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.