Elevated over a ravine, the Massassi Arena has withstood the tests of time. It is arranged in a circular formation and made by a slab of stone that connects the opposite slopes of the ravine. On its eastern side, the floating arena leads to a staircase and into a near-vertical cliff face. Because of its nearly unsupported vantage that overlooks a several hundred-meter fall, even the smallest creatures can feel the occasional motion the platform makes as the breeze brushes across its cold surface.

Adding to the adrenaline rush of standing within the slab’s concentric patterns carved into the rock, barriers and obstacles echo the Massassi’s commitment to taking every advantage over their opponents. Pillars ring the outer edge without guard rails between them, some remaining intact and others having toppled into the arena or over the perilous heights. Weeds and other fauna cover each surface as nature seeks to reclaim the ravine and eventually send the arena itself to the depths.

A creaky rope-bridge leads away towards another ancient suspended platform with the same weathered, upturned stones. Mossy footing, and uneven ground make each of these platforms unique in small subtle ways. While there is no seating for formal spectators, the ancient stones of the Massassi Arena hold an omniscient, aged wisdom that speak to the things they have seen and the battles fought through history.

A third rope-bridge leads to yet another platform, completing the triad of battlegrounds that make up the Massassi Arena.

A cold wind howled through the ravine below. It’s cold embrace chilled the Sith Adept and he drew his arms closer to his body for warmth. Two too light blue eyes peered out from under the cowl of his black robes. They carefully plotted his course as he marched over the intricate stone beneath his boots. He could feel the jagged, uneven cuts in the ground. A misstep could turn or twist an ankle - an unfortunate turn of events in a duel. With his attention turned towards the placement of his steps, Braecen Kaeth missed the natural majesty of his surroundings. He turned towards the eastern staircase that lead to the vertical cliff face. Oblivious to the natural beauty of the scene surrounding him.

He also nearly missed the presence of a second individual. Drawing up short, he narrowed his eyes to absorb the silhouette before him. Braecen considered the lithe form and the golden curls peeking out from under her raised hood. “Calindra,” he guessed, “I am surprised to find you here. I was to meet with the Empress.”

“She sends her apologies, Proconsul Kaeth. An urgent matter rose that demanded her immediate attention.” She pulled her duster coat to the side and revealed a pair of dark boots that gave way to provocative stockings that accented her feminine wiles. As the Sith’s eyes moved up her form, she gave a casual wink when their eyes met. The Adept diverted his eyes momentarily and his cheeks turned rosy in an unspoken response.

Braecen cleared his throat. “Did she leave instructions with you for me perchance?” He seemed relieved to turn the discussion to business. He was a stuffy, no-nonsense type of Elder that the Brotherhood was desperate to purge from their ranks. The Grand Master had said he lacked imagination. That his rigidness would leave others unable, or unwilling, to follow his lead.

Calindra’s intelligent brown eyes drank in his mannerisms and actions. She noted his defensive stance and began to circle towards his backside. “She didn’t leave word for you, Adept. She only told me that I had to score three strikes against you if I wanted to attain the role of Director of Imperial Intelligence.”

“Ah,” Braecen sighed, “a Trial of Skill.” Since her ascension to the role of Empress, Elincia Rei had relegated her second-in-command to menial tasks. She had also begun to put him in precarious situations that involved combat between the aspiring and himself. Generally, she set tasks to those individuals that would bring outright shame to the Elder or diminish his presence in the eyes of others. If he failed, he died. If he continued to live, she would push him towards the next task. She kept him at arm’s length and never close to the heart of the Clan’s advancement. He was, at best, a figurehead to the Old Guard of Scholae Palatinae. And to be kept away from the newest leaders at all costs. The newly appointed Consul did not want her tentative rule to be challenged early into her reign.

He unceremoniously shrugged out his robes and let them fall to the ground in a clump. Thin, ivory fingers snaked around the hilts of two lightsaber hilts of ebony and bronze at his waist. He pulled the weapons from their resting place and thumbed both activations a breath apart. Snap-snap-hiss! Twin flames of radiant white light sprang into existence before the Adept. He rolled the blades through a lazy loop and turned those ice blue eyes onto his opponent. He raised the blade in his left hand in a mock salute then lowered it to a ready position. He shifted his weight from his front foot to his back foot and lowered his center of gravity in preparation of his opponent’s advance.

Calindra reached for a scarf that was at her neck. She raised the cloth to veil her face and tucked a loose lock of gold hair behind her ear. The Sith Warrior reached for her lightsaber and a red blade sprung up before her as she settled into a ready position with her knees slightly bent and her body turned sideways towards the Adept.

