Located on Sepros, the ancient Temples of Orian have served as the home for Clan Naga Sadow since the Exodus. In particular, the Temple of Sorrow was selected to become the base of operations for all of Clan Naga Sadow. The Temple has been rebuilt upon a once withered base, creating a hybrid of ancient stone and current era technology.

Within the shroud of Sepros' jungles, the spire of the Temple stands tall and menacing. It is constructed at the heart of a large clearing within the trees, with an impressive courtyard flanking it. The courtyard itself is a testament to the ancient origins of the Temple, littered with remains of the previous temple. Vines grow like slithering snakes throughout the crumbling architecture as if trying to strangle what stone remains and drag it into the dirt once more. Moss coats the stones in defiance to the elements that have stripped the stone bare throughout the courtyard. A grand staircase leads from the grassy ground to the main entrance, with secondary platforms on either side that house landing platforms. Several transport shuttles are settled upon the platforms in varying states of readiness as droids see to their maintenance.

Inside the Temple lies the main hall. The walls are shaped from a marble-like structure with elegant, flowing curves as if molded in clay. Columns line the walls leading away from the entrance towards the central chambers, supporting a balcony that stretches along the walls of the hall as a second level. Multiple corridors are seen between the columns, leading towards the Temple proper. Within these pathways reside the quarters many call home, in addition to various training rooms and small libraries.

This is the Temple of Sorrow, the heart of Clan Naga Sadow.

The shuttle's engines whined as they slowed, air hissing from valves across the craft's hull as it settled onto the landing pad. It was eerily silent outside, save for the sound of distant insects in the surrounding forests. The night air was otherwise still. The massive, darkened shadow of the Temple of Sorrow rose before the landing pad, a uniquely artificial shape among the surrounding trees.

Locke stepped out of the shuttle and looked around. There were no workers as there would usually be, nor aides or attendants to greet him. Usually, he would have to struggle to avoid them. Tonight, there were none. The Augur frowned, turning toward the Temple itself. He approached the entrance, finding it open and unguarded. It was very strange and worried him. Had there been an attack? Was something going on that he did not know about?

As he approached the entrance and stepped inside, Locke breathed deeply and reached out through the Force. Something was not right here. His back itched as if he were walking into a trap. The Augur slowly slung his blaster rifle down into a ready position, peering into the dimly lit interior. A moment later, his Force senses detected something odd. He sensed only one presence in the hall, and it did not seem friendly. There was an air of hostility about that presence, as well as a familiarity.

"Who are you?" Locke called, his shout echoing throughout the hall.

Before there was any reply, a series of glow bulbs winked on, illuminating the entire hall with dim lighting; casting shadows in odd patterns along the columns and marble floor. Then Locke recognized the individual he had sensed.

"Darkblade! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to make you answer for your weakness," the Quaestor said, his voice tinged with malice/

"My weakness…" Locke said slowly, his mind wondering what Darkblade meant. Instead, he asked another question. "Where is everyone?"

The other man ignored that question, going on as if Locke had not even asked it. "The operation at Mygeeto is only the latest. You're not fit to rule. You will lead us to our doom." His voice held a hint of satisfaction that time.

Darkblade referred to the recent conflict with Scholae Palatinae which, by all accounts, had been a tactical loss. He did not give Locke a chance to reply. In a flash of movement that must have been Force-augmented, the Savant raised his arm and activated the wrist-mounted lanvarok he wore, a series of small discs firing toward Locke in a horizontal arc. Most of the discs went wide, nowhere near hitting the Augur, but Locke still dived into a roll and came up to one knee, rifle at the ready.

"You don't even know how to use that thing," he muttered, firing the rifle in a spread pattern, aiming to Darkblade's right and then moving the stream closer to the other man. He didn't want to kill the man - at least not yet. It would be best if Locke could calm the Savant with words and show him the error of his thoughts. He would be much more valuable as a living ally than as a dead enemy.

