Combat Master’s Note: This venue was designed for use with the Unleashed Force power setting. However, unless both combatants agree, Force powers as listed in the setting of the battle MUST be followed. If participants decide differently they must alert the Combat Master before the battle concludes, or else the battle will be judged with standard Realism grades for Force power usage. See http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Valley_of_the_Jedi for more information on this location.

The Valley of the Jedi. The legendary location of the final battle under the surface of Ruusan, between the Army of Light and the Brotherhood of Darkness. The battle ended in an instant when the thought bomb detonated, trapping the spirits of hundreds of powerful Force users within the Valley for over a thousand years.

You stand near the edge of that very cave, waiting on the tiered stone steps that circle the Valley. The ground is rocky and uneven, sloping downwards towards the center. Stalagmites litter the floor, small outcroppings of rock thrust out from the ground like huge stone blades. But the piles of rocks pale in size compared to the stone statues circling the Valley in perfectly concentric circles. The statues seem almost alive, as if the faces of the dead had been perfectly captured in the carvings and still held traces of the doomed souls they represented.

In the Valley's center, an enormous mound is raised from the ground surrounded by six stone obelisks. From the mound, a blinding light explodes upwards, casting a soft glow of orange, yellow, and red over the entire cave. The light is a source of unimaginable power, an outpouring of pure energy able to strengthen one's connection to the Force—a Force Nexus.

Standing near it, you feel the currents washing over you. The Force practically hums with suppressed power, buzzing against you as if electricity was caressing your skin. Already your strength feels limitless, but you know that by basking in the vibrant light of the crystal, you will achieve ultimate power.

But you are not alone in your quest. The power of the Valley has drawn others to Ruusan. As you prepare for battle, you feel the Force flow through you… waiting to be unleashed.

Wind howled down through the valley as the Consular approached the cave mouth, his aged face set with a look of grim determination. The wind blew his robes and hair about him as he approached, his cloak pulled around himself to shield him from it; its ferocity was such that even his lightsabers bobbed back and forth on his belt, wooden and metallic hilts alike bouncing against the magnetic clips that held them still. Looking down into the depths of the cave, the Jedi sighed, his weathered boots crushing weathered stones underfoot as he strode into its depths.

His approach slowed to a cautious, paced crawl as he looked upon the man before him. Turel Sorenn's eyes were closed in meditation as he knelt before the Force Nexus, that unmistakeable wellspring of power. As the walls of the cave cut the last blasts of the wind to a distant howl, Liam felt that power assail his senses, a heady flood of intoxicating might. It was there for him to use; through it, nigh-unlimited power could be his.

Most would have considered that license. The elderly Jedi knew better, knew the folly of such things. He considered the fall he might take as he spoke to the Dark Jedi Knight before him, one already fallen. "Hello, Turel."

The younger man's eyes slowly opened at the voice of the man who had been his Quaestor. Standing, he brushed the dust from his form-fitting, tactical gear; his eyebrow quirked up as he gave the old man a measured glance, the motion pulling the scars along his right cheek and brow tight. "Liam. I'd expected a few more, to be honest." He stood strong, unwavering in his position. "Are you here to kill me?"

Liam's own expression, enigmatic and neutral, never even waivered. He'd been tested like this before by many fallen students; it had not unsettled him then, and would not do so now. "I've come here to save you. You've gone too far, this time." A quick glance noted the man's customary weapons belt; though the weapon Celestia sat on its clip, the guns and grenades he was so famous for using were not. A gesture of respect? "The Arconans cannot be trusted, and you know that."

"I know only that you would not give them the chance!" Turel snapped back, anger flashing in his eyes. "The Brotherhood can be reasoned with; it can be taught to see a better way. Yet all you would do is attack!" He advanced a few steps as he walked, his mechanical right hand's servos and pistons moving with near-imperceptible noise. The man was clearly ready for a surprise attack. "I am through bombing and hijacking those we might negotiate with. Their power has its uses; their systems are stable!" The man's jaw was set as he uttered his last line. "The Arconans are our allies - my allies - and I would serve alongside a worthy cause."

