Revan the Barbarian
Interlude: The Taris Dueling Scene
Duel One: Dead-Eye Duncan!
Note: Text within parenthesis, (like this,) indicates that aliens are speaking.
Alistair, Carth, Saino, and Mission walked through the cantina. Mission had chained herself to Alistair, explaining that it would look less suspicious since she still had the tattoos of a slave.
One section had the dancing platform, with half-nude Twi-lek girls and Bith musicians swinging and playing. Another was a lounge of some sort. Some snooty girl saw Saino and yelled at him, thinking he was a waiter. He let her yell for a minute, then he said, in a weirdly echoing voice, "I am not your waiter. You will go home and rethink your life." "You are not my waiter. I will go home and rethink my life." She was halfway through the main area when a flustered man with clothing remarkably similar to Saino's ran up with a tray of drinks and gave one to the girl. She took it, then kept on walking.
Carth turned to Saino with an amused look on his face. "What did you do to her?" "Eh, a little application of Force Persuade never hurt anyone, now did it?" "No, I suppose not…" "Quiet." A ripple of noise was going around through the cantina; "A duel's about to start… who's in it? Oh, who cares? Just Duncan and Gerlon…" Carth looked around. "What's going on?" A passing citizen heard and remarked, "Oh, just a duel. It won't be much to watch, if it's just Duncan and Gerlon. Well, there's nothing else to do; let's go watch." They went over to one of the many screens that protruded from the walls of the cantina. They were just flickering to life.
"Ladies and gentlemen, take a break from your drinks and your games, we've got something going on here! It's… a duel!" The crowd, what little there is of it, cheers. "In this corner, the one-handed wonder, quick on his guns, the clear crowd favorite… Gerlon Two-Fingers!" Another lack-luster cheer. "And in this corner, he's persistent, he's tenacious, he's the quickest to fall since… oh wait, he is the quickest to fall, ha-ha! Back for yet another round… Dead-Eye Duncan! And now, without further ado… begin!
"Duncan is the first to draw- oh, he's dropped his blaster! He's fumbling about for it… and Gerlon fires! And would you look there, Duncan is down yet again! Don't worry folks, he's just unconscious! As usual, ha-ha!
"That's it for today, folks! Come back next time!" The screens shut down, awaiting the next duel.
"Hmm… I hope they take fresh faces; I could use a challenge." "Oh no you don't! You could kill someone in there!" "Uh, I don't think so. The announcer said he was just unconscious, so that means they probably have energy suppressors. They'll be fine, old man." "Mission, I know about the energy suppressors! I'm not worried about his gun, I'm worried about his sword!" "Hey, I'm standing right here. You think you could have a little decency? Anyway, I want a challenge; I'm signing up." There was no arguing with him.
He asked the bartender about the duels, and he pointed to the back of the cantina, to an area they hadn't explored yet. They went in, and found that it wasn't as well lit as the rest of the cantina. Alistair scrutinized the people he saw.
A middle-aged manholding his side, a blaster gripped in his untrained hand. Duncan, obviously. Bah, not worth my time…
A younger man, arrogance in his demeanor, one hand partially blown away. Gerlon. He's not worth it, either. Maybe once, he might have been. But not anymore…
A woman, cold and stony-eyed, rapier-style vibrosword held in a hand that knew its work. Hmm, there's a challenge, heh-heh…
An old man? Oh-ho, he has the bearing of a champion. And that sword of his… you don't see two-ended vibroswords much nowadays. He'll be a challenge, for sure…
Oh, there's got to be a few more… ah, there. The Rodian. He's insane, I can tell that from here. He must be the current champ. But I'll change that before too long, that I will…
"Yo, Alistair, come back to us." "Huh? Sorry, I was looking my prey over." "Prey? What's that supposed to mean?" "Nothing, that's just my inner self talking." "Riiiight… Hey, there's Ajuur. He's the one we're looking for." "A Hutt? Wonderful…" They walked over to the dais where the bloated, stinking, ancient form of Ajuur the Hutt reclined and observed his limited world.
Ajuur had seen duelists come and go, legends form and dissipate, champions reign and be cut down. He remembered the arrival of Dweego the Rodian, now known as Twitch. He remembered when Marl von Krasen, now simply Marl, was a fresh-faced noble's son with a thing for swords. He was the champion for five years before Gerlon Harkolli came and upset him. People still talked of the accident, three years ago, that took out Gerlon's hand and spirit. He remembered the days before Marl, before Gerlon and Twitch and Emily Fortunata (a.k.a. "Ice"), when duels were deathmatches, and the champion was Bendak Starkiller. Long ago were those days, and longer was the memory of Ajuur.
Now there was a new face, another Mandalorian by the looks of him. He didn't hide behind a mask, either; just an eyepiece, Bothan by the looks of it. There's an air about this one, an air of mystery. Hmm, he could work; the arena needs new blood! Dismissing such thoughts for now, he straightened and prepared to speak. (No more bets for now, off-worlder, the next duel isn't until tonight. Come back then.) "I'm not here for bets, Ajuur. I'm here to fight." I was right about him. He looks like a warrior, born and bred. Ha, he's a Mandalorian, of course he's born and bred to it! (Are you now? Eh, you look tough. People bet lots on tough looking duelists.)
