You stand in a room, nearly dark but for the pulse of rhythmic flashes of bright colored lights. Besides your opponent and yourself, you note a large number of bystanders who are sure to take exception to the coming carnage. Then again, knowing this crowd, they could just as easily find entertainment in an old-fashioned brawl. Spanky's is, after all, one of the more fashionable drinking establishments of Karufr.

The patrons seem to be a mix between the scantily clad women hawking their charms and the well-dressed gentlemen eager to part with their hard-earned credits. The odors in the tavern assault your senses and threaten to muddle your reflexes. Among them, you recognize over a dozen various types of stimulants—both legal and illegal—and the heady scent of, what is quite possibly, the most varied collection of liquor this side of the Galaxy.

The tavern itself is fraught with tactical advantages and disadvantages. Designed in the familiar style of all amphitheaters, the floor is slightly slanted toward a central stage where a lithe, twi'lek female is currently dancing. Littered amongst the floor are drink tables, heavily laden with glassware and other potential missiles. Uncomfortable, heavy metal chairs surround each of the tables in a semi-circle, so that the occupant's view of the stage is never hindered. The only exit, aside from the doorway where you stand, is a vaulted staircase—guarded by two very well-dressed, and heavily muscled, gentlemen—leading into parts unknown.

Small bars bracket the tavern on either side, filled with a glittering rainbow of bottles. Whatever is about to go down, you realize it would go down better with a stiff drink.

Bentre walked into the familiar sights and smells of the bustling cantina, and immediately his nose crinkled. As much as he enjoyed a good drink, he had spent too much time in locations much like this one. He felt irritation boiling in his stomach as he scanned the room. The stench was overwhelming enough to turn his stomach, and something tickled at the back of his head. He had the strong sense that there was /something/ he was missing here. The Obelisk shook his head, choosing not to dwell to long upon it. Surely, things would become apparent if he was just patient.

Growing uncomfortable, the human slipped into a nearby chair. As he sat, he was met by the smiling face of a Nautolan in comfortable-looking robes. The alien was holding a set of Pazaak cards, which he motioned to as he nodded slightly.

“Do you play?” he asked courteously.

“Um,” Bentre was a little surprised by the offer. He was not overly fond of the simple card game, but perhaps it would distract him from the assault of sights and scents the room offered. “Sounds good, I guess.”

“Good, good.” the Nautolan nodded as he smiled a little wider. “Then we shall play for a friendly wager of, say, five credits?”

Without saying another word, the Jedi Hunter slipped five credits on the table. The alien slipped him a deck of cards to select from, and Bentre carefully selected his sidedeck. As he handed the other cards back, he found himself unnerved. The other patron's smile never seemed to waver.

The cards were shuffled, cards dealt from their respective side decks, and the game began. The Corellian winced slightly as the first card he was dealt from the main deck was revealed as a ten card. He didn't like it when he started that high, as it typically meant he had less play with the future cards. It doesn't matter, so long as I play smart. Bentre sighed, waving his hand to end his turn.

The next card dealt to his opponent was a three. The turn of play returned to the Obelisk, and he watched as a six was dealt to him. He looked at the card for a moment. That is good enough for now. Glancing over his hand, he decided he didn't need to play any more cards. “I will stand.”

The Nautolan began to lay down cards in quick succession: a six, a four, a five, and then with only the smallest of jerks from his left hand, he lay down a two. “Too bad, sir,” his voice and eyes conveyed barely hidden glee. Quickly, the alien gathered the cards, shuffled them, and dealt out a fresh set.

The first card the human received was a five. Not too bad, Bentre felt a little better about this game. He scanned his hand, realizing he had a plus four card he could have played in the last hand. Kark. I need to play a little more slowly. He shook his head, motioning for the turn to end. As the game carried on, he gathered another five, a three, a two, and a four card. Before he looked back at his cards, he instinctively motioned for the turn to end.

His opponent smiled, playing out the rest of his cards totaling up to seventeen. When it came to Bentre's turn again, he received a six card. A twenty five bust? What was I thinking? He felt a tickling at the back of his head, but chose to ignore it. The lights must have been getting to him.

As the last hand was dealt, he looked down at his cards, and let out a slow breath. He had that plus four, a negative six, a plus two, and a negative three. These are not terrible options, he reasoned, I just have to play more carefully. As his card was dealt, Bentre felt the tickling again. Looking up, he saw the Nautolan was staring at him, his hand twitching slightly as it lay on the table. Intrigued, the Jedi Hunter reached out it the Force, trying to get a sense of the alien before him. That is when he realized what was going on.

