A scream rang out; the Geonosian equivalent of a gong - a beldon being pierced with a spear. A wall in the Force blocked the two combatants from each other, and Darth Insipid saw his hand had betrayed him, acting to the 'gong' and preventing the violence from continuing. He'd been looking forward to seeing the Imperial Knight cut down at the insane woman. Her position wasn't astonishing, not at all.

Darth Insipid found that his teeth were grinding, and knew why. He fully emerged from the tunnel which would have him standing where Darth Tyranus had over a century and a half ago, and looked down at the two of them, raising his hands to calm the Geonosians. Who did so immediately. Of course they did. "The duel is over, Cess and Norn Dukai."

The Sith Lord paid little heed to the other judges. "Norn Dukai, I don't have a great deal to say about you. I might have liked to see a bit of more of Norn spending time growing, rather than listing his history and ability all the time, it could said. That being said, that is a small consideration of mine."

"Cess..." Darth Insipid canted his head to her. "I had a few concerns fairly early into your actions. I felt he moved too fast with speed for Cess to work out that he was launching a feint and then drop and then pull him towards you - the speed in which he moved required a reaction. Additionally, it was my opinion that Cess could not have known that using the Force was the opportune thing to do, either, when Norn made use of precognition. I felt there needed to be more justification in Cess' mind. As it was, Cess' choices weren't always ran through very obviously. Cess was, if the implication of her CS anything, a very intriguing individual. What was she doing on Geonosis?"

Darth Insipid didn't really need to shrug or add anything else. "As such, as you can imagine, my judgment goes for Norn Dukai."

"Were it not for this incessant torrential downpour, this might almost feel like home," Shey Pallask thought to himself with a slight smile as he shook the water from his soaked blond hair and blue-and-white robes. This world was a long way from his homeworld of Pelagon, to be sure, but the sight of water stretching from horizon to horizon still gave him a feeling of nostalgia when he paused to take in the view. He had been more than a little annoyed when he had first been told that he was being pulled from his previous assignment to scout and compile a report on some distant world in the galactic backwater, but his irritation had mostly subsided after he learned of his destination. It was not every day that one got the chance to visit such an exotic world, after all, let alone one with a history like Kamino.

Furthermore, this was not simply some routine check-up that could be performed by any of the newly-knighted with access to a ship. Reports of suspicious activity on the world had reached the Jedi, and they tended to err on the side of caution when "suspicious activity" and "cloning" came up in the same star system ever since the Clone Wars a century and a half back. Thus, here he was, cold and bedraggled, making his way through the white, unmarked halls of Tipoca City. Unwelcome barely even began to describe how he felt as he moved through the structure. To a Kaminoan, it could very well have been an architectural masterpiece, but to him the walls only seemed impersonal and sterile. Coupled with the absence of any sort of activity or sound, the place could easily be likened to something out of a haunting nightmare. The vast ocean outside was pleasant enough to watch, but the sooner he was out of this building, the better.

As his walk took him around the outer edge of the city, he felt a growing sense of unease when he approached the next landing platform over from the one he had used to arrive. He had not noticed a ship there when he first landed, nor had he felt the vibrations since then that would indicate another starship setting down on it. He doubted it was another Jedi: perhaps an agent of the Empire? He rested his right hand on the hilt of his lightsaber, but did not draw it yet. His training had been that of a healer and a keeper of peace, and it would go against both what he had been taught and his own personal sense of honor to draw it before conflict was clearly unavoidable.

Walking up to the doors that would take him back out under the grey sky and rain, he opened them with a brief touch of the control panel. Stepping out onto the walkway that connected the landing platform to the doorway behind him, his hand involuntarily tightened around his lightsaber. A sudden, visceral impression of a savage beast flashed through his mind at the sight that stood before him, and a surge of fear wormed its way through his body. "There is no emotion, there is peace," he recited mentally, almost as if by reflex. Clamping down on the primal part of him that was strongly suggesting flight as the best course of action with some difficulty, he forced himself to take another step forward and called out to...whatever or whoever it was, "I am Shey Pallask of the Jedi Order. Name yourself and state your purpose here."

To say the being's response to his query surprised and confused the Jedi would be something of an understatement. Defender of the Jensaarai? A spark of recognition lit in Shey's mind, and his eyes narrowed as he recalled the history lessons that he had been taught as a young apprentice. One of the hidden followers of truth, here? He did not think that they had allied themselves with the Sith, at least not yet, but the words of the armored warrior standing on the platform still perplexed him. Show honor for this place? Our battle? Could this be some sort of test? The act of activating their lightsaber indicated that negotiation was clearly not their foremost objective, at least.

As he turned over these thoughts in his mind, he removed the soaked white robe from his body, leaving himself clothed only in simple blue garb. If a fight was inevitable, as it appeared to be, something so cumbersome would only hinder his movements. He moved to let the robe fall to the ground, but paused before it left the grasp of his fingers, changing his mind and instead casting it over the edge of the walkway into the stormy depths below. It would not do to stumble over his robe in combat: such a mistake could easily be fatal. On the battlefield, its color marked him out as a healer and bringer of aid, but that would do him no good here.

Unclipping his lightsaber from his belt, he pushed the ignition switch forward with his thumb, and its brilliant green blade flashed into existence. A wave of steam flowing through the air quickly followed as the pouring rain made contact with the blade. The knowledge that this was a sentient being like himself and not some monster given form from his nightmares granted him the strength to return the challenge that had been offered. Planting his feet as firmly as possible on the slick walkway, he drew his lightsaber up to point at the Jensaarai warrior before tilting it at an angle so that the blade's tip met his eye level. Grasping the hilt with a firm, two-handed grip, he made one last entreaty to avoid combat. "I owe you no ill will, Jensaarai. Is there no way for us to avoid this unnecessary fight?" He doubted it would achieve its desired effect, but would be no true Jedi if he did not at least make the attempt.

"No." That was it, then. There was nothing left to do but fight. It was unfortunate, but the Jensaarai had given him little say in the matter. All he could do now was defend himself, and hope that he could at least resolve this fight before he was forced to claim a life. He had killed before, but it was something he took no joy in doing. Holding his defensive stance, he prepared himself for the coming clash of blades as the Jensaarai slowly approached. The armored warrior had given away no clues to their manner of fighting, and making any assumptions as this point would only place him in a situation of greater difficulty should they later be proved wrong.

The first blow was, however, not to be one struck with a blade. He felt the Force swirling about him, but not by his own invocation. With sudden force, it pulled at him, drawing him forward across the slippery walkway, the tips of his boots barely scraping the ground, onto the platform where the Jensaarai's blade awaited, doubtlessly prepared to cleave him in twain should his reaction be clouded by doubt for even an instant. Quickly shoving aside the idea of trying to meet blade with blade under these conditions, he instead drew upon his own wellspring of the Force, channeling it through his now-outstretched left hand and thrusting it forward toward the Jensaarai. Two could play at this game of human grav-ball.