Seated within the Glorious Jewel of the Hutts, the Winter Palace is situated on a remote island near the planet’s equator. Although blanketed with the pollution from Hutt industry, its location makes the climate hot and humid. Surrounded with trees and vines, it could be considered to be a paradise, even among the barren wasteland of Nal Hutta. Outside of the Winter Palace, a network of sewer pipes transfer the waste from the palace to wherever seems far enough to dump into the oceans surrounding the island. Flora and fauna that have adapted to the Hutt’s environmental changes thrive in the polluted forests surrounding the Winter Palace.

Stepping through its gilded gates, the lavish interior greets your presence with the main audience chamber. Once belonging to the wealth of Jiliac Desilijic Tiron, the gleaming stone of the main aisle leads up to a Hutt’s dais lined with an expensive carpet. Beautiful tapestries line the high walls, telling of the sordid histories of those who woven them, awaiting execution in Jiliac’s dungeons.

Finally, the antechamber to the throne room is illuminated from above with high-skylighted ceilings. Constructed from lightly colored stone, the antechamber might have been where the late Hutt entertained his guests before an audience with spice and exotic dancers. In the hands of the Hutt Kajidics, however, these traditions have continued as the Winter Palace now serves as a front for criminal and business ventures.

The Winter Hall, a place Mactire detested. He hated Nal Hutta, just like most people. He never understood why someone would live with the smell from the Hutt's own swamps. It reeked like the back of a Rancor and made you want to jump into a shower for weeks just to get the stench out. He was glad he was armed with his vibrosword attached to a sheath on his back, his DL-44 blaster modified like Han Solo’s, an infamous hero on his home world, and his newest weapon, a training lightsaber, given to him by his current Master.

Mactire was bored, fed up of sitting around and waiting on the Hutts for an audience. He needed to talk to the local crime lord to help him solve a bigger problem than smugglers who lost their shipments. Though sitting at the table looking at all the Twi’lek dancers up on the stages, surrounded by criminals that had itchy trigger fingers never made him feel less than uneasy. He closed his eyes and slowly focused on his past, remembering his teachers' training techniques to help keep him calm.

Among the thieves and scum in the antechamber was a Zabrak playing sabacc. The Zabrak was wearing very little clothing but was armed to the teeth. The tattooed alien grinned as he won yet another hand. "Thanks for the credits, lads." he gathered the credits into a pile and started to stack them up.

“YOU CHEATER!” shouted one of the players, annoyed at losing a month's earnings.

“You calling me a cheater, buddy?” the Zabrak answered whimsically. He slipped a hand under the table, caressing the hilt of his lightsaber.

The aggrieved gambler looked around the room and pointed towards Mactire, eager to lose the attention of the irate Knight.

“If you can defeat him, I’ll not only triple your money, but also take back what I said about being a cheater. Got it?” the gambler grinned uneasily.

“Hmm, more money or a chance to beat your face? Decisions, decisions. Alright I’ll take that bet, gonna be the easiest money I’ll ever make this week.” The Zabrak answered. The Shadow stood up, grabbed his gear and walked towards Mactire.

Mactire slowly opened his eyes to see the Zabrak coming towards him. He sensed the malice in the air and in Aexod's walk. The Acolyte decided that the best thing to do was to take down the man walking towards him, his years of boozing in cantinas alerting him to the danger. The Dakhani pushed himself up from his seat and lashed out with a snap kick to the Zabrak's torso. The strike connected perfectly and drove his opponent backwards.

The Zabrak staggered back, momentarily surprised at the attack. He quickly recovered and began to laugh, pleased to have someone to beat to death.

“Oh, so you think you can fight?” Aexod grinned, unleashing a spinning kick at Mactire.

Mactire barely dodged the attack, darting backwards and then charged forward, landing kicks and punches on the Ragnosian. The Acolyte gauged his opponent, testing his defences and knowledge of the martial arts. He believed he had the better of the Zabrak before catching a spinning kick to the temple. He crashed into a table, breaking it underneath him. Mactire slowly stood up, his body shaking lightly. He felt dizzy like he just had a crash landing on the worst flight in the galaxy. He knew now that he was going to have to get serious. Drawing upon his memories of his former teacher, he ran towards the Zabrak, determined to put him in his place.

