Your senses are overwhelmed as you set foot on the planet [Oricon], the base of the ancient Dread Masters nearly lost to time. The landscape is an unforgiving nightmarescape of lava flows and volcanic rock dotted with strange plants and starship wrecks from a battle thousands of years ago. The smoky, sulfuric air of the surface nearly chokes you as your eyes struggle to adjust to the foggy haze illuminated by the soft glow of the lava flows. Tall, luminous blood ferns adorn the landscape, surrounded by vicious predators hardy enough to survive the intense conditions. Trenches and outcroppings formed from flowing lava serve to make footing uneven, adding yet another treacherous element to this already dangerous world. In the distance, the ruins of an ancient tower call to you - the fabled fortress of the Dread Masters. Remnants of ancient cults can be seen here and there, from wrecked huts to blood-stained altars and crumbling oubliettes.

The Dark Side is strong here, but somehow feels different from other Sith planets you have encountered. You are not alone on this ancient world of nightmares.

Locke knelt next to the remains of a deep pit in the ground. The scent of ashes still rose from the pit, and embers smoldered at the bottom. He looked up, gazing at the stones surrounding the pit. The hole itself was about as big around as a large, circular table. At their furthest point, the stones might have been as far apart as a B-Wing's wingspan when landed. He did not know much about cults, but this looked like a cultist site if there ever was one. Since the fire pit appeared to have been active recently, he guessed that this cult was still active and in the area.

Oricon was supposed to be a dead world. The tower in the distance seemed to stand as a relic of some ancient group who had sought too much power. Now, all that was left of them was that structure, looming over the others who came here. It seemed Oricon was not completely dead, if at least one cult was still active. The Consul had come here seeking to learn something of the Force from the ancients who had once existed here, but so far all he had found was wreckage and this apparent cultist site.

It was then that Locke heard a voice. In the intense fog of the dark side, he had not sensed someone approach.

"Looking for something, Consul?" the familiar voice said.

Locke stood up and turned around, finding his Rollmaster, Marcus Kiriyu, standing a short distance away. He had his arms at his sides, scarred face expressionless. Why hadn't the Consul's guards alerted him to Marcus' approach?

As if anticipating the question, Marcus answered that thought. "I convinced the troops who were protecting you that there was a threat they needed to investigate nearby. It's just you and me, now, not like before."

Before? Locke wondered. The Consul glanced to the side, eyes flicking to his blaster rifle which lay nearby. He had set it down to look over the edge of the pit. Placing his hands behind his back, he assumed a relaxed posture. He still did not trust Marcus, but he would not act is if he assumed an attack.

Of course, working with those loyal to the dark side, he was always wary, but assuming an attack was to invite one.

"What brings you out here?" Locke asked. "Your duties are in the Orian System."

"True, but my duties are also to the clan. Before...I was not able to gauge your strength. Others got in the way. Now I have the opportunity."

"Oh," Locke said. "So you followed me out here because you believe you need to test me?" And not to kill me, I'm sure, Locke silently added.

"Indeed," Marcus said. "A true leader must be able to survive attack from any side - without the benefit of Elders or an army to support them."

"And when did you make this determination?" Locke asked.

Marcus didn't answer. Instead, Locke felt a tempest in the dark side. He had no time to draw a weapon as Marcus surged forward, moving far more swiftly than one could without the Force. The Rollmaster aimed a fist at Locke's midsection, the Consul twisting his body and shuffling his feet backward to avoid it. He found himself on the edge of the pit, gravel falling away under his weight.

How convenient. He side-stepped along the rim, summoning the Force to stabilize his legs and feet, giving him greater precision to regain his footing. The Consul stepped back away from the rim, right arm coming up haphazardly to block a punch to his chest. That left his stomach open and he gasped as Marcus' fist impacted it.

Locke jumped backward, aimlessly scrambling away from Marcus. The Consul landed on his back, kicking up dirt around his body. In a flash, he had an idea, and seized the dirt with the Force, hurling it up toward his opponent. As Marcus stood over Locke, preparing to press his advantage, he clawed at the cloud of dust in front of his face and took a step back, preparing a defensive stance.

That gave Locke the opportunity to do the same. He got up to a crouch, readying his lightsaber at the same time. The sunfire blade leaped to life, it's snap-hiss filling the momentary quiet of their encounter. Then, Locke spoke into the ensuing silence.