Liam's face did not give way to anger, or to insult; his voice did not grow heated. Instead, a tired sadness played across his wrinkled, wind-creased features. "They will use your zeal, and betray you." The old man replied. "They are Sith. They will destroy you, or you will destroy all that was good in you." He sighed, turning to leave.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting behind him was all the answer he needed to the question he hadn't asked; Turel stood firm, eyes alight with rage, his lightsaber's powder-blue blade playing hell with the lights of the Nexus around the room. "Come, old man. Let's finish it." The man growled, his patience clearly at its end.

Liam sighed, nodding; spinning on his heel, his eyes blazed with determined focus as his left hand shot out, releasing a veritable tidal wave of telekinetic power.

Turel's face spasmed with surprise, the strangled cry that escaped his lips turning into a wheeze as his form flew backward across the expanses of the cave. His lightsaber hilt flipped away from his hands as he hit, knocked aside by the sheer force of impact that rattled through his frame, his mechanical fingers losing any control they had once had. Slamming into the rocky form of a stalactite, audible cracks and pops escaped his ribcage as he fell toward the ground, landing in a clumsy roll.

The sound of dual saber ignitions brought his eyes up, to see the Cleric sprinting toward him, robes fluttering at his sides as he went. "Damn you!" The Knight roared, his left hand coming up to release thick tendrils of voltage at his former mentor. The Dark Side poured into him from the Nexus as he roared, the sheer power of the lightning that poured forth from his hand overloading his nerves, forcing his fingers to stretch and pull back like a snarled claw.

Liam's blades came together in a cross-guard before him, catching the ferocious Force lightning, grounding it along their magnetic fields as its might pushed him back from his run. Planting his feet, the Light Side pouring strength into his muscles and limbs, he fought his way forward one step at a time; stray tendrils of lightning struck at everything, superheating stone and burning holes into the robes and hair of the Consular.

As he approached, Turel released the assault, getting to his feet and leaping into the air above Liam; his outstretched right hand summoned the hilt of Celestia to its palm, the bright blue blade swinging down to deflect the scissor-chop of the Equite as he passed overhead. Sparks flew from the three blades as the Knight passed overhead, landing in a much better roll and dashing at his foe. Their blades met with a cacophony not unlike a thunderstorm, the sound echoing throughout the caves, sending a cloud of tiny, flying mammalians rushing toward the safety of the daylight without.

Turel pushed hard against the old man before breaking the lock, his blade weaving and darting, probing for weaknesses in the Jar'kai technique of Torun. Liam's answers were swift and flowing, blue and green blades curving and twisting around to knock aside strike and slash alike. His twin blades knocked aside the cyan weapon before darting in, smashing from left and right again and again as the old man's flowing footwork carried him forward.

Sorenn's grasp of Soresu was superb, his proficiency clear as his blade flowed like a cascading river from strike to parry. Yet his foe was a little better, his years of practice evident as his strikes hit at just the right angle to throw the Knight off-balance, his parries anticipating the attacks of the Dark Sider with a level of practice the Dark Sider just hadn't had. Growling, he brought a fierce overhead chop, forcing the Equite to catch his weapon in a cross-guard and hold to a lock high above his head.

Liam surprised his foe by tucking in his chin, throwing a fierce headbutt into the face of the Dark Jedi Knight before him. It was a dirty tactic, and even as cartilage and bone broke inside the Arconan's nose, his blade came back to slash at the old man's chest. Liam hurled himself backward, the edge of the weapon scoring a black line through his robes and grazing the skin of his chest. He grimaced as the flesh around its edges blistered, smoke rising from his robes.

"Give this up, Turel," Liam said, standing firm before his foe as the younger man's hand wiped away the free-flowing blood that issued from his nose. A line of that same blood ran down Liam's own face, down past the bridge of his nose; he let it linger there for emphasis. "This is foolishness. You will lose."

