Honor Fight

[Bobbi]

This is a very old transcript from 2015 that never made it to the boards. There is more to it, but will be posted in another thread as I think this one is long enough as it is. Darien Tekal is serving with the Daimon Empire's military as a mechanic, fixing ships and sparing time as a pilot when needed. Kedemel Sorath had found him and blown his cover as Reggie Kotomari some time before this took place.





Kedemel:
Kedemel sat in a reclining plasteel chair in a small infirmary built into one of the many tunnels underneath the ground level of the Daimon palace on Gerrenthum. There were a few empty beds around, medical supplies on bedside tables and countertops, but Kedemel was the only being in the room, his black tunic and trousers a sharp contrast to the brightly lit durasteel walls all around him. He was partially leaned back in the chair, his free left arm propped up a datapad on his stomach, scrolling through various reports sent to him by analysts and agents at the Imperial Intelligence Service. His right arm was propped up on a table next to the chair, turned so the underside was facing upward, a square of synth flesh and steel removed from his wrist just above his hand while a medical droid tinkered with components inside that governed the movements of his artificial limb. Every so often his fingers would twitch, his fist would clench and unclench, but he seemed not to notice.
He'd been sitting for nearly four hours while the installation of his new toy was completed, but the operation was nearing its end. He let the datapad fall flat on his abdomen and reached with his free hand inside a fold of his tunic to pull out a small comm unit. "Guard," he said into it. The single durasteel door leading to the infirmary disappeared upward into the wall, and a bulky soldier-type in black armor hefting a blaster rifle stepped in. "Sir," he said. Kedemel had already put the comm away and was back to looking at his datapad. Without so much as a glance at the guard, he said, "Find out where Darien is. Tell him I want to see him. In here." The guard regularly accompanied Kedemel, and so didn't need to be told twice who was being asked for. "Sir," he said again, and stepped back out of the room, letting the door close behind him. Back out in the hallway, he put his back to the wall, standing at his post again, but reached for a comm of his own. "The Director would like to see Tekal. Let him know."



Darien:
It wasn't a normal painkiller that Darien had just popped into his mouth. Since Jedi had come sniffing around, he'd slightly reverted to old habits. He hadn't become a full drunken mess, not like he had been, but he did start hitting the cantinas again on his way home from work. Last night, he had slightly overdone it, and today his head was letting him know. He buried himself in work to try and forget. Kedemel's ship was on top of the list for some upgrades and a tune-up. That was where he was when orders came in the form of an escort. Kedemel wanted to see him. Work was set aside, and Navcom would be there when he got back. He took the time to clean up as much as he could in the time span of five seconds and was then following the Duro, who had come to retrieve him.

Kedemel:
As Darien was coming down the hallway with the Duro, Kedemel set the datapad aside on a table, and watched the droid put the finishing touches on his arm. Sparks were flying in a small radius from where the droid was torching some circuits, melting a little bit of a synth flesh on the upper forearm and singing the rolled-up tunic sleeve above his elbow. But the nerve receptors hadn't been turned on yet, so Kedemel couldn't feel anything. "Is the pack protected from fire?" he asked. "I feel like those sparks should be causing combustion. Is my arm going to explode if I get blasted?" The droid shook its head, a poor attempt at live-being imitation, but it just gyrated its head side to side mechanically.
"No, sir, the pack is encased in protective armor. It can take a few blaster hits and fairly intense heat before it becomes a problem, and even then, it's more likely to just become inoperable or melt rather than combust." Kedemel nodded. "Good." "But it's limited use," the droid continued, "before it has to be recharged, just like any other pack. A dozen blasts, maybe. It had to be small to fit and for you to retain complete functionality." Just as the droid was finishing, the door opened to present Darien and the Duro. "Ah, yes, thank you, please finish," he said offhandedly to the droid, focusing his attention on the newcomers. Kedemel glanced only briefly at the Duro. "Leave us," he said, before turning his full attention on Darien. "You seem unwell."



Darien:
Darien had been led in, the Duro departing at Kedemel's command. When confronted about his current well being, Darien nodded just ever so slightly, "It's just a headache. It will pass." Or he hoped it would. The last time his head hurt this bad had been before Kedemel had found him out. The Force had a big hand to play in that, as did a seemingly never ending supply of liquor. "You wanted to see me, Sir?" He wasn't in a clean and freshly pressed uniform. He'd been working on ships, and was wearing an old dark blue pair of oil stained overalls.


Ker’dan:
Heart of Fire popped into being just inside the system. It was one of Mandal Motors' lesser known designs, a heavily modified medium patrol craft. It was boxy and a-symmetrical with four powerful outboard engines. It was much quicker and much more maneuverable than it looked, but then, it looked rather beat up on purpose. As soon as it was in range, it beamed a signal to the imperial systems and made course for the planet.