Braecen recognized the stance and her tight grip on the weapon as Djem So. Unapologetically, he launched himself into a dizzying attack with both of his weapons. He wove a basket of brilliant white light about himself as he continued to unleash his frustration on Calindra’s defenses. The crack of the blades thundered against the rock walls of the ravine and echoed throughout the arena.

As Braecen's lightsabers added their screams to the howling of the wind that swept across the ancient arena, Calindra realized that she was in the presence of a master swordsman -- the sheer grace and strength behind the movements enthralled as much as it gave her a chill down her spine. It was like the forces of nature had converged within one man. To see a whirlwind unleashed was one thing, but to know it was coming straight for you was an eye opening and frightening experience.

Most would have fled, but Calindra's stance shifted in order to ground herself against the coming onslaught.

'No matter how the wind howls, the mountain cannot bow to it,' one of her many teachers had been fond of saying. They had deliberately made her face every opponent, no matter how big, no matter how impressive or fearsome. For years, retreating had never once been an option they'd given her. Today was no exception, and so she held her stance and waited for the barrage of blades to make contact with her lightsaber. The force of the impact would have staggered many an opponent, but Calindra was -- before anything else -- an accomplished martial artist.

When the force of the attack finally bore down on her, her body compensated. Instead of resisting the blow, she redirected it, and moved gracefully beneath his guard, moving opposite to the Juggernaut's trajectory. To Braecen, it was like trying to bear down against a wall, only to find out is was only illusion or smoke. Surprised, he slowed down before his momentum took him too close to the edge of the precipice. It would be far too easy for the warrior to push him over the edge.

With a deliberate step, he pushed against the last of the arena's concentric stone circles with his left foot and vaulted backwards into the air. Portions of the platform fell over the edge, but Braecen's trajectory landed him squarely on one of the central stone mounds, causing the entire platform to groan and wobble. Both Calindra and himself crouched closer to the ground, as they tried to steady themselves.

"Well, that was unexpected," Calindra quipped as she turned to face her clan's second in command. They both looked at one another, concern changing to relief as the platform finally settled itself. She was rewarded by a roguish smirk as the Proconsul considered the arena, his light brown hair waving gently in the breeze. He wasn't sure if she was talking about the platform moving, or whether she was reading his mind about how she had dealt with his initial attack.

They resumed the duel and stepped over stone, or slid between columns as they sized each other. This time, the Sith warrior was the first to attack. Braecen barely registered the sudden movement of her offhand, when the column he ducked under suddenly crumbled around him. A stone clipped him on the shoulder, but his body soaked in the damage and his lightning reflexes easily avoiding the rest of the clumsy attack.

Angered, he uncurled the three fingers of his left hand from his lightsaber hilt, leaving it clipped it between his thumb and index. Dark purple strands of lightning suddenly surged forth from his semi-outstretched hand, catching a rock she'd just ducked behind. The force of the blast sent shards of rock and dust Calindra's way as she ran counterclockwise from his position, trying to avoid the deadly blast. She vaulted and weaved, as she ran and ducked as more and more of the arena exploded around her.

When the glow died down, she didn't waste any time. She redirected all her will into the Force and struck the Proconsul in the chest, sending him flying back into one of the columns behind him.

The wind was forcibly expelled from his lungs as the Adept slammed into the stone column. For a brief moment the noise of the world around him subsided and was replaced with a harsh buzzing. Short of breath and unable to gulp the cool evening air in, Braecen felt his heart beat faster in panic. Experience, not the Force, calmed his heart and cleared his mind. He shook himself out of his momentary daze and slowly let air refill his lungs. His muscle screamed with the build up of adrenaline and he was eager to bleed off the excess energy. Pain radiated through his chest and left shoulder.

That sucked, the thought momentarily flashed through his mind. “One,” he called out diplomatically. “Two more to go, Calindra. All that stands between you and your dreams is… me.” He grinned devilishly. Already he could feel the power of the Force working through his bruises and working to regenerate the soft tissue. Other Dark Side Force Users thought him foolish for studying the art of healing; oft citing it as a tenant of the Jedi theology and not worthy of study from a Sith.

