Unlike the Gungan’s submerged capital below Naboo, Jan-gwa rests partially underwater; the majority of the city rests above the water’s surface. A waterfall runs along the cliffs behind Jan-gwa, creating a veil of mist around the base of the city’s rounded platforms. Nocturnally illuminated, domed structures encompass the center of each platform and are home to Jan-gwa’s Gungan inhabitants. Some of the these structures extend below the water’s surface, creating an anchor that keeps Jan-gwa from floating with the currents and provides shelter to hundreds of Gungans.

Etched into the cliff walls are several faces of unknown origin. Resembling a humanoid with unembellished features, these carvings are not reminiscent of the city’s Gungan inhabitants—perhaps an indication that some other civilization might have resided near the floating city.

Dolash extended his hand in front of his sullen face as he tried to expel the shaking anxiety from himself. This was not a normal fight. He stared at the man standing before him. He searched his face. That long, pale face with the ink black eyes. The fear and isolation Dolash felt were amplified within them. There was no future for him he realized as the man before him stood unmoving. The snap hiss of Dolash's lightsaber broke the tense silence, as he charged at him, grunting with each heavy slam of leather boot against polished stone. He swung, an overhand slash designed to sever Korrath in half between the eyeballs, but he sidestepped, turning back to face him but with no apparent intent to retaliate. Dolash began to shake harder, seething with frustration and anxiety.

Korrath stared at him, partly amused, partly annoyed? He seemed arrogant, he surmised that he was showing off. Dolash was annoyed because it seemed like he was hiding something. Holding back, maybe. He moved with a fluidity and grace, a sense of anticipation that told him he was more than just a crazy drifter making an unrealistic challenge. Their eyes met, Dolash’s blinking from sweat. His opponent’s eyes were stoic, perhaps analyzing. Korrath made a slight nod. The Mandalorian Gray Jedi returned it albeit begrudgingly.

He charged again. He stabbed, and thrust, but each time the tall, lanky Pau'an back-stepped, moving his torso from harm’s way, bending his form around his opponent's adjustments. Korrath dodged before Dolash had decided to move to strike, using the force to anticipate the Mandalorian’s attacks. Korrath’s amusement faded almost instantly however. Dolash brought his saber up above his head, aiming a killing slash, hard and with all the power he could muster, aimed directly at the Jedi's throat. Once more, Korrath evaded the strike. The momentum carried Dolash forward, nearly causing him to stumble. He turned to see his opponent’s green saber.

Sagely, Korrath spoke, "You have the power to kill, and the intensity to offer a challenge, but it is untempered and wild. Your fighting style has many holes, or perhaps you're not as certain upon your path as you have attempted to convince yourself?”

Dolash laughed hard, saliva falling from his mouth. He felt his lekku twitch as he failed to hide his embarrassment. Kriffin' Jedi. “I fight for my friends. They are my strength!”

Then he charged again. Korrath raised his saber defensively, meeting the slash and deflected it harmlessly aside. When Dolash slashed, his opponent parried. When Dolash thrust, he parried. When Dolash lunged, he parried. But he never attacked back, never took a swing, a stab, a thrust, a jab. Korrath showed no aggression, just passive defensive fighting and it confused and frustrated the Mandalorian.

Dolash made an upward swing striking at his opponent’s waist. Korrath blocked it, but left his head open for the other hand. Dolash took the opening and swung hard, albeit using his off-hand. He assumed with his opponent’s hands engaged the blow would land. He was wrong.

Korrath moved his head independently of his body, but then allowed his body to follow suit. Korrath managed to duck completely underneath the blow. The Tarenti became unbalanced, but the Odanite was prepared to help him stay on his footing by seizing the other arm and gripping it tight.

"Bah," Dolash grunted as he pulled his arm and used a quick and neat elbow to leverage some room between them. Martially, they were about equal in lightsaber combat. In an all out fight he wasn't sure he could actually win. Without applying enough pressure and forcing his opponent to reveal his combat prowess further, it was a complete toss up and Dolash was not a gambler. Calculations ran through his head as he studied his opponent and looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time. "We may be equal in our fighting abilities, but if you keep playing with me and don't ever attack, you will get hurt."

Dolash raised his lightsaber once more, lifting it high above his head, poised for another flurry of strikes.

Heated by the exchange, both combatants welcomed the caress of cool mist that a gust of wind brought over the high platform. Dolash didn’t let on though, his muscles tensed and his eyes fixed. His pose, silhouetted against the roaring white-foaming mass of water cascading behind him, was that of energy immobilised, waiting for its release.

Even so, the platform wasn’t exactly what you’d call a field of battle. It girded one of the city’s huge domes, right at the edge of the settlement. On it rested several of the natives’ streamlined watercraft, evidently grounded for repair, and close to the rim stood a stack of canisters marked “THEED CRYOFLUID SOLUTIONS, Superconduct Coolant” in Aurebesh letters.

