You stand on the Sith World of Krayiss II, a harsh, brutal land of deserts and mountainous terrain. During the battle for control of the planet, one of the deserts received a name from the Dark Jedi who fought there: the Desolation... and it was named with good reason. You've heard the stories about the desert. Heard about the sand traps, the pitfalls, and the quick sands that are scattered throughout the Desolation. Jagged, obsidian formations—hidden by the natural black sands—are a health hazard for those who do not mind their step.

Darkness sweeps across the desert leaving the hazards nearly invisible. The black of night causes the temperature to plummet and the bone-shattering cold sweeping over the barren sands saps you of your stamina. But the hostile environment is not your only concern. Somewhere in the middle of the darkness, in the vast emptiness of the desert, your opponent lies in wait. You begin to move slowly across the black sands, narrowly avoiding a fall into a dark abyss, and force yourself to continue. Nothing is going to stop you. And by either nature or blade, another victim is going to succumb to the Desolation.

“The desert. Why the desert?” Galleros muttered under his breath as his hands tightly clenched the cape which rolled in the sandy winds.

His feet were blistered, his lips frozen numb, and his jaw shivering from the cruel, uncaring winds that swept his dignity apart. With great determination, the Quaestor pressed onwards into the unknown of the black sands and peered up for a second. His battered eyes could glance at the scenario in front of him, obsidian glass shot to the sky and daggered at the stars. The sands tinted with the darkness of his heart, and the large dune steppes staggered above him, assuring their dominance over his pathetic excuse for a body. Such is the way Galleros enjoys his life, dangerous with a hint of smugness. It only took the Zelosian a moment to notice a man-made path was hidden inside the backbone of the moving dune. He sighed and hid his face back into the violet robes of his Fellow armour. His gauntlet clenched onto the only fabric he received from his Consul, a reminder of his task and the reason he was plunged into this hellhole.

You are a unique gift we must profit from, and no-one can track a Jedi like you.

The words of Locke rang through his memory, as an anchor leading him back to sanity and his research. The research must come first and stay important, but right now the hunting was priority. Galleros looked ahead once more through his sand-ripped eyes and focused on the Jedi trace. Like a strong scent, the fumes of the Jedi rose from his footprints up the dune and into the darkest horizon. The Quaestor now felt conflicted in his life-saving trek: to ascend the dune with feet only, or risk his fingers from dropping off and climb on all four limbs. With his species heritage, they would likely grow back regardless. The Zelosian let go of his robe and it instantly yanked into the strong currents, strangling Galleros as he stabbed his lime fingers deep into the cool, ebony sand. He grunted in distaste as he spat out the sand and dragged his body up the migrating sand, with a reckoning grudge for the Jedi once his objective was met. Then he saw that smile.

That arrogant, naive, abomination of a smile.

The cerulean Nautolan, who reaked in the scent of this tightly gripped fabric, marched over with an undaunted aura and extended his warm hand towards the struggling Krath. The smile mockingly grew and gave Galleros some insecurity.

“Greetings Galleros! Wanna join a Smuggler’s Guild?”

That’s it, he hated Scheat.

Scheat noticed anger in his foes face, and hesitated before helping the Zelosian up. Well, he thought, this should end well. Maybe If I could go back in time... Ehh what nonsense. This will be fun. The worst that could happen is my death.

"So," he said aloud, "Galleros. Isn't this sand annoying. I mean I have been in worse places, but the sand doesn't help this planet what happened to it anyhow?"

Galleros looked at his foe, and reached for his lightsaber. Scheat stepped back, confused. Galleros brought his saber to bear, and Scheat only laughed.

"Well luckily for you it isn't night yet," Scheat started. "But I know a bit about you. we have the same skill, at least with lightsabers. Why use that when you have the force anyhow?"

Galleros couldn't help but return the Nautolan's annoying smile in full. He called on the Force, and looked away as a blinding light appeared. Scheat, Galleros sensed, stumbled back. Galleros, using only his senses, leaped out and struck at Scheat, his lightsaber heading straight for the Nautolan's heart. By some stroke of luck, Scheat got his lightsaber to bear and blocked the strike.

Scheat felt a cold sweat go down his back. He just stopped a lightsaber strike, and he didn't even know it was coming. Scheat, never doubting himself, though still not able to see, Swung forward in a heavy handed power stroke. All he hit was empty air. Fearing the enemy was behind him, he tucked into a roll and moved out of the light. He opened his eyes, and blinked several times to get some glare from his eyes. When he did, some sand got in and he cursed at himself.

