The planet of Crait, known mostly for its salt covered red soil and minerals, became the setting for the reborn legend of Luke Skywalker. The tale of the First Order's siege upon the remnants of the Resistance and Skywalker’s solitary last stand spread like wildfire throughout the galaxy. The scars born of the siege still remain, alongside the breached and empty carcass of what was once a rebel base. After what became known as the Battle of Crait, the planet now sits forgotten by the First Order and Resistance alike. Which makes it the perfect place for scavengers and adventurers.

The crystalline flats extend far into the horizon until the distance ceases to hold meaning. The scorched salt mingle with the red soil, forcibly fused together by the violent discharge of heavy artillery fire. Old rebel speeders lie as skeletal reminders of the toll that the Resistance had paid in staging their last stand. Most of the parts have already stripped of what parts survived.

Standing opposite the endless flats is an expansive mountain side that stands almost completely vertical. Climbing it would be a difficult, if not impossible prospect. Tall, heavily armored doors—now breached—are built into the mountainside itself and mark the entrance to the abandoned base.

The approach to the base is lined by fallen turrets and crumbled trenches. Once inside, various crates and shrapnel litter the ground and offer nothing of value, save for cover when in need. The cave system expands outward from the entrance in a winding maze of crystalline pathways. If traveled long enough, and with some luck, an unmarked exit lies to be found. The hangar itself is divided into purposeful quadrants, with a command station situated deeper inside that leads to supply rooms and barracks.

Standing on the salted ground gives even the least perceptive a sense of gravity. The weight of what transpired is undeniable, with the visible reminders there for all to see if they care to look.

The planet is also known for its native crystal critters—Vulptex—which can leave the safety of their underground tunnels to investigate new visitors to their terrain.

There was a rather short list of planets the Combat Master of the Brotherhood would always prefer to avoid when possible. Like Hoth, for instance. It was the snow, mostly. Always made the light worse than it had to be.

Atra Ventus decided to add Crait to the list as well.

The Umbaran stood at the massive, armored wall that guarded entry to the former Rebel base. His back was to the breached surface as he gazed through the polarized lenses of his goggles out across the salt flats. His sensitive black-gold eyes were spared much of the harshness of the sun's rays and he took a moment to survey the mangled remains of the last stand to be made there. Red trails of soil still carved through the disturbed salt like fresh scars through skin.

The very ground itself bore the scarred tapestry that told the tale of conflict. That was something Atra could appreciate, thinking to his own flesh and reaching towards his scarred face if only for a moment. The Combat Master instead brushed his pale fingers through his messy, nearly black hair, the rest of his hand concealed within the fingerless black glove.

Out on the flats, the Umbaran stood out like a beacon. His black boots left red footprints in his wake, adding to the many that had come before. His long black jacket fluttered quietly in the shifting breeze as it opened beneath his waist, giving it room to move. He kept the hood down, leaving the tall grey collar of his under-jacket exposed.

With a sigh, Atra cracked the knuckles of his right hand one by one and turned towards the breach. He wasn't there to take in the sights after all. The Combat Master strode calmly into the darker interior, removing the goggles and placing them in a compartment on his Mandalorian Speeder. The vehicle itself, clad in a black coating, was hidden just out of sight. Atra had come to Crait with a singular objective: explore and identify any potential objects for recovery. He somehow doubted he'd be the only one with such an idea, though what he searched for required something beyond mere sight. Keeping the signs of his arrival hidden could potentially grant him the element of surprise on any newcomers rather than falling prey to it himself.

A bristling not unlike chimes reached Atra's ears. He gazed deeper into the base, catching a glimpse of several curious Vulptices.They opted not to approach him. Instead, they turned and travelled deeper into the abandoned mines. Assured of his solitude, the Combat Master made his way into what had once been the command center. He dropped slowly onto one knee and placed his hand—fingers splayed out—against the ground. At the same time, Atra pushed out against the confines of his awareness with all senses and opened himself to the Force. If he concentrated hard enough, keeping his focus to just what was in front of him, perhaps the Combat Master might find something that had been tainted by what had transpired there.

