Fourteen long years after defeating the Sith Lord DARTH TRAYA
upon Malachor V, the JEDI EXILE, Tysy Dvukh, still searches for
her former master, REVAN. Mysterious signals in hyperspace
coming from Nar Shaddaa may give some clue to his whereabouts,
but the Exile wishes to proceed with caution. The TRUE SITH may
be posing a great threat to the galaxy, but what if REVAN doesn't
want to fight?

Meanwhile, the Exile has left her former companions ATTON RAND,
VISAS MARR, MIRA, and the DISCIPLE upon Dantooine. As Darth
Traya had revealed before she died, these four were the true future
Jedi. They have been training up Padawans in the ways of the Light.

TYSY must find new comrades if she will go to war against the True Sith...

********************************************

"You are not Jedi, not truly. And for that, I loved you."

Even after 14 years, Darth Traya's words still echoed in the Exile's ears.

Mandalore was piloting the Ebon Hawk, as he had ever since
Tysy had left Atton Rand and the others at the Jedi Academy. Their
duty was to train new Padawans in the ways of the Light, as they
were the true future Jedi Masters. Tysy, however, was another story.
As an exile, and a willing one, she did not wish to return to Dantooine.
Nor did she want anything to do with being on a new Jedi Council.

"But listen, Exile. Even though I would let the galaxy die for you,
you will still pay the price for striking me down. I am a Sith Lord, and
I will not die quietly. You have heard the future straight from me, the
fates of all your companions from my very lips! Hear your fate now...

"You will search for Revan, but it will take you fourteen years to find
him. Fourteen years of continued exile, with only one other to help.
With Mandalore at your side, you will search in vain, and you will
leave the others at the Jedi Academy. They have destinies to fulfill.

"As do you. You may think you're powerful, Exile, but there will be one
man at whose feet you will fall down flat! He is one of three who have a
chance at fighting the True Sith. This one is called the Warlord. Beware!
Revan embodies POWER, and it's what you'll need if the True Sith will
fall. The second, the Warlord, is PRINCIPLED. He never wavers, never falls.

"Lastly, Tysy, you embody PASSION. A Jedi, you're not! The Council
was right to exile you, but without your passion, the True Sith will win.

"I cannot wait to see you humbled! I may die now, Exile, but yet I'll live!"

*************************************

Mandalore startled Tysy Dvukh out of her pensive reverie. "We're
about to land on Nar Shaddaa," he told her. "Fasten your seat belt."

The Exile obeyed. Soon she and Mandalore exited onto the cold,
gray surface of a stinking planet. Ragged slum-dwellers swarmed all
around her. The Refugee Sector. The sweaty stench was all too familiar.

Mandalore sighed a little, not being able to smell the cold, dank night air of Nar Shaddaa, and not really in the mood to either. He was glad his feet were on gravel, flat ground.. It was an all to familiar place to come back to, and one place that he would rue coming back to. For it was here his life changed for the worse. He looked at the Exile, walking over and putting a hand on her left shoulder. "With all the thoughts of idiotic men and dangerous thugs, it would be hard to locate anyone, let alone a powerful Sith Lord.." He said with a rusty laugh. He clenched his fists, the gloves around his fingers bending with the metal plates. "Tsysy, please, go with caution. I wouldn't want to lose you in the crowd," he said, walking behind her, following her pace. "Any idea where to go first?" He had mumbled as his eyes darted around the main center of the city, and down the large gap in the middle, snorting a little as it was sealed by durasteel long ago, a waste of a good killing spot if you asked him.

((Alright, for those of you who have never seen Patrick Stewart in action, you should know that he's British. For some reason, It's very important to me that when you 'picture' Marcus speaking, you 'picture' him as a proper British gentlemen. That means he pronounces stuff like, for example, schedule, as shedule. If you have a problem with that... well, there's really nothing I can do about it.
Oh, and he's bald. Mandalore is welcome to make some comments about that.))