This is going to be one fight, he thought.

As Scheat stumbled and shuffled in the sand, his feet were sunken in as his hands were busy rubbing the fine ebony grains from his eyes. The Nautolan could sense something was coming, just unsure what. As his vision became clearer, Galleros appeared to barrel roll and strike a punch at Scheat’s elbow. The Nautolan twisted his torso at the last minute in order to avoid destroying his ligaments, however his lightsaber was thrown away and lost into the sand. The Zelosian then swung his strong arm from the hip and planted a hard hit into the Jedi’s hip, causing the Nautolan to whip down into the dark sand and faceplant some.

“Time to die, Jedi scum.” Galleros panted as he walked over and focused on regaining his vision.

I must not fail to the darkness, this night will not scare me.

By the time Galleros walked up to Scheat, he was already on his feet and trying to sense where his lightsaber hilt fell. Judging by the molten glass glowing from the sand, the Zelosian presumed this was it and kicked more sand over to hide it. Galleros threw his fist from the hip once more causing Scheat to twist again and try to avoid the hit. However being the trained martial artist he was, the Quaestor understood Scheat is about aversion and slammed his elbow directly into the spine of his opponent. The Nautolan stumbled and groaned from the hit, but it didn’t faze him much. Galleros twisted to face Scheat’s back and quickly struck another punch to the back of the knee. Again the punch did not damage the Nautolan but rather a distraction from his original intent. Several feet away, Galleros saw the imprints of a hundred feet, only to disappear into their demise, and judging from the diameter he suspected an obsidian spike pit. The Zelosian distracted himself too much and Scheat lifted his boot directly into the private regions of his opponent. Whimpering and squealing in pain, the Nautolan tutted and smiled, then grabbed his arm and lifted Galleros, carrying him forward to the flat area where the Zelosian was inspecting.

“You are a tricky character to debate with, Galleros. Don’t worry buddy, we can talk this out. Let’s sit here and get on level.” Scheat smiled joyfully as he spoke.

“No!” Galleros scream at the top of his lungs.

In desperation, the Zelosian reached to his hilt, grabbed his lightsaber and ignited the jade blade. He took a wide swing at the face of his man-handler only to see him grip Galleros’ hand, pushing it away in an attempt to save his life. This caused Scheat to accidentally slice the Zelosian’s arm clean off and watch him fall down into a ditch, slide past the sand and fall directly into the spike-trap. The body of Galleros was stabbed multiple times, as different areas of his body were cut clean off. In confusion, Scheat slowly peered over and tutted in sadness.

“Such a terrible loss. He could of been a great leader.” The Nautolan sighed as he retreated back into the desert in search as his lightsaber.

Scheat blinked the sand out of his eyes. What am I doing? This is a fight I cannot win. Scheat shook his head with the thought.

“Galleros,” he said, calling on the Force as he talked. “I guess you don’t want to join my guild. I suppose it's only natural.”

Galleros grimaced as a dark tendril cut his check. It stung, but otherwise was no big issue. He brought his saber to bear. “I may have skill over you in the force,” he began. “But a teenager like you does not deserve to see such secrets.”

He began to swing his arm down, attacking the annoying Jedi. His shoulder locked up, and he was not able to move his arm, while Scheat threw himself back. Scheat tossed off his cloak as it began to get in the way of the fight. Scheat sent in a powerstrike trying to break Galleros’s guard. He succeeded, and Galleros was forced to leap back, leaving his saber behind.

Scheat followed his powerstrike with a powerful blast of telekinesis, knocking Galleros back even further, before charging in. Galleros retailed with his own use of the Force, locking Scheat’s ankle while he moved, causing the Nautolan to fall, losing his saber in the blowing sand. Galleros and Scheat both stood back up. Galleros threw a punch at the Jedi, annoyed by his smile. Scheat dodged the blow, while grabbing Krath to throw him aside. He managed to throw the Krath, but received seven hits on his back from Galleros’s foot.

Scheat rolled with the blows, his back in pain. His hand brushed against Galleros’s saber, and he picked it up. As he completed his roll, he spun and ignited the Kraths saber. Galleros saw his opponent spin up and turned, running from the teenager. This kid is good in melee. I don’t have the skill set necessary to beat him in this case. Nor do I have all day to fight him.