Catering exclusively to exotic clientèle, the Jekk’Jekk Tarr Cantina on Nar Shaddaa isn’t just unwelcoming to Humans—it’s deadly. Unlike some establishments that have gained a sordid reputation, the Jekk’Jekk Tarr Cantina’s patrons don’t often bear criminal charges. Instead, circulated cyanogen fumes and pollutants that are toxic to Humans provide a buffer against less desirable company.

Instead of serving drinks, the bar serves "nutrient chemicals" to its clientèle, who pay large sums of credits for the privilege. Five sections emulate the environments of different worlds preferable to certain species and are colour-coded to signify the types of gases being vented into the chambers. The sections are divided by short halls designed to function similar to an airlock so as not to contaminate the different chambers.

The first chamber, favored by species that could perceive the infrared, such as the Devaronians and Trandoshans, is lit with red lights and doubles as the cantina’s entrance to the far more dangerous yellow and green rooms.

Simulating the harsher climates of worlds such as Ryloth and Sriluur, the yellow-tinted room to the west is still poisionous to Humans, due to the amount of concentrated gases, but leaves some near-Humans, such as Twi'leks and Weequays, unaffected.

Identical rooms lie to the east of the infrared chamber, both bearing green color-coding. Exclusive to the insectoid Gand, these chambers filter in ammonia-based atmospheres that are toxic to most other non-insectoid species. The fifth chamber requires passage through the two ammonia-based rooms, but unlike the others, the private lounge is not harmful to Humans.

In some cases, measures have been taken to circumvent the harmful toxins, including the use of breath masks. Alternatively, a control panel located in the private lounge can purge the chemicals from each room to allow Humans to pass through unhindered in dire situations. All of the rooms bear the usual outfit of an unadorned cantina—arrangements of chairs and tables set within a hexagonal space.

As cantinas went, the Jekk’Jekk Tarr was a new experience for Kordath Bleu. The low, red lighting was different, but not out of the ordinary as bars went, and neither was the clientele,really. Having to be issued a respirator at the door that covered his nose and mouth was a new one, on the other hand. Whoever had come up with the design had managed to work in a one way straw apparatus that was apparently environmentally sealed. Sipping at the beverage he held in hand, the Ryn hunched over the bar, reflecting on his purpose.

Oh yeah, just go ta Nar Shaddaa, meet up with a Resistance agent, get the data card from ‘em, go back home without gettin’ caught by any of the Black Robed gits. Easy. Now where the kark is the idiot I’m meant ta be meetin’ up with?

A pale, large presence stepped up alongside him at the bar, one gloved hand resting lightly on the surface. Kordath sighed, wondering if his contact had finally shown the hell up. Despite this hope, he sensed something was just a touch off about the man, even if the Resistance was taking all kinds. The respirator the man sported suggested Jekk’Jekk Tarr was about as unwelcome to him as it was to Bleu.

“Kordath. Bleu. Of course you are in a bar. Your file is accurate.”

The Ryn swayed slightly as he turned, squinting an eye at the tall...Umbaran, he thought it was.

“I know you, mate?”

A dark eyebrow arched on the man’s pale face, the red lighting giving him a menacing visage., “No. Our agents lost you sometime ago, though they were clumsy. I wanted both you and your contact, but I will settle for you.”

Bleu blinked up at the man several times even as he took another pull through the respirator straw. “Huh?”

“Do not play coy with me, Arconan. You and your Consul are both known to be in league with enemies of Lord Pravus. Come answer my questions without resisting, and we will see about making the process more...amenable.”

The Ryn slid off of his stool, finding himself facing the Umbaran’s chest, which he pushed a finger into.

“Buddy, I dinnae know a thing you’re talkin’ bout. I’m just here havin’ a few before movin’ on ta parts unknown,” slurred out the Arconan, lifting his glass up at the man with his other hand.

Kordath was impressed. Usually when he tried something like this, he’d get some kind of reaction out of the mark: a sigh, a muscle twitch on the face, some expression of exasperation from whoever was dealing with the drunken idiot. The Umbaran, however, had a tight hold on his emotions, inward and out, and he felt no signs of oncoming aggression from the big fellow.

“So how’s about this, mister tall and pasty. Ye kark off, leave me ta me drinks, and neither of us has ta deal with the other anymore, eh? Good plan? Yeah? Great, glad we agree.”

Turning back to the bar, Kordath affected to ignore the Umbaran, racking his brain for why the man was familiar with him.