Kedemel:
Kedmemel pressed a button on the front of the chair's left armrest, which slowly raised the chair into a completely upright position. He took his feet off the recliner and planted them squarely on the floor so he was straddling the chair, but his right arm moved slightly, causing a few extra sparks to fly. "Don't move, sir," the droid said, with more than a little snark. Kedemel frowned up at it, but didn't say anything, then regarded Darien again, blatantly disregarding his inquiry. "Just a headache. From the bottle, I surmise. Are you at it again? We talked about this. I'm not going to force you into any training you don't want, but I won't have that kind of behavior in my ranks.
"There are other ways. Not the least of which is coming to me. Talk to me. What's on your mind?" Despite his minor physical discomfort, Darien was physically composed, but the Force around him rippled in waves of apprehension that beat incessantly against Kedemel's probing mind. But he didn't need the Force to tell him there was something more than just the usual depressed, miserable state of being at work to drive Darien into the ready arms of a bottle of Wyren's. No sooner had he spoken than his comm was beeping inside his tunic. He reproduced it, and momentarily took his eyes off Darien, staring again at his open prosthetic arm. "Send him to the diplomatic bay. Give him access to the private lane, and instruct him to wait in his ship until a welcoming party arrives." His eyes, full of gleaming empathy, went back to Darien.

Ker’dan:
Heart of Fire followed the vector given it's pilot, and burned down through the atmosphere. Though it followed direction, there were no answers given to hails, nor did it's pilot reply to the comm ops personnel giving those instructions. A few moments later, Heart lowered itself on repulsors, twisted into it's vertical landing position, and sank heavily to the ground inside the Diplomatic landing area. Coolant and exhaust vented in jets of white vapor around the ship, and the hot metal ticked menacingly as it began to cool down to the atmospheric temperature. The ramp stayed up, however.

Darien:
He knew better than to answer while Kedemel was distracted with the comm unit. A visiting dignitary? Darien hadn't been informed of a visit. The diplomatic bay wasn't ready. That would have to be a concern for someone else. He had..."A Jedi," he told Kedemel slowly, "Came to see me recently. He was asking questions about my family." Damn Jedi. He had thought he was out of that all. And then there was the thought of "Sir, he said he was here to complete his training. His report would be a key factor in placing judgement on us."


Kedemel:
The playful frown he had given the droid quickly became real, and the empathy in his eyes gave way to anger. The Force pulsed with rage. Jedi. Right under his nose. The business of Lang's leftover, languishing Empire was distracting him from the plan, part of it though it was. "We will discuss this very soon." His eyes softened, the anger that had flashed on his face no more than momentary. "But you were right to tell me. Now, though, we have other business to attend to. Guard," he yelled, not bothering with the comm this time. The door slid upward once more, and the black-clad guard stepped in.
"Strip," Kedemel said plainly. The guard stared for a few seconds in confusion, which gave way to disbelief, then his eyes flickered to Darien and back to Kedemel, and he understood. He also knew better than to question orders. He set his blaster on the floor next to him and began unclipping the straps that held on his various plates of armor, unzipping his uniform, until eventually he was in nothing but underclothes. "Put them on," he said to Darien. "You look like hell." The droid was in the process of welding the metal plating back onto the area he had removed in order to operate, but there remained a gap in the synthflesh that covered the rest of the artificial arm. "Don't worry about the flesh for now," he said to the droid. "I'll be back." And back to Darien, "The Mandalore has come. You'll come with me to meet him."

Darien:
The jumpsuit had been shed at command. Darien, unlike the guard, had on a sturdier set of garments underneath. It wasn't a thing of modesty, but of practicality. Should he spill something on the protective overalls, and it soaked through he had performance minded clothing to further protect his skin. As he donned the armor he couldn't help but reflect on the change in Kedemel's expression. He was fine, then livid, and then composed again. Darien had done right by telling Kedemel about the Jedi. But that anger... Darien had felt the lash of that anger just once before. He tried not to think about it, and then it was completely forgotten. The Manda'lore. Ker'dan Akir. His blood ran cold as he slipped the helmet on. Could this month get any worse?! "--Aye, sir."


Ker’dan:
In the diplomatic bay, Heart of Fire's ramp began to descend. The airlock hissed and cracked open at the top. The figure that stepped out of the hatch and came down the ramp was imposingly tall and wide-shouldered. Two huge mandalorian ripper pistols were holstered on his hips, strapped backward for a cross-body draw. The mandalorian armor he wore was painted a glossy black with gold trim at the joints and at the shoulders. The armor wasn't in perfect condition, it was pitted and scarred from use. The plating was slightly different from the lighter armor most beings were familiar with. There was more of it, and it was thicker, covering a larger area of the body. There was no jetpack, but his boots were fitted with micro-repulsors that allowed him to leap a fairly disconcerting distance. The helmet he wore was silver, trimmed in blue. It was clearly older than the rest of the armor. This was the symbol of his office, the symbol of his power. He surveyed the docking pad, letting his helm's 360 degree vision take note of all entrance and exit points. He stopped at the bottom of the ramp and waited for his brother to join him.