Marcus brought his small ship out of hyperspace in the Y'Toub system, in orbit of the moon known as Nar Shaddaa. He could sense her... the Exile. She was there, on the smuggler's moon. Bringing the ship to the upper atmosphere, he began scanning for her ship - what was it called. The Ebony Falcon? No, the Ebon Hawk.
He hailed the dock authorities.
*This is Doctor Sylphis Sernt. I'm not scheduled to dock, but I am in a bit of a rush,* he said, using the alias he had adopted during the Purge - the alias that while hiding the fact that he was a Jedi, still allowed him to do some good... and medical studies in the Jedi Temple had helped with that personna. He had even thought of becoming a lisenced doctor at one point, but the idea slipped away - nothing more now that a 'what if'.
"Doctor Sylphis Sernt, this is lieutenant Darshil, of the Nar Saddaa docking authority. You will have to pay a 200 credit docking fee upon arrival, as well as submit to a search of the vessel."
*I understand,* he replied.
"Acknowleged. You are cleared for docking. Have a pleasent stay at Nar Shaddaa, Doctor."
*Right,* he muttered arcastically, as the woman signed off the channel. He guided the ship through to the docking bay, where the tractor beams took over his course and speed. He stood, hid his blue bladed lightsaber in the folds of his robes, and waited for the ship to dock.

*************************************

The docking hatch opened, and Marcus walked down the ramp. He was met by three soldiers, there blaster rifles hanging at their sides. They stared at his robes, and Marcus could have sworn that one of the had seen the glint from his lightsaber.
*Good evening, gentlemen,* he said jovially. He waved his hand subtley as he said *Let's make this quick, shall we?*
"Alright sir, if you'll step over here, we can get this over with soon," said the lead guard, in a friendly voice. "I don't want to keep you here too long."
*Yes, thank you,* responded Marcus.
The soldiers did a quick visual scan of the ship, then a halfhearted scan with their equipment.
"Alright, Dr. Sernt, sorry that took so long," said the guard, returning to the bottom of the ramp. "Everything's clear."
*Excellent,* said Marcus. He pulled a credits disc from his robes, and handed it to the guard. *That's the docking fee.*
"Thank you, Doctor. See you around."
*Yes. quite.*

*************************************

Marcus left the docking ring, and walked into the central square. He noted with satisfaction that where a gaping whole had been years before, there was now a thick durasteel plate. It had been nothing more than a death trap waiting to happen.
He looked around, wondering where he shold start looking for the Exile, when he saw her. She was with a man in strange armour, and they were looking away from him. He decided that secrecy was the best policy for now. Withdrawing his Force aura toward him, he approached slowly, keeping his distance, but keeping them in site.

Cloud Strife, expert mechanic and mercenary, was currently in the Maw, manuvering his ship, the BEW Enterprise, as close as he could to a black hole without going in. Cloud's personal record was 12 feet from the hole.
"Maybe I'll get even closer this time." Cloud thought. He loved space, but on the inside, he both was sad for the death of his true love, Aerith Gainsborough, and furious for her killer, Darth Sephiroth, at the same time. He decided that black hole 'jumping' can wait. He jumped to hyperspace toward Nar Shaddaa.

Edward Danes stood at the window, looking outside towards the dark shadows of all cities. He was thinking, calculating and imagining the many horrors of war. One might find this strange, but Danes had always been all about war. He was thinking of maybe making a silent assault and hiding in all places... But he didn't have enough soldiers... He had to wait.
The long time of waiting made him sometimes mad, but he refrained himself since he knew that war is lead through planning, not consideration. He opened his eyes and let the thoughts go away for a while, since no one could think of war forever. Danes approached his desk and sat at it. He tried to make another part of some new battle plan, but he was too tired. He wanted to continue, but he realized that rest is important as much as concentration. He let the pencil out of his right hand and fell asleep.

Mandalore looked around a little, with a strange feeling of being watched. He spun around quickly, pulling out a Mandalorian pistol with his right hand and aiming at the man who approached. "Speak," was all he said, and all that needed to be said. As many know, he is not a man for words.

*Stand down,* said Marcus, not drawing his lightsaber. *I am a friend.* He stared into Mandalore's visor. *I am Marcus Gent. A Jedi, seaching for one Tysy Dvukh.*

He didn't lower the pistol. "And that matters why?" He switched hands with the blaster. "Why are you looking for her?" He said, his rusty voice crackling a little as he spoke, slightly muffled by his mask.

*I am a Jedi Master,* he said, as if this was enough reason. When he realized that it was not, he continued. *I sensed a Force sensative passing by while in hiding on Talravin. I followed, and realized who I was after when I identified the ship as the Ebon Hawk.*

Reacting instinctively, Tysy grabbed Mandalore's arm, and they fled...

