Deep within the jungles of Karufr lies a massive temple built from stone blocks, hand-carved by the builders of the Massassi. The ancient race made its home on the planet after joining forces with Clan Taldryan, having been freed from stasis years ago. Now, an entire civilization exists, hidden far from the prying eyes of Karufr's citizenry. As a Jedi, you are one of the few to have access to their secret base.

You step onto the temple grounds and watch the fearsome warriors train in small regiments with their crude weapons. The entire temple is in a state of anticipation as the Massassi know they will soon be called on once more to aid the Dark Jedi of Taldryan in battle. The temple is shaped like a giant pyramid, towering into the sky, and serves as a backdrop to the training ground.

The War Chief notices you and gestures you forward. He clears the area around you with a bellowing command, and the Massassi warriors present form a wide circle with you at the center. A moment later, you realize you're not the only Jedi to visit the temple—the crowd parts slightly to allow the newcomer to enter the ring. The gathered Massassi holler in good cheer. They want to see a fight.

The Chief raises his weapon to the sky and barks a command. The Massassi begin to stamp their feet against the ground, creating a loud, steady beat that seems to get your blood pumping. With little choice left, you lock eyes with your opponent and ready yourself for a fight.

Why does this bloody well always happen to me? questioned the Ryn, as he tried not to stare at the Umbaran before him. The mismatched eyes of the pale Near-Human were disconcerting to say the least, as was the intricate-looking lightsaber hilt that was in his hands. Kordath sighed as he fumbled for his own weapon, painfully aware of how little he’d practiced with it in recent times. Still, the crowd of massive red-skinned aliens stomping the ground around he and the Consular would likely turn violent if he tried to run out of the arena. Gritting his teeth, the Priest thumbed his blade to life.

He’d come to Karufr to see the Massassi temples that had been built there, hoping to gain some insight on the once thought extinct race. Fighting hadn’t been part of his plans for this little trip, but things never did seem to go how he wanted them to these days. Around the Ryn, the thumping seemed to reach a peak before suddenly ceasing. It was unnerving to the scholarly Krath whose primary source of conflict most of the time was found within a boisterous barroom. The Umbaran appeared to be smiling...he thought: the man’s mangled face made it hard to tell.

“I don’t take it…” started the Ryn, finding the silence to be disturbing. “I don’t take it we just want to give these lads a show, eh?”

The lack of a verbal response from the scarred Seer didn’t surprise the Priest; the scarlet blade that came to life spoke well enough. Kordath grimaced as he tried to remember his forms, wishing again he’d spent more time studying with his saber. The Krath shifted his feet and moved to present his profile, blade before him as he tried to control his breathing. If he thought he’d have time to prepare further than that, he was wrong. With a speed that caused the Ryn to spit a few choice curse words out the Consular’s blade met his, sparks flying as the sabers were forced together.

Kordath found himself losing ground quickly, barely able to keep up with the Jedi’s attacks. Even as his mind raced for options on how to disengage from the Umbaran, a swelling of panic was on the rise within the Krath. The Ryn stumbled backwards under the next barrage of attacks, falling back and rolling to regain his feet before noticing the Seer was grinning at him, but no longer advancing. A raspy sound could be heard from the pale man, one that Kordath was almost certain conveyed...amusement.

“You’re not very good with that blade, Arconan,” hissed the Umbaran.

“Oh fun, it does talk,” muttered the Priest, noting the sudden tightening of the other man’s features. “And has good hearing, fantastic. Who are you, anyways? What do you even gain by trying to kill me here?”

“I am Samael, and killing you...besides amusing me, well, it’s always nice to send another Sith to his grave.”

Kordath stared at the Umbaran with disbelief. Could any one person be so…?

“Wait, what? I’m no bloody Sith—” he started to retort, before the Seer laughed again.

“Besides, that tail will make a lovely belt when i’m done with you. After I dye it to match my boots!”

Samael darted in on the offensive again upon this declaration, forcing Kordath back once more. The Ryn felt a horrible sense of unease the longer the Umbaran was near him, not just because of the attacks. Something in the Force itself seemed...wrong, about the Jedi. To make matters worse for the Krath, he felt something prodding at his mind and was starting to see strange shapes out of the corners of his eyes. His focus was slipping, which became even more evident when his foe’s blade slid past his own and burned a hole through the Ryn’s left shoulder. Kordath shrieked in pain as his vision turned red, and lashed out with the Force to drive the Umbaran back a few feet.

