Begeren. Once a prosperous Sith world, it has been the site of numerous battles throughout the millennia. Grand halls and monuments were torn down and re-purposed by looting Republic forces thousands of years ago, before they were driven from the planet. Isolated settlements still dot the planet's surface, but the inhospitable, craggy, and desert-like terrain, along with the beasts common to many desert and Sith worlds, have kept most humanoids from colonizing. Occasional skirmishes have left debris scattered throughout the desert, and battles were fought here as recently as the Galactic Civil War. The planet is now under the control of the One Sith and is rumored to be full of all manner of priceless, ancient Sith artifacts.

The Dark Council has pushed forth to Begeren and the Grand Master, on his quest for ever more powerful items, has decreed the Clans and Houses seize anything of value. The unity shown by the Brotherhood during the beginning of this Crusade is fracturing, with the Clans and Houses growing tired and frustrated with the seemingly endless succession of battles. Tempers are flaring between former allies, with outright aggression no longer uncommon. Despite this, you have responded to the Grand Master's call—though whether it's to actually seize the items for the Brotherhood, destroy them, or use them for your own purposes, only you know. One such item, a Sith talisman, said to be inlaid with a dark side-infused gemstone, was lost in the quarries of Begeren during the liberation of the planet from Old Republic looters thousands of years ago.

The Force has drawn you here, to an abandoned quarry, in a mountainous region west of an expansive desert. Any mining equipment once used here is long gone, but the landscape itself remains surprisingly preserved from the days of the Old Republic's strip mining. Scrub brush, the only foliage present on this part of the planet, has taken root all along the sides of the quarry. The ledge overlooks a one-hundred meter drop into a crystal-clear basin of water; opposite the ledge is a more gradual, step-wise decline. The basin itself is peculiar, as no plants are growing in or around it, despite being one of the few bodies of liquid you have seen in the nearby area. A long, snaking ramp meanders down through the steps of the quarry towards the water below, beginning at the northward edge of the cliff you now find yourself on. You notice shards of gemstones crunch underfoot as you move, a hint as to the use of this quarry in ages past.

Seridan was about fifteen feet from the edge of the quarry. In front of him, Keirdagh Taldrya Cantor stood overlooking the quarry. He seemed oblivious to Seridan’s presence and looked intrigued by something down in the basin.

He wasn’t sure what to do. How could a mere Padawan do any damage to a man like him? The Proconsul stood about a head taller than Seridan, his shoulders broad and his physique looked to be in perfect form. The flight suit he wore maintained a few scratches, but was largely undamaged. His ornate lightsaber hanged from his belt and a blade of brilliant blue sapphire was in his left hand. Its hilt was a dark stormy grey, made from mandalorian iron.

However, Seridan could feel the dark side power radiating from the basin. It was calling to be found; calling to be used once more. Seridan couldn’t let that fall into the hands of a man like Keirdagh. He’d heard stories about the man. Stories that implied his immense power and strength. It was those stories that filled Seridan with dread. He couldn’t let him get it. He had to try, but he needed help.

He turned and started to walk away slowly, to escape detection by the Master.

“Do you really think a person like me would have missed your presence?” A deep voice boomed, belonging to the Dark Jedi Master. “I can’t let you leave. Come here.”

Seridan turned back to find Keirdagh facing him. His face was scarred like any experienced warrior, but his beard drew Seridan’s attention. Its dark brown colour combined with its solid nature gave Seridan the impression of power and downright superiority. His eyes were hard and sure, unrelenting and merciless. He couldn’t let Seridan leave alive.

Seridan drew his armoury lightsaber from his belt and ignited it. The familiar snap-hiss of the weapon gave him some comfort but it did little to ease his fear. If a man like Keirdagh wanted him dead, then they would have their way.

“I said come here!” he roared. An invisible fist grabbed Seridan and yanked him towards the quarry. He flew through the air, landing just in front of the Corellian. Seridan swung his lightsaber up, trying to catch his opponent unawares.

The attempt failed as Keirdagh moved his blade to knock the lightsaber aside. Seridan almost lost his grip on his weapon due to the force of the parry. In a smooth transition, his opponent brought his blade up and cut Seridan’s blindfold. The sharpness of the azure sapphire sliced through the fabric easily. The covers fell from around his head and fell uselessly to the floor. The swing had also cut his nose, but he didn’t notice. He was in a fight for his life. Small scrapes and cuts were nothing when death was so probable.

