On the planet of dangerous myths, shocking fables and unspoken legends, there is also beauty. Dispersed around the untamed world are flaws; cracks formed through thousands of years. Glacial rivers rushing and destroying cliffs, racing and scooping away the soil and digging crevices untouched by all but a handful of explorers from ages long past. Isolated at the southern tip of Ilum, this particular ravine is close to the planet’s core. No-one ever dared to dive directly down into the darkness of the ravine, instead opting for laser drills that bore a tunnel into the nearby glacier. Uncharted and unexplored, this passageway is a place of nightmares for those who venture to its depths. The half-eaten carcasses of explorers who have met an untimely end litter the ravine’s descent—a warning to those who might choose to venture too far. Whether these men and women fell to their deaths, or had been murdered remains lost to the long-forgotten histories of the ravine.

The antechamber of the Crystal Cave is wide and cavernous with a winding walkway carved out of the stone itself and smoothed over with glacial elegance. The pathway ascending upwards to the top of the cave where a resilient sheet of ancient stone weathers against the raging winds from Ilum’s winter skies. At the base of the walkway is a platform of old stone used for meditation in times past.

Leaving the main antechamber leads to other tunnels carved and abandoned by miners and treasure hunters. Glinting like candlelight against the unforgiving darkness of the deep and untrodden cave, translucent clusters of kyber crystals crystals reflect the light. Untouched for a millennia, the value in this chamber once sparked an entire battle between the Galactic Republic and the Sith Empire. The sides of the cavern stretch vertically, terminating in a vaulted arch that was carved with embellishments some time ago. On each side of the walls, various ports and alcoves distinguish in the light. Some are known to be rivers of purified water, as displayed by the translucent sheets of ice glistening along the alcove walls.

“Firith’raaaar…. Come out, come out whereever youuu are…” The icy cold winds blew Macron’s cloak about briskly as he stepped into the wide Antechamber entrance. “So much history.” The madman’s mismatched eyes peered about as he regarded the icy walls and majestic frozen walkway. He had come here to battle Firith’rar. The lunatic tried to focus on the matter at hand, but it was hard. There were so many pretty things to see after all.

Macron knew Firith’rar fairly well. They had fought together against foes of the Clan several times, and the escape from the tunnels on Moraband had made an impression on Macron. He knew the grizzled old Dark Jedi was tough, experienced, and fought dirty. The Adept grinned evilly and giggled. “Just the way I like them. Oh Firith’raaar…. I’m heeeere…. Let’s have a bit of sport, shall we?” He also knew that the old-timer was far too experienced to try a frontal assault, as that would likely mean a quick and deadly ending for the Savant.

“Tricks…. I know you’re up to something.” The Adept walked deeper into the antechamber, heavy boots crunching on rime ice and loose rock debris. He stood a moment and regarded the plinth where many Jedi had come to meditate in times of old. “Fools.” The Sith wrinkled his scarred forehead in disgust. “Why waste time with meditation, when the answer is already inside your soul?”

The Alchemist reached out with his senses. The feel of the Force here was overpowering and difficult to tell one source from another. The beautiful Kyber crystals radiated energy like beacons from further down in the tunnels. Still, there was something… but he could not quite put his finger on the emanation. It seemed close. It was hard to keep his shattered mind on his task with so many crystals around to see and feel.

From not far down the closest tunnel echoed a quiet “scrunch” of pebbles clattering against ice. “Aha!” Macron drew his lightsaber and it screeched into hungry life with a coruscating tangerine light. The Sith broke into a slow jog and clomped down the nearest tunnel towards the source of the noise. “I’m coming!” He connected with the kernel of darkness seething within his blackened soul and sought vibrations that would indicate any impending danger. In his arrogance he had made a potentially fatal mistake. He was about as subtle as a Bantha with digestive problems.

Firith’rar dropped his cloaking and concealment effects as the madman thundered by him after the pebbles the Dark Jedi had tossed. In one hand he held a bag of blinding dust, and the other an unlit lightsaber. Just as the hulking Juggernaut passed the Obelisk flung the parcel of dust at the madman’s head and struck at his back with the now-ignited lightsaber blade.

