Lava is mined as a precious natural resource on this volatile and volcanic world. The opposing gravitational forces of the twin gas giants closest to Mustafar tear apart the planet’s surface to reveal the mineral-rich lava flows underneath. Once serving as the capital world for the Confederacy of Independent Systems, remnants of their past influence still linger. Massive mining facilities - originally constructed by the Techno Union - are still maintained by the native Mustafarians, an egocentric people who would like nothing more than to squeeze minerals for the purposes of trade and commerce from their volcanic planet.

Other than in the pursuit of business interests, few arrive on Mustafar save for those needing to incinerate evidence in its vast expanses of magma. What little curiosity is given to the volcanic planet is thwarted by a natural scanning interference caused by intense geological activity. Pirates, smugglers, criminals and scum all value this world’s ability to dump bodies, tracked cargo shipments and other unwanted articles—the singular reason for the Black Sun’s interest in the Outer Rim world.

Droids, machines and conveyor belts create the workings of an efficient system to extract the minerals and have it prepared for refinement and transportation. Lacking a suitable surface, metal walkways are shielded against the heat to allow workers passage throughout the facilities. Even with the worst of the heat being shielded against, Mustafar’s temperature remains less than comfortable to most species lacking exoskeletons.

Beyond the blistering heat of the volcanic world, Mustafar served as the battlefield for the fabled final duel between Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

The sudden disappearance of the Grand Master had kicked all the various clan war machines of the Brotherhood into overdrive. This led to an acute need for raw materials and resources to drive the engines of war. This need had brought Turel to Mustafar.

The High Councilor listened to a protocol droid drone on and on in Huttese about the particulars of the Iron Legion’s mining guild accounts and shipment locations. He leaned back in the conference room chair to steal a glance at the magma flows outside the window.

“Are the details of this quarter’s shipments to your satisfaction Lord Inquisitor?” The chrome-plated automaton inquired.

Turel smiled behind his Sith Helm as he tapped a few notes into his datapad. This had almost been too easy. A few validation codes and some stolen Inquisition gear had been his ticket to critical intelligence on the Iron Legion supply lines.

The Jedi shifted into the native Huttese of his childhood, “Yes, my masters will be very pleased. Please convey their gratitude to the mining guild for their flexibility in changing the shipping details”

“I will do so at once.” The protocol droid left the room with a bow and headed toward the mining facility offices.

A ripple in the Force peaked Turel’s attention. He sensed the presence of another Force user approaching that was neither distinctly dark or light. Gray path Force users were wildcards; they could be working for anyone.

The Jedi reached down to his repurposed communicator to signal GR-1N-DR, his faithful, albeit eccentric magnaguard. “Grinder, I need you to come to my location, I think I’m about to have company.”

The communicator crackled with the droid’s response, “I thought you’d never ask sweetie, guarding the ship is so dull. Some Ugnaught passed by, started lookin’ me up and down, undressing my chassis with his eyes and I was like ‘nuh uh sug, my servos don’t want none unless you’re two meters tall son’ --”

“--Grinder. Please. Just get here as quickly as you can and try not to make a scene.”

“I’ll be there in two shakes of a Loth-cat’s tail honey.”

Turel refocused on the approaching Force user. Experience told him that whenever two Force users met, no matter where in the galaxy it was, a confrontation was soon to follow. It was as if some mysterious cosmic law compelled them toward combat. The Sentinel took stock of his surroundings if there were to be a fight he would choose the battleground.

The conference room had little in the way of furniture save a durasteel table and eight comfy chairs. The room had windows overlooking the facility floor on one side and a row of screens on the opposite wall. There were only two entrances, one leading to a lobby and the other leading into the mining guild back offices. Turel decided to play up the theatrics and sit at the head of the table like he was expecting the stranger.

The door to the lobby flew open with a swoosh and a lavender-skinned Twi’lek male entered with a flourish. Turel didn’t recognize the newcomer, and there was little about his appearance which would indicate his affiliation. The Force-user wore a cloak which obscured most of his attire.

“Sorry I’m late, got a little sidetracked at the cantina, but I can’t let you leave here,” the Twi’lek quipped.

Turel rose from his chair, “Is that so?” he inquired in an artificially deep voice. “And why would you stand in the way of the Inquisition?”

“A job is a job,” the stranger replied with a shrug. “My employer’s interests are none of your business.”

Well he doesn’t seem to be a friend of the Inquisition, that’s a good thing. But I have to maintain cover and get this information out of here.

The Twi’lek drew a lightsaber from his belt and ignited the teal blade. Turel waited for some statement to accompany the gesture but none came, the purple-skinned assailant remained focused on his task.

The Jedi searched for some sort of bravado to fill the awkward silence, “You just set off my trap card!” He reached out through the Force and threw one of the chairs at the stranger.

The Twi’lek sliced through the weaponized office furniture and leapt onto the table in pursuit of the masked man who made his way toward the office door.