A relic, or even something previously innocuous now corrupted by the Dark Side in the First Order's wake. Those were the things he sought.

Outside, the salt flats were disturbed once more by another presence. Navigating at assuredly deadly speeds, a customized FC-20 speeder made its approach. Red dreadlocks whipped through the air as Tisto Kingang grinned from ear to ear. A green crescent clearly marked his face, betraying him to be a Kiffar to anyone with even passing knowledge of the species. His clothing hugged his lean frame even as he lowered his profile to decrease the potential for air resistance. Pressed close against the center of the white and black speeder, he took a moment for some personal enjoyment and weaved a path through what debris remained of the former battle.

After a sequence of nearly impossible turns and a few moments that could be classified as 'too close for comfort', the Kiffar slowed to a stop. He sat there with one foot on the ground and just listened to the throaty hum of the speeder's engine. His hazel eyes scanned the horizon and took it all in. If he was in the market for parts, Tisto might be able to bring in a decent haul. But he wasn't there for that.

No, it was something far simpler than that. It was vengeance.

New Tython had been destroyed. The people of Odan-Urr driven from their homes and sent running. Then they were hunted by the Grand Master's growing ranks of Inquisitors. There had been no opportunity for satisfaction, for due recourse. With the fate of Pravus unknown and even the destruction of the Iron Fleet's Super Star Destroyer robbed from them by the Collective, Tisto found the scales impossibly unbalanced.

But other targets remained.

"You better be here," the Kiffar growled beneath his breath. Tisto needed to confirm that fact before he got too involved in developing his plan of attack. His usual tactics wouldn't be of much use here, after all. The Combat Master was but one man. It would be singular combat, not guerrilla warfare. Tisto closed his eyes and let his senses connect to the Living Force around him. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to push further out and finally felt the spark of life within the former rebel base. "Well, someone is."

The Wildcard swept his cloak—the same kind worn by the Collective's Jedi Hunters—to the side and grabbed his shockboxing gloves. Tisto worked the powered gloves onto his hands as he made his confident approach. He may not have put a lot of thought ahead of the initial dark impulse that had brought the Kiffar chasing after the Combat Master, but at least in this Tisto was confident. He knew his skill in the arenas well. Of course, Crait wasn't the same as the arena. There was no room for honor here.

A sudden chill creeped up the young Odanite's neck. The Force granted Tisto his first and only warning.

Kingang threw up a hand and willed the Force to condense into a corona of energy before him. A triple sequence of red blaster bolts bounced off the invisible protection, dispersing into the aether. The sense of danger faded from a dull roar to just another bad feeling among many. Tisto let the barrier drop and his eyes narrowed as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the base itself.

Atra tilted his head to the side and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, his WLD-5 Peacekeeper held firmly in his right hand. On the one hand, he was glad that strange thing he had sensed turned out to be a someone. In truth, it was just an annoyance.

"Murderer!" Tisto exclaimed, baring his teeth as he recognized his target.

That one caused the Combat Master's head to tilt the other way as he assumed a pensive expression. Am I supposed to know this kid? Atra thought to himself while returning his blaster to the clasp at his side.

The darkness welled within Tisto in tandem with his more violent emotions, unknown to him but there nonetheless. It fueled his connection to his own power. The Kiffar reached out with one hand in a grabbing motion as he stalked forward. "You couldn't even face them when you slaughtered them," he continued.

Atra let out a long sigh, raising an eyebrow as he brushed strands of hair back over his ear. "You're gonna have to be more specific on the 'them' part."

With a grunt, Tisto pulled his outstretched hand in towards himself. The Kiffar's will was made real through the Force, tendrils of power gripping onto a nearby cargo crate and sending it crashing towards Atra. The Umbaran's gaze shot towards it, a half-surprised expression flashing for a moment before he dived forward and out of the path. Tisto grinned in triumph, having managed to close the distance between them as a result. He brought his gloved fist down quickly to meet Atra as the other man came to his feet.