Kel’dan:
The guest who followed him down the ramp was also clad in full Mandalorian armor... It was the lighter version of it, more what the people were used to seeing... But his was matte black, with larger strips of blue in some places, and trimmings of green in others... He was slightly shorter than his older brother. He didn't have as strong of a physical build, but there was no mistaking he was a Mandalorian in the way he held himself... That-- and his presence in the Force was a... notable one. Hard to tell if anything more than that was there. Plenty of people had demanding presences in the Force without said person being Force Sensitive... His was one such. He stood at attention, slightly behind and to the left of his brother. A sword on his back, several knives at his belt, and a blaster pistol strapped to his thigh... It was obvious that he was a closer range fighter.

Kedemel:
As soon as the droid finished with the welding, the droid reached with its' pincer hand over to a work table and picked up a large needle, using it to poke softly at Kedemel's palm. "I feel it," Kedemel said, then quickly yanked his arm off the side table and used his free left hand to roll his tunic sleeve down over the bare metal patch as he moved to stand. "You're relieved for now," he said to the guard. "Find another uniform and meet me back at the office. Darien will accompany me." The guard looked at his blaster, then to Kedemel. "Sir, my orders are not to leave yo-" "We'll be fine," said Kedemel, who unstraddled the chair and moved out into the room, arching his back to stretch it out after having sat for four hours. "Remove the helmet" he said to Darien, having felt the younger man tense at the mention of the Mandalore. He didn't want Darien to be able to hide; wanted root out the source of the apprehension.
Nevermind the masochistic pleasure at what would be Darien's predictable discomfort at losing his anonymity without the helmet. "Let's go." He led them out of the room, into the hallway, then through a meandering network of durasteel and concrete tunnels. The underground of the palace was a small city within itself, artificially lit but still gloomy. Soldiers passed here and there, but it was mostly filled with droids or intelligence personnel with their heads down, eyes glued to datapads and reports printed on sheets of flimsi. There was nary an armed individual they passed until they reached their desired turbolift at the end of a curving hallway, which was flanked by two armed guards, identical to the one that accompanied Kedemel in the infirmary. They didn't budge as Kedemel and Darien passed by them, onto the lift. They had several hundred stories to ascend, so had a free moment, which Kedemel took full advantage of. "What was the Jedi's name?" he asked, without hint of the anger that had crept into his visage before.



Ker’dan:
Ker'dan rolled his powerful shoulders and allowed the muscles in his back to stretch and relax. He took a few steps forward, taking the time to let his helm's scanner system search for the cameras and automated weapons. While he hated the game of politics, he would use each move to gain as much information as possible. Letting Ker wait was obviously a statement of power, but it gave him the chance to get a look at his surroundings while not being distracted by the coming conversation. He spoke over the private battle comm line quietly. "I very much doubt there will be any trouble, but keep your eyes open, brother."


Darien:
His face grew warm at the order. Lose the helmet? He'd be face to face...eye to eye. He'd never met Ker'dan, but that didn't forgive what the Mandals had done to his nephew, nor did it excuse why it had been done. Hesitating, Darien pulled the helmet off. The color of his face had returned to somewhat normal. He was not looking forward to this. Then Ked was in motion, and Darien followed behind. Once they were in the lift Darien shifted slightly where he stood, "A mirialan Padawan. He said his name was Keles." So it was either this, or contemplate the Mandals. He should have taken a personal day. Relax, and breathe. He'd make it through as long as he remembered to breathe.


Kel’dan:
"Of course, Brother mine," Kel'dan replied. There was a quiet amusement behind the words... As if to say-- Don't I always? But his body language, his physical stance, hadn't shifted in the slightest.



Kedemel:
Kedemel smiled inwardly at Darien's growing apprehension. But it faded slowly the more he thought about what Darien had said, about Jedi on Gerrenthum. How could he have been so careless? And Padawans? Were they rebounding? The Force had offered visions of no such thing. But he'd been so busy doting on the regional governors who had assumed command of the Daimon, bringing them up to speed on the business of the Empire, that perhaps by his own doing he'd been blinded to threats at his doorstep. But he'd never even entertained the idea that the Jedi could be a problem again so soon after their relative demise after Moonrider. They were still too few, too scattered, too scared to come out. The name Darien gave him didn't register, but if the hidden masters were training again, it wouldn't have, there would be new blood. He didn't ask about it anymore, and soon the lift slowed, then stopped. The doors opened onto floor of the diplomatic bay, tucked inside an upper level of the palace.
A bay though it was - durasteel floors, fuel barrels scattered about, maintenance droids moving too and fro - it was better-kept than most in the palace. Well-dressed diplomats from various systems were frequently coming and going on business between the Empire in their homeworlds, whether member systems or otherwise. The bay opening had a stunning view of the cityscape, over which the system's distant start was currently setting, bathing the entire massive chamber in a brilliant orange hue. Amidst the businesspeople and politicians, it was not hard to pick out the two armor-clad Mandalorians standing at the base of their ship so obviously scoping out their surroundings. Kedemel had relayed instructions through palace's traffic control center that the Mandalorians remain in their ship knowing that they wouldn't, whether out of curiosity about their surroundings or out of sheer rebellion to being told what to do.
But then he wanted all the other visitors to see who he was meeting with. This visit would send shockwaves through the diplomatic corps. Mandalorians did not travel if not for business. And they had little business that didn't involve war. Kedemel led Darien across the bay. "Mand'alor," he said in perfectly accented Mando'a. "I'm glad we could have this meeting. I am Kedemel Sorath, head of the Intelligence Directorate. The Governors asked that I meet with you on their behalf. This is my.. aide. Darien Tekal." He definitely gave Darien's full name on purpose.