She laughed mockingly. “I bet you say that to all of the girls, Braecen.” He was grateful she had not pressed her advantage. She understood that the point of this Trial of Skill was to demonstrate control - not domination. Elincia had set a standard that she knew Braecen would be both unable to overcome, bringing both shame and dishonor to him, and one that would require his opponent to let him live with that shame. Calindra’s sharp, brown eyes conveyed her conviction and aptitude for the task. The Adept realized his only chance was not to overwhelm her defenses, but to extend the battle until either his or her stamina flagged until a mistake was committed.

She advanced in an aggressive manner with deliberate steps and a narrow profile. Her strikes were slow and powerful, chained in a series of attacks that propelled her forward. The red blade swung outward in wide-angles and propelled forward in combinations that brought her strength to bear. Braecen let her continue to advance and used both of his sabers in defense. He denied several of her attacks by crossing his own blades and catching her oncoming assault. Primarily, though, he used his own sabers to delay her assault and allow the force behind the blow to propel him backwards towards a rope bridge that led to a third platform in their makeshift arena.

They advanced halfway across the swaying bridge before she spoke again. “This was foolish, Kaeth. You’ve sacrificed your maneuverability to undermine the stability of my footing.” She raised her off-hand and funneled the power of the Force into another forceful strike. Dark power hurtled through the air and caught the Adept in the chest again.

Braecen was ready this time, though. He felt the attack coming before he saw it and allowed the blast to propel him the length of the bridge. As he soared through the air, he turned the blade in his right hand toward one of the support ropes suspending the bridge across the ravine. Understanding flashed in Calindra’s brown eyes a moment before his white blade cut the rope. The bridge groaned and the panels began to tilt towards Calindra’s left, threatening to dump her into the chasm below. She reacted by drawing the Force to her aid and lunging a distance much greater than she could without it’s aide. She hit the ground hard and rolled unceremoniously to a stop several feet away from the prone form of the Proconsul.

“Two,” he grunted. “We’ve really got to stop meeting like this, though.” He chuckled as he eased himself into a sitting position and unsteadily found his footing. Calindra remained stretched across the stone floor for several moments before she rolled onto her side. The change in her eyes was subtle, but it did not elude the Sith Adept. He sensed an older, more archaic presence through the Force; shrouding the presence of the Sith Warrior like a blanket.

Her weapon was no longer in her right hand, but gripped loosely in her left. Her stance no longer guarded in a side profile, but an open and aggressive stance prepared to leap forward. The tone of her voice had also shifted as the words spilled out between them, “I do not need harm you, Sorcerer, if only you would pledge your fealty to me.”

“Not really into the whole role-play thing,” Braecen goaded her. He knew this was physically the individual whom had been sparring with him for nearly half an hour, but he also knew someone else was in the driver’s seat now. Intrigued, the Sith Adept goaded Not-Calindra with a bit more dialogue. “And why should I serve you, Oh Benevolent Lordling?”

“So that together we may destroy the Rakata,” the words spilled from her lips with ease and confidence. “Now, join me or die!” Not-Calindra launched into a whirlwind of action. Her blade moved through a series of new, previously unused sequences that flowed from one to another as she battered the defenses of the Adept. Braecen retreated under the sudden change in demeanor and assault. She gave every ounce of her energy to the assault and perspiration soon shined on the exposed portions of her face.

The Proconsul recognized the abandonment of her methodical duelist strategy and the peculiar Force presence enveloping her as signs that battle had spiraled out of control. He discarded a single saber and began to harness the full might of his tutelage to the Grand Master of the Brotherhood. Power poured through his veins and boiled his blood as an avalanche of Dark Side power began to teem throughout his body. His stomach roiled under the nauseating power, but the queer feeling was soon replaced with agonizing pain of holding unbridled, undirected energy.

Not-Calindra drove onward oblivious to the harnessed power that swirled about his form. Braecen let a wild strike propel him to his left, then snapped his blade over her own and swung both weapons wide. His left hand darted forward in a blur of motion and connected with her temple. With his fingers splayed wide on her head, he pushed the Dark Side through him into the Equite. His own power washed over her connection to the Force and engulfed it. The sudden surge of power denied her access to the Force.

The effect was immediate. Not-Calindra collapsed forward. Discarded lightsabers disengaged as they clattered across the stone. Braecen caught the small woman heavily. His body was fatigued from exertion and two powerful kinetic blasts he had taken to the chest. They both crashed to the ground in a pile of limbs. He would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he was not tired and perplexed by what had just happened.

Calindra’s eyes fluttered open a few minutes later as she lay next to the Adept. Evening had begun to give way to night and the last vestiges of sunlight reached across the horizon to illuminate the pair. “Wha-what happened? Did you save me from the collapsing bridge?”