He’s got ta be an Inquisitorial lapdog, callin’ the Top Hat things like ‘Lord’. Lord me arse, runnin’ a few purges don’t make ya lordly, just a kark up. Right, he’s not leavin’. Didn’t think that’d work, but ya never know.

“You are going to force my hand, here, in front of all these people, Kordath?”

“Take your hand, force it up yer—” the Ryn’s jaw clicked shut as a muscular hand settled onto his shoulder, the larger man turning him to face him again.

“I have been civl thus far, traitor, but one way or another, you will come with me. You will answer my questions.”

“Ah, yeah, uhh, I don’t really like takin’ flights with strangers, me mum and dad taught me better than that,” mumbled the Ryn, swallowing behind his respirator and swaying slightly. Panic was closing in on the diminutive Arconan, so he did the most logical thing he could think of. He stumbled forward slightly and dumped his drink into the Inquisitor’s white shirt, aiming for just above the man’s pants.

“Oh bloody ‘ell mate, so sorry!” he shouted, groping at the bar top for napkins and trying to clean the mess he’d made, fending off the Umbaran’s own hands as he did. “So sorry, lemme clean that up, so clumsy the drink makes me sometimes, sorry mate.”

“That is quite unnecessary — stop — do not put your hands down there!” The Inquisitor finally had a moment of outward emotion, knocking Kordath’s hands away when it became obvious the drunkard wasn’t going to cease his actions.

The Ryn stumbled back a few feet as the Umbaran pushed him away, the big man straightening the robe he wore over the rest of his clothing and sighing. He gave Kordath a curious look, the Arconan now standing straighter, with a hand behind his back. It was hard to tell for certain, but the little gray haired alien looked smug under his respirator.

“You ain’t takin’ me nowhere, Black Robe. One of Evant’s goons, you are, must be, if you be suggestin’ I’m involved with tha Resistance. Won’t be takin’ me nowhere though, ain’t done nothin’ wrong, not a thing ya can prove, anyway.”

“Kordath Bleu, my name is Atra Ventus, and you’re coming with me,” declared the Inquisitor, reaching into his robes. Kordath pulled his hand out from behind his back and grinned at the man, waving an ornate looking cylindrical object.

“Nah, ain’t goin’ nowhere wit’ you, mate. Yer just not me type.”

“Give that back you little drunken idiot, and come along quietly. You will not enjoy what I do if you make me take you in by force. There will be consequences for this insolence.”

“Well, fer one, ya seen the drink menu here? That ain’t whiskey on yer shirt, mate, that’s soda. If yer eyes was quicker you’d have caught me lifting yer wee toy off of ya when I went to clean ya up. Uhh, please don’t put that bit in yer report after I get away, might raise questions that neither of us want ta be dealin’ with, eh?”

Kordath took a few more steps back, looking much steadier even as Atra began to advance on him. Instead of bringing the saber hilt to bear on the man, the Ryn held it back, grunting as the Inquisitor grabbed him by the front of his own shirt and pulled him up off the floor. His feet kicked a few times as he found himself brought to eye level with the Umbaran.

“Well, aren’t you strong, work out a lot, do ya? Still not me type, put me down before this gets ugly, eh? People is watchin’, ya know. Wouldn’t want ta out yer precious ‘Lord’ Pravus the genocidal maniac and his shadow organization, yeah?”

“Everyone!” shouted Atra, turning slowly, Kordath firmly in hand, addressing the bar as a whole. “This Ryn is a bounty, it’s a small one and really not worth fighting over, I’ll be taking him now, please ignore whatever the little thief tries to say!”

“Oh, cute,” growled Bleu, using both hands to grasp Ventus by the forearm in a vain attempt to get himself loose.

Atra’s grey eyes swept the Ryn’s form in sudden concern. “Where did you put my saber? Where is it?”

“Shouldn’t take yer eyes off the ‘little thief’, Black Robe,” said Kord, grinning as he ceased his attempts on the man’s arm. His grin widened as a look of genuine concern came over the Umbaran’s face. Reaching a hand back to just under the hem of his jacket, he grabbed a dark, cylindrical object of his own, keeping it pressed against his forearm as he brought it around. “Just messin’ with ya, mate, yer blade is important to ya, eh?”

The Ryn held his arm out, still gripping the item in his downturned hand so Atra couldn’t tell what it was. Eyeing it with suspicion, the Dark Jedi reached out to take it, certain the Arconan was trying to trick him. He wasn’t wrong. As soon as Kordath felt his captor’s touch on the object, he jerked his hand away and squeezed his eyes shut. Atra blinked as the black cylinder landed in his own hand, and saw the pin that was in the Ryn’s. A loud crack and a bright flash of light filled the red lit bar, causing mayhem as people screamed and clutched their eyes or ears. Atra himself shouted in surprise as he felt Bleu kick him several times across the shins, finally releasing the spastic little Arconan as he tried to control his own pain from the flashbang.