Darien:
The rest of the ride up had faded into silence. That gave Darien plenty of time to prepare himself for what was coming. He'd have to behave himself. That meant keeping a tight lid on his temper. The Force, he had very rarely used it since leaving The Jedi. But, he used it now. It was such a miniscule thing, subconscious in nature, that Darien didn't realize he was doing it. Ked would know. No matter how tiny a sliver it was, it was there. The lift was stopping, and he was following Kedemel out into the hangar. For just a moment he grimaced. For him? The scattered barrels, and odd stacks of supplies were a mess. There was no time to think about that, though. He and Kedemel were coming up on the mandals. The first thing that Ker and Kel would see about him would be the face. It belonged to someone else they knew, even if the hair and eyes were different -- darker. The face was the same. This was Darien Tekal, brother of Solomon.


Ker’dan:
Ker'dan chose to acknowledge Darien first, ignoring Kedemel for a moment. As the two approached, and as Kedemel was speaking his greeting, Ker'dan lifted the silver helm off his head and tucked it under one arm. His features were olive skinned and angular, once black hair was now salted with silver and cut in a military style high and tight. His eyes were steel grey, and fierce. They met Darien's gaze and bored into the young man. "Darien Tekal," he said, using Basic with a hint of australian-sounding Mando'a accent. "I must apologize for what happened to your nephew. That was against my orders, and the guilty parties are being...dealt with. Severely." He studied the young man for a moment. To Ker, he was completely different from his twin. The body language, the stance, the eyes... This was an angry young man, and not at all as cautious as Solomon. "I have paid the debt to your brother, but there remains a blood debt between us. Perhaps after my business is concluded, that can be addressed to your satisfaction." His grey eyes rested on Darien for a long moment, waiting to see what he'd do.

Kel’dan:
"Interestingly enough," Kel’dan said, removing the helm... What was there was a little different. He only had a couple of small, visible scars on his face. His black hair was cut short. His olive skin tone was a little darker... And his eyes were dark green... An olive green. There was intelligence in those eyes. "He is the dark to our fair Solomon's light." The slightest of smiles might've been caught at the corners of his mouth. Amusement still obvious in the presence in the Force. It might've had a double meaning... But who knew with this one?


Darien:
He thought he could do it. Darien had, honestly, believed he could reign it in. The moment the mandal brothers started talking, however, it all dissolved. It came in hard. And in that moment Kedemel would get a wider glimpse of Darien through The Force. His right hand balled into a fist, and it went flying. There was no force in the galaxy that would make the size difference matter. Ker'dan may have been taller, wider, and better armored, but Darien moved like a Force trained storm. He aimed for Ker'dan's jaw. So much for not attacking first.


Kedemel:
The vision came a split-second before it happened. In his mind's eye, Kedemel watched the Force gather around Darien in a swirling storm, like the water at an oceanfront receding, almost disappearing, before it would all come ragging back tenfold in the wall of a tsunami. What little rage he had allowed to creep into his persona he flushed into pure Force energy, sending it coursing through his lower body so he could move blindingly fast. Standing to Darien's left, Kedemel stepped forward right with his right foot, placing it slightly in front of Darien's left, but was twisting his own body rightward while he did so, hinged on the heel of his right foot such that his left foot came off the ground to follow his momentum.
He spun around in front of Darien so he was almost completely facing the younger man, planting his left foot once he had nearly done a half-spin, placing himself between Darien and the Mandalore. Just as Darien's fist was balling, Kedemel's extended his open left hand out at his hip, palm forward, and brought it around in an arc, upward toward the ceiling, then downward, all the while bring his hand back in toward his body so that he could sweep Darien's aimed punch down and out away to Darien's right. Almost simultaneously, his own right hand of newly minted durasteel clenched into a fist at his right hip, and shot out diagonally straight for Darien's nose.


Darien:
His hand had been swatted away. Kedemel was suddenly in front of him, and danger was heading for his nose. Darien pulled back, stepping in the opposite direction, twisting from his torso to avoid the hit. But that was it. This was Kedemel, and he was supposed to be on his best behavior. Composure, and The Force. He met Kedemel's gaze but backed off. He'd get his chance later. "Forgive my...unacceptable...behavior." Was he talking to Kedemel, or Ker'dan? Possibly both.