Macron screamed in rage as the package burst around his head and the dust found it’s mark. Even so, the Dark Side had warned him of the crimson blade lunging for his back. A broad deflective sweep in a plane over his shoulder stopped the lunge with fat, popping sparks from the twin screaming blades. The Adept parried his opponent’s weapon to the side. Macron spun on his heels, barely blocking another quick swipe from Firith’rar’s blade. His eyes watered and swelled and he pawed at his face with one hand while backing up with his blade outstretched in the other. The Force would have to be his sight now. “Raaarrrgh! I’m going to enjoy ripping your GUTS out old man!”

Oh Sithspit! Firith though taking a step back from Macron’s unpredictable saber swings.

Knowing an outright attack and duel would leave him as nothing but cauterized pieces of meat Firith knew he had to think his way out of this one. It was time to use his skills at dirty fighting and to see what Force skills he had that might work in his favor.

Macron stepped back and seemed to calm himself. Then, without warning exploded forward with a fluid and swift strike right at where Firith was standing. Firith’s blade hardly had time to block the strike as Macron danced forward in deadly and graceful movements.

Firith’s wild and chaotic slices and hacks were met with precise and smooth blocks and parries. Overextending his attack, Firith saw the crimson blade of his enemy sweep around at head level out of the corner of his eye. Ducking away just in time, he felt the tip score a glancing burn across his ear and could smelled burning hair.

Oh kriff! That was way to close! He thought as he dove sideways and rolled on the frozen floor, feeling the shards of broken crystals and the ice on the ground dig through his cloak and armor. “You will STOP attacking!” Firith said using something, he had hoped he would never have to use on a fellow Clansmen.

He watched as Macron stumbled a bit, but then turned to attack, using his hearing until his eyes cleared enough.

“HA! You think you can trick me into not hurting you. As I said, I will enjoy ripping your guts out.” Macron snarled, his eyes still weeping from the dust.

As he spoke, he thrust his hand forward and shot a bolt of lightning at the blurred form in front of him, then began to maniacally giggle as he heard Firith scream in agony and fall to the ground. “I will fry you and carve you bit by bit, old man.” He said, as he slowly he began moving towards his wounded prey.

Firith took a deep breath and pulled himself up to his knees. “Damn you, you crazy bastard,” he growled. Concentrating all his will, he probed Macron’s mind, and was appalled at the shattered knives that he found. Pitching his voice to enhance his words, he tried to dominate his foe’s mind. “You will stop and drop your saber.” Firith ordered as he climbed to his feet and stepped away from the oncoming juggernaut.

Macron stopped short and his saber blade dipped and turned off as he dropped it. Then he started giggling again. “Oh you are good, very good.” He smiled. “If you did that to anyone else it probably would have worked. That was very nice indeed. However, alas, I am not anyone else. I’m insane, remember?” He smiled and the saber returned to his hand and snapped back on. “Now, come here and die like a good little Jedi-- wait. Where did you go now?”

Firith used the brief opportunity given to him, Firith turned off his saber and vanished from sight. Slowly he move backwards away from the giggling Adept and looked around trying to figure out a place to attack unseen again.

Laughing, Macron raised his hand and spread his fingers. Seeing this, Firith dropped to the ground and rolled behind a pillar of ice and crystal.

Suddenly, from behind the pillar, lightning flashed and spat in multiple directions, striking the ground, walls and crystals. All the while laughter filled the chamber.

Shaking his head from the booming sounds, Firith desperately tried to think of something that might work.

Macron caught his breath and dropped the electrical attack. Generating lightning for lengths of time was draining even for an Elder. He wiped at his eyes. His vision was beginning to return but was still too blurry for precision work. “No… no. The usual means of termination are not right.” He could hear Firith’rar scrambling. The Savant was proving to be a difficult quarry. “He is an interesting subject.”

Firth’rar was not yet beaten. “I’ll subject you, ye mad bastart!” Firth’rar’s voice echoed in the chamber. He adjusted himself and looked to his injuries. They were minor at this point fortunately. Now, how to get himself out of this tunnel. The Obelisk was effectively trapped with the lunatic blocking the only way out.