The Combat Master quickly pushed up with his right hand, aiming to redirect the strike while moving inside Tisto's guard. Sparks crackled to life as he touched the conductive plating of the shockglove, causing Atra to freeze up for an instant of pain before his opponent's blow pushed through the guard and sent him back to the ground.

This time Atra remained focused as he shook his arm, trying to push past the fading numbness as quick as possible. Rather than rising up right away, the Umbaran moved into a low crouch, waiting for Tisto to approach again before dashing aside and coming to his feet. Tisto's stance was remarkably well controlled, with his hands upright near his face and a solid weight distribution. Movement came easy to him. Atra decided his attacker was definitely more than proficient at his chosen method of combat.

Too bad he wasn't just a bit faster.

"Come on," Tisto taunted, "I thought you were the 'Combat Master'."

Tisto came at Atra again with two leading jabs before crossing over, twisting at the waist and bringing his right arm in for a heavy strike. Ventus focused on even breathing and controlled steps, dancing across the debris-covered floor of the base. He weaved to the right before juking back and across to the other side.

"Sure, and you are?" Atra responded, his voice carefully monotone yet still lilting ever so faintly.

Again, Tisto found the chance to demonstrate his confidence. "The guy who's going to bring you down!"

"And how did you find me, 'Down-bringer'?"

Tracking down the Combat Master had been surprisingly straightforward. The 'will of the Force', some religious types might say. Tisto had just padded the correct pockets, won the right arena fights, and staked out the proper locations. A combination of reputation and chance got the Kiffar's hands on the latest intel before it had been properly processed by Odan-Urr's intelligence network. That was all he had needed, and he was off to Crait.

More planning probably wouldn't have hurt.

"What does it matter? I found you. Now you're gonna pay for New Tython!" Tisto shouted.

With a pivot, Tisto brought his foot around to strike at Atra's lead leg. Instead of connecting at the shin, the Combat Master stepped over the hit. All the while, the wheels were turning in Atra's head as he put together the corners of the puzzle that was Tisto, finally seeing the picture form. Kingang wasn't ready to give up just yet, despite Atra's dodge. He carried the momentum of the turn into a full spin, aiming a backhand towards the Umbaran's jaw.

That's when the warning bells started to chime again.

Atra dipped low and his left hand moved towards his right hip. A tug of power called his lightsaber to hand. The familiar wrapped cloth of the hilt's grip met his palm and Ventus was already depressing the activation stub as he whipped his arm out. A snap-hiss filled the echoing interior of the base as crackling cerulean energy formed the blade of his lightsaber. Tisto double stepped to the side in order to avoid the counterattack, but several of his long, red dreadlocks weren't spared the searing tip. They fell to the ground in a coil with steam rising from the end.

"So," Atra began, disengaging his lightsaber. "Tython? Seems that's become a defining moment of your life." The Umbaran's eyebrows seemed to speak for him as he frowned, looking like he was trying to remember something that he couldn't quite grasp, then a small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "For me? It was just another day."

Emotions roiled within Tisto again. He needed to make Atra pay. Needed to make someone pay! Still, he had to keep his head as best he could. A task made all the more literal when faced with a lightsaber. Good thing he had his own.

"Going to try to kill me with a real weapon?" Atra chided.

The Combat Master seemed content to just pick at Tisto's resolve rather than outright attack him. That was fine. Kingang could work with that, he thought. The Kiffar deactivated his right shockglove and slipped out of it, clipping it to his belt before retrieving his own lightsaber. Atra found himself somewhat bemused as he watched. There was something so clearly homemade about the weapon in Tisto's hand. He could even see scorch marks from the soldering. How quaint.

When the red blade ignited, it wasn't with the trademark sound so many sabers had made before. It was closer to the rev of an engine.

Atra's head tilted to the side and he raised an eyebrow. Now that was something new.