Ker’dan:
Ker'dan's face remained impassive. Perhaps there was a hint of regret that the blow had been averted... "There is a blood debt. It was an acceptable response." His voice was gravelly. He almost smiled, but didn't. His grey eyes held respect for the younger man, a hint of what might have been sadness for the cause of the situation. "If that is the price you demand, that is admirable. There will be time for it. Later." He turned his grey eyes on Kedemel then. "Kedemel Sorath, thank you for seeing me." He'd never met the man, and his own intelligence had almost nothing on Sorath. This would prove an interesting day after all. "I am Ker'dan Akir, you need not be formal if you don't wish it." He motioned to the other Mandalorian. "My brother, Kel'dan Akir."


Kedemel:
Kedemel straightened his back and raised his chin in a disarming gesture, and his arms fell back to his sides, as if to say he was done. But with his back still to the Mandalorians, he stared turbolaser blasts through Darien's skull. His jaw was clenched. The veins in his neck and forehead bulged. He raged in the Force, and the minor displeasure he had allowed Darien to feel in the infirmary could now easily be regarded as a smile. His wide-eyed stare spoke for him: Darien's behavior had indeed been unacceptable. And there would be no forgiveness. But he remembered himself, and he felt the gazes of many passers-by their way. They had already been staring at the Mandalorians anyway, and now there had been a kerfuffle. Kedemel channeled his anger into some minor crowd control, gently reminding everyone to be on their way and that there was nothing to see here. He held Darien's gaze a few moments longer, ensuring the other knew that his apology was not the end of the matter, then blinked and relaxed his expression seemingly without effort.
He turned around to face the Mandalorians, regarding Kel'dan with a brief nod, but keeping his focus on the Mandalore. "No, of course, no formalities. I'm not the politician the Governors are. But we shouldn't talk here." He stepped back, and with a wave of his hand, indicated a lift near the back of the bay, different from the one he'd come up on, but similarly flanked by guards as the other had been. He began to walk toward it, the others to follow. As he turned, he glanced at Darien again, forcing himself into Darien's mind. Come, but keep your distance. Do that again and you'll be the one getting a new arm. It wasn't that he would hear Kedemel, as in the popular imagination that had people believing Force users actually spoke to one another telepathically. It was more that Kedemel used the Force to transmit to Darien a series of warnings and threatening images. A forced vision, of sorts, but he would get the point. "Have you visited Gerrenthum before?" He asked the Mandalore, unsure if Lang had ever had dealings with him; but equally unsure if the Mandalore would admit to it even if they had.

Darien:
It was receding. Darien was still tense, but both his anger and The Force were withdrawing from the conversation. Maybe it was because he knew when he was beat? Or, maybe he was just not foolish enough to give it another shot in front of Kedemel. As it was, under Sorath's gaze he felt pretty damn small. He'd get his chance. He'd heard Ker'dan plainly agree to it. So, later. It would keep until then. When Ked brushed past him, Darien reflexively lowered his head. Kedemel was in charge, he hadn't completely forgotten. Darien knew he was in for it later. He'd just attempted assault on a dignitary. That wouldn't go without punishment. He turned to follow, letting the Akirs get ahead of him so they could easily talk with Kedemel.


Ker’dan:
He fell into step with Sorath. If Darien's actions bothered him in the slightest, it did not show. He was surprised he hadn't had to restrain Kel'dan though. Perhaps his brother had a better head for this sort of thing than he'd thought. "Years ago." He answered truthfully. "Lang and I had dealings, though he wanted things I was unwilling to give him. Our diplomatic relationship was a short one."

Kedemel:
Not surprising, Kedemel thought, but kept it to himself. Resentment toward Lang was not entirely strange on Gerrenthum of late, though. He had left an Empire without an Emperor, but despite their continuing want of a strong, single leader, expressed in their relative dissatisfaction with the Queen and after her the Council of Governors that had risen to rule, the public was less inclined to wish for Lang's return now that they saw the easily weakened government his absence left in its wake. Which of course had prompted the meeting with the Mandalorians, brought up at a meeting of the Council, at Kedemel's urging. "Unfortunate." The lift doors opened for all four of them and Kedemel stepped on. The doors closed once the four of them were on. "Such an alliance could've been.. effective. I speak for the Governors when I say I hope what's past can stay in the past. None of them are Keiran Lang." Because he would not have let the Empire fall apart, he didn't say. "Nor am I. I hope you'll see this as a fresh start."

The lift took them down, an incessant whooshing noise from outside the doors repeating itself every time they passed a floor. There were several hundred whooshes, so they were likely descending back to the cavernous underground. When the lift doors opened again, they were in a brightly lit hallway with durasteel walls painted white so it seemed even brighter, like the inside of a starship. Cleaning droids moved up and down the hall, small astromech units transporting information from office to office that couldn't be transmitted via Holonet. A few personnel were about, various beings in official Daimon officers' uniforms, but not many, except for the two black-armored guards outside the lift, then two more at the end of the long hallway, down which Kedemel now led them toward his office.

The door raised into the ceiling with a hiss, then slid back down once they were inside the holding room outside the office proper, a giant waiting space adorned with plush furniture, carpets, expensive art on the walls, rare and beautiful flora and fauna from various worlds expertly placed in corners and on tables; an unusual display of lavishness in the otherwise militaristic Daimon palace. Near the the back of the room, to the left of another door which led to the office itself, was a large desk made of dark wood.