This is no good. If Korroth had hoped that allowing the Twi’lek to take the initiative would make the stranger reveal his intentions, the ploy hadn’t worked so far. The Jedi was reluctant to impel another escalation of violence, but he had his Omwati charges to protect. It surely wasn’t a coincidence that this Force adept had appeared, here of all places, now of all times. He would have to change his tack.

The saberists moved simultaneously. Korroth lunged straight ahead, making full use of his speed and reach. The opposing saber, driven by the Twi’lek’s bursting Force-fuelled release of muscle tension, redirected downwards from its high attack with startling ease. It bounced off the green blade and smacked away the Jedi’s second and third attacks with an instinctive speed that belied an expert fluidity of execution between mind, body and movement. Even the stranger’s mind, Korroth observed as he sidestepped back out of range, had slipped into a calmness of motion that bore as much of ingrained reflex as practised, deliberate technique.

“Strength,” the Odanite spoke, still en garde. “There are many kinds of it, stranger.”

Without waiting for a response, Korroth shot forward and struck low. Again, the Twi’lek’s turquoise blade descended and connected with the Jedi’s, parrying, blocking and deflecting as though the two weapons had gained a magnetic attraction that defied the Consular’s attempts to strike his opponent. Korroth pivoted around the Twi’lek, aiming towards his exposed side, but the stranger shifted back his foot, his blade now repositioned to intercept the attack with simple and efficient elegance.

“Yours, I think, is not the aggressor’s strength.” The Jedi had retreated to a safe distance. “But if it’s not aggression, what is it that brought you to Jan-gwa? What makes you think that being here will help you defend your friends?”

Dolash hesitated. This was not how he had planned things to go, talking over drawn sabers, and to this snotty Jedi to boot. But he couldn’t go back without a deal in hand, and it didn’t look like he could go on without facing the Pau’an’s lightsaber. Of one thing he was sure: by fair means or foul that green blade would go down. He just hoped words would fare better than sabers.

“I know why you challenged me,” the Guardian replied. “And we know why you’re here. Your Clan’s Undesirables safehouse in the city; we know its location and we haven’t released it to anyone else.” The lines on the Pau’an’s face tightened at this, and the tip of his blade rose ever so slightly. Dolash wondered if it had been a mistake to open like this. He certainly hadn’t meant it to sound like such a threat.

“I’m here because we have a common enemy,” he continued. “We want in on the fight, and we know that giving you our strength will make us both stronger.”

“Are you asking for some sort of alliance?”

“A collaboration. With your Clan, and with Lotus.”

The stranger’s words had not put Korroth at ease. Far from it. He ran through his head all the possible factions that could be seeking succour against Pravus, but each one was potentially worse than the one before. Already Odan-Urr had grown close to Clans that harboured Dark Siders. No matter how many warships a “collaboration” could bring to the transient fight against Pravus, Korroth knew accepting another darkening influence would only bring imbalance to the greater eternal war.

“Who is your lord, then? Whom do you speak for?”

“Bloodfyre,” the Tarenti replied.

“I am, um…” Dolash let his sentence trail off as his mind suddenly went blank. He saw something in those eyes, something of the circumstances that he had somehow stumbled upon. He sensed a deep purpose within the man before him, something far deeper than Dolash could perceive even with his highly attuned instincts. Dolash shivered as unfamiliar feelings began to probe at his already cracked facade.

The journey had taken its toll on the Gray Jedi who had used his honed hunting skills to track down over a dozen Undesirables. Each one heading towards the same destination, all being shepherded by the same tall, lanky individual. This specific Conductor moved with surgical precision and was deemed a professional by Dolash. However, Dolash had written the protocol on tailing targets.

Dolash was supposed to tread lightly and maintain control over the situation. However, there was something about the Pau’an. Perhaps he could be trusted. The purple Twi’lek audibly groaned as he realized that he was not only breaking his operational parameters but literally throwing the rule book complete in the trash. He stared stonily at his opponent as he deactivated his lightsaber and placed it back into its cylindrical container on his belt.

“I am Dolash and I have been trailing you for awhile. I specialize in counter insurgency and since leaving the Jedi I have worked primarily in the shadows, encumbered by the Darkness that I have been serving for far too long.” He paused, peering searchingly. He had been drained of home, but mayhaps, “I have been treading darkness, teetering between the light and dark. I need help.”

Realization sparked in Korroth’s eyes but Dolash continued, taking the opportunity to inch closer to the Consular , casually leaning back on a nearby underwater vehicle, cautiously peering at a canister nearby as he planned for the worst despite allowing himself to open up to hope. “I know exactly how their counter insurgency operates. I have intelligence as well, lots of it. We can hit a lot of womp rats in one, you and me.”

Dolash studied his opponent, recognizing distinct occipital movement that revealed to him that he was letting his guard down. This was further confirmed as Korrath disengaged his emerald blade, a slight distortion of particles occurring where the blade had just been. It was time. He had to speed things up to ensure he maintained control of the dialogue between them.