“You are a Force user, aren't you?” he muttered, locking eyes with his opponent. “You have been playing with my head this whole game, haven't you?” Rising from his chair, Bentre took a few steps back, drawing his blaster in a quick motion and firing. Before the attack made its mark, however, a shining green blade was already in motion, knocking the blaster bolt to the floor. Several patrons began to scramble away from the table as the sound of a weapon discharging rang out. Every eye turned to see the Jedi with his weapon drawn facing the long-haired human.

“Come on now,” the black-eyed humanoid spoke with a rebuke. “Let's not get bystander's caught up in this.”

“Oh no,” Bentre shook his head, flourishing his blaster in an oddly playful motion. “Don't worry about that, buddy. I am not concerned with them. This fight is between you and me, so I don't plan on any unnecessary collateral damage.”

Scheat sighed, still smiling. "You know... I was hoping you would find out. I haven't had a good fight in a while. Pitty though. I was hoping for an ally. I suppose in hindsight messing with your mind wasn't the best of ideas. Ohh well.."

He stood up and shook his head. Bentre took the opportunity to fire at Scheat, losing off three shots. Scheat didn't bother to raise his lightsaber to deflect the shots, instead he raised his hand and called on the Force, dissipating the energy as the blasts hit his hand. Bentre took a moment to reconsider his attack. It's not like I haven't seen such feats before, but if he just stops my blasts all day he has the advantage. And I don't like to lose. he thought.

"Well then. You certainly have some advantages..." Bentre began trying to distract his opponent. However he continued to be annoyed by the Nautolan's smile.

Bentre called on the Force, and made a motion as if throwing a knife. An illusionary knife came from his hand, and Scheat flinched instinctively as the illusion approached him and then dissipated. Scheat respond while still moving and called upon the Force, pulling out a tendril of the darkside which cut into Bentre's arms.

As Bentre winced in pain, Scheat only continued to smile. "I am not your average Jedi," the Nautolan said. "It would be wise for you to reconsider this fight."

Bentre only shook his head in anger. This alien shouldn't be talking. Its only a small bit of pain... It was just unexpected he thought. He fired his blaster several more times, no longer caring about the crowd, who at this point were all but gone.

Scheat flipped back, landing on the table and deflected the blasts that came near him, even redirecting some towards Bentre. Bentre, sensing the redirected attack, jumped and landed on the bar. He was only a few meters from the Nautolan. Believing himself to be superior, he jumped onto a table near Scheat and drew his saber, the blue blade making his skin seem ghostly. He swung a dedicated strike to probe Scheat's defences, and Scheat merely bashed his blade aside.

"At least let the Twi'lek go," Scheat said, his smile there but fake. He motioned over to where the dancer had fallen and broken her leg trying to escape. The Twi'lek was frighted.

"I told you. The will not be any unnecessary collateral damage. It's her fault she can't get up!" Bentre nearly scream, hating the alien for telling him what to do.

Scheat smile disappeared for a second as he lashed out with a powerful strike. Bentre tried to block, but his defence was broken from the strength of the blow. Scheat smiled again and called on the Force, empowering him, and making him faster. He leaped to the ground, dodging a clumsy blow from Bentre and flipped on to the same table as Bentre, shouldering the human off the table.

Bentre landed, his back hitting and breaking a stool. He stood up, the pain from the earlier Force attack gone, but now with a slight pain in his back that he only assumed was from splinters left by the stool. Bentre shut off his lightsaber and pulled out his blaster again. He moved back about ten meters quickly, and waited for the Nautolan to come to him. He shot at the Nautolan as Scheat approached, but the Nautolan seemed to deflect the blasts with skill. Those he didn't deflect missed. Bentre fired another volley of shots and managed to blast Scheat in the arm.

The Nautolan only smiled and called upon the Force, healing the blast wound as he approached.

The alien is certainly stronger than I am. Bentre took a breath, trying to steady himself. He was letting his rage consume him, which was making him act more impulsively than normal. If I am not more careful, he is going to overcome me, the Human grumbled to himself as he watched the Nautolan’s blue skin mending as the alien moved to close the distance between them. I will have to keep moving.

Backpedalling quickly, Bentre showered his Jedi opponent with a quick rapid-fire spray of blaster bolts. Some missed outright, others were deftly deflected deflected, with a few barely striking their mark. However, this didn’t cause the Nautolan’s steps to falter in the least.

Instead, the Jedi threw out a hand wildly, hurling a hammer of telekinetic energy into the Human’s chest. The attack caught the Jedi Hunter by complete surprise, which the Nautolan used as an opportunity to close the gap and drive an elbow into his opponent’s side in one smooth motion. Bentre clutched his side instinctively, which caused him to stumble slightly as he attempted to roll away from further attack.