Amid the swarming, teeming crowd of Nar Shaddaa, Tysy did not feel at home.
After spending almost 14 years with only Mandalore aboard the Ebon Hawk,
being around so many people all at once made her uneasy. After all, the last
time she had visited this planet, everyone had literally been out to get her.
Especially the Exchange, which did not seem to notice her this time. Luckily.

"Mandalore, do you get the feeling we're being watched?" she mumbled wryly.
Of course, they were BOTH being watched by the angry refugees who tried
to push and shove their way past them. Once they received a glare from a
certain man in a red helmet, however, their faces turned as white as paste.
Tysy was extremely glad that she had the Mandalorian watching her back.

"I think we should head for a huge bar," said Tysy. "It would have news.
People there would gossip, and maybe one of them might know something
about Revan. Let's not go into the Jek'Jek'Tarr, though. That place is not
only full of gases poisonous to humans, but it also gives me the creeps."

Mandalore nodded. He guided the Exile through a few more rivers of
sweaty, sticky bodies, and soon they were at the door of a cantina.
This one, however, was no ordinary drunkard's haven. It was called
the Duelist's Dive, notorious for its nightly two-person brawls.

"Good evening," drawled a huge Hutt in his slurpy native language.
"Perhaps you would care for a drink, Mandalorian and the female,
or would you rather watch the fighting? The Warlord isn't up, but
he soon will be once he finds a worthy challenger!" The Hutt laughed.

"Fighting?" asked Tysy. She watched Mandalore swivel his head, too.

"Of course!" the Hutt garbled. "Haven't you heard of this place? It's the
Duelist's Dive, where death matches happen nightly! I am Yogga the Hutt,
son of Vogga, who once was a powerful crime lord upon this planet. If you
wish to see anyone fight, just watch the screens, and the fun will begin!"

"Ummmm...Thank you, but no," smiled Tysy, shivering at the way Yogga
was looking at her. She may have been 40 in human years, but the Hutt
still had his wits--and libido--about him. "I want to know about Revan."

"Revan?!" Yogga laughed so hard that the Exile thought his bloated belly
would burst. "There's only one man on the whole planet who has this
information, and that's the Warlord. Edward Danes. You'll have to duel
him if you want to get it. However, more likely, you will end up sold as
a slave to the Exchange or dead, because the Warlord always wins!"

"Really?" asked Tysy. "I'm willing to fight him, because we need to know
where Revan is. There's something wrong going on, and we want his help."

Yogga scoffed. "You? You are not even fit to wash the lower half of his
sweaty undertunic post-duel! Ha, ha, ha! Seriously, why not watch him fight?
Then you can decide if you want to die." Yogga slithered away, leaving behind
a thick trail of slime. "Ha, ha ha. Duel the Warlord! She's insane!" he guffawed.

"Insane or not," hissed Tysy, her voice ice, "I'm going to do it. Konyets!"

That meant "the end". The Exile had made her decision. Did Mandalore approve?

Danes suddenly woke up. He blinked to determine if he was awake or not... obviously he was. Danes got up and looked yet again through the giant window down on Nar Shadaa, as it was... slimey and dark. His thoughts rained faster than the shards of light that passed through the entire city. He had a feeling, that something would happen. Suddenly, a soldier dressed in a heavy brown suit, wearing a brown hat covered most of his head came in.
"Another challenger, chief." said the soldier in a careless manner.
The Warlords soldiers gave him the nickname 'Master Chief'. Perhaps because he was an absolutist individual. No one was close enough to him (or brave enough) to call him just Danes. Strange acctually, since he was a very social person.
Danes turned around and asked:
"Any special rules?"
The soldier realized right then that the challenger won't survive.
"No." replied the soldier.
"Then let's go." replied Danes going through the door, making the soldier follow him. Danes was challenged before, now and then. Some challengers wanted to kill him to take over the great 'secret army' that he has installed throughout the galaxy, others wanted him as a trophy, while some just wanted him dead because they hated him. There was also a rumor that the exchange contracted his head, but it was never confirmed. Danes followed and entered his store room, right in front of the arena, where the crowd was getting ready for the match.

((Sorry I can't post anymore right now. I am busy.))

Cloud exits hyperspace over Nar Shaddaa. He sees the Ebon Hawk and some other ship. "Woah," Cloud thought. "Better turn on my shielding system." He flips a switch and multiple shields appeared over the ship. It was a new design of his. The shields were in layers. One over the other. That way, if they penatrated the 1st layer, the second one would keep out laser blasts, then the third, ect. The secret to do this was Cloud's and Cloud's alone. Plus, they were invisable to the naked eye. He moved the BEW Enterprise closer to the other ships.