Seated at it was a Twi'lek female attendant with light blue skin, also in a Daimon military uniform. She was hovering over a datapad and paid no mind when everyone entered. Kedemel turned to Ker'dan. "I trust your brother won't be offended. We should speak alone." He glanced at Darien. "Perhaps Darien could show him the palace."

It ostensibly didn't occur to Kedemel that the Mandalorians could pick up conversations inside the palace that shouldn't have been heard by anyone who wasn't in the employ of the Empire, or scout for architectural and security vulnerabilities. "Or they can just wait here, if that's preferable, though this could take some time." He regarded Kel'dan. "Whatever accommodations you require can be provided. Food, drink, quarters. Women.. or, you know." Then he looked at Ker'dan again. "But we have to speak alone."


*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*
Kedemel:
After a few hours of being holed up in Kedemel's office, he finally emerged with Ker'dan, stepping back into the holding room where Darien was supposed to be waiting with Kel'dan, who the younger man had been instructed to keep company. Kedemel's Twi'lek assistant, still sitting patiently at her desk flipping through reports on her information terminal and fielding comms for her boss, had been instructed to call Darien back to the holding room when Kedemel knew his and Ker'dan's meeting was nearing its end.


Darien:
When his comm chirp, he gladly answered it. "Time to go back." He hadn't taken Kel'dan far, so it wouldn't take them too long to return. Which was great because after about the first ten minutes he had given up on trying to seem professional.


Kel’dan
His eyes narrowed on Darien... And he sighed. "Thank the gods," he whispered to himself. This 'tour' from one such Darien Tekal had been damn near unbearable... Speech, conversation had long since stopped. He turned on heel to follow after Darien as he walked back.


Kedemel:
Kedemel smiled wryly to Darien, but didn't say anything, almost instantly turning his attention to Kel'dan on their return. He could feel the Mandalorian's relief at not having to be shuffled around anymore; and Darien's at not having to do it. "The official tour isn't very entertaining. But I've talked it over with Manda'lor, and I have something much more entertaining in mind." He grinned sidelong at Ker'dan, then turned briefly to his assistant. "Find me with any emergencies." But there would be none, he knew; so did she. She nodded as he was sweeping past them all to lead them out of the holding room back into the pristine, white-painted hallway, which faded into more meandering tunnels but were not as well-kept, worn duracrete walls with grated flooring, seemingly levels and levels still beneath them. They took a turbolift up here, walked more, a turbolift down there, way down, until finally they arrived in a large hallway, the same relatively run-down design as all the others except the one leading to Kedemel's office. Only this one was solid duracrete and arched at the ceiling, high enough off the ground that the hallway was effectively an echo-chamber.
Small sconces with dim artificial lighting lined either side. At its end were two large durasteel doors, flanked by the customary black-clad guards. Kedemel led everyone toward the double-doors. The guard on the right turned around and triggered the doors open with the control panel. They parted sideways, but slowly, heavy as they were, grating against the duracrete floor and disappearing into the wall. THey were given entry to a massive chamber no smaller than a shock ball field. The floor was the same duracrete as the hallway, the walls solid durasteel, but lined on any side with various weapons - melee, blasters - as well as myriad sets of armor, training droids, and all manner of combat equipment. Now they were actually in an echo chamber, as the ceiling rose out of sight, but the room was more brightly light all around than the hallway had been, so no one would have any trouble seeing. His arms were outstretched as he entered, and he turned to walk backward so he could face the others, eventually stopping once they'd reached the center of the room. "Well?" he asked, looking at Ker'dan. "This will do, right?" He was clearly being rhetorical, because he quickly fixated on Darien, his wry smile returning. "I think it's time we began your training in earnest, Darien." He lifted his right hand, palm up, and aimed it at Ker'dan. "You wanted your shot at our guest. Now you can have it. Manda'lor's rules."
lit*


Ker’dan:
The big mandalorian wasn't smiling, but he was clearly not pissed about this turn of events. "This'll do." He chuckled. Ker'dan turned around once, taking in the room. It wasn't far from something he'd come up with himself for a training area. Traditionally, the challenger named the time and place and the challenged named weapon. Steel grey eyes turned to Darien, resting on the younger man with interest. "No weapons, no armor, traditional battle circle rules." He said.


Darien:
He had been expecting to be released from duty. He had taken Kel'dan back to the holding room with the anticipation of getting clearance to return to his hangar duties. It wasn't to be. The moment he saw Kedemel's expression he knew things were going a different way. He had followed with through every hallway, every turboshaft, keeping as much distance as he could between himself and the mandals. His anger had faded, but he didn't want to tempt fate. He was behind Ker'dan and his brother, slightly off to the right, when Kedemel finally stopped them. He'd been in similar training rooms before. It was nothing new. What was new? His eyes narrowed slightly when Kedemel addressed him. Manda'lor's rules? And there they were. He could do that. A simple nod was given. Ker'dan was willing, and Ked had given permission by bringing him down here. He began un-strapping his armor.


