Hidden in Felucia’s jungle lies a two hundred meter expanse marking the ancient burial site of this world’s deadliest creatures and the location of innumerable remnants of hundreds, if not thousands of rancors. A circular enclosure of sun-bleached bones are arranged in the center of the cemetery—no doubt the former dwelling of a powerful practitioner of the Force. Cobwebs cling to the fallen beasts, a testament to the primordial age of some of the creatures.

Somewhat obscured by surrounding cliffs and the luminescent jungle, the dusted bones and carcasses are cast in a faint shadow, leaving just enough light to see by. The atmosphere is thick and stifling, with a strong overtone of dust and bone suspended in the still air. The taint of the Dark Side's influence has polluted the landmark over time, giving form to a dreadful aura that has scared off scavengers determined to sell off a rancor tusk or two. Unlike most of Felucia, the area is nearly devoid of life aside from ravenous predators dwelling within the hollowed-out husks of dead rancors.

He walked through the graveyard without attempting to conceal himself. A statement equally of confidence and arrogance. He brazenly approached the stark, white skull of what had once been a massive rancor. His fingers ran across the bone for a moment before he retracted his hand quickly. The Adept had expected the surface to be smooth, but it was brittle and pocked with soft indentions that were unseen to his ice blue eyes. Braecen Kaeth, Elder of the Brotherhood, feared very little. Yet, he held reverence for death and was solemn as he walked through the cathedral of rancor remains nestled in the heart of Felucia.

Braecen rarely communed with the Dark Side. The molten-nausea of it pulsing through his body followed by the greasy-emptiness in the wake of the expenditure left him hollow and unfulfilled – and always craving more. It was both rapture and agony to the Elder due to his refined ability to quickly access the primordial power in such vast quantities only to be drained in mere moments afterward.

He kept the power dammed from his vessel, but wisps of it still tickled the edges of his mind and heightened his awareness. The tenuous, passive connection allowed for the Sith Adept to feel the Living Force that surrounded him. It warded off bad luck and kept had kept him alive in several different Clans throughout his tenure in the Brotherhood. Braecen closed his eyes and allowed the feedback from his connection to the Dark Side to pour a wealth of information to his mind. As he actively pushed against the dam, he felt his blood pump faster and his stomach began to churn from the sickeningly sweet touch.

He felt, rather than saw, the expanse of his surroundings. The high cliffs and the bowl they created around the graveyard. A dense, living jungle cast in a myriad of colors and dangers. The terminal line between a living ecosystem and the boneyard. Where the bones began, the jungle stopped. Even the hue of the light and taste of the air were different. An arid alternate world of death surrounded by so much life. And something else.

Braecen’s eyes snapped open. He had brushed against another actively employing the Force. As an Elder, he recognized how the Force had been wove of light and dark around an individual. He could not, however, pinpoint where that individual was in proximity to him. Even as an Elder, some of his powers were crude and fundamentally flawed. Mastery of the basics abandoned in favor of more powerful advanced techniques that had cemented his rise to Elder.

“Come out!” Braecen bellowed. “Your ruse is foiled.”

Silence.

“I know you are there,” he continued in a level tone. “Reveal yourself and I may let you live.”

Nothing.

Braecen opened his mouth once more, but the words caught in his throat. Nearby, the air wobbled and momentarily revealed his opponent. Acting on instinct, his body contorted and fell to the ground as the deafening bang of a slug-thrower violated the solemn quiet of the graveyard. Braecen watched the events unfold in slow motion – a slave to the action of his opponent and reaction of his training. He cast his eyes towards his foe and – just for a second – took in his image. Broad shouldered, shorter than average height and cast in matte black from head to toe. In his right hand, he held a pistol and his eyes burned blue with intent.

His opponent was unknown to him, but he had seen many Shadows employed across the Brotherhood to execute the will of various leaders. Braecen did not doubt that the man had been sent to kill him. He was offended that only one individual had been sent, but curious to know the motive behind the attack. There was only one reason someone would accept such a fool’s errand: ambition. And that intrigued the Sith Elder. Ambition. Passion. Power. There were things a Sith could understand in a universe teeming with emotions that pulled on people’s heartstrings.

He reached for the bronze and ebony hilts at his waist. His thin, ivory fingers danced over them before landing on the activation switch and igniting them. Snap-hiss! White flames leapt from the emitters and cast oddly angled shadows from the bright, stark white light.

Firith raised both eyebrows in confusion as the man he was there to kill ignited his sabers, but left them attached to his belt. Maybe this is a form I haven't read about yet.

The confused Savant watched as the person he had been told to challenge and kill fumbled about with the belt connectors.

“What are you doing?” The Dark Jedi asked. “Is this some kind of trick? Make me think you are inept and then you chop me into mince?”

The young man across from him stopped his gyrations and waving the brilliant white blades around. Turning the sabers off he examined the hooks that held them in place. “Do not mock me, old man. I am of the Clan Scholae Palatinae! We do not suffer fools!”

“Right, you just look like them.” Firith laughed as he holstered his weapon and turned to walk away. “To think I was told killing you would get me a possible promotion. Sad, just sad.”

Enraged the Elder held his right hand forth and with a disgusted look on his face, as if he had eaten something foul, launched a bolt of lighting at the back of the retreating man.

Firith heard the crackle of the lighting before he felt it slam into him.

The stink of charred armorweave, leather, and skin filled the area as the Savant was thrown forward into a pile of yellowed bones.

Screaming and rolling, Firith felt the shards of the bones cut into his flesh in numerous spots. The burn across his back caused him to blackout for a moment.

“That is what we do to those that oppose us! Those we feel are not worthy of being one of us.” The younger man bellowed, raising his hand again.