Kordath hit the ground on his feet, bolting past the Umbaran and around the end of the bar. Pulling his foe’s lightsaber from where he’d stowed it in his jacket, he threw it in a random direction and skidded across the floor towards a booth. Huddling under the table, he did his best to conceal his presence in the Force. He had no way of knowing how long the flashbang would incapacitate his would-be jailer, but the best he could do was huddle and try to stay away. Kordath knew he wasn’t a warrior by any means, and hoped that between hiding his own Force signature, and the cloak he hastily enveloped himself in as the noise in the bar settled down, that the bastard would think he’d left.

Game on. This is not gonna be pretty if he finds me.

The Praetor groaned for a myriad of reasons as he blinked rapidly to clear the spots still lingering in his sensitive vision. His gloved hand rose to grip his temple firmly in a bid to steady the pounding in his skull that accompanied a tick pulling at his left eye.

That insufferable little son-of-a-womprat.

Of the many things Atra Ventus had become in his life, an actor was furthest from the list. A fact not lost on anyone with half a brain after his previous performance. The word ‘Lord’ still caught in his throat like a bad aftertaste that just wouldn’t go away. The act had been so unbearably obvious that it was almost cartoonish. That was, after all, the point of it – which benefitted from his lack of ability. The Ryn should have clued in to the overbearing portrayal of the ‘big bad Inquisitor’ and – wrongly – assumed Atra to be either a bumbling fool, or a turncoat trying to let him clue into it without being too obvious.

Clearly, none of that had happened.

His breathing evened out within his respirator as the pain finally subsided. A group of Trandoshans nearby hissed with obvious aggravation that Atra shared but wouldn’t outwardly display. The red lighting of the Jekk-Jekk’s main chamber catered to their infrared vision, while flashbangs… not so much. It was a sentiment he could relate to as an Umbaran.

Meanwhile, Kordath had done what he was wont to do: scurry off and hide from the threat. Unconventional didn’t even begin to describe the methods put into play by the Ryn, which added to Atra’s regret over his own less than typical approach to their encounter. It had been deemed the practical approach by Evant while reviewing the pending meetup between suspected Arconan dissidents and Resistance members. Hindsight being what it was, produced an alternate perspective.

He rolled his neck from one side to the next while cracking his knuckles ominously. The ringing in the Praetor’s ears had dulled to white noise that mingled with the cantina music which was still playing out over the speakers. If it hadn’t been for the fact they were on Nar Shaddaa, Atra would have been surprised by the clientele’s ability to take the encounter in stride.

“’Yer not me type’,” Atra muttered under his breath in a mocking imitation of the Ryn. “How about I set you up on a nice date with a Bull Rancor? Seems more your speed,” he continued dryly with his naturally lilting accent adding punch to the words despite the obstruction of the rebreather.

His gold-grey eyes scanned the hexagonal chamber in search of two things: Kordath Bleu and his lightsaber. Atra’s back straightened slightly as his visual search came up empty. Only the same mixture of aliens seeing to their nutrient chemicals that he had passed on his way in, and none of which seemed all that interested in the unfolding altercation.

That was to be expected. Problems at Jekk’Jekk Tarr had a way of resolving themselves, so why would they pay it any mind?

The important thing he was able to perceive, however, was that none of the interconnecting airlock chambers were currently active. Neither the exit itself nor the pathways leading to the more lethal sections of the cantina. To Atra’s calculating mind, that meant his target remained somewhere in hiding. It was time for the Praetor to stop holding back, and embrace his true nature once more. Truthfully, the flea-bitten Ryn’s distraction had almost caused the Dark Jedi’s concentration to slip and release his grasp early. It had been sheer force of will, and habitual reliance, which had enabled his control on his own power to remain.

With a single exhale of breath, that all changed.

The darkness of the Force filled his body like glacial waters released from a dam. Goosebumps crawled along his flesh as his body responded to the burning chill of the Dark Side’s touch. Atra’s eyes closed and he pushed out against his sphere of awareness. In his mind’s eye, that awareness broke free of the confines of his body and settled like a veil within the chamber. He could feel the presence of those he had already noted with his eyes; tiny flames flickering within the flow of the Living Force but without the flare of one trained in its use. His mind sifted through the tapestry of sensations filling his awareness, failing to identify the lone Ryn he sought.