"Just a test, is it? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to kill me. Dentavii wasn't enough for you, was it?"

The Consul surged up to attack, his legs carrying his momentum forward as he brought his lightsaber toward Marcus' arms. Locke expected Marcus to avoid and prepare his own weapon, but instead the Consul's blade clashed against an invisible barrier, inches from Marcus' left hand. The Rollmaster punched with the other, aiming another strike at Locke's ribs. The Consul spun away, taking two steps back and to the side of Marcus, lightsaber ready as he warily awaited the next attack.

"You'll find that, even alone, I am more than a match for you. I don't think this battle is what you want," Locke calmly stated.

"Oh, isn't it?" Marcus replied, tone like ice.

The Rollmaster still did not draw his lightsaber. Instead, he circled Locke, as if searching for an opening. In the quiet, the Consul thought he heard chanting in the distance, but it was a very soft sound and must have been far away. He felt as if he was being watched, and wondered if that was a trick of the dark side, or if those cultists had been returning and found something they did not expect.

When Locke opened his mind to the Force, he felt only the dark side, settled over this world like a fetid mire. There was no nearby life, so the cultists must have been far away.

Finally, Marcus moved. He charged forward, as if about to try a head on attack again. Locke prepared his lightsaber to defend, but at the last moment felt a shiver run down his spine. The Consul jumped sideways, just as a rock flew through the space between him and the Rollmaster. Marcus stopped and watched for Locke's counter attack, but instead the Consul attacked in a different way.

"You're creative, " Locke said. "But are you a leader? Can you see the big picture?"

At this point, Locke assumed this to be an assassination attempt, no matter what Marcus said. He had to find a way to talk the Rollmaster down and show him the error of this assault, or disable him if that failed.

The jibe that Locke had thrown in his face cracked the icy facade that Marcus had formed on his countenance. An anger almost lava-like began bubbling to the surface, its strength contorting the expression of the Rollmaster. The chanting that seemed to permeate the air had grown louder in his ears, urging him on, tempting him to attack. Not yet, Marcus replied in his head, mentally steeling himself.

“You speak of the big picture, yet you stand here alone. Cornered yet again,” the Epicanthix sneered, continuing to circle the Arcanist. “The only reason you survived Dentavii was because Xanos intervened. If not for him, your station would be mine, along with everything else.”

The words came unwanted, brought to the surface by the same anger that was now forcing his hands into clenched fists. He’d been stopped then by a ritual meant to tear the Orian system to shreds. He had begrudgingly helped stop the ceremony, though many believed he did it to gain its power. This time he would not be distracted, he wouldn’t be deterred from his goal.

He now stood with his back to the same pit that Locke had previously found himself at. This time however, it was the Consul who made his move. Exploding forwards, his sunfire blade carved through the air in a sideward lunge, he set upon Marcus as the latter seemed momentarily distracted by his own thoughts.

Marcus was roughly pulled back to the present by a yellow blur nearly cutting open his midriff. His reflexes taking over, Marcus dropped on his hands. The Force gathering under him at his bidding, he launched himself upwards in a neat somersault over his opponent. As he landed however, his feet slipped through the ash and he was forced in a kneeling position.

Locke, capitulating on Marcus’ mistake, followed up with a downwards swipe but found it blocked by the same invisible barrier that had blocked his strike previously. Marcus had planted his feet firmly on the ground and both forearms extended above his head, blocking the saber strike. Taking advantage of the momentary lull in movement, Marcus rose to his feet, pushing the golden blade aside and, concentrating the Force into his fist, he extended it to near the Consul’s abdomen and let all the pent up energy fly from his hand.

The resulting force which impacted Locke’s sternum threw the clan leader backwards, knocking the wind out of him. Marcus meanwhile reached for his own lightsaber, it’s whining hum slicing through the hot, ash-filled air of the so-called dead planet. As Locke scrambled to his feet and reactivated his own blade, Marcus brought his own blade vertically in front of his face in a mocking gesture to indicate he was ready for the Consul.

“Enough games, Locke. Now we find out how deep your strength runs,” Marcus yelled over the increasingly harsh winds.