Seridan gripped his lightsaber hard with both hands and brought it in front of his body in a defensive stance. He hoped that it would be enough.

His enemy stood upright, shoulders relaxed and a grim smile playing on his face. He was just having fun; playing with his inferior playtoy. There was no anger, no rage: just pure, merciless killing. Seridan got the distinct feeling that Keirdagh only fought Seridan to add to his kill-count.

Seridan couldn’t afford to get angry or caught up in the battle. It made people predictable. He had to stay on top of his emotions and focus on getting out of it alive.

The sapphire blade was swung a second time. It came towards Seridan at a very rapid pace. It was all he could do to meet the blade, locking them together.

Keirdagh laughed. “Give up, boy. You’re already farkled.”

Seridan couldn’t let his words affect him, but he knew that he couldn’t win this battle.

He gritted his teeth. “I’m not dead yet, Sithspit.”

A roar of laughter erupted from the Master. “Let’s play it your way, lightie.”

Keirdagh broke off the lock, throwing Seridan off balance. He then picked Seridan up and threw him off of the ledge. He landed on the hard rock of the ramp. He rolled, but the impact still jarred his left shoulder and bruised his knees. He turned once more to face the Proconsul, who now stood above him on the ledge. At least now he’d have a few seconds of respite.

He watched as Keirdagh sheathed his sapphire blade and drew his lightsaber. It was ignited, a blinding blade of gold pouring from the hilt. A saber throw was coming. He didn’t know how he knew, but he just did. His emerald blade was raised in preparation.

The Corellian drew back the saber and launched it. It made an impressive arc through the air. Seridan would have admired the skill, if it wasn’t heading towards him. He caught the flying blade on his lightsaber, a brilliant flash of light from their impact.

Seridan expected the blade to return to its master’s hand, but it remained in front of Seridan. Surprised, Seridan didn’t react for a few seconds. When he realised the danger, he moved back into the common defensive stance and twisted his body to make it less of a target.

The golden lightsaber swung towards Seridan’s leg. He sent his own weapon to parry. Seridan wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand against such powers. His shoulder ached, his knees stung and each block or parry sent a tremor through Seridan’s body. His body was starting to lose its strength. It was like it was already accepting defeat.

Death seemed like the only viable option. It was an outcome that Seridan was beginning to accept, but he continued to fight. If the Force was with him, then something great might happen.

Keirdagh admired the kid's bravery, if not his intelligence. While he'd normally never try to keep up any sort of saber-to-saber combat like this for any period of time, the raw and unpolished swings the young Jedi had employed early on had given the old man confidence. Even now, the Miralukan's blocks and parries were coming slower and he seemed to be tiring quickly. Gritting his teeth with concentration over the fine manipulation of the Force that he was using, Keirdagh began to maneuver his enemy so that he was facing the empty space of the quarry.

Faced with the impossible threat of an enemy looming above and a blade battering at him, the Jedi quickly switched to offense, and threw his whole weight behind the blade. Clearly he was hoping to break it free of Keirdagh's mental grasp and send it soaring into the quarry below. It was exactly what Keirdagh had expected. Right before the blades crashed together, the golden blade vanished.

Suddenly springing forward against resistance that was no longer there, Brehevik overextended himself and crashed unceremoniously down onto the ground below him, leaving a bright trail of blood from shallow cuts and abrasions. Taking no time to recover, Keirdagh vaulted himself forward and, twisting in the air, came to a crouched landing on the shore of the basin of water, facing his opponent. Blade unlit, but held at the ready, he took a moment to consider his opponent.

"Why did you even bother attacking me, child?" asked Keirdagh. "You should have just submitted. I had no intention of killing you until you drew on me." Regret seemed to surround the Dark Jedi Master's face. "But some insults just cannot be forgiven. Stand now, and face your death like a man."

To his credit, the Jedi was already halfway to his feet. Though his clothes were torn and bloody, and he was in obvious pain, he still did his best to stand with a straight back and chin held high. It was a shame it wouldn't matter. Limping forward to continue the battle, the young Jedi spat blood in front of him, before whispering through a beatific look, "There is no death, there is only the Force."

Inwardly, Keirdagh sighed. Zealots were the same no matter what side of the aisle they came from. As he continued shuffling forward, suddenly Keirdagh found himself plunged into darkness. Fighting down the brief disorientation, Keirdagh immediately closed his eyes. It made no difference, but being buried in darkness with your eyes open was much more disconcerting than concentrating with your eyes closed.

