Pulley-operated, mechanical-lifts descend into the earth below the Arena. The Abandoned Mines pre-date the Galactic Empire by thousands of years. Once used as mining routes, the long forgotten network of interconnecting tunnels has held stalwart against the sands of time. After exiting, the lift begins its retreat back to the surface. Sporadic crystals protrude from the walls to quietly radiate ochre light like naturally-forming torches. The small alcove gives birth to a maze of wide tunnels supported by old, steadfast wooden beams.The tunnels spider and split off into various directions, some leading to dead ends while others ultimately lead back to the central Mining Shaft.

The central Mining Shaft is square pit that descends into a deep pit that radiates a luminescent, cerulean glow from the horde of crystalized shards still growing below. The air hangs with a cool, windless chill. Stone stalactites hang ominously overhead, flanked by jagged jutters of rock and sediment that line the ascending walls.

To reach the surface, blocks of stone wide enough for two humans to stand side by side on, shift back and forth in a combination of a lateral and ascending patterns. Each cubic platform is controlled by a mechanical pulley and each cubic platform will eventually pass close enough to step over to another. The spacing and timing is not attuned to any formal pattern, giving equal balance to both Force users and Mundanes. Whatever your talents, the shifting cubes are the only way to ascend back to the Arena.

Holocam Drones flit about the caverns, recording a live video feed that is transmitted back up towards the surface and projected over two large holodisplays for the crowd to observe. Progress will be watched as members are tried and tested.

The Grand Master’s only concern is the resourcefulness and resilience of his members. Reaching the surface will be no easy task, and doing so will be the only way for fighters to move forward in the Tournament.

The air seemed to draw all the moisture from his mouth as he breathed, tasting of poorly ventilated neglect. He grimaced, and took a swig from his canteen, the tepid water doing little to slake his thirst, but succeeding in washing away the filth which had gathered on his tongue. His eyes were drawn upward, the movement of the pulley system and the massive stone blocks in an irregular cadence, rising and falling at random intervals, and shifting side to side, causing a slight pendulum effect. He reattached his canteen to his belt, and frowned.

An opponent had been called to meet him in this dank mine, but he had yet to see hide or hair of him. His palms itched with anticipation, and his right hand ached to wield his lightsaber in combat once again. The blood in his veins pulsed with excitement, a hunger for blood and slaughter, unlikely to be fulfilled by this... venture. Especially if his opponent sent their time cowering in the shadows or behind the sights of a blaster.

His eyes scoured the walls of the mine shaft, traversing carefully in an attempt to suss out the location of his opponent. He had, of course, heard of the Jedi Ranger known as Turel. He had taken plenty of time to study the prominent enemies of Clan Scholae Palatinae, and the lighties of Clan Odan-Urr were always at the top of that list. The simple fact that this group of fools were allowed to dwell under the auspices of the Dark Brotherhood irked him. To allow filth to desecrate the Brotherhood was the defining failure of the Dark Council.

But Turel was known for his remarks, and attitude, as much for his adoration for his master, V'yr Vorsa. The human Jedi was a rogue, a scoundrel of some repute, but was not known for his exceptional fighting abilities. Archangel Palpatine shook his head once, dismissing the man from his thoughts with the simple gesture. He had no time to worry about a pitiful Ranger, nor did he fear him. It was a simple matter of martial skill and prowess, and Archangel knew, with unwavering belief, that he possessed more.

A block lowered itself slowly towards the ground, it's movement laborious and lazy. He watched it for a good few moments, as it touched down lightly on the mine floor. With the quiet thud of stone on stone, he charged forward, his heavy boots slamming hard into packed earth below him. Three long strides carried him the distance he needed, and with a draw on the Force which had long become second nature to him, he leaped the last dozen feet towards the stone block, which had already started to ascend.

“Duck,” a voice whispered into his ear, so softly he barely registered it. He could feel the breath on his ear, a ghostly chill running down his spine, a mote of recognition rising within his mind. His body reacted without his mind deciding too, twisting his body towards the stone block, his head ducking down below its corner. The slug intended for his head split the air with a crack, tearing through the intervening air. He slammed into the block far harder than he'd planned, shoulder and face leading the way. With a lunge, he hooked his left arm up, somehow managing to get a hold on the edge of the block.