Mandalore scoffed a little, then looked down at the Exile. "Are you sure about this?" He looked around the place, the look of this cantina was enough to influence his decision.

"I ca-" 'C'MON!' A pushy Gammorean grabbed Mandalore's arm and began to pull him towards the Arena. He didn't budge an inch. "Let go, pig." The gamorrean snorted a laugh and let go 'Of course, of course. But your challenger not waiting for long.' Mandalore looked at the Exile, then back at the Gamorrean. 'Challenger?' He asked.

The Gamorrean nodded stupidly and grabbed his arm again. Mandalore put his pistol's barrel to the Gamorrean's forehead, between his eyes. "You only get one more warning. Hand. Off." The Gamorrean let go, a little bit frightened. 'Anyway, you coming or not? People pay good money to see the king of the Mandalorians fight,' said the Gamorrean in a horrible, slurred English. He glanced at the Exile, then to the Gamorrean. "No. I'm staying." The Gamorrean grabbed his arm. Mandalore smoothly put the blaster pistol to the Gamorreans forehead and fired, the shot burning a hole through the stupid animal's head. There was a loud thud as the body hit the ground.

"As I was saying.." He put the pistol away. "You can't fight the Warlord. You're strong, but not that strong. I've heard.. stories, and let me put it this way.. " He glanced around at the crowd forming around the dead body. He grabbed the Exile's arm and walked her to a booth. "The challengers didn't come out in one piece."

((Alright, just ignore the posts where they find Marcus following them, then, right?))

Marcus followed the pair into a tightly packed bar. A number of patrons were singing in the corner, drunk out of their minds. He made his way to the bar, keeping an eye on the Exile and her companion, who looked like a Mandalorian.
*I'll have a Tarkalian Brandy, please,* he said, as the abrtender looked at him expectantly. A moment later, he had a tall glass of a deep red drink in his hand. He looked around, and noticed monitors along some of the walls. Presumably where entertainment was shown - in what form, he didn't know.
*Excuse me,* he said, addressing the bartender. *What sort of entertainment does this establishment offer?*
The bartender laughed. "You screwing with me? You can't have been on Nar Shaddaa in a long time. This is the Duelist's Dive, my friend."
Marcus continued to look at him, a blank look on his face. He rolled his eyes. "Dueling, my friend! Death matches every night!"
Marcus pulled a face of disgust. *How barbaric,* he muttered.

Tysy nodded once at Mandalore. "I know you don't want me to
fight the Warlord, and in all honesty, I would rather you duel him.
However, something Master Atris once said upon the cold surface
of Telos has haunted me these fourteen years. She said that I
had always looked for a way to avoid taking responsibility for
my actions, even though I did come back to face judgment
and exile. It is I who must fight the Warlord, and I alone,
because I'm the one who has insisted we find Revan the most...

"However, all duelers need seconds. If you are not sorely ashamed
of me after what I told Yogga the Hutt, I would have you be mine.
If the Warlord kills me, or at least knocks me unconscious during
the fight, you'll have the chance to continue it. Both of our lives
will be at stake, but I'd rather be killed first than have you die."

The Exile turned toward the arena. The Gamorrean was grunting
impatiently, wanting to grab her arm and drag her into the arena.
The Warlord was waiting, and the crowd was waiting for blood.

"You wonder why I'm doing this? Neither of us has any hope of
fighting the True Sith alone. We need Revan's help, and for that,
we need to know where he is so we can ask for it. No--beg for it!"

She strode forward, Mandalore following, her silver saberstaff ready.

((P.S. Would somebody please write the duel scene instead of me?
My fight scenes are utter crap. I'm terrible at writing them!!!))

((I'll just delete my posts from eariler. This way is betteer, anyway - I didn't want Marcus to be discovered that early anyway.))

((Well I could, but I'd have to control both the Warlord and Tsysy... And he'd have to agree first. I've had experience, I could make it work.))


Mandalore sighed, walking with her to the arena doors, but stopping. "Don't get yourself hurt." He said, watching her walk off into the lobby. He walked to a viewscreen near the back of the room and leaned on the wall, pressing a few keys into the pad next to it, to control the views, and to check out high scores and such. As always, the 'Warlord', as he was called, was first place. Mandalore still held the record as second. Unfortunately, he's only been here once.