“You aren’t about to let me go anytime soon, are you?” the Human grunted as he stepped sideways, trying to regain his balance. He would have worn down the Jedi a bit before stepping in closer, but there didn’t seem much chance of that happening at this rate. Besides, if this fight continued too much longer, he was pretty sure the local law enforcement might decide to step in. The Obelisk didn’t need to add any more crimes to his record.

Stepping sideways, Bentre slipped his blaster into its familiar spot in his jacket, and slipped his hand down to armory lightsaber. He ignited the blade, bringing it up in a wide chop at his opponent. The Jedi did not move to block, instead throwing up his lightsaber, before pushing against the Jedi Hunter’s arm, causing the attack to go far right of its intended target. As Bentre turned to glare at the Nautolan, he saw the smiling alien catch his weapon as it dropped back into his hand.

The Jedi Knight winked at the Obelisk cheekily, bringing his still-ignited weapon around in a fluid strike. The human felt pain arch through his body as the blade burned into his flesh. The Jedi Hunter let out an angry yell, turning around with the full intention of laying out the smiling humanoid. Instead, he felt more pain as a dark tendril lanced across his shoulder.

“Getting a little tired?” the Nautolan mocked.

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Bentre grimaced. “A little soreness will be more than you will have to worry about when-” His words trailed off as his gaze fell upon the entrance. He saw the bartender pointing at the pair.

He turned back to the Jedi, shrugging slightly. “I figure we can call it here though,” he circled closely toward the entrance just past the bar. “I don’t think that Daedric is going to care for me getting nabbed by the local law.”

Drawing on the Force, Bentre became a blur as he charged toward the exit. He heard a yell from the officer, and a laugh from the Jedi as he crossed the room. He didn’t allow either of these things to distract him, though. A few blaster bolts trailed behind him as the officer shot the retreating Jedi Hunter, but none managed to make their mark. As Bentre burst into the street, and found himself in the middle of a street. I cannot stop now, though. I need to find a shuttle before my picture is plastered all over this area. He ran into a nearby alley, trying to slow his breath. He was going to need every advantage if he was going to evade the local police.

"I see pain won't stop you," Bentre called out. He moved his blaster so it aimed at the twi'lek. "But if you come any closer I will shoot the dancer."

Scheat's smiled disappeared. Bentre, who had grown used to the Nautolans annoying smile, was shocked to see the new look on Scheat's face. Scheat was angry and it was visible. The look of anger looked out of place on the Nautolan, and looked slightly terrifying.

"I won't take another step," he said, his eyes narrowing. Scheat shut off his lightsaber.

Bentre smiled, and couldn't help but gloat. "I have you powerless don't I?"

POWERLESS?! Bentre heard in his head, and realized it was the nautolan. I am not powerless.

Bentre merely laughed. "You aren't close enough to cut me." To prove his point he stood up and took a step, only to fall when his ankle wouldn't move. "Resorting to cheap Force tricks won't stop me from killing you!" Bentre said, enraged at being shown up.

Bentre moved slowly to get a precise shot at the Nautolan. In the few seconds Scheat knew he had, he called upon the Force, and moved faster than Bentre expected to be possible. He cleared the five meter distance in what seemed to be a step, and kicked Bentre's gun out of his hand. Scheat picked Bentre up off the floor, and pushed him back to the ground, knocking him into the bar.

Bentre got back up. He wasn't injured badly, only a few scrapes, and his hand hurt from losing the gun.He thought about pulling the gun back with the force, but thought better of it. He pulled the vibroknife out of his boot and lunged at Scheat, who was to close to get away in time.

Scheat cried out as he saw the knife. By a stroke of luck he was able to flip a plate between himself and the knife and his abdomen. The knife only grazed his skin, as Bentre pulled it back after the unexpected cut through the plate. Scheat wiped out his lightsaber, cutting off two of Bentre's finger's and cutting through the vibroknife with a power strike.

Scheat then shouldered the human over the bar, and held his saber above Bentre's throught. "Don't get up for fifteen minutes. The Dancer and I will be gone. If you get up, I will not hesitate to strike you down."

Scheat turned, and went to the twi'lek. Bentre saw his chance, he called the blaster back to his hand and fired. Scheat sensed the attack, however, and was dodging before the blaster bolt was fired. He responded by throwing his saber, which cut the blaster in two.

"I told you not to move," the Nautolan said. "Next time it will be your head!"