Once, it was the home to the witches of Dathomir, otherwise known as the Nightsisters. Tucked away in from the rest of the galaxy in an isolated cluster, the Nightsisters were able to draw energy from the planet itself, and pursued a type of ritualistic magic. They ruled over the population of Zabarak—Nightbrothers—and used them as a warrior caste to serve their purposes.

Then, the Clone Wars. The Nightsisters were pulled into the conflict due to the machinations of Mother Talzin and her rival Darth Sidious. This ultimately lead to the eradication of the Dathomarians and their settlements. The desolation was claimed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems after the last Nightsiser fell.

Now, the planet known as Dathomir is a haunted skeleton of its former greatness. A perpetual crimson glow coats the planet. The bleak world has become an amalgamation of ruined forest, decrepit swamplands, and withered mountains worn to the sands of time.

In the desolate swamps, faint echoes haunt the graves of the long-dead witches, infusing the green fog that spreads above the damp ground. Dreadful whispers rumoured to be lingering incantations defend the world from intruders. Tall tales and rumors of zombies and ritual sacrifice alluding to grisly flashes of imagery.

The trees, large and misshapen, promise misery to those who touch their tortured bark and open themselves to the memories of the place. Eerie as the voices over the wind, the water beneath the fog appears red and bubbling, as if the land itself were pockmarked in cauldrons of blood to keep the incantations alive.

Creatures unaffected by the purge of the Nightsisters still remain. Snakes, reptiles and insects of varying lethality wander the wasteland. Reports have even said that rancor still roam freely.

This is Dathomir.

This place gives me the creeps. Between the damp red atmosphere with its green ground-level mist; the bony, chitinous appearance of the trees; and the constant instinctual nagging at the back of her head, Qyreia hated Dathomir the instant she was off of her ship. The air itself just didn’t sit right with her stomach. Regardless of her feelings on the matter though, Arcona had sent its red-skinned Aedile to the ghost world in order to gauge the reach of the Clan’s enemies and, just maybe, expand its own influence.

Unfortunately, her droid was stuck on the ship, so she didn’t even have anyone else to talk to. “Couldn’t even spare me a soldier or two. No. Just me. Who sends one person on a recon mission?” She scoffed a fake laugh. “I think me an’ Atty need to have a nice long talk when I get back.”

Her grumbling got so bad, however, that she almost didn’t notice the black-clad figure standing off to her right, watching curiously. Kiriyu wasn’t the best person to send to go looking for things — enemies or friends — as they often fell beneath his notice. A lone Zeltron in the woods of Dathomir talking to herself was, on the other hand, very easy to spot. Also very odd, given that this one seemed familiar. Short hair. Foul mouth. Likes blasters, clearly. He could sense no immediate hostile threat or intent, and so walked forward, announcing his presence as he pushed through some thick ground-level foliage. The woman’s knee-jerk reaction — bringing her rifle to bear — was not surprising.

“Hold it ri-… Marcus?”

“Ah, I thought I recognized you, Arronen. Been a long time.”

“I’ll say,” she grinned. The Epicanthix had been the one to bring her into the Brotherhood; had been her Rollmaster as a new face, and then a member of her Battleteam when she was in charge of the sub-unit. He was one of the good people as far as she was concerned.

“I haven’t seen you since I’ve come back.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head curiously. “I didn’t realize you’d gone anywhere.” Then the thought hit her. “You… know I’m not with Naga Sadow anymore, right?”

His emerald eyes darted briefly toward the Black Guard tattoo on her right forearm. “So much for loyalty.”

“Um, pardonfrack? I don’t recall ever swearing loyalty to any of you lot.”

“That tattoo…”

“Name one time that I yelled ‘For Sadow!’ or whatever nonsense they’re saying now.” Qyreia looked away derisively. “Dunno what you expected. I’m just a mercenary, after all. Got reminded of that enough times.”

The Force user was hardly the poster child of the Clan, but even he knew that her former position within Naga Sadow wasn’t something to be dropped lightly, and it irked him just a little more than he cared to suppress. “Whatever you came here to do: finish it and leave.”

“Excuse you?” The merc’s grip on her rifle tightened.

“You don’t want to be here right now,” he said, his voice carrying a force behind it that Qyreia couldn’t explain. It almost compelled her to leave by its own weight.

“I don’t want to be here right now… I mean, I honestly don’t but…” Her eyes blinked a few times and realization hit her. “You did not just try to use your space wizard druk on me.”

“Too bad it didn’t work.” Mutual expectation brought their weapons to bear: Qyreia’s rifle to her shoulder and Marcus’ saber to beaming, violet life. “You should reconsider this fight.”

“And you should have thought about that before you tried to poke my kriffing brain.”

This is getting tiresome, he thought as he extended a hand and, with a flick, sent the weapon flying through his invisible will. What he hadn’t anticipated was the Zeltron’s tenacity, flying away with the blaster, holding on for dear life and screaming just a little bit. When she landed, bouncing only once in the soft, moist dirt, she looked up angrily.

“You’re gonna regret that, Kiriyu.”

Before Marcus could reply, he was met with a flurry of red plasma. Only the warning of the Force allowed him to react and send up a barrier against the fusillade in time. Are you happy, Pravus? the Lotus agent thought. Now you have friends fighting friends.