Behind the corner of the bar, Kordath remained hidden beneath the combined efforts of his shroud in the Force and his attempts to hide his signature within it. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead, passing over his chitinous nose and along the rim of his rebreather – evidence of the level of exertion it was taking to maintain. His focus was punctuated by his singular desire for the towering Umbaran to abandon his task. All things considered, it was a solid plan. However, maintaining the cloak around himself required his full concentration and he knew he wouldn’t be able to conceal his signature as well.

The furry creature nearly jumped out of his skin as a black boot settled to the ground directly next to him. Clack, clack, clack. The Praetor’s footsteps were measured and steady, carving a trail through the gas-filled chamber in his search for the Ryn and seeming to echo within Bleu’s ears despite the din of the cantina. A lump caught in Kordath’s throat as he swallowed carefully and maintained a firm grip on his emotions. He was smart enough to know his odds in a fair exchange with the Inquisitor, so fear was a realistic emotion to possess. But it was also tempered by caution and resolve. Resolve to survive.

The Arconan was just about to let out a sigh of relief when a gloved hand reached over the counter and dragged him up by the hair. A yelp of pain escaped the Ryn’s throat as he was unceremoniously sent skidding along the durasteel floor and almost rolling out of his own jacket.

Atra let out a deep breath through his nose as his focus shifted from his outward senses and back to the task at hand. Bleu rubbed his shoulder gingerly as he shifted upright again, slipping fully out of his jacket in the process. Kordath’s gaze shifted between the disinterested patrons at their tables before settling on Atra’s looming form once more. “I take it yer a might bit frustrated right ‘bout now, mate,” Bleu grumbled. The Ryn rose shakily to his feet with his hands shifting along the floor for support. Using the movement as a minor distraction, he freed a second flashbang from the inner pouch of his jacket and let it sit underneath the fabric. On his feet once again, he backed slowly towards the nearest table – his boot dragging his jacket back slightly to reveal the flashbang as he shuffled – while the Praetor approached with even steps and no reply for the Ryn’s remark.

“’Kay, ‘kay, I get it! Listen here Black Robe, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it! Honest! I just have a bit of an issue with, ya know, the usual stuff,” Kordath paused for a moment as his back bumped into the table. He began gathering his power slowly, trying to be subtle as he narrowed his concentration towards the pin of the flashbang. “Pain, confinement, torture, pain, death… did I mention th’ pain?” he continued. Bleu reached out as indiscreetly as he could manage and pulled his hand back, letting the Force mimic his motions with some success as the explosive’s pin reluctantly slid free.

“You talk too much,” Atra replied.

“Aye, I get that a lot,” the Ryn said with a smirk. “Yet people still don’ get just how good a distraction it is.”

The Praetor’s eyes widened slightly as a chill slithered up his back, the quiet warning within the Force demanding his attention. He glanced down at the jacket just before him and cursed silently when he recognized the threat. His arms shot up defensively, shielding his gaze as another small explosion brought a blinding flash of light to the chamber.

Kordath was already in motion before the trap went off. He grabbed the nearest stool and closed his eyes, waiting for the bang before spinning forward and tossing the seat turned projectile towards the Inquisitor. Atra’s arms were lowering just in time to note the oncoming object, having to pivot to the right in order to avoid it. The diminutive Ryn was sprinting behind it, closing the gap with surprise on his side and a Sith Dagger at the ready.

Atra had nothing.

It wasn’t often that the Praetor was left fighting an opponent who used anything but traditional tactics, and it was certainly taking some of an adjustment. The sharpened edge of the dagger flashed red in the distinctive light of the chamber, cutting the air just in front of Atra’s face as the Umbaran made a hasty backstep. While trained in hand to hand arts, the larger man was certainly at a distinct disadvantage against the Ryn’s armed assault.

He was starting to get the impression Kordath was allergic to fighting on even footing.

Bleu continued his frenetic assault, pressing his advantage while he had it. A horizontal slash came in hard and fast that Atra attempted to block at the forearm. He kept his palms open as he sought the semblance of flow and balance required of his martial training. Kordath came again, varying his vectors. Left, right, above, from the diagonal. The Inquisitor was forced to weave and step around his attacker, blocking only when required.

Ventus shifted forward, grabbing the Arconan’s arm as he attempted to stab the Praetor. He brought his body around as he shifted his footing, using Kordath’s own momentum to send him stumbling towards another table. This table happened to belong to several Devaronians that didn’t take kindly to the up close encounter with what had become their live entertainment. Kordath glanced towards the lone female and offered up a sleazy grin. “’ello, lovely… how’d you like to star in a novel?” he asked between deep breaths. The Devaronian raised an eyebrow before pointing behind him towards the immediate threat. “Fair point,” Kordath muttered then turned around.