Darkblade side-stepped quickly, ducking behind one of the columns. Locke pelted it with a several short bursts of laser fire, hoping to ensure the Savant would stay behind it. Then he raised his voice, answering the man's accusations.

"And who are you to judge? I know about that prisoner you hide from us. What do you intend to gain there?" There was unconfirmed rumor that in a recent past conflict, Darkblade had taken a high profile enemy combatant captive, and had hid that fact from the others.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Darkblade said, his voice flat. So, he would not betray his guilt so easily, assuming the rumors were true.

"I'm sure," Locke answered, letting a tinge of sarcasm into his voice. "What do you know, then? Do you even have a plan beyond your accusations?" he asked incredulously, lowering the rifle and slowly slipping one hand down to his belt. He unclipped a thermal detonator, initiating the weapon's timer.

"I know that you are weak," Darkblade retorted. There was a rustle of clothing behind the column, but Locke could not tell what the Savant was doing.

"Do you think you could do better?" Locke asked, rolling the primed detonator along the floor, just beside the column, intending it to come to rest near Darkblade's feet.

The twin suns had begun to settle on Sepros, casting their final rays on the many pillars in the main hall, making way for the small beginnings of shadows. It would not be very long before the guards would make their usual rounds and light the hall with pyres of fire until the morning suns cast their warmth and light once again on the Temple of Sorrow. Locke stood in its remaining light, as if defying the will of the shadows that had started to creep through the temple.

The marble floors of the main hall gave away Darkblade’s position when his boots hit the floor, causing the sound to echo and reverberate throughout the hall.

I can’t believe I’m trapped behind this pillar. I can't just run out into the open or I’ll be gunned down within seconds. What was I thinking when confronting our Consul out in the open like this with no plan? the Anzat thought to himself as he became frustrated at his inability to have thought out a better plan before initiating the fight.

The Quaestor began to tear at his cloak, unclasping the heavy dark fabric and letting it fall lazily to the ground behind him. As he bent down to take off his boots, it was pure luck that he spotted the slated gray color of the thermal detonator’s outer shell in his right eye. He watched with horror in his eyes as it lazily rolled towards him and stopped right before his boots which now sat beside the Savant.

Six meter blast radius, was all that flashed through the Anzat’s brain as instinct took over.

The Seeker was well within a meter of the rolling ball and he called upon the Force, demanding it to surge through his arms and legs, infusing them with the necessary power to make a calculated jump off to the left of the pillar. As he prepared his jump, time seemed to slow for him as he heard a beep coming from the detonator.

BEEP.

Darkblade realized he had no time left, and curled his legs and feet up under him, barefooted, and propelled himself upwards instead of to the left as his brain had screamed at him just mere seconds ago, before hearing the final beep and feeling the grenade explode under him.

BOOM!

Darkblade looked down and watched the grenade immediately vaporize the boots, cloak, the first six meters of the pillar and left a small wide hole beneath the now vaporized bottom portion of the support beam.

Good think Locke didn’t modify that one, Darkblade thought to himself as he began to feel his body being pulled back downwards. Knowing that he was defeated as soon as Locke got him in his crosshairs when he landed in the hole left by the detonator, the Seeker planted his feet onto the pillar, the cool surface jolting him back to reality.

As the Seeker forced his legs to extend and sprang out and away from the demolished pillar, he catapulted himself into a backflip, landing softly on his arms and letting the momentum carry him further back towards another pillar from which he could recollect his thoughts. As he completed his landing, his bare feet silently kissed the cold marble floor. Wiggling his toes and grinning slightly to himself, the Anzat felt more confident in his abilities to catch the Consul unaware and end this fight.

Locke waited patiently for the Anzat to fall into his sights, the sun’s light still casting a halo around him, lighting him up like a beacon for all to see if you were in the right spot. The Augur calculated that it would only be a matter of seconds before he could force the errant Quaestor to cease his unnecessary quarrel and submit to detention. The Arcanist stared down the barrel of the energy weapon and aimed it towards the left of the detonation area he expected the Anzat to drop into, feeling confident that the fight was over.