Bracing for impending attacks, Keirdagh swept his saber in a defensive pattern, and took a wide step to the side. When he could once again see light filtering through his eyelids, he opened his eyes and scanned for impending attack. The Padawan, there moments earlier, had vanished from his sight. It was a canny display of skill against a stronger opponent, and Keirdagh felt a sense of regret creeping into him, knowing that the Padawan would likely not leave the field alive.

"You think me a child for my beliefs, and you feel regret for slaughtering me?" bit out the Miralukan, emotion creeping into the disembodied voice for the first time. "Save your regret, and your pity! My ally is the Force! I serve others against the evils that men like you wreak on this galaxy. I stand for all that is good, and right! I am a bulwark between innocents, and monsters like you!"

The irony of his statement drew a harsh laugh from Keirdagh's lips. "A bulwark against monsters like me? Good and right? Shavit! You Jedi are so pompous that only you think you can serve justice." Rage coloured the old man's voice as he began to shout. "You call me a monster? I am. I am a monster to any who would cause harm to me or mine. If you actually had any strength in you, you would abandon these weak platitudes your Jedi brainwash you with, and recognize that you need to be strong to protect the ones you care about."

The old man's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his gaze locking onto the hidden young Jedi as if he were standing in the clearest light of day. "Be the bulwark then, if you're strong enough." Darting forward with his Golden blade extended, Keirdagh pressed the attack. The man's defense was raw, and his responses sluggish, but he acquitted himself quite well otherwise. Even still, Keirdagh knew that his own bladework was more than a match for this child.

The attack was relentless. Seridan was forever defending, parrying and blocking. Each time that their blades met, an ache would spark up anew.

He had heard the man’s words. Perhaps he had been wrong. There had been no deceit in his words; Keirdagh would have let him go alive. He cursed himself for his stupidity. He was meant to seek peaceful solutions, not create conflict. The battle had been based on rumour, not on a foul deed Seridan had witnessed. But his words against the Jedi went a bit too far.

As they moved around the basin’s shore, Seridan couldn’t help noticing the raw dark side power coming from within the basin. It wasn’t just calling out; it was ebbing into Seridan’s mind. Dark and diseased thoughts started running through his head, corrupting his judgement and promising strength.

As his body began to complain with every movement and his mind started to betray him, Seridan felt truly alone. His willpower and resolve were starting to run out and his perseverance began to fail. Each block drove a sharp pain through his shoulder and each parry brought a new wave of aching.

Maybe he should just give up. A quick and final end would be merciful. He prepared for the end, raising his lightsaber and getting ready to extinguish it for the last time.

But then a moment of inspiration hit. And then he realized that this was a message from the Force. He realised that his job wasn’t to kill or even stop Keirdagh. It was to stop him getting his hands on the artifact.

In a moment of deep concentration, he jumped backward, out of Keirdagh’s range. Seridan then felt the Force bolstering his muscles, empowering them for a few seconds. He leaped sideways into the water. He was in pain, but he had to persevere one last time.

He swam arduously through the water. The water itself was cool, but was piercingly so. The basin was fairly shallow, no more than ten feet at its deepest. At the bottom of the bowl, a long thin box sat. It was halfway buried under the sands.

In one last effort, Seridan raised his lightsaber and brought it coming down on the box. Although, halfway through the motion, Seridan felt his arm freeze. It was held in place by some sort of clamp and would not move.

The box began to rise out of the rock, tugged by some invisible force. His hand was not released. It was also tugged upward. Seridan's breath had run out. He struggled to keep his mouth shut but his chest felt ready to explode as his whole body groaned in agony.

What was the use of struggling? Seridan’s body no longer could execute any actions well and the battle was lost. He let go of his body. It dropped, a bag of bones being held by his right arm.

He broke the surface, instinctively spluttering as he gulped down the hot dry air. It was a while before his eyes came into focus. It was Keirdagh who was holding him and the box. He brought them both to the shore, dropping Seridan onto the ground and delivering the box to his hand. With a smooth open and close of the box to identify the contents, he smiled. In his current state, Seridan couldn’t detect any devilish intention behind the smile. Just contentedness.

It was then when he accepted his fate. He had known it from the outset, but just hadn’t accepted it. He slowly stood up, trying his best to ignore his pains. He looked up to see Keirdagh’s eyes upon him. The pity and regret had returned to them. Seridan took a deep breath and walked over to him. His basic lightsaber was still in his hand. He let it fall. The metallic clinking noise it made was hollow-sounding. To Seridan’s ears, it was the sound of defeat. He had lost. Now he must face the consequence.