The Ryn was on the move again quickly, kicking down several other stools in an attempt to provide the Inquisitor with obstacles. Running, Kordath knew, would be the most prudent course of action. However, the damned airlocks segmenting the various sections of the cantina, including the entrance, took time he just wouldn’t have against this opponent. So he did what he had to, pressing the only advantage he currently had. The toppled stools worked as intended and contained Ventus’ footwork. The result limited the number of stances he could transition between, adding an additional threat to the Arconan’s attacks.

Instead of being able to dodge, Atra was forced to take the attacks head on. Two quick slashes were deflected by Atra swatting at the smaller man’s wrists with swift strikes that shifted the momentum. Another upward swinging slash almost gutted him, forcing the Praetor off balance with no way to dodge save for a rather awkward lean backwards. Atra continued to rely heavily on muscle memory and the subtle hints whispered in the Force in order to keep the blade away from his flesh, until crimson finally stained the blade.

Alchemically treated steel carved a red line through the muscle of Ventus’ exposed right arm, setting his nerves alight. The Praetor’s body curled around the slash, a reflexive response to pain, even as he lashed out with his free hand. Power surged alongside the gesture and a strike of concentrated telekinetic power concussed against Kordath’s core.

As the Ryn was staggered by the invisible attack, it seemed Jekk’Jekk Tar’s employees had finally deemed their conflict beyond the typical. Klaxons began to blare over the sound system in place of the previous musical tunes, accompanied by flashing emergency lights. Either someone had called the authorities or things were about to get even uglier.

Well it got loud in here, swear I cut the bugger too. Gotta get ‘round to learnin’ how ta do that.

Kordath winced as the alarms screamed out, loud enough that the sound of cantina patrons shoving their way to the pressurized doors was just an afterthought. His own eyes darted that way for just a moment, long enough for Atra to catch his thought and move to block him as the Umbaran advanced. It’d take nearly a full minute for the exit to open, the ventilation system having to pull all the harmful gases out of the air first. The flashing lights cast new shadows across the darkened room, and gave the Umbaran before him an even more sinister look.

“Right, I already gave ya a wee slash, boyo, how ‘bout ya run back ta your ‘Lord’ and we’ll call it fair, eh?” The Ryn tried to hide how tired he was starting to feel, between maintaining his attempt to hide himself before and the fast paced knife play. He back pedaled slowly, stepping around scattered stools as Ventus stalked towards him. Kordath reached out with the Force, snagging nearby small items and tossed them at the Juggernaut. They scattered and bounced off an invisible barrier about a foot in front of the Praetor, though both men paused as an ornate, black and silver item flew towards him.

For just a moment Kordath swore he saw the man’s emotionless facade crack under his respirator, a small smile as he allowed his saber hilt to fly through the shield he’d been using. White and silver light filled Bleu’s vision as the weapon erupted to life, and caused him to feel his resolve weaken. His only hope had been disabling Ventus before he found his weapon, even if security had come he’d have found some way to talk his way out of the situation. Now he was proper karked, even as he lifted his dagger to guard. As far as he knew the alchemically treated steel would hold up to a lightsaber blade, but he’d never truly taken the time to test the theory of it. Atra wasted no time as he took the offensive, his white blade lashed out towards the Ryn, who chose that moment to once again flee.

Kordath ducked and rolled back, an effort to buy time and ground that proved fruitless. The Praetor was relentless despite the littered floor of the cantina, he stepped around fallen stools and chairs without breaking stride as he pursued his prey. Bleu felt the Force surge around him, a brief warning from his own talents before Ventus sped towards him with unnatural speed. The saber battered against the Ryn’s guard as it smashed down against the Sith dagger, causing sparks and filled the air with the smell of burnt ozone. Bleu channeled his own Force energy and attempted to catch one of Atra’s legs in a morass of energy to slow it, but the Juggernaut simply seemed to ignore it.

He fell back again, eyes fighting to track the quick and direct movements of his foe. Every instinct was screaming for him to run away, get out of the cantina. If he could make it somewhere more crowded and open, he had a chance to get away. This was proving a difficult strategy to put into play as Ventus pushed him further and further from the entrance of the pub. With how quickly he was losing ground, Kordath was starting to panic, the situation becoming untenable. He still had another flashbang tucked in his belt, and a back up dagger, which was good as he glanced over the weapon he’d used to block the saber strike. Smoked metal and a melted curve had already appeared, ruining the edge of a good portion of the weapon. Time to improvise again, he figured.