When conjuring the image of the core of a planet, Dolash had a very distinct one. It was churning fields of lava, stewing amongst massive chunks of ore left from impacts millennia ago, when the planet was still forming. They were the building blocks of a world, too deep to ever be tempered, crushed underneath far too much pressure to ever resemble the world above. It was chaos.

Of course, that equation was completely flipped upon its head on Mustafar. Dolash’s eyes flitted from building to building within the facility the landing craft had utilized. Rows of durasteel amalgamated around transparisteel to create large industrial and manufacturing complexes that dotted the entire surface of the planet. Each facility was linked to another by way of extension ramps, creating an intricate web of buildings. Dolash had tried counting them on the descent but had lost count rapidly as more and more appeared.

“So this is where all the droids came from way back when?” Dolash asked nonchalantly. He wasn’t particularly interested, but his traveling companion was tight-lipped, despite having lips that hung from his face more saggy than tight. He was just sober enough that he realized he was slurring slightly as well.

The creature’s buzzing and snapping mandibles translated into some sort of reply, but Dolash wasn’t exactly sure.

He glanced down at his holowatch begrudgingly, softly muttering to himself, “Well, I’ve got awhile so I may as well explore.”

He began traipsing along a ramp that led to a building that didn’t seem as populated as the others. As he hobbled along, his traveling companion spoke up, clicking and snapping in that unfamiliar language. Dolash raised his hand as if proffering something while empty handed and turned back around to continue his course. The facility was further up on the cliffside, which was composed of igneous rock cooled from the lava gradually decreasing in level as it sinks further towards the core.

As he thoughtfully considered his very slight modicum of geology knowledge, the Force gave him a slight nudge. Dolash was not a powerful force user, but he did have heightened instincts that were further sharpened by his connection to it. These notions were not strange to him, just difficult to discern and react to appropriately. As he approached the doors to the facility he was halted by a protocol droid.

“Greetings, Lash. We have been tracking you since you left the Y’Toub system. Trying to kill you has been difficult, to say the least.”

“You’ve got the wrong guy. I haven’t been anywhere near the Y’Toub system since I was a kid. Sorry, pal.” Dolash held his hands up, feigning surrender as he studied his surroundings. He reached out with all of his senses as he sensed multiple life forces climbing up the stairs below him. Without a second thought he pushed the droid out of his way and forced his way through the manual door lock keeping him out of the building.

Behind him he heard that same mechanical voice, “Vaan sends his regards.”

Dolash scowled but continued his escape through the building, arriving in a lobby. In the center was a desk but he was more interested in the door behind it. As he approached the door, sweat dripping from his brow he sensed something.

No…

Another force user. They were strong and most likely here for him as well. Why else would anyone be on this kriffin’ planet? This was where he was going to die, his body would be discarded in the lava most likely. Well, at least he wouldn’t be forced to tolerate this unbearable sweltering oven of a world. He knew he didn’t have much time now, so he gulped and forced open the door.

“Sorry I’m late, got a little sidetracked at the cantina, but I can’t let you leave here,” Dolash felt his stomach drop. The distinguishing attire confirmed this force user’s identity. An Inquisitor. His role in all of this? Probably Dolash’s executioner, only here to make sure the job got done in the end.

After some brief theatrics, the Inquisitor began his attack. Dolash deflected as his opponent began retreating through a door. Summoning his powers, with an extended hand, he shut the door but the Inquisitor had already escaped through it.

This heat is ruining me…

Dolash opened the door and began his pursuit.

Screams filled the mining guild back office as a masked man burst in brandishing a red lightsaber. A Pau’an male in a classy business suit began usher terrified workers out of their cubicles and toward the emergency exit. Turel noticed the fleeing workers heading for the very exit he intended on taking and reconsidered his hasty plan. No need to endanger innocent bystanders.

“GET OUT!” The disguised Jedi bellowed in his modulated voice.

The Sentinel did not have time to come up with an elaborate plan; his pursuer would be on him in mere seconds. He deactivated his saber and dove into a cubicle in the rectangle shaped room just as a very determined Twi’lek burst through the door.

Dolash said nothing as his eyes darted around the room. He noticed the last of the office workers fleeing out the back exit. They were running away from something that was still in the office. There were only two entrances to the room, the one he came through and the one the civilians were crowding to get through. The Inquisitor was here.

The Twi’lek slowly walked toward the back of the office with his saber out, visually scanning each cubicle. He saw nothing but hastily abandoned furniture and holonet stations. Dolash reached into the currents of the Force and focused his will into an invisible disruptive pulse that reverberated through the immediate area. An extra office chair in a nearby cubicle faded away to reveal a crouching Inquisitor. Just as he suspected.

Abandoning the pulse, Dolash called upon the Force to augment his leg muscles. He exploded toward where the Inquisitor had been leaping over loss furniture and waist high cubicle walls with the grace of a professional athlete. The Twi’lek ended his sprint with a slash at where his opponent had been hiding. His blade found only the durasteel floor.

Now visible two meters in front of Dolash, the Inquisitor ignited his crimson blade and took up a defensive stance. Curiously for the Twi’lek, his opponent did not counter-attack. He recognized the signature grip and tight saber orbits of his soresu form. This fight would not be expediently resolved through a straight up saber duel.