Once.

((Vladimir, are you willing to let Xbx write the duel scene? I am. :) ))

((I was thinking of first demonstrating the Warlords power through a duel before yours. I'll finish it now))

((Whatever is fine with me. :) ))

Danes was getting ready to exit. The door opened to reveal the ring surrounded by people whose money bet on him. In the ring were multiple oponents: A Rodian, a human, a Trandoshan and a Covenant (http://www.covenant-clan.co.uk/images/elite.jpg). The competition seemed though for the Warlord. But only according to the people. Danes was starting to get in when a soldier said:
"Sir."
Danes turned and asked:
"Yes?"
"Um... Are you sure that this is a good idea?" began the soldier in fear "They don't seem so pleasant."
"Would you prefer to fight them yourself?" asked Danes.
"No, si-"
"Then let me take care of it." said Danes turning to the entrance to the ring and putting on his helmet.

The entire ring started to echo the voice of the announcer:
"Ladies and gentlemen! We have an indeed pleasant presentation in store for you."
"In one corner are the notorious, devious, powerful and intimidating bounty hunters that killed more people than a regular Sith would." the announcer paused and added:
"Give it up for... The Sunblazers!"
The crowd started to yell insanely to support the bounty hunters in their attempt to kill the Warlord. The hunters confidently bowed to show their greatness. The crowd suddenly stopped yelling and the announcer began again:
"And in the other corner is a man that no one has ever defeated." Danes continued to step through the shadows of the passage as the announcer spoke "The one that is feared by all and hunted by all." Danes continued to walk slowly.
"The one that kills in cold blood, no matter the age, the gender or race."
"The one that is known by all, but known by none on this planet."
"I give you the one legend, the only dueler... Master Chief!"
The crowd started to scream, whistle and yell 'boo' depending on someones opinion about Danes when he stepped in, wearing the mysterious Spartan armor (http://www.gamerevolution.com/oldsite/games/ps2/action/devil_may_cry_3_masterchief.jpg) which no one knows where he got it. The bounty hunters looked at him confidently, trying to intimidate him. The human who was a big bold man yelled intimidating:
"You're going to end up in pieces! When I come for you, you'll beg for me to kill you, but I won't."
Danes just sad coldly thorugh his armor:
"Bring it on."

The bounty hunters quickly started to draw out their pistols. But Danes drew out two and shot the Rodian rappidly in the torso, killing him while the others scattered. Danes saw that the Trandoshan got attached to the wall on his left. Chief quickly pulled out a machine gun and started to shoot at the lizard. The lizard continued in clock-wise motion to, followed on the wall by the multiple bullets Danes was firing. Suddenly Danes saw that his magazine was empty and that the human was charging at him. Danes threw away the machine gun and crouched down and flipped down with his right leg forwarded, forcing the human to fall down. Danes and the human quickly got up and started to circle around each other, but only for a moment. The human charged at Danes forwarding his right fist to hit Danes in the torso. Chief grabbed the arm with his both hands and tied it around him. Danes hit the man in the torso with his right elbow. The man tried to kick Danes with his left leg, but Danes stepped back and defended himself with his right hand. Then Danes hit the man with his left fist in the torso, then with his right and again with the left fist. Then Danes grabbed the most strength and hit the man, making him fly and hit the wall.
Danes quickly pulled out a shotgun out of his left pocket with his right hand. Then Danes aimed and fired, killing the man. Suddenly the Trandoshan appeared next to Danes' neck, thinking of killing him. But Danes pulled the shotgun next to his neck and fired, blowing the Trandoshan's head off. Then the Covenant charged towards Danes, having a disk which projected a laser sword on his right hand. Danes aimed at him, but the alien cut the shotgun in half. Before the alien could swing to the left, Danes grabbed the aliens hand and turned it to the alien, making him cut in half.
Danes got out, holding the disk in his right hand. Danes deactivated it and threw it away. He started to walk back into the store room, when the announcer started again:
"That was quick wasn't it? Give it up for Chief!"
The crowd cheered and Danes walked back into the shadows.

((Oh..my god...Halo and Halo 2.. wow... I. wow.. By the way, machine guns probably weren't invented just yet. Earth was nothing but micro organisms at the moment. Machine guns would have to come from the Outer Rim, which aren't really machine guns... people keep messing up star wars with modern weapons... but whateva*Not trying to be an ass but aren't we rping Star Wars KOTOR?*))

He was amazed what he saw. But he just shrugged. Slug-throwers can easily be countered by the Force.. he didn't stand a chance.. And a lightsaber could cut through that armor like butter... He looked around And I thought he was a master duelist...