"This is what's best," Tisto said, pointing the blade at Atra but making no real move to engage. "For justice. For vengeance. You won't take from us again."

"So sure?" The Combat Master made no move to ready or ignite his own lightsaber.

The Kiffar felt his hand shake as he held the lightsaber. Part of him knew he had no chance against someone like Atra, the man named as the Iron Throne's Combat Master. That part of him understood that using his blade against other gangs gave him an advantage he simply didn't have here. That part of his mind wept for everyone he lost, but more importantly it wept for the mechanic who worked her heart out making the weapon. The rest of his mind got caught up on that, thinking of the grave he could no long visit.

"Yes," the boxer roared, "and I am going to enjoy killing you."

Without any hesitation the Kiffar swung haphazardly, his blade coming down to where Atra had stood only a minute before. Tisto saw the practiced movements as they happened, the Umbaran merely taking a step out of the way. The ease of the motion was unnerving, something Tisto would have respected had he seen anyone one else pull off such an act. He continued his attack, one haphazard slash after another. The Combat Master just barely avoiding each slash as if mocking the Kiffar. Tisto continued his assault, driving Atra towards the wall in an attempt to cut off any other means of escape. The Umbaran allowed him to do so, waiting for the proper opportunity to strike.

The second the Combat Master's back hit the wall he activated his blade, sweeping out to block the boxer's strike. The tip of the crackling cerulean blade caught the crimson saber at the emitter, cutting through it as if it was silk. The red blade went out, the roar of the weapon dying down. Time seemed to slow for the Kiffar as he stared at the now useless weapon. He felt his eyes grow hot looking at it. Tears began to form in his eyes as he knelt down rapidly, slamming his left hand down on the ground. Atra's blade began to descend, going to finish the fight.

The Force responded to the Kiffar's call, a telekinetic detonation releasing from his left hand as it hit the ground. Atra was too close to side step the action, knocked off balance. His head hit the wall as a cloud of red salt exploded from the action. His lightsaber falling away. Tisto fled, footsteps audible to everything nearby. He ran, refusing to look back at the man who destroyed one of the few things Tisto let grow close to his heart. He could hear Atra getting up, and threw his hand back behind him. He pushed against the ground with the Force, causing the top level of salt to shoot out at Atra.

The Kiffar continued his flight, ducking into a side tunnel to hide from his target. He continued his run until he heard a soft chiming. A strange sense caught hold of him, and he stopped to see a Vulptex watching him. It was sitting in the tunnel, staring at the Kiffar. He could feel it through the Force, and followed that feeling with his mind, reaching into the creature. He could feel a kinship with the fox-like creature. It was a predator, though Tisto didn't know of what, and that was a familiar role for the Kiffar. He knew it was trying to read what the boxer was fleeing from. The small animal jumped back as it seemed to get the answer through the connection Tisto had opened.

"He tricked me," Tisto was forced to admit. "I went with the weaker of my options and he destroyed something important to me. I acted out of anger instead of sense..."

The Vulptex cocked its head questioningly as Tisto lowered his. He looked at the remains of his lightsaber, feeling empty.

It's okay you stupid Kiffar he heard as he stared at the weapon. It's just a weapon.

The Kiffar stifled a scream as his blood froze. The Vulptex brushed against his leg, unsure where the new fear was coming from. He took another look at the animal, and felt something akin to reassurance coming from it. Tisto slid the broken hilt back onto his belt, resolving himself to deal with coming to terms with the accidental use of psychometry later. He placed his ungloved hand on the fox and shuddered.

"You lost someone too didn't you," he coaxed, receiving an almost sad look from the animal. "I am sorry. I wish I could help. But I could use your help buddy."

The fox jumped to its feet, looking back the way Tisto had came. It let out a low growl, drawing his attention to the approaching figure. The boxer looked over, seeing Atra a mere ten meters away. The Kiffar slid his right glove on quickly, activating it. He nodded to the Vulptex who took off, weaving through the Combat Master's legs.