“It doesn’t have to be this way, Marcus. Perhaps you’d like to sit down, have a chat,” the Consul joked.

“Mate, I’m Rollmaster Kiriyu, savvy,” Marcus’ jest came back.

Both men took several steps in each other’s direction and let their sabers clash. A fluid whirlwind of gold and purple appeared between the two as they parried, thrust, and countered each other’s moves in perfect synergy.

Suddenly, as if driven by the Force itself, both duelists took a step back and flung their free hands forward, stopping within just inches of the other’s hand. Their faces screwed up in concentration, both Krath adherents struggled to overpower the other in a reversed telekinetic tug of war. Marcus’ mental acuity being the weakest, he felt his concentration slip and was blasted off his feet.

Locke found himself thrown backward by the force of the combined telekinetic power. He landed hard on his back and grunted from the impact. Instinctively, the Consul rolled to the side, coming up to one knee as he looked toward Marcus. The Rollmaster was also recovering, having gotten up to a crouch. They locked eyes for a moment. Locke felt Marcus gathering the Force so he did the same, preparing to counter the other man's actions.

Marcus' eyes seemed to blaze with anger as he surged to his feet and charged toward Locke. The Consul knew that he couldn't respond quickly enough in his current position, so he threw himself sideways, Force-enhanced reflexes allowing his free hand to quickly detach one of the thermal detonators from his belt and leave it as he vacated the position.

The detonator rolled beyond where Marcus landed, the Rollmaster ignoring it as he turned to press the attack against Locke. The Consul watched as Marcus loomed over him, preparing to stab his lightsaber down and end the duel. Then there was an ear-deafening boom, accompanied by a bright flash behind the Rollmaster. Marcus cried out and stumbled forward, while Locke shimmied backward on his elbows. Just out of the other man's range, Locke scrambled to his feet.

Marcus slowly raised himself as well, lightsaber pointed at Locke. The Rollmaster shook his head, seeming somewhat disoriented, though the detonator's explosion must have been too far away to truly injure him. Locke readied his own weapon, preparing to defend. He had thought to press the attack, but instead decided to approach the situation carefully.

Locke had had his doubts about Marcus' intentions when the encounter had begun, but now he was sure.

"You really did come here to kill me," Locke said, voice barely audible over the ringing in his ears.

Marcus nodded. "Of course, Consul."

Locke's voice was ice as he spoke, void of all emotion. It still sounded muted in his ears as his hearing slowly came back. "Do you still intend to do so?"

"Yes," Marcus said.

Then, his hearing returning fully, the ringing was slowly replaced by another sound. Marcus seemed to have noticed it as well, cocking his head to the side as if to listen.

"What is that?" he wondered aloud.

Locke recognized it as the chanting he had heard earlier. It was louder now, more close by. It seemed that the cultists from earlier were returning to their fire pit. The Consul risked a glance to each side, eyes never leaving Marcus for long.

To the left, he saw a large group of humanoids, wearing strange garb and wielding a myriad of weapons. "Them," Locke said.

The two slowly turned to view the approaching group. Locke was still wary of Marcus, as he was sure the Rollmaster was of him. The cultists wore what looked like strips of leather that did not cover most of their bodies. It was interspersed with cloth and what looked like metal body armor here and there. Locke wondered if those were from the wrecked starships nearby.

One who seemed to wear more of it than the others stepped forward from the group, looking at the two Jedi. Locke wondered what he would make of them. Would he see them as deities, as so many primitives who did not understand the Force seemed to do, or something else?

"Demons," the man growled, speaking heavily accented Basic.

Oh great, Locke thought.

The large group behind the leader - which seemed to number at least thirty individuals - stomped their feet on the ground and raised their arms and weapons, one unified voice responding in kind. "Demons!"

"Kill them!" the leader shouted.

"Wait!" Locke said. "We are not-" he cut off as one of the forefront of the group tried to take his head off with a crude melee weapon that might have once been a starship component. He heard blaster fire and looked around frantically, but it was directed at Marcus.

The Rollmaster didn't hesitate, stopping the bolts with the Force. It seemed he was hesitant to outright kill these beings as well. Did he think the same as Locke? Was he hoping to use them to his own ends?

Perhaps he could lead, one day.