“Lucky!” came a human voice from the darkness. Archangel breathed heavily, his hand holding him precariously on the edge of the block, but his grip was not as firm as he'd like. His shoulder had collided with the block with enough force to cause a welt of pain he has to grit his teeth against. He started to reach up, his shoulder and back muscles screaming with strain and injury. With a grunt, he pulled himself up a few inches, and slipped his second hand onto the edge of the block.

“Are you just going to hang out?” the voice said again, the tone mocking and jovial. The Jedi punk fired again, slipping the stone block as it continued its sluggish rise. A spray of stone shrapnel cascaded into Archangel's face, leaving cuts and scrapes on his brow. He looked up the shaft, grimacing with effort, and tried to gauge how far he'd risen. Not far, he'd decided, as another slug whizzed through the air, leaving a trail of compressed air which washed over him.

He made a conscious effort to ignore the sniping git, and focus on the situation at hand. The block barely registered the added weight, listing only slightly to response. He twisted his body as much as he could, eyes searching for an escape, or his opponent. Another shot rang out as he located a nearby block, on a descending course, but near enough that with a careful jump he could easily make it.

After a breath or two, his heart pounding mercilessly within his chest, he leaped. His hands outstretched, he aimed his jump for the central cable, which propelled the block on it's dance around the shaft. His hand went right through the cable, his body through the stone, and he hurtled at a dangerous trajectory towards the shaft's uneven wall. He swore with disgust and anger, and drew a pair of throwing knives from his belt and slammed them into the rock as he collided with it, knocking the air from his lungs. The knives held fast, they were only there to keep him alive for a moment or two.

More sniper fire rained down on him, with a gleeful chortle hanging in the air. Mind games were not his forte, and apparently Turel was a keen illusionist. With grace and fluidity of motion which seemed to ignore his bulk, he twisted and leaped again, both his feet planted firmly against the mine wall. He launched himself at a shadow parabolic angle, back towards the first block, which was slowly moving away from him. He grabbed at the cable, and hooked it with his elbow.

His lightsaber shot up to his hand, and ignited as the sniper fire zeroed in on him. He deflected or annihilated the slugs as they rained in on him. Though his feet were firmly planted on the block, the force of the attack was pushing him back inch by inch. But he knew where Turel was hiding now. His lightsaber in his left hand to defend his body, he drew a stun grenade from his belt, flicked the arming switch, and with a burst of Force energy, he propelled the explosive into Turel's shadowed sniper's nest.

"Oh frak!" Turel exclaimed as he noticed his opponent pull back his arm to hurl a grenade at him. Calling on the Force to augment his leg muscles, the Jedi lept up from his crouched position and dove into an empty minecart three meters behind him. His trusty rifle had been tossed aside with haste as he landed into the cart's basket with a poof of dust and soot. The Odanite didn’t have enough time to cover his ears as the explosive detonated on the adjacent wooden platform which had served as his makeshift sniper perch. The platform connected to one of the mid-level mining shafts which spoked outward from the central shaft like floors on a half finished building.

Much to Turel's surprise, he was not incinerated by the grenade. Instead, a deafening bang and a wave of compressed air assaulted his senses. A stunner, very clever. The Jedi knew very little of his Imperial opponent outside of reputation, but it was an almost universal tactic to follow up a stun grenade with a direct assault. He pushed himself up inside the minecart, coughing all the soot that had been kicked up by the blastwave. Having his face buried in the cart protected his vision, but his ears were ringing and his equilibrium had been thrown off.

The normally agile Jedi stumbled and fell flat on his face while attempting to extricate himself from the basket. He could feel Archangel approaching; he had mere seconds to evade.

Turel was in no condition to run and standing his ground against another Equite in that state was certain suicide. The tunnel before him had a dilapidated track for minecarts with a small space on either side for pedestrian traffic and walls reinforced with aging wooden beams dimly lit by the soft green glow of crystals on the ceiling. The Guardian made his way toward a T-intersection about fifteen meters down the tunnel, keeping his hand on the wall for balance as he moved. It would take several seconds for it to return, seconds he didn't have.

Turel rounded the corner and stopped. The tunnel before him was nearly empty, save the same tracks and support beams as before. Nowhere to hide, and the angry Sith climbing the central shaft would soon overtake him. He crouched down and strived to ignore the ringing in his ears to focus on the ebb and flow of the Force.