“Oh I can fight, boy. Question is, can you or are you just a nerf herder?” Mactire taunted, before slamming his left knee into the Zabrak's groin, sending Aexod to his knees and eliciting a squeal of pain.

The pain echoing through the Knight's body hit him like a cold shower, and he realized Mactire wasn't to be taken lightly. Despite the fact that the Outlander dared to use the Iridonan martial art - quite frankly breaking a few rules while doing it - Aexod realized he wouldn't win a hand to hand battle with the Acolyte. He grabbed the white lightsaber hilt attached to his belt, unfastened it, and ignited it. The elegant silver blade sprung out with a snap-hiss, threatening to inflict pain to anyone who sought it.

"Not bad, let's see how you do in armed combat," Aexod said.

With a snap-hiss of its own, Chemel's lightsaber ignited as the Acolyte prepared himself for what was about to come. Aexod leapt forward and performed a quick series of slashes, none aimed to kill, but to test his opponent’s combat readiness. Just as he had expected, the Human was ready for it. He made quick work of parrying the attacks, then took a step back, never losing focus of the Zabrak.

"Well, well, Chemel, seems you're not what I took you for," Aexod said, a smile spreading on his face. "Compliments to your master, your training is going well."

"Cut the crap, Burgoo, and fight me. I've been waiting for this for some time now, and I intend to shut that smartass mouth of yours."

Mactire's plan was working his words getting through to Aexod. Having recently left the Sith Order, he knew full well how anger influenced him, but he hadn't learned how to control it yet. He leapt forward once again, ferociously swinging at the other Sadowan, this time aiming to inflict him injury. The Acolyte was ready as he blocked everything that came in the way, using his opponent's momentary slip-up to plant a kick flat onto the Zabrak's chest, making him tumble backward.

Mactire chuckled for a moment, then said, "Pathetic. This is the person who's been boasting around Sepros lately? The priiiized student, rushing through the ranks? Nothing but a pushover."

A few occupants of the antechamber burst into laughter, including the gambler who made Aexod do this in the first place. The Iridonian was furious and couldn't control it any longer. Letting the anger consume him he stood up and, with incredible speed - faster than any non-sensitive being could even imagine - started another series of attacks on Chemel. This time, however, it was too much for the Acolyte. After successfully parrying the first few strikes, he was overwhelmed by the speed of the Knight's movements. All of a sudden, he felt a sharp, piercing pain in his knee, caused by a well-placed lateral kick by Aexod. He dropped to the floor, lowering his now deactivated lightsaber beside him, and grasped his knee with both hands.

Without a word, Aexod disabled his lightsaber and turned toward the gambler who had started this whole encounter.

"Money, now!" he demanded, walking toward the clearly frightened Human.

"Not so fast, we're not done here yet," a familiar voice called from behind him. This kid just won't give up, will he?

The sheer pain in his knee was a wakeup call to Mactire. This was an opponent that was tenacious, and emotionally unstable. Maybe with any luck he could turn this around. The human slowly stretched out his bad knee, pulling out his blaster while trying to stabilize himself.

“You never know when to call it quits, do you kid?” Aexod said, slowly turning to face Chemel, his white lightsaber casting an eerie glow upon his skin.

“Quitting is just something I can’t do yet.” Mactire aimed slowly down the barrel and fired off several shots at the Zabrak

Aexod grinned in anticipation, slowly watching the Human’s trigger finger depressing the trigger.Drawing upon the Force, his blade whirled into life, bocking the volley of lasers that came towards him. His temper rose and he charged wildly towards Mactire. Anyone that was starting to get the room back together hid behind anything they could quickly find once they caught the intense look of malice and hatred in Aexod’s eyes.

Watching the Zabrak in motion with his lightsaber gave Chemel a plan that just might work. With all his willpower, he focused on an image of himself, and positioned it slightly in front of himself. Wincing in pain, Mactire moved slightly to the left behind a broken table and directed his blaster out towards where he placed his his illusion.

As Aexod advanced, the onlookers watched, making sure they were out of harm’s way. The Zabrak stood over Mactire, smirking in victory and wondering what to do and how to end his life. Kneeling down slightly, Aexod grabbed Chemel’s hair and pulled his head up to look him in the eyes.

“How do you want to die, punk? Slow and painful, or quick and fast? Me, I prefer to make your suffering last a long, long time.” Aexod implied with acid in his tone.