Dolash summoned the force, using it in a way he had trained since before he had even learned the proper way to train force techniques. Everything around him slowed down, subtly, but to someone who had grown accustomed to the side effects that intense use of speed amplification incurred, it was noticeable.

First, he closed the gap between them. Korroth began to react even faster than Dolash had anticipated, confirming that he was doing the right thing. Using his outside foot he pivoted around Korroth and grabbed something off his utility belt. Dolash could hear that familiar hum start as he continued into his momentum and launched back away from Korroth, watching as his lightsaber barely missed severing one of his lekku.

Without hesitation Dolash pressed the release mechanism on the stun cuffs he had just retrieved from him. He placed his first wrist in the cuff, locking it. He glanced up to see Korroth quizzically lowering his lightsaber just as he placed his other wrist in the second cuff, closing it with a resounding clank.

Dolash dropped to his knees and lifted his arms high above his head, a complete and utter display of submission. Dolash spoke once more, “You cannot treat war like law enforcement. You even bring these with you as if you’re going to - what? - arrest your defeated enemies? You need someone willing to get their hands dirty while you play Jedi. However, I need a Jedi to help me as well. Between mutual destruction and mutual benefit, I know which I choose. How about you, Jedi?”

Though the Odanite’s face remained impassive, Dolash saw his hands tightening around his lightsaber hilt. If this Jedi continues to be unreasonable, he thought, *I’ll just have to step over him and find someone who’ll listen.”

“You come here expecting to make confederation with Odan-Urr,” Korroth questioned, “you who have sworn fealty to a Sith Master? You must leave. I’ll not tolerate the intrusion of a servant of the Sith in this place.” The Odanite forced his mind back to the present, away from the politics of Brotherhood Clans. Every minute they wasted here was a minute in which the Sith of Tarentum could use their knowledge of the city’s Omwati fugitives to deadly advantage.

“I’m nobody’s servant!” the Gray Jedi rejoined. “This isn’t about Bloodfyre or the Sith. It’s about making sure those we care about survive this war!”

Korroth felt the Tarenti spoke sincerely. His presence in the Force was not filled with the cold fear and hatred of the Sith. But the Pathfinder could see no way of allowing the Tarenti free rein in the city as long as he obeyed the Sith.

“Renounce your allegiance to your Sith Consul,” the Odanite offered, “and I’ll take you with me to Odan-Urr.”

“You must think me a coward to abandon my friends in this way.”

“It’s your only choice. That or leave the planet.”

By way of an answer, Dolash turned his left shoulder to Korroth, extending his saber above his head with the point directed at the Odanite. Words had had their turn, there was nothing left but for sabers to converse.

The Guardian advanced, feet sliding close to the floor, and took the brunt of Korroth’s swing on the forte of his blade. He used this leverage to take control of the crossed blades, pushing them down and then rounding back up to strike at the Consular. Korroth, muscles snapping with Force-aided prescience, ducked low, and the cyan blade hummed over his head. He continued the motion, bending into a roll that carried him out of range.

Instead of pushing his edge, Dolash backtracked until he stood heels to the lip of the platform. Korroth charged for Dolash, seeing his opportunity to corner the opponent. The Tarenti stood firm until the last second, when his blade swung out wide to the side. It struck one of the platform’s coolant canisters, and a frothing blue liquid gushed out. The platform became slick with it, and Korroth could not halt his momentum. His boot heels skidded across the wet surface and he threw his arms wide in an involuntary attempt to maintain balance. His left hand struck something and it latched onto it with desperation. That it was his opponent’s sleeve he had seized barely registered with Korroth as first he, then the dismayed Tarenti plummeted over the edge.

The impact of the chill water was a shock, but the sea, churned by the massive waterfalls, gave no respite as it dragged them under. Searching for a handhold in the muffled uproar of whirlpools and vortexes, the Pathfinder discovered that he was still attached to Dolash. He pulled the Tarenti closer and took his own rebreather from his belt, bringing it to the Guardian’s face.

Dolash batted away the Odanite’s offering hand, and instead swung a fist in his direction. It was only then that Korroth noticed the glinting blade that protruded above the Guardian’s wrist. He pushed himself off Dolash, but the blade cut through the water and sliced into the Consular’s shirt, catching in its folds. Both humanoids grappled to disentangle each other as the currents dragged them to and fro.

Korroth felt his lungs spasm for breath. He pulled on the Force and immersed his body in its flow. The ethereal energy gave reprieve to his own oxygen-starved tissues, but the Tarenti wasn’t faring so well. His movements were getting torpid and his eyes were wide and vacant, his mouth wide open. Holding him tight, Korroth allowed the currents to carry them closer to the city. Once he could tell up from down, sky from water, he launched his grappling hook.

The Odanite left Dolash, coughing and spluttering, on the platform. He’d be alright once the Gungans found him. Korroth had pressing matters of his own. Those travel-weary feathery friends of his would have to disappear—again—before Tarentum discovered its agent’s demise.