“I could definitely do better,” Darkblade taunted from the shadows which had finally begun to spread throughout the temple, continuing their interrupted dialogue. His voice bounced and echoed throughout the great hall, throwing off his location. So long he could hide in the shadows and behind the pillars, he would be able to catch the Consul unaware. He slipped away from his current hiding place and began to move to the right of the hall's entrance.

He could hear Locke’s clothes rustle as the Augur whirled around trying to discern where the voice had come from, staring into the shadows and hoping to catch a glimpse of the Savant that had escaped his trap.

“So how about we settle this without blasters and cheap toys?” the Seeker said in a voice that dripped with malice as it reverberated again throughout the temple entrance. Moving again to another pillar, the Anzat began to close the distance between the two until there was only one pillar left between them. Locke stood on one side, his left flank exposed and the Anzat gripped his lightsaber, preparing to strike him down. There was not more than three meters between them.

“No thanks!” Locke replied as he had pinpointed the location of where he thought the Anzat was hiding. He didn’t let this show though, and continued to pretend to be oblivious as he lowered his gun slightly and began to gather energy into his right hand once removing it from the gun.

Darkblade stepped out from beside the pillar and rushed at the Augur, igniting his silver blade and bringing it up above his head in order to bring it down with all his might and slice the human in half. With a roar that sounded like a rancor, Darkblade swung his blade down.

Locke responded with a roar that matched Darkblade’s and fell to one knee as he smashed his hand into the ground, expelling the built up Force pressure he had collected for this exact moment. A massive shockwave rippled throughout the temple, first cracking and then shattering the ground beneath the Augur. Small chipped pieces of marble flew out from the epicenter as an invisible wave of power crashed into Darkblade, knocking the incoming Anzat clean off his feet and pushing him back several meters before he finally crashed onto his back.

"When will you learn?" Locke growled, eyes staring intently at Darkblade. The Augur turned toward the Quaestor, slowly approaching him. Locke let his anger well up, the dark side surging through his body. Had Darkblade really thought to catch him unaware by hiding like that? The Arcanist had still sensed him; had known roughly where he would appear.

Darkblade seemed to mutter something as he quickly scrambled to his feet, hunching over and holding his stomach as if one of his ribs were cracked. "I'll learn," Darkblade rasped, voice grating, "when I have a worthy teacher." He glanced to where his lightsaber had rolled to a stop, a few meters away, then back to Locke, glaring.

Locke heard his own voice howling with rage as the Force surged into his hand. He could have stopped himself, but didn't hesitate. Instead, the Arcanist let the dark side guide his actions. In one smooth motion, he stretched out his fingers and released a torrent of lightning in Darkblade's direction.

The other man scrambled behind the nearest column, narrowly avoiding the blast. Locke let it dissipate as his voice subsided. He breathed deeply, slowly recovering control of his emotions. "Darkblade!" he growled in a low, steady voice. "You cannot run."

"But I can hide," Darkblade answered.

"We'll see," Locke said, then, thinking, he added, "coward." The Arcanist reached out with the Force as he had before, searching for the other man's presence. To his surprise, he found nothing this time.

I didn't kill him, Locke thought, and there's nowhere for him to run.

"Nice trick," Locke said. "But it won't save you."

There was no response. He tried expanding his Force senses as he had done before. The Arcanist found nothing. It was as if Darkblade had just vanished, but Locke knew the other man had to be present. He had heard of this ability before - to diminish one's presence in the Force - but had never encountered someone so good at it.

"Maybe you're not as foolish as you seem," Locke muttered. He stepped away from the columns, readying his blaster pistol and holding it with both hands. He made a circular arc around each column, careful to keep his distance. He found nothing behind them. When he got to the end of the row, Locke turned around and looked across the hall, wondering where Darkblade had gone.

