe, they were still becoming a distracting annoyance. Coupled with the mental and physical fatigue slowly beginning to creep in, he knew he needed to even the odds to survive this encounter. Fighting two skilled opponents was a recipe for disaster.

Farrin leapt to his feet, his blades snapping back to life with an aggressive hum. The Vizslan momentarily tore his eyes from Blackwood and hazarded a glance toward the droid clearly lining up to take another shot from a few dozen meters away. Farrin pointed one of his glowing blades at the KX unit, the lightsaber trembling with rage as he jerked his hand forward. The heavy droid spun backward as if an invisible tether had yanked its arm, nearly dropping its blaster rifle.

As the Vizslan then slashed his blade through the air, the massive droid flew toward Blackwood’s position. The Odanite managed to deftly jump out of the way of his own hurtling ally, but by protecting himself he sealed the droid’s fate as it slammed hard into the thick trunk of a nearby redwood tree. The KX unit’s hardened body was crushed by the impact and its limbs spasmed before they fell still, smoke rising from its crumpled remains at the foot of the tree.

“That makes us even,” Farrin spat, breathing a little heavier than he’d prefer. “Look, I’ve got a bounty puck with your name on it, and if the last two fights I’ve had are any indication, I would imagine that you’ll say the same to me.” Blackwood’s reptilian eyes narrowed, though he didn’t immediately respond.

The Vizslan gestured up to the dwelling where he had stashed the Inquisitorius crate before he continued. “I want whatever’s in that cache, to the point where your bounty is honestly secondary to me. You got some good licks in, now let’s both just… walk away. If I never set foot again on this damned planet, it’ll still be too soon anyway. I’ll report back to that fool Combat Master that I couldn’t secure the bounty, and that’ll be it.”

There was silence in the small clearing as the Barabel considered the Human’s offer. The loss of Orion stung, but Blackwood was otherwise unscathed while Farrin was noticeably a step slower than he had been earlier. The Odanite felt like he had the upper hand here, but was there something he was missing? This wasn’t one of the strange occult murders he was often called on to investigate; there had to be an obvious angle at play - but what?

That moment of uncertainty provided Farrin the opening that he needed. Allowing his rage to fuel him and to push through his fatigue, the former Headmaster quickly closed the distance between the two men. As he did, both brilliant white blades slashed forward, one arcing high across Blackwood’s chest while the other swooped low in an attempt to literally cut him off at the knees. Expecting a ruse like this, the Barabel was able to avoid both hits, though the lower strike came close enough to singe the left knee of his trousers.

Farrin’s aggression left him open to a counter, something that Blackwood was more than happy to provide. In a flash, the Barabel’s left fist slammed into the smaller Human’s solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. The strike surprised Farrin enough that the hilts of both of his lightsabers fell from his grasp, their blades blinking out of existence as they hit the forest floor. Blackwood brought his knee up and struck the Vizslan hard in the groin, causing the already breathless Human to let out a feeble groan of pain and double over. Before Farrin could react further, Blackwood pressed the dart thrower against the side of his opponent’s neck and fired. Already stunned by the two blows in quick succession, the Human struggled unsuccessfully to regain clarity as the poison quickly began to race through his body. Succumbing to the effects, he fell to the ground and slid into a deep sleep.

Blackwood easily picked up the unconscious form of the thin Human, tossing him over his shoulder. Looking down at the chronometer on his wrist, a wisp of a smile crossed his lips as he realized he’d likely be home in time to get a warm meal and sleep in his own bed. After six extremely annoying days of chasing his target, he certainly felt he had earned it.