Kel’dan:
As soon as Kedemel had said-- 'will this do?', he got the impression of what was coming... A smile curved his lips as he set his helmet down. He crossed the distance between himself and Ker'dan as Kedemel continued to speak... Manda'lor's rules. He didn't-- quite-- chuckle, but it was close. "Brother," he said in a soft tone, offering a hand to help take off the heavy Mandalorian armor.


Kedemel:
Kedemel backed away from the center of the training area, giving deference to Ker'dan and Darien. His wry smile faded into sobriety, and when he was far enough away from where he thought the action would take place, crossed his arms over his chest, watching carefully as Kel'dan helped remove his brother's armor. He opened himself to the Force, released from deep inside the anger he had briefly shown earlier when Darien had taken a swing at Ker'dan, channeling it into waves of energy that he let pulse outward, where they bounced off the others and returned signals to him: muscle tension, breathing rate, mental awareness. But ostensibly, he was just a casual observer.


Ker’dan:
Ker'dan nodded to his brother. His heavier armor was stronger, but was a pain to get in and out of quickly without an extra pair of hands. He began unstrapping pieces, removing his gauntlets and gloves first. Next came the pistol belt. He allowed Kel'dan to help with the chest and back plating, as well as the heavy pauldron pieces.


Darien:
It had taken less time for Darien to rid himself of the black protective shell he'd been wearing. It might have been light, but it was also confining. As the Akirs worked together to remove Ker'dan's armor, Darien focused inward. That anger that had first pushed him into motion was being culled. He'd let it slip before. It had gotten away from his control. Now? He was tense, ready and waiting. While they finished, he moved the black casing out of the way.


Kel’dan:
Between the two of them, they made quick work of removing the armor... He sighed as the last piece came off and he set it off to the side and slapped Ker'dan on the back of the shoulder. No words spoken, but it was obvious in body language. It was good luck and I expect you to win in the same gesture... He took his steps back and fell into an at-ease stance beside Kedemel.


Kedemel:
Kedemel nodded to Kel'dan as he came over, following him briefly with his eyes until he was almost next to him, then he turned his focus back to Ker'dan and especially Darien. "Hopefully this will make up for the tour," he said to Kel'dan.


Kel’dan:
"Not the tour so much as the company, I'm afraid," he said very softly.


Ker’dan:
Ker nodded to his brother once he was unarmored, and turned to face Darien and Kedemel. "Can we mark a circular ring on the floor?"


Darien:
He all but groaned. So much hesitation was involved with getting this started. They had their rules, and he was ready. Why mark the ring? But he waited, letting his impatience feed his anger. It was Manda'lor's rules. "Let's get this going before you die of old age. Hm?"



Kedemel;
So Ker'dan had been serious. How very primitive, Kedemel thought. He turned around and headed for the wall opposite the large doors, which were slamming back shut, sending a resounding boom through the chamber. Given the size of the training room, it took him a moment to go to one of the weapons racks and return with some kind of uncivilized, Old Republic-aged weapon. It was a staff, about a meter and a half in length, of semi-rusted steel, with half-meter blades on either end of it. But despite its apparent age, it was durable. Kedemel gripped the weapon with both hands, but held his left lower, dragging one of the blades in a circle around the two of them, walking backwards while the steel grated against the duracrete, making a rough but visible circle approximately ten meters in diameter around the two of them. Once he was done, he tossed the staff back toward the rack he'd gotten it from, though it was so far away it hardly came close to reaching it. It clattered to the ground with a metallic clank that echoed through the chamber. Then he moved to stand next to Kel'dan again. "That'll do."


Ker’dan:
Ker'dan chuckled. It sounded like dry rocks tumbled together. If he was insulted, it didn't show in the slightest. "We mark the ring because if either of us steps a foot outside it, he loses. This is how we train raw recruits on the 'Yaim. In fact, your brother faced the very same rules for his first match."


Darien:
His jaw tightened, bringing a deep frown to his expression. His brother? "Yeah, about that..." The phrase wasn't finished. Darien had lifted his right hand, sending a punch for Ker'dan's stomach. There was no Force behind it. Ker'dan had specifically requested classic rules. That, however, didn't mean it was lacking in impact.


Ker’dan:
Darien would find that the big Mandal was much quicker than he looked. Ker turned his body to the left, getting his core out of the way of the punch just barely. In the same spirit second, he pushed to his left with his right leg, intending to hip check Darien with the bulk of his greater weight to throw the boy off balance.


Darien:
Shifting his weight, Darien used the hip check. Ker'dan would have had to put a bit of his weight on his left leg to make it work. That gave Darien the opportunity to hook Ker'dan's left leg with Darien's right. The placement would have put pressure on Ker'dan's knee joint. The idea of it was that as Darien was knocked slightly off balance, Ker's stance would suffer with the support of his leg compromised


Ker’dan:
Darien's move would've worked, had Ker not expected it. He weighed more, and he knew it. As Dar's leg hooked his, Ker dropped his weight straight down for leverage, then leaned back to use Darien's move against him, trying to pull the younger man off his feet. He began to twist slightly, and would use that motion to throw Darien's body beneath his own as they went to the ground. That is, if Darien wasn't extremely quick.