The two soresu practitioners traded probing blows and tight parries as teal and crimson flashes filled the room. Dolash waited for one of his opponent’s strikes and reached out with his free hand. The Inquisitor lifted off the ground clasping at his throat with one hand while wildly swinging his saber with the other.

Dolash stood just out of reach of the Inquisitor’s saber. A simple Force choke had vanquished his foe; this was almost too easy. He maintained focus on choking out his opponent but noticed the sound of metal on metal clanking behind him. They were rapid, like a droid’s footsteps. As he started to turn around to see what was coming, he heard the buzzing sound of an electrostaff and felt the sting of such a weapon discharging into his back.

“Step away from my man you purple hussy!”

Dolash slumped forward and dropped his saber after a second strike from the droid’s staff. The Inquisitor fell to the ground, suddenly released, and gasped for air.

“Thanks, Grinder,” the Inquisitor wheezed between deep breaths.

“Should I restrain him?”

“No. We don’t have time. I have what we came for. Let’s get out of here.”

Grinder struck Dolash one last time as he left the room, filling the Twi’lek’s body with electricity.

Dolash opened the door and dropped into a somersault towards the cover of a shoulder high office divider. The material was hard and durable. The interior of the office space was decadent compared to the mining facilities. The mauve Twi’lek reached out with the Force but found nothing.

Dropping his guard, Dolash stood up and stepped around the corner that led to a long hallway, one of four in the large, vaulted office room.

“He has to be here somewhere,” Dolash muttered in a very hushed tone. “The room is too large to traverse that fast, and I would have sensed someone using the Force to enhance their speed.”

BAM

Turel appeared from behind Dolash, reminiscent of a guardian angel remaining near their charge for a moment of great need. Dolash exhaled hard as he hit the ground. The surprise added great effect to the attack as the Tarenti hesitated to get up, wincing from the embarrassment. As he looked up, he noticed the unmasked Inquisitor holding a finger to his lips. Dolash recognized the symbol as a special ritual used to unseal power before a specific attack. He was not versed in hand signs in rituals but knew of their existence.

Fearing further reprisal, Dolash initiated his counter attack. He hopped back to his feet and wrapped his hands around his opponent’s head. His fingers interlocked on the back of the powerful Inquisitor’s head and quickly forced his opponent’s head down into a direct connection with the Gray Jedi’s knee. Turel recoiled, rubbing his forehead gingerly.

“Ugh, are you a stoopa? I was trying to get you to hush!” Turel spat at Dolash’s feet. The Mandalorian Gray Jedi did not react to the insult, remaining in a fighting form he had been taught so long ago that it was as comfortable as breathing. He noticed that Turel was markedly more dangerous than himself, and another opportunity like that would be unlikely to present itself. That is why he was so dumbfounded when Turel relaxed, obviously not prepared to fight. This was when Dolash finally noticed his opponent’s appearance. The man beneath the mask was something of a human male pretty boy. With a face like that, he probably had worlds handed to him multiple times over. What a prick. Dolash still wasn’t convinced of the man’s intentions and remained prepared to counterattack.

“I’m a spy,” Turel intoned wryly.

“Yeah, well, so am I.” Dolash snapped, his tone mirroring his opponent’s. The Odan-Urr Jedi stared quizzically back at the Twi’lek, an unsettling stare that bore like daggers.

“Self taught? I thought I recognized some Spying for Laserbrain’s techniques in your form.” Turel’s face shifted into a smirk, his emerald eyes glinting. “Heads up, we’ve got company.”

“We?!” Dolash was noticeably irritated at his fresh found companion’s predilection for humor in such a dire situation. His mind shifted gears though, adjusting from a physical onslaught to a verbal retort. As he thought back to a joke he had read on the holonet that compared a mother to a bantha, he received a subtle prod.

They did have company. Dolash watched as Turel fished in his cloak, revealing a blaster, a nice one at that. The Gray Jedi panicked, still unsure of his affiliation. With unrivaled speed, Dolash fluidly retrieved his lightsaber, the teal blade manifesting with a snap-hiss. Turel shot in Dolash’s direction, his shot obviously not intended for the Twi’lek as it passed to his far right and struck a Nikto dead center in the chest.

Dolash returned his gaze back to Turel, his mouth agape. “So, wait… you are a friend?”

Turel nodded succinctly as his face became thoughtful as if listening to a conversation elsewhere. He spoke briskly, “I can provide you passage off of this world. A protocol droid that accompanied me here has two more of these Nikto sleemos.”

“There you go again,” Dolash tried to choose his words carefully, “You have a distinct style in your language, it’s like you’re from Nar Shaddaa. How do I know you’re not with these guys?”

Turel shook his head. “You don’t.”

Dolash sighed as he studied Turel. Good idea or bad, this is probably my only chance now. “Alright, I’ll go with you. I was get getting sick of this frying pan of a world anyway.”

Turel smirked. "Good decision, kid.”