Turel growled, giving up on ceasing the flow from the minor injury; with a snarl, he came at the old man, his weapon flashing as he went.

Countless years devoted to the teachings of the old Jedi order spent in study and meditative reflection could not prepare Liam Torun to fully separate himself from the pain of wiping the blood of a former student off his face. There was no passage of the Jedi code that adequately addressed the unrelenting sorrow of having one who was a student, a trusted lieutenant, a spiritual son, lash out at you with the rage of a wounded beast. Having passed through similar tragedies in the past didn’t make it any easier to endure in the present.

Time slowed to a crawl. As Turel’s wounded battle cry echoed throughout the cave, drowning out the soft hum of the Force nexus, the Consular exhaled deeply. The raw maelstrom of Force energy amplified every emotion and made controlling them that much more difficult. In that single moment, Liam found his center and let all the pain and sorrow leave his body with his exhaled breath. He steeled himself for what was to come as the Knight advanced on him, fully prepared to take the fallen Jedi’s life if it came to that.

There is no death, there is only the Force

The one time Knight-Commander became a black and azure blur as he rushed toward his former Quaestor and mentor. He raised his saber above him and closed his eyes just as he approached striking distance. Liam had only a split second to wonder why Turel had closed his eyes before seeing a blinding flash emanate from the former Guardian’s saber. The intensity of the flash momentarily robbed the Consular of his vision.

Instinctively the old Jedi raised his sabers in a high block to intercept the trajectory the fallen Jedi’s saber had been on. His lightsabers blocked nothing but air. Instead of the high slash the Knight had telegraphed just before the flash, he landed a Force enhanced kick to Liam’s midsection sending him flying backwards a full meter. Searing pain shot up his back as he landed on a small cluster of stalagmites on the cave floor, the sharp rocks tearing into the old man’s flesh.

Impressive.

The Equite had underestimated the Knight. He could feel Turel’s presence but could not hear his movement. Had he stopped? Where was the inevitable follow on attack to attempt to end the fight? He quickly jumped up and readied himself for the onslaught of saber blows that would surely follow. Nothing happened. As his vision cleared he saw Turel standing in the middle of the cave, saber ablaze, with his head down and eyes closed in deep anguish. The younger man clutched his left arm close to his torso, nursing cracked ribs from the earlier blow. Liam focused on the Knight through the Force and sensed his anger, but also an inner conflict.

The old Jedi allowed himself to feel hope. “Why do you hesitate? I thought you wanted to finish it?”

The errant Knight slowly raised his head and opened his eyes, “You’re wrong about me Liam.” Two small tears flowed down his face, mixing with the blood, his voice almost pleading. “The people of New Tython are wrong about me. I’m not fallen or lost. I did what I had to protect them, to save lives.”

Liam remained unmoved with the firm expression of a disappointed teacher. “Your aims may have started noble, but you’re on a dark path and it will consume you. One compromise leads to another and then you’re just as lost and depraved as any Sith or criminal you claim to oppose.”

Anger returned. The Krayt dragon the Knight had wrestled with and feared for years came roaring to the surface. ”NO!” His shout echoed through the cave and resonated with the very Force itself sending out a wave of air and Force energy. A cloud of dust and small rocks carried by the wave crashed into an invisible wall in front of Liam. The Quaestor stood resolute, as his earthen robes were rustled by the shifting air. His hope for a peaceful resolution washed away by the wave.

The Knight leapt toward his wizened foe with a snarl, his free left hand lashing out to throw a wrecking ball of telekinetic energy forward. Liam smoothly rolled aside, his own left hand extending two fingers as it gripped his emerald blade; a slab of stone tore itself from the ground, before spinning toward the Equite. Turel met it in midair with a powerful slash, his saber cleaving the rock apart, his scarred face a caricature of the Dark Side as its contours were lit by the glow of molten stone. His blade came down fierce, bouncing off of Liam's blue sword before flowing smoothly into a vicious kata.