The Ryn caught a stool with his foot as he got around it, hooked and kicked it towards his enemy. Atra batted it away with a wave of his hand, before gesturing at the Arconan. Bleu let out a rather undignified squeak as he felt his feet leave the floor, before his body was tossed sideways towards the cantina bar. The diminutive Ryn did his best to tuck his head in towards his chest as he crashed into the bottles lining the back of the bar. He slammed to the floor, covered in broken glass and groaned. High mineral fluids, mixed with alcohols and other liquid soaked Bleu through his vest and shirt, causing a smell that made him gag through his respirator. Forcing himself to stand, he swayed as he lifted his dagger in anticipation as Atra rounded the counter, and found he’d lost his weapon sometime during his landing.

I’m sick of this crap, I’m soaked, I’m tired, I wanna go home.

The Ryn lifted both hands, making the time honored, Galactically recognized sign for time out, which Ventus ignored. Kord felt a prickle up his spine, a chill that suffused his entire being as the Umbaran closed on him, seeming to grow larger. He blinked, certain that Atra was using the Force to do something, but the way the pale man’s eyes seemed to glow now, his features lengthening and taking on a look that reminded the Ryn of stories his mother told him when he was a child. The kind you told children when they wouldn’t go to bed on time. Bleu shook his head, trying to shake the feeling of terror that kept his feet planted as Ventus reached out, his hands looking akin to claws to the Arconan’s influenced mind.

Pale hands grasped Kordath by his vest and lifted the smaller man off his feet, drawing his face closer to the Umbaran’s demonic visage. “You have made this annoying and difficult, rat, now come along quietly.”

Atra recoiled, his nose wrinkling, “Gods you stink.”

“I, uhh, huh. Pants,” sputtered out Kordath, eyes wide despite every ounce of his willpower going towards looking away from the Praetor. Atra glanced down and recoiled slightly, not loosening his grip as he’d learned already not to let the Ryn out of his sight. Still, it wasn’t every day that a target wet himself at the culmination of a conflict. “S-s-sorry. Please don’t eat me.”

With a shake of his head, the Long Juggernaut slammed the base of his saber hilt into the side of Bleu’s temple. The Ryn went limp, and Atra looked up to see the lights of Nar Shaddaa through the now open cantina door. From the sounds, security was on it’s way, time to leave before things got complicated.

The diminutive Ryn struggled to find his footing once more. He pressed a hand gingerly to his chest, wincing as pain came in response to the light pressure. Kordath groaned as he envisioned the marbling of his skin and the nasty bruise that would be left as a result of Atra's strike. His eyes flit about the room from person to person as the crowd thinned and made for the main airlock while the klaxon blared. Then Kord's gaze returned to the Inquisitor that had caused him way more hassle than the Ryn usually cared for.

The Umbaran seemed unfazed by the crowd, at least, though he seemed to wince in response to the flashing lights. The pale man's focus was on the red stain upon his upper arm. Atra pressed his gloved hand against it, applying a touch of pressure before pulling his hand back and staring down at it. It was hard to make out the swash of crimson against the dark fabric, especially with the unnatural light provided by the cantina's main chamber. The Praetor tightened his hand into a fist while the ghost of a sneer tugged at the corner of his lips.

"This isn't practical," Atra stated, his lilting words barely audible between his rebreather and the blaring alarm. "I just needed information, and you chose violence."

Kordath spat towards the ground as his weight shifted unsteadily from side to side. "Dun karkin' fool yerself, Black Robe," the Ryn replied. "It was this or torture. Either way it's gonna hurt."

"A false assumption," the Praetor said with a slight shake of his head, "but now it certainly will." Atra's power flared to life as he reached out with his left arm towards the table to Kordath's right, his hand gripping the air before he whipped the arm back toward the Arconan. The Force acted as an extension of his will and coiled around table. It began to skid for a moment before flipping into the air and violently tumbling towards Kordath. The Ryn let out a yelp of surprise before diving forward to avoid the large projectile, having no other options in the heat of the moment.

Kordath's fingers tightened around the hilt of his Sith dagger before he pushed off the ground and rose to his feet once more. Behind him, the table crashed into the main control panel for the airlock. Sparks surged from the damaged console as the unit short-circuited and locked the door half open. Both men shifted their gaze to the malfunctioning entrance, noting the notable hiss intermingling with the klaxons to denote the deadly gases being sucked out of the cantina.