Darien:
Down he went. With his right leg essentially wedged behind Ker'dan's knee there was nothing he could do to avoid it. Darien, though, wasn't out of ideas. As he fell, and Ker'dan twisted, Darien aimed an elbow for Ker'dan's side. He wouldn't hit the Mand'lor's ribcage due to his angle, but he might have gotten a blow in to Ker'dan's solar plexus.


Ker’dan:
The elbow did catch him in the bread basket, and it hurt. He exhaled painfully, then raised up to return the favor by knocking several of Darien's teeth out with his massive right fist, a classic right hook.


Darien:
He shifted his head, pushing to the left and lifting his right shoulder to avoid Ker'dan's heavy fist. He'd managed to knock the Akir's breath away. It was a start. As Ker'dan's hand slammed into the floor, Darien aimed a hard chop with his left hand toward the elbow of that arm. He wasn't in the best of positions, but he didn't need to be. All that mattered was making Ker'dan hurt. Darien wasn't in it for the 'win'.


Ker’dan:
His right fist hit the floor and dented the deck plate beside Darien's head. Ker'dan gritted his teeth in pain as he pulled air into his lungs, then, at the same time Darien was trying to chop, his weight transferred and his left hand darted to catch the blow and hold Darien's arm still. His body dropped again, his forehead aimed to smash Darien's nose.


Darien:
He was pinned. Darien had nowhere to go, and no manner to get there. Ker'dan still had his leg wedged, and the Manda'lor's weight was settled over his own. He took the hit. He had to. There was no way to get out of it without using The Force. Instincts took over once he saw stars, and The Force did blossom. Beckoned to, or not, The Force responded to the injury as blood rushed to the area. Reaction -- base instinct. An invisible hand reached for Ker'dan's throat.


Ker’dan:
Feeling the invisible grip, Ker snarled with what breath he had left and began to his weight to crush the leg he had pinned...


Kel’dan:
It happened in an instant. The blink of an eye. It was as if his mind simply... relaxed. And the Force unfurled like the sepals away from a budding flower... He tapped into it in a heartbeat. He crossed the distance between himself and the two inside the ring... He shoved Ker'dan to the side (With Dave's prior permission). Dagger was drawn in another blink of an eye and he moved to press it against Darien's throat. "Calm yourself, Darien Tekal." He whispered, it was genuine anger in his voice... As well as in The Force.


Ker’dan:
The shove took Ker by surprise, and he released his hold on Darien's wrist and the momentum forced him to release the leglock as well. He hit the ground and rolled to the side, hand reaching for his throat.


Kedemel:
Kedemel felt the rising energy next to him, but was more focused on Darien's use of the Force, knowing full well he had not at all meant to use it. Just a few weeks prior, he had been uncomfortable even discussing it, much less training with it, and now, when he was on the ground, and his basest instincts were laid bare, he had let it flow through him. Kedemel smiled, but only slightly, fully expecting Ker'dan to deal with the the problem. But he frowned when he Kel'dan rushed from his side to interfere. He didn't move himself, though, content to let things play out as they would. He stood idly by, arms crossed once more over his chest.


Darien:
The weight over top of him had suddenly disappeared, as had the pressure on his leg. Kel'dan. Darien pinned himself as still as he could, grey eyes locked onto the Manda'lor's brother. Ker'dan would find his breath rushing back to him. That invisible grasp had suddenly disappeared. There was nothing like a blade to the neck to bring some clarity.


Kel’dan:
Kel'dan's eyes narrowed on him, met his gaze... There was a genuine wish to do bodily harm in those green eyes... But he didn't do anything else. Rather, he pressed the blade in a little tighter, but didn't draw blood. "Good boy," he whispered to Darien. and nodded once in approval. "If your power is so readily at your disposal... You should subject yourself to combat more often... One should always have control over such things." He stood up, dagger flipping between fingers, and then back into the sheath at his belt.


Ker’dan:
Ker'dan got to his feet, anger plainly visible on his face. He was angry and disappointed at Darien for losing control, angry at his brother for stepping in, and angry at Kedemel, who had plainly engineered this as some lesson for Darien. His grey eyes glared at each man in turn, but he said nothing. Gradually, his breathing slowed and the anger drained away. Now was not the time for anger. Grey eyes found Darien's once more. "The debt is paid." He said, his tone icy.


Darien:
"Lousy piece of shit." Kel'dan had spoken, as had Ker, but Darien still lay on the floor. His voice was nasally, and his nose bleeding, but he lay there laughing. Just... laughing. His words hadn't been directed to Ker'dan, but instead the brother. He'd been beaten, but he'd given it as good as he'd gotten. Groaning as he moved, Darien was carefully rolling into his side, maneuvering to stand.