The older man met each assault smoothly with a flashing series of his own attacks, every strike lasting but a fraction of a second as the pair danced back and forth across the cave wall. Liam launched a series of vicious strikes for his opponent's extremities, trying to take his foe apart before launching a spinning kick. Sorenn smoothly ducked the attack before spinning up with his own strike, the powdery glow of his blade biting into the edges of Torun's thick beard before being knocked away. A blast of lightning flashed out from his palm toward the Consular's face, only to be caught upon the crossed lengths of two lightsabers and answered with a mighty telekinetic push.

This time, Turel was ready for it, leaping high above the crushing wave to land behind his former Quaestor. His blade came down hard, and Liam's twisting defense only barely caught it above his shoulder. A grunt of effort escaped the man's mouth. "You're getting slow, old man." He snarled, the Dark Side coursing through his veins.

A powerful kick to the lower back sent the Jedi rolling with a groan, sprawling on the ground as his sabers flew wide. Rolling aside, the old man barely dodged a leaping slash from the Knight, the blade of the younger man's lightsaber shredding stone with a high-pitched shriek. The Dark Guardian roared as his hands came forward, his lightsaber falling aside, discarded. The Dark Side poured through his arms like a tidal wave, bending his fingers back into claws as it ripped free as a cascade of blue-white lightning, convection currents heating the once-dark chambers to a sweltering fury. The bolts lashed out toward the Jedi, angry, alive, ready to rip through every cell in his body.

The old man rose to a knee, shouting with effort as his hands came forward, the Light Side filling him from the Nexus' depths as his iron will pulled the lightning storm into a tight, volatile ball.

Standing, his muscles quaking with effort, his old bones creaking and grinding with every movement, the Cleric pushed his way into a stern stance, the power of his indomitable convictions forming a bulwark against the unrestrained fury of his foe. The Nexus dove its power into and through them both, washing away fatigue, offering unlimited, uncontrollable power; through them, it wove power enough to heat the chamber's walls to a dim red. Through it, they brought forth the full force of a conflict older than both of their Orders.

Liam held fast against the tide, his body screaming in agony as his mind held true, the Light seeming to elevate his features, melting the age from the hard lines of his face. The Force spoke to his body's sacrifice, to the righteousness of his cause, bringing him peace as his flesh knew only turmoil. All the while Turel screamed in pain and rage, his fingers blackening, stray bolts biting blisters into his flesh and burning small holes into his garb. The iris of each eye slowly bled to an orange-gold, as bloodshot veins seemed to stain the whites of his eyes black, veins protruding and swelling unnaturally beneath his skin. He poured all of his hatred, his fury, and his anger at Liam; yet it was not enough. For all his fervor, he could not hold; for all his rage, he was not stronger.

For a moment, a shard of eternity that seemed to freeze in the minds of both combatants, their powers seemed to reach a level of equilibrium; for that moment, and that moment alone, the Balance was personified between their wills, held aloft as the pair became Light and Darkness incarnate for but a moment.

With a roar of effort, Liam threw his hands forward, the lightning ball in his grasp flashing forward. Then, it exploded, hurling Jedi and Sith alike across the cavern's walls.

Bouncing, skipping, Turel's body knew only agony as the energies that had funnelled through him escaped his grasp, stray voltage coursing into his frame for but a moment before he hit the cave wall hard. Groaning, coughing, he dragged himself up to his blackened hands and bloodied knees, trickles of red emerging from dozens of cuts and scrapes across his frame. Shaking like a leaf, he looked up at Liam through blurry eyes, to see the Jedi standing slowly, taking up his lightsaber hilts and activating them. Determination was clear in the man's face as Turel's vision cleared, his eyes alive with challenge.

Sorenn's anger wilted beneath fatigue; his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Go on, then." He sighed, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. "Do it. Kill me."