Macron giggled madly. “I don’t think so my friend.” Everything was an experiment to the mad Alchemist. Firith’rar was no different. An evil idea skittered across the Sith’s fractured mind on too many imaginary crawling legs and he chuckled. “Yesssss…” The madman clipped his lightsaber to his belt and palmed a hyposyringe that was loaded with a nasty cocktail of neurotoxins.

The Sith began to slowly back out of the tunnel entrance towards the antechamber proper. With his free hand he casually tossed a thermal detonator set to explode on impact into the tunnel towards his foe’s sheltering pillar. The Adept was not very skilled with their use but he was not actually aiming at Firith’rar. Instead, he let the detonator impact wherever it would go and counted on the blast as a diversion.

“Whump!” The flash of green actinic flame and superheated explosion blew icy debris and shattered rock chips out of the front of the tunnel entrance. Firith’rar shouted in surprise from his former hiding spot.”Goony naw do that! You’ll be bringin’ the dam rouf doun!”

“Indeed,” smirked the Adept as he raised his now empty hand. “That’s it exactly.” The Sith reached into the Dark Side and twisted invisible tendrils around the loose rock and stalactites hanging from the ceiling. He tugged with the power of the Force. Stalactites and ice began to creak and grind with sounds reminiscent of biting down on an ice cube. Macron strained. Yellow sweat broke out in oozing droplets on his tattooed brow as the Sith dropped his hand towards the ground with a swift motion. More debris, ice, and shattered rock mixed with glittering bits of multicolored Kyber crystals began to thunder down into the chamber.

“Ay, right!” yelled the Savant as he dove from the tunnel into the antechamber in disbelief. He was unsure whether the Sith had the actual power to collapse the tunnel or not but he did not intend to stay in there and find out. He hit the ground, rolled, and stood up and began to raise his unlit lightsaber.

Macron took that moment to steel his body with power and jump on the blur that was the Obelisk directly with a blistering rush of alacrity. A vicious armored back-fist across the Savant’s jaw broke bones. Bloody teeth spewed from Firth’rar’s mouth to leave scarlet streaks across his graying beard as they dropped to the floor with splattery clicking sounds. Macron’s aim was not to beat the old man to death though, however satisfying that would be. His other hand jabbed the hyposyringe into the older man’s gut. It hissed as it injected the toxin.

Fire spread throughout Firith’rar’s body.The pain was overwhelming. Every scrape, every cut, and every broken bone burned with agony that was quickly intensifying. The puncture of the needle felt like a spear of hot iron in his stomach. He worked at trying to nullify the pain by remembering his teachings from the Shadow Academy. His jaw and face felt like a hellmouth of broken hot glass and flaming fishhooks where the madman had belted him. “Auugh… aaaaa!”

As the Savant staggered ahead towards the safety of the ravine Macron laughed. The Sith followed a score of paces behind. “Tell me Firith. Do you feel it? Do you feel the pain… and the Fear?” Waves of abject crippling terror radiated from the Adept towards the injured and staggering Obelisk. As Firith’rar haltingly made it to the steps going up the ravine the Alchemist shoved him rudely over the edge. Screams of pain and fear echoed upwards for a few seconds, decreasing in strength. They were soon followed by a distant dull thud.

Macron stood looking down, still wiping at his eyes. “Wish I could see it clearly. Guess we had a falling out. Hahaha! Oh well, he can join the rest of the rotten carcasses down there. He’ll fit right in.” The Sith turned and began making his way up the precarious steps. “Now, how to explain this to the Consul…”

Firith crouched down, using the scant protection given by the alcove to protect him from the worst of the debris. Pieces of ice and shards of crystals shattered and glowed from the random lightning strikes. The smell of ozone filled the air and steam hissed from where the crazed Sith’s attacks struck the ice walls.

Looking around Firith espied a crevasse in the floor that he might be able to duck into. Cautiously he moved forward along the wall, edging towards the hole in the floor of the cavern. He moved slowly, so as not to disrupt his cloaking. He could feel the ache across his back and shoulders from where he had rolled away earlier and knew he would be badly bruised tomorrow. Firith did not worry about the cut to the ear, it was superficial and had been bleeding only a little. Mostly it was the blast of lightning he had received that pained him more than anything. The nerves in his chest and abdomen where it hit felt like he had acid on his skin, and his armor chafed and rubbed making it difficult to concentrate.

