Pirates are a rowdy lot. It is a fact rarely questioned and merely accepted by those who deal with them regularly. While the Herald’s crew is no different, the band's leader has a different approach to facilitating their tendencies. To this end, one of the Matron's smaller hangars — designated Hangar Zerek — has been recommissioned as a combat arena... or execution chamber.

Once a dedicated repair bay, Hangar Zerek is still equipped with fabricator arms and an assortment of Trade Federation droid parts that have fallen into disrepair. A squared off section, including illumination banks at each corner, designates the intended 'arena'. The section is denoted by active shock fences, run by nearby generators. It is here that the crew lets off steam, with the hangar bay sealed.

The hangar itself still has a fully functioning force field that comes into play when matches are meant to become more interesting, or when it comes time to jettison troublesome captives. The hangar bay doors peel open, leaving only the active field to separate the arena from the vacuum of space. The control mechanisms for the hangar doors can be operated manually from the control booth or on a set timer, including the force field's toggle switch.

The control booth is the last segment of Hangar Zerek worth noting. Doubling as an observation deck, it is the only obvious entrance to the hangar. All maintenance hatches and access-ways have been sealed in advance, though the catwalks crisscrossing along the upper layers of the hangar remain. The booth itself is sealed, providing a safe haven for when the force field comes down.

The vastness of space had a feeling to it that was hard to describe. The infinite. An expanse of nothing that meant death for so many species within the galaxy. It was always so close, to those who travelled within its vacuum, yet deceptively far away. That deception fell to the wayside standing within Hangar Zerek. The hangar doors had been fully retracted, leaving only the force field separating the combatants within from being sucked into the void.

"Now now," a voice rang out. The overlay of static was thick, warping the tone of the voice as it echoed within the derelict space. "You're going to be putting on quite the show for us or, well... Would be a shame to have to hit this here button."

The threat was clear. the combatants remained exposed within the hangar proper and the only thing between them and a sudden, violent exit from the Godless Matron was the master control panel.

Solas smiled, because even with the distortion, he knew that vocal cadence. Not to mention that dry wit, it could only be one person; Morgan B. Sorenn. He could clearly see her short black hair, tattoos and that signature smirk. And of course this was an idea that could only come from her mind. A tournament of death taking place exclusively on the Godless Matron and Solas intended to deliver.

The Epicanthix had heard of his opponent; an ex-Tarenti named Ernordeth, a man nearly half his age and now a Battlelord of Arcona. Everything that the other Tarenti said he was man with a plan, a plan for everything.

‘Well then let’s see if he has a plan for me.’

With that thought the Sith Warrior ignited his crimson lightsaber and turned to his opponent. The Arconae stood in the center of the hangar’s arena unlit lightsaber in hand. As he stood there his stance seemed to say that, at least in his mind, he’d already won. The pair locked eyes and for an incredibly tense moment neither moved, in fact both men seemed to be holding their breath. Each sizing up their opponent. In that simple exchange of glances both knew the other was ready. A moment later Solas channeled the energies of the Force into his legs and leapt across the arena bring blade down in a wicked overhead strike. In that same moment Ernordeth ignited his own saber and positioned the blade above his head to catch the incoming attack. The two Sith weapons clashed in flash of red light. Neither giving an inch, Solas broke off the clash. But only for a moment before engaging Ernordeth in a lightning fast dance of bladework. Solas lunged forward aiming his blade at the human’s chest. Only for Ernordeth to deftly parry the blade to the side before aiming a side slash at the warrior’s head. Solas used the motion of Ernordeth’s parry to moved himself forward to avoid the battlelord’s attack. Wheeling around to aim his blade at the human only to find himself staring down the blade of his opponent’s weapon.

Each man stared at the other’s blade. To anyone else that exchange served no purpose, but to these two it was instrumental, it told each more about the other than any words could. Two men who were truly adept at the art known as Djem So. and while each had his own take on the form the fundamentals were the same. This fight would take more than their skill in the form to end, and end it would; with blood.