That was his mistake. Half a second before it was too late, Locke felt a twinge in the Force. He spun around, firing the blaster as he saw a shimmer in the air. The shot went wide and burned into the nearest column. At the same time, the silver blade of a sword materialized out of thin air and cut down toward Locke's arm. The Consul acted without thinking, throwing the Force into a shield, pushing both his hands against the blade, the narrow band of hardened Force energy the only thing between that ancient, dark side-twisted metal and his soft flesh.

"There you are," Locke growled. It was all he had time for.

Darkblade hacked at Locke with the sword, while the Arcanist backpedaled quickly, doing his best to stay out of reach. He tried to go for his lightsaber, but felt a surge in the Force just as Darkblade brought the sword down on Locke's sunfire blade. The unexpected strength knocked the weapon from the Augur's grip, causing him to have to duck sideways to avoid another strike. He kept trying to widen the distance between himself and Darkblade, but it was no use. The other man was coming on far too quickly. Every time Locke separated them, the Anzati closed the distance. If he didn't think of something soon, Locke feared he would lose a hand - or worse.

He did have one weapon left: the slugthrower. Locke knew he wasn't very skilled with it. Even if he was, drawing it in the middle of a fight would be very difficult. It was likely his best chance, however. He glanced at Darkblade, who wore a look of grim determination. Locke hoped the Savant would not expect what he was planning.

He gathered the Force and dive-rolled perpendicular to Darkblade's movement, sending the Force energy through his limbs to steady them; into the muscles of his eyes to help him see more clearly. Time seemed to slow while Darkblade turned, bringing his blade into position for another strike, a satisfied smile slowly growing on his lips. It turned to a frown as Locke raised the slugthrower. He pulled the trigger when he thought it was level, but even with Force-enhanced senses, Locke knew he couldn't fire very accurately.

The loud thunder-crack sound of the weapon firing signaled the end of Locke's concentration. The moment that had seemed to stretch for several slow seconds was over in the blink of an eye. Darkblade made a wordless, pained sound and stumbled forward, his blade stabbing down into Locke's shoulder. As the Consul cried out, he felt it slip down, but it fortunately missed any vital organs. Shot, his strength giving way, Darkblade's grip slipped away from the weapon and he was unable to push it further.

"You've gotten better," Locke whispered, cringing at the sharp pain from his shoulder. He couldn't let it end like this. He couldn't let Darkblade think he had won. Still, the Seeker appeared to be slowly gaining control of himself and trying to stand. If he did, he would have the upper hand.

Locke couldn't allow that. As Darkblade stood, Locke raised the slugthrower in a quivering, white-knuckled grip. He fired two shots in succession, one missing narrowly and the other hitting Darkblade's leg. The other man gasped and collapsed, dropping to his other knee.

Breathing deeply, Locke summoned all of the Force energy that was left to himself and funneled it into his shoulder. He could barely contain the pain, while at the same time he attempted to heal the damage the sword had done, even while it was still inside him. Arteries around it closed themselves, causing the bleeding to lessen, but he would still need medical attention.

Locke reached up with one hand and gripped the sword, steeling himself as he pulled it free, screaming from the pain as his arteries were ripped open anew. After letting the weapon clatter to the ground, the Arcanist put a hand over the wound, feeling a trickle of blood from it. Still, he funneled the Force into himself, healing as best he could, his energy finally running out long before the job could be completed.. He knelt there, looking down at Darkblade's body, knowing this was not enough.

The Quaestor would continue to challenge him. Locke had to show the Anzati what true strength was.

He grit his teeth and pushed himself up, standing slowly. It hurt as if he had just been stabbed again, but sheer willpower powered Locke's actions. He felt as if his bleeding were increasing, but he could not show Darkblade weakness. He had to be strong. He had to command the other man's loyalty. This kind of infighting could not continue.

"This is true strength," he said, his voice cold steel between gritted teeth.

Then he carefully fished out his comlink with a blood-soaked, shaking hand, using it to call for a medical team.

Locke just hoped they would arrive before his legs gave out.