Archangel made the final leap from a rising stone block to the wooden platform where his prey had made a makeshift sniper nest. The wood of the platform’s supports groaned at the impact of the Shaevalian landing on it. A rush of adrenaline from being fired upon had allowed him to ignore the burning and slight fatigue from making those last few bounds up the central chamber. For someone in peak physical condition like he was, it was hardly an impediment but scaling the chamber as quickly as he did would have exhausted a lesser being. He stoked the fires of his anger, but kept them in check for the moment. He needed to focus to find the Jedi punk, and Turel was nearby, he could feel him. The Sith ignited his saber and kept it at the ready, expecting another volley of sniper fire that never came. He inched forward, examining the derelict mining equipment for possible signs of his opponent lying in wait, using the verdant glow of his saber to pierce the shadows.

Dust and soot still filled the air from where the stun grenade had kicked them up, but only the creaking of the pulleys in the central chamber and the sound of dripping water filled the tunnel. There was no immediate sign of his quarry. The Imperial noticed a sniper rifle lying on the tracks near an empty minecart. The Jedi must have been extremely rushed to have discarded such a crucial weapon. The stun grenade must have surely found its mark. Archangel’s predatory senses soared at the prospect of having partially incapacitated prey. He moved with unnatural speed toward the nearby juncture in the mine shaft. Turel couldn’t have gotten far.

The Sith reached the intersection and quickly peered in both directions while keeping his saber up for protection. There was nothing as far as the eye could see beyond dimly lit mining shafts. A very old looking crate caught his eye on the left side. It had a pile of mining tools and a thick layer of dust on top of it, so there was no way Turel was hiding inside it. For a fraction of a second, however, the crate seemed out of place and that thought tugged at the corner of his conscious mind. His haste to resume his search drove him to ignore the fleeting curiosity and press on. He couldn’t sense exactly where the Jedi was, but he knew Turel was somewhere in the lefthand shaft.

Archangel held his saber in front of him with a two handed grip, able to deflect any ranged attacks in a fraction of a second. The Sith moved with haste down the shaft, a full minute having passed since the stun grenade’s detonation, its effects having almost certainly worn off. He scoured the dimly lit tunnel for any side passage, nook, or hiding place where Turel could be. A warning echoed through the Force to him, behind you.

He started to spin around and from his peripheral vision noticed the Jedi standing exactly where the crate had been, aiming a pistol directly at him. Time slowed to a crawl and as he spun around, he watched Turel pull the trigger but couldn’t move fast enough to duck. He steeled himself for the blow that clipped him on the right tricep. The force of the impact caused his torso to pull to the right, but he remained focused. Turel brought the pistol back down from the recoil and reacquired his sight picture.

Archangel was not about to be shot again, he released his anger and slashed his saber in the Jedi’s direction, striking the Jedi with an invisible fist. Turel was taken off guard by the blow and was hit directly in the chest with its full impact. The Force strike was reflexive and not as focused as the Sith would have normally preferred, otherwise it may have knocked Turel out. However, it was enough to knock the Jedi off his feet and wipe the smug look off his face.

The acrid odor of cordite and gunpowder hung in the air, discharged from the slugthrower the Jedi had employed. It had been a vile trick to have pulled, Archangel thought, his left hand moving to probe the wound, pressing gingerly at the blackened and torn flesh. But as tricks go, he decided, it was certainly a clever one, and had worked almost perfectly against him. The only obstacle in the Jedi's path had been a quiet voice in the Battlelord's ear. The wound was not serious, having grazed him rather than entering the muscle. He laid his hand flat over the wound, a trickle of blood escaping between middle and forefingers.

His choler was up and in control, his mind fogging with mirthless wrath. He could hear his blood singing with adrenaline and pure, unadulterated rage. The pain faded into the periphery, another problem for another time perhaps, but in this moment, at this time, there was only anger. He roared, a bass bellow of pent up emotion, finally released, and given a target. He had turned his natural affinity towards bouts of rage into a reservoir of energy he could call upon, and now the flood gates were open, spilling into his blood and his muscles. His heartbeat raced, his skin grew taut and fiery crimson, flush with blood.

The roar slowly ebbed away, the echos fading down distant tunnels. It had caused a minor cascade of rocks from one of the nearby struts, adding to the detritus of the mine. He started forward, eyes sharp and intent on the Jedi, who had begun to clamber to his feet. His hand was pressed against his sternum, ostensibly where Archangel's reflexive strike had connected. He let out a wheeze, his eyes glazed over, but were already returning to focus. Those eyes looked up at the advancing behemoth, whose teeth were bared in a furious snarl.