In that opening, Kordath saw his escape, which was something he desperately preferred over continued conflict with the Praetor. The Ryn licked at the inside of his mouth where the metallic taste of blood greeted him. In his mind it was a small sample of what awaited him at the hands of the Inquisitorius. His nose whistled faintly as he let out a long breath through his nostrils, partitioning his focus and willing the Force to coalesce within the palm of his hand. Kordath glanced back towards his opponent, trying to better gauge the situation.

Atra's chest rose and fell noticeably as he brought in heavy breaths that caused loud clicks and wheezes from his rebreather. He could feel the fiery licks of anger clawing through his senses, screaming for control -- something he absolutely refused to cede, though it was growing more difficult. As he stalked forward, his eyes narrowed at the way the Ryn had positioned himself. The short creature wasn't entirely facing him, which left far too little visible to the Umbaran's grey-gold eyes. If there was one thing Atra had ascertained beyond all doubt during their encounter, it was that Kordath was one to ply any trick necessary for an advantage.

Atra met the Arconan's gaze evenly and allowed his power to well up once more within him. The dark side slithered into the recesses of Kordath's mind, slipping through the cracks of his thoughts with malicious intent. It fell like a shroud over his senses and delved deeper and deeper into his psyche before the seeds of power blossomed like a crimson lotus.

The Ryn's gut tightened viciously as a combination of nausea and panic overtook him. The sensation wasn't unknown to him, in fact it was downright familiar. It was the exact feeling that washed over him every time he looked out a viewport into the endless expanse of space with only a hull standing between him and that empty oblivion. Kordath's concentration shattered momentarily as the panic pulsed through his core and grew into full on terror. The power contained within his palm slipped away into the aether as his concentration broke, his knees buckling beneath him. The ground rushed up to meet him and he threw his arms out to brace himself against it, faintly noting the sound of his dagger skidding away. Kordath focused on where he was -- the truth of his reality -- and fought to shake the phobia that had suddenly claimed him.

Shaky, uneven breaths brought a wave of calm and anger over the Ryn once more. Sweat beaded upon his brow and dripped softly to the ground as he glanced up towards the Voice's Praetor. "Tha' was a dirty trick, Black Robe," he managed through his wheezing rebreather.

"Coming from you, I can't tell if that's a compliment or jealousy," Atra stated dryly. The larger man reached down and grabbed Kordath by the throat. The muscles in his arm bulged as he demonstrated his natural strength by lifting the short Ryn off the ground. The Praetor fought to control his facial expression as the effort tugged at the gash on his upper arm, sending shots of pain through his nerves. The Ryn reacted somewhat predictably to the pressure around his throat, gagging and sputtering as his hands pulled at Atra's wrist. "Now, now, Kordath," the Praetor remarked while grabbing the Ryn's rebreather with his other hand. "Take a deep breath. It'll clear your head."

The Dark Jedi pulled roughly at the breathing apparatus, ripping it from Kordath's head. The Arconan's eyes widened as the rebreather was removed, fighting against his natural instinct to breathe now that he was exposed to the hazardous atmosphere. His desire for survival pushed to the forefront of his thoughts. Kordath gripped Atra's arm tightly for support before swinging his leg around with all the strength his small body could muster. The kick connected smartly between Atra's legs which resulted in a two-fold response: he cried out in pain and released his grip on the Ryn.

Kordath made a mad dash for the main airlock. Even if he couldn't get out right away, the hissing rush of air emanating from it meant the atmospheric mixture would at least be more diluted in his favor. He rubbed at his aching throat while his frantic rush for relative safety resulted in multiple close calls and stumbles thanks to the stools littered across the floor.

Meanwhile, there was a third response to his methods that Kordath hadn't calculated for in his haste. As the intense pain faded into a dull ache, Atra's thoughts were consumed by anger. The barriers he had painstakingly crafted within his own psyche came crashing down as a flood of molten fury burst forth. His lips curled with an unmistakable growl rumbling deep in his throat. The Umbaran rose, fighting the churning in his stomach that accompanied the acute pain still setting his nerves alight. Atra's predatory gaze settled upon the Ryn inside the airlock at the inner controls, attempting to coerce it into opening the outer door despite the inner door's failure to close.

The Praetor rolled his neck from side to side resulting in loud cracks between his joints. He took a slow step forward, followed by another... and another. In short order he was bounding across the chamber, showing a rare level of aggression that ran counter to his usual tactics. The Umbaran nearly barreled into Kordath, but the Force crawling up the Arconan's spine had been enough warning for him to scramble out of the way. Atra pivoted hard on his left foot, redirecting his momentum as best he could before skidding into the far door. He grunted with pain as his shoulder served as the first point of contact against the solid durasteel.