A group of the cultists surrounded Locke, blocking his sight of Marcus and the group's leader. Locke ducked an attack at his head and planted the palm of his free hand against the ground, sending currents of the Force rushing through it. There was a thunderclap as the energy smacked into the ground. The resulting wave of Force energy knocked the group back enough for Locke to direct his attention to the cultist leader, who had turned toward him at the sound of the strike.

Locke drew himself up to full height. He assumed a stance of arrogance, his back straight, his eyes intent on the cultist leader. He stepped forward, ignoring the cultists who were recovering to his sides. The cultist leader seemed about to shout another order, but stopped as Locke stared him down.

"We are not your enemy," the Consul said. His mind raced as he decided how to approach this. These people thought them demons. Was that because they wielded lightsabers and the Force? Was it something to do with whoever had built the nearby tower? Would telling them they were not demons work, or destroy all credibility?

Locke figured it was best not to push his luck.

"Demons we may be, but we are here to test you, not to cause you harm. We are...a reckoning." Locke enunciated the words deliberately, making sure each was slow enough for the cultists to understand his own accent.

As the group hesitated, Locke glanced at Marcus, wondering how the Rollmaster would react to this situation.

Speak for yourself, Consul, Marcus nearly growled the words out loud. While he had been surprised at the appearance of the cultists, just like Locke had been, he had no intention of letting them come between him and prey. He had come too far, he was too close to be interrupted yet again. He focused his attention on the leader of the rabble that stood before him and Locke, and started toward him. Breaking into a run, it took Marcus only a few impatient strides to reach his target. The cultists realized too late what would happen, and Locke, who sensed Marcus’s dark intent, could not stop his clansman in time, his hand outstretched, but nevertheless too late.

An elegant flick of Marcus’s wrist ensured that the cultist leader lost his head. For about half a second everyone stood as if frozen, then the body of the leader crumpled to the floor. The group of cultists erupted in what could only be classified as shrieks of rage and fear. Most took off as fast as they could, a few brave stragglers grabbed their weapons and opened fire, while yelling something that vaguely resembled the word demon.

Marcus easily dissolved the two bolts that would have hit him with the Force, the aim of the cultists not posing much threat. This seemed to discourage any further opposition, as the last cultists decided to value their lives over revenge.

“Why did you have to kill that one,” Locke asked, nudging his head towards the decapitated body lying at Marcus’s feet.

“He got in the way,” Marcus replied darkly, turning his attention back to Locke. “Now it’s just you and me, just like it was meant to be. Prove yourself now.”

As the words left the Rollmaster’s lips, he leapt at the Consul again. Forcing him backwards, Marcus began to overpower the tiring Consul. It was becoming clear that, although skilled, the Consul’s primary focus had not been combat over the past years. And that was why Marcus was doing this. Soon it’d be clear.

Forcing Locke further backwards, Marcus sidestepped a vicious parry, twirled around and nearly lobbed off the Consul’s head. Locke retaliated by slamming his fist into Marcus’ unprotected sternum, which caused him to double over. Kicking Marcus in the chest, Locke stood over his Rollmaster. Now on his back, Marcus tried to reactivate his lightsaber, but felt a pain surging through his wrists. Locke had just kicked the weapon out his hands.

Switching his lightsaber to his off-hand, Locke unholstered his blaster from his left side and took aim at Marcus’s head. A cold look in his eyes, the Consul loomed over his helpless opponent.

“This needs to end Marcus. You can’t keep attacking me at every turn. You have potential, I told you aboard the Turmoil. Put it to use.”

Marcus gasped for breath as his opponent pressed down on his chest with a heavy foot. “I am putting it to use, Consul,” he growled. “Just because you cannot see this is for the betterment of the Clan, does not mean it isn’t so.”

It was a damn shame. He really did think that Marcus had potential, if only he’d have applied it. But this had to happen, for the good of all. Letting out a tired sigh, Locke steadied his aim. “So be it,” he mumbled and squeezed the trigger.

Marcus felt the shot before it happened. He could feel the surge of energy from the powercell, the catalyzation of the plasma being charged, and he could see the plasma bolt leave the barrel. Then it happened, but instead of pain, there was a fleeting image. Pink skin, red hair, and a set of beautiful green eyes. For the shortest of moments, Marcus felt at peace. Then the black took him.