The Seer was grinning, which, with no lips to frame it, was a frightening and sickening thing for the wounded Priest to see. Kordath found the man revolting, both in appearance and spirit now. With a wince the Ryn tried to work his left arm, attempting not to let on how much the injury was going to slow him down or how much pain he was in.

The Umbaran’s grin turned nearly feral for a moment, and the Priest knew he’d failed.

Samael chuckled as he looked at the Ryn, the stench of burnt flesh lingering in the air. The gathered Massassi howled at the sight of the feral grin of the Umbaran, the twisted visage of the Consular whipping the group into a frenzy. Kordath, to his credit, never betrayed his inner feelings. He had found himself in trickier situations, and the Odanite seemed to be enjoying himself too much to be thinking of anything close to tactics.

The Consular, however, was listening to the chorus of the Massassi. Their whooping yells and phlegm saturated shouts made the Umbaran’s skin crawl. He hated audiences, spending so much time in the shadows and covering his crimes from prying eyes. He did his best to push them away from his mind, focusing on his prey in front of him. Samael lunged forward with his saber, striking high and connecting with the beautifully blue blade of Kordath. The Arconan flinched at the impact, and the Umbaran couldn’t help but cackle.

“More of a drunk than a brawler, huh?” said the Consular with a smile, his lipless grin stretching wide.

“How’d yo--” said Kordath.

“Too many blacked out memories, too few crystal clear recollections. Usually, druggies and booze hounds are afflicted by signs. That and almost every memory you have starts with a bad cocktail.” said Samael, pressing down hard on his saber, the back leg of Kordath buckling slightly.

“I’m sober now.” said the Arconan through gritted teeth, making a mental note about leverage and its importance.

The Consular pushed further down and pivoted slightly, breaking the lock and opening up the Ryn to an elbow to the side of the head. The blow made Kordath roll to the left and let him have some space from his enemy. Samael chuckled and bowed to his opponent, mouthing the words “You’re welcome.”

The Ryn rubbed the side of his head as he looked at the Umbaran, who began to motion towards the circle around them slyly. The Arconan wasn’t quite sure what the Consular was doing, as reading lips was quite hard when there were no lips to read.

“What are you doing?” asked Kordath, indicating he didn’t understand the Consular.

“Stupid monkey thing...If we don’t at least try and hurt each other, they’ll do much worse.” said Samael.

“What happened to killing me and taking my tale?” asked Kord, not trusting the Umbaran.

“We can do that too, but I’d much rather do that without our friends.” replied Samael, “We can cause a distraction and escape into the jungle. It’ll be easier to dispatch them that way. Then, if we’re not too tired, I’ll skin you alive and turn your head into a puppet. Deal?”

Kordath said nothing, the last piece startling him at how innocently it was said. The Consular rushed forward and brought his saber low, striking at the Ryn’s feet. Kordath dodged it, and returned a blow to Samael, their sabers locking and the Umbaran beginning to make the sound of a clock ticking with his mouth.

“Make a decision.” said Samael, bringing his knee forward into the stomach of the Ryn. It was a half hearted blow, more for show than effect.

The Consular continued to feign attacks and play with his opponent, the whooping noises of the Massassi beginning to wane as the battle went on. Their interest was fading, and the Umbaran knew what happened to play things when interest was lost. They wound up broken and tossed away, a fate Samael gave to countless souls over the years. Kordath rushed his enemy and landed a kick to the groin, which caused the Umbaran to cackle with a disgusting glee. The Ryn wasn’t expecting the reaction, and the sight of his face cause the Consular to laugh even harder.

“Fine! Fine! What distraction did you have in mind?” asked Kordath,

“This!” said Samael as he grabbed the Ryn’s tail and cut it off, the sound of the Arconan howling in pain causing the Massassi to cheer.

In their excitement, they weren’t expecting the Umbaran to charge towards their weakest member and plunge a saber into his chest, the tail of Kordath still firmly in the Odanite’s grip. The life in the Massassi’s eyes slowly fizzled away as Samael pushed the corpse off of his saber, continuing to sprint in the jungle and abandoning the Arconan in the middle of the circle.

“Catch me if you can!” said Samael, his voice bouncing into the Ryn’s ears, who did his best to push the searing pain out of his mind and give chase.