Rage, fueled by pain filled Firith's soul and he turned to look back at the approaching Sith. “Right boy, time to te-.” He stopped, hearing a low, rumbling growl by his ear. Turning he looked into a mouth full of very sharp teeth.

Oh shavit.

The sudden appearance of would-be predators infuriated the Elder. He would not be denied his prize. Not in this moment. Not in any moment, his mind roared in his heightened battle frenzy. Though he had been reluctant to touch the Dark Side, he was well beyond his misgivings now. The power chewed through his mortal coil and rushed from him in powerful blue-white lightning. Braecen wanted to kill the man whom had interrupted his reverie. And his mission.

With his fingers splayed wide, he turned the awesome power unto the ravenous predators. The Force Lightning mirrored his anger and took the beast’s life in a matter of seconds. Other animals in the vicinity yelped and howled as they retreated under the onslaught. Braecen turned towards Firith’rar with a snide mark on the tip of his tongue.

The man was gone.

“Seriously?” he shouted in an incredulous tone. Exasperated, the Adept began to wave his arms at the sky and kick the dirt to emphasize each of his words. “This. Is. Frackin’. Ridiculous!” Winded, he took a moment to still his body and inhale deeply. He focused on the stale air as he sucked it down his windpipe and felt the fine bone dust attempt to find purchase in his lungs. When he exhaled, he pushed out his frustrations with as much of the bone dust as he could muster.

He walked towards the last place he had seen the man. Braecen looked at the ground in a desperate attempt to track his enemy. “Just looks like dirt to me,” he laughed. I should have listened more closely when the Wilderness Rangers were teaching the Journeymen, he thought wistfully. Unsure of his opponent’s fate and out of options, Braecen turned his attention back to the center of their makeshift arena. There amidst all of the fallen remains was an obviously constructed shelter. It was permeated with dark power – a nexus. Someone, or something, very powerful had once called this desolate boneyard a home. Despite the power making the hairs on his forearm stand at attention, Braecen trudged onward towards it.

He slowed his pace as he neared. Deliberately, he made each footfall count. He could not leave himself open to another attack from the Shadow that hunted him nor be careless enough to spring a concealed trap. His careful observation delayed his entrance, but only for a few minutes. As he crossed the threshold into the dwelling, he noted he was not alone. On the floor, desperately pulling himself along, was the man whom had assaulted him. The Force Lightning had punched through any pretense of defense he may have had and caused terrible internal wounds. Wounded and alone, the man had sought out the only ‘safe’ looking place amongst the bones and predators.

“You came for a promotion. You chose poorly,” Braecen clucked as he walked about the abandoned domicile. His light blue eyes scanned each corner diligently as his hands pushed debris from side-to-side. He found a book bound in rancor hide and held it up suspiciously. He flipped it open and scanned the faded text while nodding thoroughly. It was obvious to the injured Firith’rar that this had been his prize all along. And that his mission had been about denying Scholae Palatinae another artifact.

“The Brotherhood gives nothing and it takes everything.” Braecen closed the distance with the prone Savant before kneeling beside him. He looked over his wounds and despite his better judgement reached out and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. He knitted his brow in concentration and worked furiously to focus the Force to his bidding. Tendrils of the primordial power coalesced about the Savant at the Elder’s bidding. Slowly, they seeped through his skin and began to mend the worst of the wounds.

“You will live, but only if you leave now. And tell your Master that Braecen Kaeth claimed the third volume of the Book of Death.” With nothing else to say, the Sith Adept left the dwelling and headed back towards his awaiting shuttle. When he neared the ramp, it lowered and several soldiers rushed out to meet him.

“My Lord,” they snapped to attention and saluted.

He waived away their formality with the hand that was not clutching his prize. “Enough of that,” he growled. “Before we depart, I want to find another vessel nearby and place a homing beacon on it. I’m afraid our mission may be drawing unwanted attention.”

The beast opened its mouth, assaulting Firith with both a deafening roar and foul breath.

Rolling away from the attack, the bloodied Dark Jedi managed to lift his left arm up in an attempt to fend off the oncoming bite.

Teeth met bone and Firith felt his arm shatter and his shoulder dislocate as the creature began to shake its head back and forth in an effort to rip the arm from the man’s torso.

Suddenly a blast of blue-white lightning shot past Firith and the smell of ozone and burning fur filled the air.

As the lightning struck the creature, it twitched and spasmed in response. In quick succession, bolt after bolt hit the beast. Firith, still held in the beast’s slobbering jaws, could feel the electrical discharge as well. He began to see spots as his brain began to short-circuit. The only good thing about the lightning was that it kept the animal too preoccupied to bring its claws to bear.

Flailing around with his free right arm, Firith kept trying to grab one of his weapons. Finally the aged Shadow managed to wrap desperate fingers around his pistol and rip it from its holster.

Pointing the barrel into the animal's chest, he fired off two or three rounds.

Blood and gore spattered everywhere as the slugs ripped into the creature's chest and neck.

Howling in pain, the creature released Firith's arm before collapsing atop the dying man.

Oh bother, my outfit is a mess. Firith thought, giggling in delirium. Lilith is gonna be so upset with me for missing our dinner date too. Hmmm, I wonder if I should be leaking like that? OOOoooh, pretty white lights!

Firith squinted up at the man standing above him then at the two blazing white blades of the lightsabers the Adept held. Oh look, they aren't attached to his belt!

Firith feebly raised his pistol towards the Elder, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the young man.

Fading fast, he flashed the Sith a feeble grin through bloodied teeth. “Once I, I, once I kill you, I'm, I'm, I'm, gonna be. I'm gonna be famo-”