(Alright, consider yourself a duelist. Now pay attention; you get ten percent of the pot each time you win. You lose, you get nothing but a free check-up. There are energy suppressors in place, both electrical and kinetic, so there won't be any blood or death. That okay, off-worlder?) "Yeah, sure. I don't like killing when there's no war, anyway." (Smart way to think. Now, if you want, we can set you up right now, let you learn the ropes. Let's see… ah, how about Duncan? He's at the bottom now, and you're a new-comer, so you've got to start at the bottom. Think you're ready?) "For him? Sure, bring it on. But only if my friends get ringside seats." (Ha, you drive a hard bargain! Sure, sure, just head through those doors there. Dead-Eye!)
Alistair didn't wait to hear the rest; he was striding towards the passage he saw in the corner behind Twitch. As he passed by, the crazed Rodian shouted at him, "Hey you, let's go! Bam, pow, kaboom!" The threats were ignored.
Once through the hall, he found a room with a droid attendant. "Ah, hello. You must be the new duelist. Let me examine your weapons…" "I won't be pulling them; I'm gonna use my fists." "Oh? Well, it's just Dead-Eye Duncan, so you'll be okay. Now, you need a name for the announcer to call you out with." Alistair considered for a second, then he shrugged. "Oh, how about the Mysterious Stranger?" "Ah, good name, sir. Now, you are to wait here for the announcements to be made and bets to be placed, then you can go out when I say so."
Alistair sat on the bench and awaited the call. He didn't wait long. He strode out into the ring…
"Ladies and gentlemen, draw your eyes to the center ring! We've got something special here tonight: a fresh face!" The crowd, rather larger this time than last, cheered. "In this corner; you've seen him lose night after night after night! But this time, he's got fresh meat! Will he finally get past the bottom rung? I give you… Dead-Eye Duncan!" There were jeers and catcalls from the crowd.
"And in this corner, the new guy on the block! Emerging from the shadows with no history, no past, no name, and just his Mandalorian good looks, I give you… the Mysterious Stranger!" Loud cheering; the crowd was bored with the old set.
"And now, without further ado, let the duel… begin!
"Duncan draws, and look at that, he didn't drop it! He fires! He misses! The Stranger isn't flinching!
"He moves! He runs toward Duncan and- oh my gods, Duncan is flying through the air! He's down! Completely unconscious, dropped by a flying side kick! The Mysterious Stranger is the winner, no surprise there!
It's a good start, Stranger, but you'll have to fight better people than Duncan to get any respect around here! Well, that's that! Until next time, folks!" A crackle of static indicated that the announcer was gone, and the entertainment was over.
Ten minutes later, Alistair stepped through the doorway, to the sound of cheers from those that were at the view screens. Behind him were a med droid and, on a stretcher, Duncan; despite the suppressors, he had been severely hurt by Alistair's one move.
Alistair ignored the acclamation and headed straight for Ajuur. Ajuur was looking exited. (Good fight, stranger! We haven't seen the likes of you since the Starkiller! Now, like I said; ten percent.) Alistair brought out his datapad, and the creds were transferred to his account.
(Come back tonight; Marl and Ice will be dueling, then we can set you up with Gerlon. Sound good?) "Sure, I'll be here." He turned to his companions, waited while Mission was rechained, then they headed for the exit.
However, on the way out, Alistair's eye fell on a new person; a hulking form covered head to toe in Mandalorian battle armor. Alistair's senses reeled. Oh man, this guy is strong! Then he recovered himself, and looked deeper. He's old, too, very old. At my current level, he would make mincemeat out of me. Ah, he's probably retired, so that's all right. In the middle of these thoughts, the man in the armor noticed him and stepped over. His voice sounded overly mechanical, even coming from the filters built into all Mandalorian helmets; "Hey, a fellow exile. How do you stand this place?" "How do you stand it, old one?" "Ah, you get used to it after all the years. Say, what clan do you hail from?" "I hail from the Smethwycke clan, of Demeralia VII."
The other man recoiled slightly. "Smethwycke? Weren't they wiped out in the final fight on Malachor V? I didn't know there were any Mandalorian survivors on any side, how did you get out?" "I don't know… for some reason, I can't remember anything past the first few battles I was in. Sorry." "Oh. Damn, I knew I shouldn't have left! I had a chance at endless glory, and I squandered it for this! This rotted backwater of a planet, with nothing but duels and Pazaak to occupy you!" Then he stopped and collected himself. "Oh, by the way, I'm Bendak Starkiller." "I'm Alistair Smethwycke." They shook hands.
"Look, Bendak, I've got to go now. See you around." "Yeah, see you." The armored man went to a corner, despondency coming off of him in waves, as Alistair and his companions stepped back into the afternoon sunlight and filtered air of the Upper City.
End