Wincing in pain Mactire smiled slightly. “Only a fool gets this close to me, and those fools are all dead.”

Mactire looked at Aexod and spits at him, laughing. As Chemel tried to move, Aexod’s blade came crashing down, cleaving his head.

Aexod grinned, “That ended things for you, punk.” he whirled around to face the man who started it all.

Two shots rang out from behind a table, hitting Aexod in both knees and sent him sprawling to the ground. A figure hobbled out towards him slowly. Shock appears across the Zabrak’s face. Aexod could have sworn he just killed this man, how was it possible that he was walking towards him now?

Mactire smirked, placing another shot into Aexod’s hand that supported him. The wound made him onto his side in pain.

“YOU NERF HERDER! HOW DID YOU SURVIVE? I KILLED YOU?!” The Iridonian exclaimed, the sheer agony of the blaster burns causing him to panic.

Mactire pulled up a chair and sat down on it, an enigmatic, yet confident smile plastered over his face. “It was a good fight. You lost your head and got cocky, prized student. The Force was with me this round. Next time I might not be so lucky.”

Mactire slowly stood up and hobbled out the antechamber towards a med bay, his meeting with the crime lord forgotten for now.

“Don’t worry. When I get to the medic, I’ll make sure they send someone for you… I’ll also tell them to heavily sedate you so that I can get away until you calm down.” Mactire joked.

Aexod looked at the back of the human in total disbelief, he could not fathom that an opponent would do this to him. Humiliated by someone who had tainted the Iridonian’s martial art, who had gotten the drop on him. The pain radiating through the Zabrak’s hand and knees finally took its toll and Aexod passed out right as medical personnel were rushing towards him.

The kid was tough, and he did keep his word. Maybe I won’t kill him yet, maybe I’ll see what he’s made of.

Aexod looked over his shoulder with an aggravated grin on his face just in time to see the Acolyte stand up. What is he doing? He’s clearly not in any shape to continue the fight.

“Stay down Chemel,” the Zabrak said. “You’ve lost this round.”

The determined look on the older Journeyman’s face told Aexod he wasn’t planning on it. Standing in a semi-crouch - as if the damage to his knee prevented him from performing the traditional stance of the Iridonian martial art - his eyes swept the room to see how much attention their fight was attracting. Chemel had something Aexod was very familiar with: an ego the size of Coruscant. A bruised knee would be nothing compared to the hit to his pride if he gave up now.

The Knight watched as his opponent leapt forward, his injured leg extended, landing about a foot short of his target. Aexod reacted quickly, activating his lightsaber and thrusting it toward the flying Human, only to see it pass right through him as if he were made of air. A split second later, the Zabrak felt a forceful blow to his stomach, forcing all the air out of his lungs as the figure of the Acolyte reappeared next to him. Another well placed jab to the Zabrak’s face was enough to knock him off his feet and onto his back, the grip on his lightsaber loosening as it dropped to the floor. Thick blood erupted from the Knight’s nostrils, the taste of broken teeth and a wounded ego engulfing him.

The now fully concentrated crowd cheered as the Human placed the boot of his injured foot on Aexod’s chest, showing off his superiority. Mactire allowed himself a satisfied smile, but the ego presented the Iridonian with one last chance to redeem himself. Burgoo summoned the last of his strength, directed it into his right arm, and punched the Acolyte in his already wounded knee. He could feel the crack that signaled ligaments tearing and bones crunching under his fist. The sharp pain was enough to knock Chemel off his feet screaming. The crowd around them cheered once again at the sudden turn of events. Concentrating on his pain, Aexod felt it subside slowly, which gave him enough energy to stand up, blood still pouring out of his nose. This time, he wouldn’t allow Mactire to get up again. He performed a roundhouse kick to the Acolyte’s face, leaving him sprawled on the ground with a face bloodier than his own.

Aexod stood still, his gaze lingering on the unconscious Dakhani just to make sure he wouldn’t repeat what had happened minutes earlier. He then turned his head toward the gambler who owed him money, only to realize he was gone.

“Sithspit,” he whispered into his chin. He picked up his lightsaber, fastened it back on his belt, and moved toward the exit of the antechamber, a bitter taste of regret for the unnecessary fight flowing through him.