Pushing the rogue thoughts out of his mind, Marcus steeled himself and then dropped his barrier. Guided by the Force, he lazily deflected the first bolt into a tree, sidestepped another, then spun behind a tree to evade the next burst. The tree started to splinter as the plasma impacted upon the brittle bark.

“You’ve made your bed now, little one,” Marcus taunted.

“Eat bantha poodoo!” the reply came back. Marcus couldn’t help but smile to himself, for whatever situation they were in right now, she hadn’t changed a bit.

Meanwhile Qyreia crept forwards, keeping a close eye on the tree where Marcus disappeared behind. If she could catch him off-guard, she might have a chance to make that laserbrain pay for his previous trickery. As she got closer she trained her weapon on the tree’s edge, ready to fire a few rounds into her former Clan mate.

When she rounded the corner however, Marcus wasn’t there. Spinning on the spot she tried to spot him. Did he sneak around me?

Suddenly a branch snapped overhead and Qyreia’s view snapped upwards just in time to see Marcus dropping from an overhead branch, saber ignited. Barely managing to jump out of the way, the young Zeltron landed face first in a nearby pool of mud.

Marcus landed heavily on his own two feet and immediately sunk into the soft quicksand-like ground. Struggling to get free, he lost his balance and fell over backwards into the mud.

Silence permeated the air between the two frenemies for a moment as they merely looked at each other blankly. One with a mud-covered face, and the other with mud stuck in his hair and all across his back. The silence broke as the two burst out laughing as the ridiculousness of the situation became apparent.

“Why are we even fighting?!” Marcus choked out through his laughs.

Qyreia’s chuckle ejected two small bursts of muddy ooze from her nostrils. “Says the one who just dropped on me from the damn trees?”

“You dodged it well enough,” he replied gaily as he tried to extract his feet from the mud. One managed to wriggle free with a sloppy, slurping noise that resembled the aftereffects of a night of bad Rodian cuisine. As Marcus also noted, while his foot was free, his boot remained lodged in the mud. “A little help?”

“Promise not to stab me?” she asked as she stood, wiping the mud from her face. Her attempts to suppress her laughter at the Force user’s expense were all in vain.

“Yes yes,” he said as he stowed his saber, “now please help me get out.”

“Just how I like my men,” she laughed through gritted teeth as she grabbed his hand to pull him free, “immobile and at my mercy.”

“What happened to dating your Quaestor?” Kiriyu returned over the wet suction sounds as his other leg began to come free. “Didn’t even know you were into men.”

“You’d be… urgh, sur_prised_!” Marcus burst from the soft earth so suddenly that Qyreia nearly fell backward. He didn’t even lose his other boot. “Well, glad that’s over wi-iiith!” With a gesture, her former Clanmate sent her flying a dozen meters, not even trying to contain his laughter as he reached out his hand above the slowly closing hole and, touching on the Force, drew his missing footwear from the depths. His expression when he put his foot back in was less than pleased. This is going to take a lot of cleaning.

“What the hell was that for?!” came the Zeltron’s raucous voice as she pulled herself from the fresh coat of swampy detritus. Her rifle was gone, so she pulled her pistol and was about to fire when she saw Marcus laughing again. “I’m confused. Are… are we still fighting?”

“Only if you want to.”

The thought was a tempting one, even if she was just planning on using the stun setting. A little payback was definitely in order. She was about to reply by pulling the trigger when they both heard a loud, gravelly roar from a place that didn’t sound as far off as most people would like after hearing such a noise.

Qyreia’s voice was hardly above a whisper. “What was that?”

The Epicanthix closed his eyes to see through the mists of the Force, only to seemingly be rewarded by another, louder roar. “Huh, I wondered if the rancor were still alive here.”

“Rancor?!”

It took no instruction for the mercenary to decide what to do. Run. Pausing only to pick up her precious rifle, Qyreia bolted back in the direction of her ship, Marcus following close behind. Soon, the roars were not the only sounds crawling through the dead air amongst the eerie trees — an almost metronomic thoom thoom crashed through the mud and scant brush. It wasn’t long before the sound was accompanied by the gargantuan figure of a rancor, hot on their tracks and salivating with hunger.

“Use the grenade!” Marcus yelled as they ran.

“It won’t work!”

“Just do it!”

“Frackin’ fine!”

Between the mud and their frantic pace, it was no small feat unclipping the explosive from her belt and thumbing off the safety. She looked back only briefly before, in a haphazard spin that nearly made her trip, she threw the grenade in a high arc that actually managed to hit the beast in the face. The explosion rocked the air, sending splinters of metal at the creature’s face, but it had little real effect save to spurn its stride.

“Well that didn’t work.”

“I told you! Now it’s just pissed off!” She eyed Marcus as they came in sight of her ship. “Truce right?”

“What? Yes, truce!”

She managed a smile as she keyed her commlink. “Remee, get the hatch open! I’m bringing company!”

They both heard the whirr of the droid’s response and watched as the ramp dropped, allowing them passage onboard. Marcus slid into the gunner seat while Qyreia dashed for the cockpit. A massive claw raked the hull, but the sudden belching of laser cannons set the beast back. They had escaped, if only just. Qyreia looked at all the mud. Damn. I’m gonna have to clean the gunner seat too.