Atra wasted little time kicking away from the door and closing the distance with Kordath once more. He reached out with his left arm, finding only empty air while the Ryn dropped into a crouch. His second Sith Dagger slipped free of its sheath and glimmered for a moment in the light before rising up and plunging completely through the meat of Atra's arm. The Dark Jedi let out another howl of pain, unrestrained with the loss of his control. This time, there was no red trickle to denote the damage done. Faint sparks worked within the torn synthflesh as the dagger was pulled free, a mechanical whine accompanying the surges as the arm fought to work through the damage.

The Force surged like lightning through Atra's musculature with the anger and pain acting as kindling for the burning presence of the dark side within him. The Praetor pivoted while managing to grab Kordath by the back of the head. Atra yanked violently and pulled the Ryn into the air while the momentum of his spin brought the Arconan past him. A slight whimper of acknowledgement reached Atra's ear as the man's small form passed before crashing hard into the ground. The Praetor continued to pound Kordath face first into the ground, leaving a growing splatter of blood in his wake. The savage act only ended when the Ryn's body grew utterly limp, left sprawled along the ground with only the shaky rise and fall of his chest letting the world know he still lived.

Atra remained kneeling next to his target, shuddering breaths filling his lungs as he fought for a semblance of the control he once possessed. He raised his right arm across his brow, wiping the stinging sweat from his eyes while allowing a long sigh to escape his lips. His body ached, both physically and mentally, and the damage to his prosthetic caused the fingers of his gloved hand to spasm unpredictably. The Umbaran let his eyes flutter closed, the heavy lids no longer willing to be denied as he found his calm center once more.

Managing to open his eyes again, he looked back in towards the remnants of the cantina. As he assessed the damage they had caused there was no doubt in his mind that the Praetor would not count this among his more successful operations. He blinked rapidly against the still flashing lights within, attempting to spare his sensitive eyes. He tilted his head slightly as he spotted a long black cylinder lying near one of the far tables, its crystal coated body refracting the light noticeably enough to draw his gaze.

So that's where the Ryn left it, he mused before rising slowly to his feet. He managed one step before hearing a commotion on the other side of the outer door. Unintelligible, shouting voices intermingled and fought for dominance before a hissing heralded the door's forced opening. Atra looked over his shoulder, watching as the newcomers were revealed.

"Don't move a muscle," the supposed leader of the small armed force shouted. He held his blaster rifle at the ready while signalling to the others to advance. Atra wasn't sure if they were official security forces or belonged to whatever gang currently held sway within that sector, but it didn't overly matter to him. His eyes shifted down towards Kordath's unconscious body. He had claimed his prize, and any information the small man possessed... Atra wasn't about to give that up.

The Praetor let out another long sigh before discreetly opening his palm. He latched on to the ghostly tendrils of the Force that still remained to him and tugged on his rediscovered lightsaber. The object rattled defiantly for several moments before soaring into his waiting hand. The silver blade hissed to life with a crackling aura working along its length. Atra turned and closed the distance between himself and the newfound threats in a single bound, putting the last of his strength into an all-out attack.

---

Atra flinched and flashed a quick glance towards the service droid at his side. He was sitting upright on a lounge chair in his quarters, the pale flesh and smattering of scars coating his torso on display as his left arm lay outstretched for the droid to work on. His gaze shifted back to the datapad he was holding with his other hand.

Upon returning from Nar Shaddaa, the Praetor had given Kordath over to a select group of Seekers that had delved into his thoughts, hoping to pry any knowledge they could ascertain. The Ryn had proved either too oblivious to any larger plans at work, or too resilient to the forced interrogation. Regardless, Atra didn't allow them to ply any of their more torturous methods. It would have been impractical and a waste of effort. Hurt someone enough, and they'll tell you anything so long as the pain will stop. That just so happened to be a lie crafted to be exactly what you were looking for, more often than not. Confessions under torture were unreliable at best as a result.

A light on the datapad began blinking incessantly, demanding his attention. Atra toggled the screen which revealed confirmation that Kordath Bleu had been returned to Arconan space upon the shuttle he had arranged. The Ryn remained more or less in one piece, save for the remnants of their conflict. The Praetor sighed through his nose once more before clicking the datapad off.

The eyes of the Inquisitorius were in place now. All it would take was one misstep by the Arconans, a single momentary lapse in their execution, and the repercussions would be swift.

Atra couldn't decide if he was hopeful or hesitant for that to play out.