“Fiiiirrrrriiiiitttttthhhhh, wheeere did you go? I have a gift, hee hee heee hahahaha, gift for yoouuuuUUUuuuu.” Macron said in a sing song voice.

Glancing back over his shoulder Firith saw the Adept peering around the edge of the alcove he had just vacated. Fascinated, he watched as Macron sniffed the air like a Akk dog searching for prey. “AHHHhhhhhh, I smell your fear, the burns on your flesh and, oh what’s this?” The crazy Sith giggled, crouching down and running a finger through a small red puddle on the floor.

Firith realized he was bleeding from the saber cut and had dripped blood onto the floor. In horror he looked down and saw tiny droplets spattered across the floor leading right to him. Looking up he watched as Macron traced the line on the floor with his bloodshot eyes and looked right at where Firith stood a few feet away.

Macron slowly stood up grinning, showing his sharpened teeth. Not breaking eye contact with where he knew Firith was he lifted his bloody fingertip to his mouth and slowly licked it. Blinking and making a face as if he had eaten something rancid or sour, Macron shook his head and spit. “Blah! Ugh, stale and old like you! I will not even be able to use your useless blood once I’ve gutted you! Killing you will do the Brotherhood a favor.”

Firith took a few more steps away from Macron, concentrating to keep his cloak in place and on his surroundings.

Macron reached down to his belt and unsnapped the safety cover of the blade he had on his hip. Slowly he drew the short sword from its sheath and began slowly waving it’s sapphire blue blade, making an almost hypnotic pattern. Firith could see an oily shimmer on the blade, he’d forgotten Macron liked using poisons.

“While I can’t use your blood, I may be able to use your lovely wife’s.” The Adept hissed and then giggled. “I remember her from our mission together, so full of life and vigor. Maybe after I have had my fun with her in my laboratory I will cut out her beating heart and eat it.”

Firith uncloaked and snapped his lightsaber on, rage filling his soul. “Ye’ll nae touch her, ye kriffen’ pile o Gungan shavit.” He growled, his accent coming out heavier than usual.

Macron smiled and then cocked and eyebrow as he felt his opponent's anger wash across him. “Oh my, I seemed to have upset you. GOOD, now you die, old man. Knowing I will despoil all you love and you failed to do anything about it!”

Screaming so loud that he caused damage to his vocal chords, Firith leapt forward in a wild and frenzied overhand strike.

Macron dropped his stance and shifted, angling his body to deflect the oncoming attack. Gracefully shifting away from the angry strike of Firith’s lightsaber, Macron slashed with his sapphire blade as Firith staggered past him. The razor sharp edge of the blade slit the cape and armor, scoring a line across the shoulders of the Dark Jedi.

Firith felt his left shoulder go numb and his arm go limp as the sapphire blade sliced ligament and muscle from the bone. Screaming from the slash, Firith whirled around as fast as he could and slashed his blade back at his opponent. Twisting his body back and around to the right he extending his arm. The wild swing caught Macron across the chest with the very end of the saber blade.

Losing balance and slamming into to corridor's wall. Feeling his left side tear apart even more, he collapsed to his knees. Looking up, Firith was dismayed to see his strike had hardly cut into the Sadow. Some of it having been partially deflected by Macron’s shield generator and armored chest piece. Most of it due to Macron's amazing reflexes.

Catching his breath, Firith got his feet under him and staggered again as all the colors bled out his vision and then snapped back in shades of neon. Macron morphed into a huge monster, the walls began to drip a poison green slime, the floor became black and tar like.

The monster stepped forward and Firith felt the claws puncture his skull as his head was lifted up to face his attacker.

“Goodbye, you were never worthy.” Macron said as he plunged the sapphire blade into Firith’s lower gut and sliced it up to his sternum.

Firith saw the snakes and worms come slithering out of his belly as Macron withdrew the gore coated blade. They writhed about, wrapping around his fingers. Looking up he saw Macron shift and morph into various people he knew. All of them laughing at him in derision.

Collapsing, Firith died a very cold and lonely death.