“Is that the last thing you remember?” Braecen asked carefully.

“I...yes, I think so,” her words were quieter now. Doubt burned in her eyes. “Did I get all three strikes against you?”

Braecen paused. He wanted to tell her that she was unsuccessful in her task. That she could return to the Clan in the Caperion System and inform the Empress that she had failed in this one endeavor. “You did,” he said instead. “Congratulations, Director.”

“For the Empire,” she whispered before turning her gaze away from the Proconsul.

"Well that's embarrassing," Calindra said before bursting into a fit of giggles as relief overpowered her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Her body ached in places she hadn't known she had, and she was sprawled like a school girl next to her clan's second in command, short of breath; covered in sweat and grime, but it was good to laugh and be alive.

Soon the laughter subsided and she lay silent for a few more heartbeats as she enjoyed the cool breeze washing over her. "You know, for a minute there I was sure that the arena was going to cave in and send us both spiraling into the darkness below. And you nearly cleft me in two... that opening attack of yours..." Her head turned towards the Proconsul, her brown eyes full of mirth and tears from laughing out loud. She waved a rogue strand of her blond locks from her eyes, and returned her gaze up to the heavens above them, watching the clouds as they passed by.

Now that the sabers lay silent and forgotten, she finally saw the beauty of the savage world around them. The rustling of the wind in the trees, the smell of vegetation and moisture on the breeze carrying the fragrance of the blossoms from the underbrush. Slowly, the sounds of the animals' chatter picked up after a measured amount of silence had passed, now that the ordeal between the offworlders was over.

From where he lay, Braecen could feel her happiness and contentment. He could smell her perfume, hear her breathing and was suddenly all too conscious of the woman next to him. He quickly looked away, embarrassed by the intimacy and the closeness. Had he ever been able to be as carefree as she was now? He envied her. She was truly a walking contradiction. Savage and ruthless one moment, and happy as a bird the next. How did she re-conciliate it all?

"I read somewhere that you lived among the tribes on your homeworld," he ventured, not wanting to break the nearly perfect moment, so rare as those moments were.

She returned her gaze towards him, looking amused. "So you read up on me," she goaded.

"Well, of course... as newly appointed proconsul, it's my duty to --"

"It's alright," she said sounding even more amused for some reason. "To answer your question, yes... the Tepasi tribes have had a tremendous influence on me and my view of the world," she admitted.

"They are desert dwellers. Nomads. They often come to Hejaran Keep to trade and to occasionally shelter from the sandstorms, but they never truly care to stay within the city for very long. They believe it makes people weak and complacent. They prefer the wilderness, and teaching their young how to hunt. They teach them about the various poisonous plants and their uses, and they have a very interesting way of viewing the world. To them, life is all about the nobility of the struggle. They see beauty in the small plants that manage to cling despite the oppressive heat and rocky terrain, it's the effort and the constant striving to stay alive that they value." Her voice trailed off as she decided to sit, now that she was feeling less out of breath.

"Their lives are a constant struggle, and they stop struggling the day they die," she said as she looked at him, taking in his blue eyes and light brown hair as it waved gently on the wind. "It's the craziest thing ever. You'd expect a people to grieve for their dead, but not them. They rejoice and declare that their struggle is over." She looked at the crumbling ruins and the jungle trying to reclaim it. She suddenly thought how it was the same with the sands on her home world. A different world, but everywhere, the same dance. "In comparison, my father has been moaning about Alderaan's destruction as long as I can remember. He's nowhere near as happy as those desert dwellers that live life in the present. Not worrying about the future, not letting the past become a burden. In some ways, they are so much more wiser than we are at times."

She fell silent and closed her eyes, enjoying a sudden flash of heat from the sun peaking out from the clouds. The moment would soon pass, Braecen knew. Such moments were few and fleeting, and he daren't break the silence. 'What happened to you in the Temple of the Forgotten,' he wondered as he passed through the encounter with Not-Calindra in his mind. 'Is she even aware of it..?' His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her grunting as she got up from the rock-face they were on.

"This place reminds me too much about another place," she said with a shiver, extending a hand toward him.

Braecen took it and she helped him back on his feet, handing him his weapons. "What place?" he asked, hoping to shed more light on the matter.

"The Temple of the Forgotten," she said immediately. "My life hasn't been quite the same since then."

Calindra looked troubled and pensive, and he immediately thought back at the person he fought near the end of their encounter, and was about to say something comforting when she punched him on the shoulder. "Three! For good measure," she added with a wry smile.