Archangel dropped his left hand away from his wound, now a plain patch of scar skin. His lightsaber blade bobbed slightly as he readjusted his grip, intent on at least the maiming of his opponent. With a controlled but violent flick of his wrist, he collected the fallen rocks with the Force, and sent them in a hail of shrapnel at the Jedi. Turel reacted with trained ease, raising his hand to meet the barrage. A shimmering lens appeared between the attack and himself, what light was visible in the tunnel being refracted. The rocks stopped a few feet from the Jedi's hand, bouncing harmlessly off of the barrier.

As the Jedi's attention turned to face the telekinetic hail, Archangel charged. His fury lent him speed, sprinting across the intervening space in bare moments. His lightsaber sliced up at the man, aimed at his hip, intending to split him all the way to the shoulder. Turel shifted the barrier to intercept the blade, but only managed to deflect the attack upward, the searing heat of the stroke missing his head by a hair's breadth. Archangel used the momentum from the attack to turn his body into the Jedi, his leg coming up in a violent kick, forcing the man to intercede with his barrier, which shattered under the constant assault. He fell back, away from the gargantuan berserker, his lightsaber leaping to his hand and igniting with an pale magenta glow.

The raging Battlelord stalked forward, blade held in a high guard, ready for both offense and defense. The Jedi held his ground, his stance stable and prepared. The first blow snaked out from the Shaevalian, curving slightly as it stabbed down at the Jedi's shoulder blade. The man deftly slipped to one side of the attack, and countered, a quick jab at the Battlelord's face. Archangel ducked under the blade, before driving his elbow into the man's chest as hard as he could manage. The sheer force of the blow staggered the Jedi, who let out a huff of air as he sought to regain his footing.

Archangel waded in, his blade slamming repeatedly onto the defenses raised by the Jedi. After a particularly heavy strike, Turel seemed to tumbled, rolling away from the advancing warrior, and coming up in a crouch. His slugthrower had slipped out of its holster and had made its way to his hand. He fired, the heavy .48 caliber weapon barking harshly and recoiled like a striking snake. The projectile slammed into Archangel's left shoulder, taking a fair chunk from the meet just below the joint, and twisting him away from the Jedi.

The huge man swore, and turned with the sudden momentum to gain himself some distance from the Jedi, raising a barrier as quickly as he could manage. He was already breathing heavily as he crouched slightly, attempting to keep all his body parts behind the shield he'd conjured. But the man had vanished, disappeared into the darkness of the tunnels beyond perhaps, or hiding in plain view once more. Two or three breathes later, he started to feel the strain, the sudden weight of exertion on his muscles. His violent assault had been masterfully performed, but in the midst of striking at the Jedi fool, he must have torn more muscle fibers than he usually does in a rage. He swore under his breath, crouching lower and moved away carefully, each step taking a toll on his endurance.

Rage was a double-edged sword, and he'd failed to land a decisive blow.

“Frak, empty!” Turel swore under his breath as he discarded his last empty magazine and holstered his Enforcer.

The Jedi had retreated toward the central chamber and placed his back against the tunnel wall after rounding the corner. Every breath sent stabbing pain through his chest, Turel was not a doctor but he knew what cracked ribs felt like. No ammo or rifle, stabbing pain in his chest, could be worse. Not that the slugs were having much of an effect on the seemingly relentless Sith juggernaut anyway.

“Come out and face me, you Jedi coward!” The frustrated Shaevalian’s challenge echoed down the tunnel.

Turel shook his head and muttered “fat chance” to himself. He turned toward the tunnel he had just exited to shout his retort. “Can’t we talk about this? You seem like a guy who could use a hug.” The Jedi’s sarcastic inquiry was interrupted by an guttural roar. “Guess he’s not the hugging type.”

Time was not on Turel’s side as he trotted back toward the central chamber as fast as he could with imaginary knives stabbing him in the chest over and over with each step. His eyes darted all around the passageway, looking for something, anything he could use to end this fight. He noticed his rifle lying on the tracks next to the minecart from earlier. Thank the Force, he thought in premature celebration. After he scooped up the rifle, he checked the magazine to discover three slugs remaining. “Well, that’s just perfect. Must’a taken more shots than I remember.” Turel deftly slung the rifle across his back.

It took no small amount of will to fight through the panic in that particular moment to figure out what to do next. He had foolishly given away his position earlier, he could either use the pulleys and rising blocks of the central chamber behind him to evade or stand his ground and take his chances. Archangel was watching for another ambush so he would likely resist a second attempt at that type of mental intrusion.