For a moment, Liam's face softened, before determination returned; his sabers slurped back into their hilts, before he clipped them to his belt. "Turel, you have betrayed all those you once stood beside. You have forsaken the Light, abandoned your post, and given in to the Darkness you swore to destroy." His eyes, while sad, held strong. "You will live with that." Turning, he slowly, shakily, strode toward the cavern's entrance.

Anger again quickened in Turel's heart, his face scrunching into an expression of pain. His breath caught, his chest wracked with sobs as malice and betrayal, pain and guilt, sorrow and regret swelled up inside him. Pushing himself to his feet, he rushed toward the Equite, snatching his lightsaber up and igniting it. Roaring, he brought it high, an overhead chop aimed for the old man's back.

In his rage, he didn't even see the Equite's hand move, nor his footwork as he twisted and struck; a blue lightsaber blade burst to life, its tip carving up and through the ribcage of the Dark Jedi Knight. Its edge severed his spine, and he went stiff for but a moment with a grunt, looking down to the hilt buried in his chest.

Then, with a weakening cry of pain, he went limp. Liam let the blade in his hands die, dropping it with shaking hands as he caught the Jedi, easing his fall and cradling Turel's head in his lap. "Hush, now," he said, tears of his own streaming from the corners of his wizened eyes. They dripped down onto Turel's cheeks, as the man's eyes widened with disbelief, the horror of the end before him. "Be still, son. Your pain is done." With a quaking hand, the ragged Equite brushed aside Turel's own tears, a look of anguish in his aged eyes as he watched life slip away. "Be still."

The Knight gasped a breath, all he had done in this life flashing before him; his last sight was the face of his mentor, solemn and serene.

The rocks blown by the wave of Force energy hadn’t even settled before Turel took off toward the man who had been his teacher, mentor, Quaestor and father figure. Frustration had hardened and anger shattered the chains of guilt which held Turel’s inner Krayt dragon down. The dragon roared. There was only rage now.

Liam could feel the Knight’s malice crystallizing against him. The Quaestor’s last words to his former student had broken a dam inside him, drowning all the better parts of his nature in a toxic flood of anger.

Turel advanced faster than any organic eyes could track. Despite the Force nexus granting him the power of an Elder, he still had the mind and experience of a Knight. His normally patient style gave way to a raw, amateurish aggression, which the Consular easily countered.

Overcome with emotion, the former student’s strikes were sloppy and his attacks predictable. It didn’t take much for the old Quaestor to find an opening as Turel brought both his arms past his right shoulder, telegraphing a horizontal power strike. Liam parried with the saber in his right hand, deflecting Turel’s saber away from his torso then brought the saber in his left hand to bear and using the pressure from both sabers to force Turel’s toward the ground. Sparks from the three sabers locked together created a nightclub-like light show in the softly lit cave. Continuing the motion the Consular powered the three sabers low to his left side, tucked his head and jammed his right shoulder into Turel’s chest, knocking the Knight off balance.

The force of the blow had knocked the wind of the former Knight-Commander and the impact of his head hitting the solid cave floor caused his vision to black out for split second then return in a slowly fading blur. Combined, the shock from the blow and hitting the ground was like flash-rebooting a droid’s memory bank. Turel’s rage dissipated for a few moments while his brain struggled to make sense of what had just happened.

Time seemed to slow again for the Consular as he stood over his dazed former lieutenant. He could end it right now if he moved quick enough. One quick stabbing motion into Turel’s chest is all it would take.

It can’t end like this.

Liam took a deep breath and did the unthinkable, given the situation. He deactivated his lightsabers and placed them on his belt. Within the span of moments he centered himself and risked drawing on the Force nexus for what he was about to do. Turel shook off the shock and quickly stood up. He gave his leg muscles the command to move, but nothing happened. In fact, he couldn’t move his body from the neck down at all.