He stared straight into Keirdagh’s eyes, daring him to do it. He saw the slight indecision, but it did no good. The Corellian took his Sapphire Blade and in a quick movement, he plunged it into the soft tissue of Seridan’s body. It was then drove upwards through his torso, breaking free of the skin just above the collarbone.

Whatever defences Seridan had put up to fight the pain, it was not enough. The moment that the razorsharp sapphire broke his skin, he was tugged back into his body. He felt the torrent of pain as the smooth crystal sliced through his insides. Then, he started to feel nothing at all. It was the moment before he lost his sight. He couldn’t feel anything, but he could see the blade’s journey. He saw the blood covering Keirdagh’s arm, adding to the intensity of the red flightsuit. He saw the distance that Keirdagh put between himself and the killing. That was when the darkness came.

It was pitch black. There was nothing. He couldn’t feel anything: no smells, no sounds. Nothing.

Seridan didn’t know how long it was like that. The concept of time was lost in this infinitely dark space. But after a indefinite amount of time, he started to see everything at once. He simultaneously saw every planet. He saw every living thing at the same time. He could hear every word, every song and every whisper. He could smell the corn stews, the gourmet banquets and the foul-smelling soups. But he couldn’t speak, or be seen, or be heard. He had lost the ability to do things. He just observed. He was content.

Still, the Jedi fought on. Despite being overmatched, despite being overpowered, the young Padawan had courage. Reaching out with the Force, and channelling his rage into a kick that landed solidly on the Miralukan's chest, Keirdagh sent him flying across the quarry, landing in a gasping heap. "You don't need to die here, Brehevik. You've got guts. Abandon those karking fools in Odan-Urr, and join me. I will show you how you can truly defend those you love."

"Join you, Sith?” Brehevik shouted. “Even you can't be so arrogant that you would think I would just turn my back on my people, on my home, because some crazy old man said I should!"

Keirdagh couldn't even believe that the Miralukan was able to stand at this point, but his appraisal of him appeared to be correct. Misguided and zealous though he might be, the kid had courage. Despite bleeding from a dozen different cuts, and probably more than a few cracked ribs, the Padawan still manfully struggled forward, seemingly desperate to stop the Dark Jedi Master, or die trying.

It was a display of bravery that would inspire even the most hardened warrior's heart. But the damage had already been done, and Keirdagh's rage was boiling through the very fibre of his being. Channeling the Force into his muscles, Keirdagh shot forward, golden blade held aloft in his right hand. In a sloppy attempt at defense, the Miralukan unsteadily swung his green blade at the oncoming storm that was the Dark Jedi Master. Battering aside the Padawan's slice, Keirdagh knocked the Jedi's blade high into the air, and in the same spin of motion, unsheathed his emerald dagger from the small of his back, and ripped it upward, digging deep into the muscle of the Padawan's sword hand, grinding against bone as he rent flesh.

The unadorned armory saber dropped to the ground from the Miralukan's lifeless fingers, his mutilated arm no longer able to hold its weight. Refusing to give up the fight, Brehevik heaved his still good hand up in a classic echani strike meant to confuse and stun his opponent, but Keirdagh caught the ineffectual blow easily on his armguard. The kid has almost no strength left, and was losing blood fast. He was already dead, and either didn't know it, or was just too stubborn to give up.

Pushing the Padawan to the ground, Keirdagh loomed above him, and debated how he should end this farce. That this boy was sent out here alone, on a Sith world, was disgraceful. The wastes of these Crusades were being felt on all sides, and Ashen's insatiable bloodlust seemed to serve no purpose but to weaken his rivals and gather strength to himself. Perhaps he was simply that afraid of being overthrown. In the end, they were all just the pawns of a madman.

A rasping breath from below shook him from his reverie. The Padawan had lapsed into unconsciousness, and was struggling to keep breathing. In Keirdagh's eyes, the boy's bravery and dedication had earned him the chance to fight another day. Rifling through the Jedi’s robes, Keirdagh pulled out a comm-link, and flipped the switch over to open broadcast. "To you cowards in Odan-Urr who sent this child out to his certain death. Come and collect him. Do it quickly, and he may still live. Cantor out."

Turning his back on fallen warrior, and mindful that the Knights of Odan-Urr would likely soon be converging on his location, the old man returned to the task at hand, recovering yet another trinket for Ashen's collection.