Focus, I need to focus. I’ve gotten out of worse jams than this. Besides, what would Vorsa say if she saw me panic on live holofeed? The mere thought of his Master and long time companion brought a gentle wave of peace to his racing mind. He didn’t have enough time to focus on her presence but he knew she was on the planet somewhere, likely engaged in a battle of her own. “I won’t let you down.” He whispered to no one in particular as his confidence returned.

Turel’s thoughts were interrupted by his Sith opponent rounding the corner with his emerald saber at the ready, the hum of its blade breaking the monotonous clicking of the pulleys. He could sense Archangel’s anger as he approached, only this time it was more of a cold calculating malice than blind rage. Time to put on a show. The Jedi stood with his back to the wooden platform and the central chamber.

The Imperial began to move toward the wooden platform with deliberate speed. “Give it up, you can’t beat me with your silly tricks. At least face defeat with some dignity.”

For a fleeting moment, Turel considered meeting the challenge head on. The little voice in his head representing pride demanded he ignite his own saber and fight like a Jedi. The voice of experience was louder. Honorable fighting is for suckers, victory is all that matters.

The Jedi made a mock saluting gesture with his unignited saber. “Dignity is overrated, catch ‘ya later meathead.” He called on the Force to power his muscles and turned to run toward the open chamber to catch the nearest block. Turning his back to his opponent was a calculated risk, but one he willingly made banking on the element of surprise to carry him through. Turel miscalculated. He felt an invisible sledgehammer of raw Force strike his undefended back just as he started his jump. The impact threw him forward like a rag doll, wildly off course and knocked the wind out of him. The rifle slung across his back had taken a large portion of the impact and now pressed into his hide.

Turel missed his intended block and tumbled nearly a full story before grabbing onto one of the many cables in the center of the chamber. His arms felt like they were being pulled from their sockets as he struggled to secure his grip and arrest his momentum. He had to let go of his saber hilt during the fall, which had fortuitously landed on a stone block below him. The Odanite’s back and chest were now in intense pain from the cumulative effect of the telekinetic blows and the fall. He struggled to focus on the current of the Force.

Archangel let out a frustrated growl as he approached and peered over the edge of the platform to examine his very much not vanquished foe. The bulky Sith jumped down to a nearby suspended cube as Turel slowly started to descend the cable he was on to reach another block. The Imperial noticed that the cables suspending the moving platforms were made of durasteel. He reached out his free hand, aimed it at the cable the Jedi was climbing, and loosed purple tendrils of Force fueled energy into the cable. The durasteel cable came to life with raw power like it had been plugged into the live feed of a hyperdrive.

Turel cried out in pain as the energy coursed through his body and he involuntarily clung to the cable for the duration of the shock. Once the energy flow stopped, the Jedi fell from his dangled height and disappeared as he fell. Archangel was confused for a fleeting moment before he noticed the Jedi was actually standing on a block platform on the far side of the room. The smug punk was actually smiling at him, it was another trick.

Turel ignited his magenta blade. “I’d love to stay, but I have another match topside to get to.” He slashed a cable holding a counter-weight which sent his platform shooting upwards past his opponent. Once he got above Archangel’s level he leapt off and onto a stationary circular stone platform in the center. He ran across it and began slashing any cable that wasn’t connected to the circular slab.

The Sith tried in vain to leapfrog across the chamber to safety but wasn’t fast enough. Almost all the cables had been cut and the stone cubes began dropping like a gargantuan hailstorm. Gravity took care of the rest, Archangel lept from platform to platform but the final block gave way under him before he could make the jump to safety in a side tunnel. He braced himself for the fall which would have shattered the bones of a less durable species. The highly trained soldier utilized his jump training to land in such a way as to dissipate the force of the impact. He ducked and rolled out of the center of the chamber only to be struck by a large piece of debris from the shattering cubes striking the ground. Injured and unable to pursue his foe, he couldn't help but feel somewhat impressed at the Jedi’s resourcefulness.

The daylight nearly blinded Turel as he rode the central platform all the way to the surface. The assembled crowd in the stands of the surface arena erupted into a roar. The Odanite desperately wanted to soak in a bacta bath for ten years after taking that kind of a beating. He scanned the faces of the crowd as he stumbled toward the side exit. He noticed Pravus and the assembled Dark Councilors watching stoically with places missing for Aabsdu and Vorsa. The rest of the competitors were probably elsewhere in the mines. He hoped Selika would watch the replay at some point. He had a score to settle with the Di Plagia.