The Consular stood directly across from the errant Guardian-turned-Obelisk with his arms outstretched, palms out, with a look of intense concentration on his face. He could feel Turel fighting the invisible restraints. Keeping the Knight restrained in this way was like wrestling with an angry Wookie: eventually they will break your hold. He couldn’t maintain the hold indefinitely but a few moments is all he needed.

“What are you doing?! You can’t keep me like this! I’ll break free of you eventually!”

Liam replied serenely, absent of any malice or judgment, “I know I can’t hold you forever, but hear me out. Think about what you are doing, think about what giving in to your anger has cost you.” He paused for a moment and continued with a deep gravity in his voice. “Think about what your anger has cost others.” The shift in the Knight’s aura was immediate, his resistance let up some.

It’s working.

The Quaestor took the risk of releasing his hold on Turel. The former Knight-Commander gave a moment of hesitation which gave Liam the window he needed to replenish his mental stamina and connection to the Force. Keeping his arms outstretched and closing his eyes, the Consular reached into the Obelisk’s mind to project a single image.

The Knight stood reeling as surely as if he had been hit by a blow from Raken’s warhammer. The visage of a small human girl with blond hair stood starting at Turel. Her pleading eyes pierced his very soul. He fell to his knees at the feet of the little girl with tears streaming down his face. He let out a whimper, barely above a whisper, “No. Not you. Not you.”

Turel lowered his head. He couldn’t look at the girl. He couldn’t face his greatest pain. His greatest sin. Countless nights spent in cantinas chasing the bottom of countless bottles couldn’t wash that pain away. It wasn’t supposed to be that way. She wasn’t part of the job. That bomb was meant for her father. Turel would give all he had in this universe to take it back. To refuse the job. Anything. Anything but the living hell of re-living that same moment over and over. Watching from a distance, powerless as that precious little girl opened the door of her father’s speeder and watching the speeder engulf in flames.

The Knight knew what stood in front of him was an illusion, but the pain it evoked was real. He raised his head and slowly stood. Pain gave way to renewed anger at the one who had inflicted the blow. This anger was different.It wasn’t blind rage, it was righteous indignation.

The Quaestor grew concerned as the image he conjured didn’t seem to quite have the effect he intended.

Turel slowly walked through the illusion which the Consular dissipated. “That was low Liam. That was very low. I’d expect better from one who styles himself a paragon of the Jedi.” The anger was building again. “How dare you! How dare you use that memory against me!”

“I don’t revel in druding up your deepest pain, but you have to remember who you are. You have to remember why you became a Jedi”

The Knight gave an eerie laugh in response, “Oh you’ve reminded me of something alright. You’ve reminded me how much of a hypocrite you can be. You’re blind zealotry against those who take a different path in the Force will see New Tython burn again!””

I’ve lost him.

Liam felt Turel power into his mind like a wrecking ball crashing through the walls of Jedi calm and resolve. The Knight lacked the skill in the Force to execute the intrusion with finesse even if the Force nexus gave him the raw power to do so. The Knight’s last words echoed in the Equite’s mind as memories from the last Great Jedi War came flooding to the surface. All his senses were overwhelmed with memories. He heard the screams of the dying, the sound of orbital fire scourging the cities. He smelled the smoke and charred flesh. He saw flashes of memories, of Brotherhood warriors, led by Arcona, cutting Jedi down in the streets. He remembered the crippling pain of so much death echoing through the Force. The old Jedi fell to his own knees, caught wholly unprepared for this mental assault, trapped in a waking nightmare.

It’s not real. It’s not real.

As Liam struggled to break free from images of his most painful memories and worst fears for the future he heard Turel’s voice in his head. “I’m not going to kill you. You were wrong about me. There are many paths in the Force, and none are inherently evil. I will always watch out for New Tython, even if you brand me a traitor.”

The Knight’s voice echoed in his mind, slowly fading with the rest of the horrific vision like a receding tide. When the Quaestor snapped back to reality Turel was gone. He stood up, dusted off his robes and left the cave. He had failed today, but he had a feeling their paths would cross again. No one was too far gone to return to the light.