((What can I say? I lack originality so I pull things out of already created things to make new things. Oh and he is a master duelist. He just prefers hand to hand combat. The sword is something like this (http://www.gamesbyscott.com/Sword.jpg)))

(( Or like this (http://www.haloplanet.com/icetigaurus/projects/pipedream/plasmasword.jpg)
In any event, i'm guessing we're gonna wait for Tsy?))

((Great! I'll take that sword. Too bad, I have to go to sleep now. See you.))

The announcer at the Duelist's Dive was a master. He knew just how to put
the right inflection in his voice to either make a crowd scream for someone's
victory or someone's head. He had once been a used-parts salesman in the
more roughshod parts of the Refugee Sector, and it wasn't long before he
moved from a small con job like that to a big one. "Bread and circuses",
the ancient saying went, and if that was what these howling lowlifes
wanted, that is what he would give them. He turned to Tysy Dvukh.

"What's your name?" he asked, his grin a cheesy ear-to-ear leer. "Babe?"

"Call me the Exile," Tysy said coolly. "My name is of no importance."

"So say those who're going to die!", the announcer cried, giving a hearty
"nyuk-nyuk". "Seriously, though, the Warlord is one bad !@#$%#-er!"

"So I've heard," smiled Tysy. "Watch your mouth." She strode into the arena.

*********************************

"AAANNNNDDD NOOOWWWWW," Cornelius Bokagrand howled, "our most
famous duelist, the Warlord, faces another challenger! Call this one lowly,
call this one weak, but don't you DARE call her ugly! Here she is--the EXILE!"

Catcalls from the men in the crowd, cheers of support from the women. Tysy
bowed. Drawing her silver-bladed saberstaff was against the rules at this point,
but no matter. She'd draw it soon enough, and she wanted to save her strength.

"In the OTHER corner," hawked Cornelius, "the man who will kill her--the WARLORD!"

Stomp. Clap. Stomp. Clap. Stomp. Clap. Growls and cheers. This was
a crowd who wanted to see some blood tonight, to see their champion win.
For the first time, Tysy realized how fatal this duel could be. It was real, and
she had impetuously rushed into it with the eagerness of a Youngling!

What was she going to do?

Marcus turned to see why the man was yelling - and his blood turned to ice. The Exile was there, in the ring, preparing for battle. He placed his drink back on the table, and moved quickly towards the ring - she might need to be pulled from death's claws at the last moment.
He came up and stood behind her Mandalorian companion. He couldn't tell through the helmet, but he was sure that the Mandalorian was worried - or as worried as a Mandalorian could get.

Mandalore turned around, looking at the man. "Kind of close for comfort," he said, looking him up an down. "Another Jedi eh?" He chuckled. "Just don't get your hopes up, this is going to be one hell of a fight."

And it will be.

Marcus stared at the man. *You're voice... it's familiar... You are Canderous Ordo, aren't you?* he asked.

He looked at the Jedi quizzically. He hasn't heard that name since his travels with the Exile long past, 15 years. "What did you call me?" He asked, wanting to hear it again. No one knows Mandalore's true name, expecially some stranger. The man probably knew him, before he was Mandalore. His hand slowly moved to his blaster on his right hip.

Arvik, who Tysy hadn't seen in a while was in the crowd cheering. "Go kick that Warlord's scary butt!!" He shouted and fifty people surrounding him all stared at him angrily. "What?" ARvik said, obviosly drunk. "Are you all gonna cry when the Exile has a whole through his worthless chest?" The surrounding spectators got out of their seats and some pulled out some weopons. Arvik pulled out his blue lightsaber too. "Hey, I can have you all dead in an instant so you DRUNKS might as well get out of my way." Arvik turned down to look at the match. "HEY WARLORD!" He shouted. "DID YOUR MOMMY REMEMBER TO PACK YOUR LUNCH, IF SO IT'LL BE A SHAME TO SEE IT GO TO WASTE WHEN THE EXILE KILLS YOU!" Suddenly piles of angry fans swarmed and started attacking Arvik. "SOME HELP HERE PLEASE?" He shouted. But nobody seemed to even pay attention to him.