"I was mildly surprised you fled," Atra snorted. "Aren't you the 'down-bringer'?"

"I've thought it over," Tisto replied quickly. "And you are right. That was a terrible introduction. Would you allow me to start over? I believe I have a better one up my sleeve."

"I suppose I could," the Combat Master mocked, though his tone remained neutral.

"Why thank you," the boxer replied, his left hand resting on the wall. "It sucks to get off to the wrong foot. You are more than the Combat Master, and I am more than some nerfherder angry about New Tython."

Atra raised an eyebrow. "An astute realization. People are more than a single thing."

"Woo there mister," Tisto replied. "I never said you were people. Look I am the person who is going to leave you in a pile of your own blood, and you are my victim. Motivations don't matter, because I don't need to justify myself. I am a murderer of germs who just deserve it."

Tisto's left hand closed into a fist, getting a handful of salt from the wall. "Lets be real for a second. You are here for your reasons and I am here to bash you against the wall," he began.

"And you are convinced you will be the one to get what they want," Atra replied dryly.

"I don't waste time being wrong," the Kiffar finished, walking towards the Umbaran as he talked.

Tisto threw himself his target several feet early. He landed just outside the reach of the Combat Master's lightsaber, his left hand coming down in an arc, releasing the salt at eye level. Atra moved to side step it, his left foot coming into contact with the Vuptex's snapping jaws. It pulled at his boot, disrupting the Umbaran's balance. Tisto followed the unbalanced man as the salt flew over him. A right hook connected with Atra's ribs, the shock running along his chest.

Animals didn't much care for taking a prod from a shockstick. The concept was quickly becoming familiar to Atra and he found himself empathising. The Umbaran grit his teeth as the numbing sensation worked through his chest and he fought to keep his muscles from spasming.

The impact and subsequent shock from Tisto's gloved hand had caused Atra to bite his lip. He licked at it, tasting the metallic tang of his blood. Still, the Combat Master couldn't afford to split his focus, and there were reminders of that fact all around him.

Tisto was shuffling his feet to get back into Atra's guard and continue his assault. At the same time, the growling presence of the Vulptex remained at the Umbaran's heels. It was an untenable position to be in. Atra needed to change things up.

Cold fire shot through Atra's core and set his muscles alight as he seized onto the power emanating from his connection to the Force. He bent that surging energy to his will and pushed against the boundaries of ability. In a blur of movement, Atra knelt down beneath Tisto's cross punch and rolled to the side. The Kiffar's confidence in his skill and the assault left him overcommitted and he couldn't adjust to follow the sudden dodge.

His animal helper, on the other hand, was a creature of instinct. It followed Atra's path and tried to lunge towards the Umbaran. The Combat Master was ready as he came to his feet once more. He raised his left hand in a swatting motion and the Force responded with unseen energy. The Vulptex yelped as it was rocked from its feet and smacked against the wall of the tunnel. Its legs kicked as it sought purchase upon the salt-slick ground once more and began to rise. Atra didn't give it a chance.

Tisto—who had been moving to give chase—found himself stumbling several steps as pain surged through the empathetic link he had forged with the Vulptex. Then he felt nothing.

"You bastard," Tisto hissed between clenched teeth, watching Atra's crackling blade disengage and the softly smoking hole it had left in the animal.

The Umbaran either didn't hear Tisto or ignored him outright. With his face impassive, Atra turned his head back towards the Kiffar. "Your stance and footwork are impeccable," the Combat Master pointed out. "But your approach is flawed."

"This isn't your precious combat center and I'm not here for a lesson." Tisto visibly chafed at the combination of compliment and insult.

Atra continued regardless. "Opponents won't respect your rules of engagement."

It was then that the Kiffar noticed Atra had slipped his lightsaber to his left hand, freeing up his right as crackling energy began to dance between his pale fingertips. Tisto acted on instinct and opened the palms of his gloved hands. He solidified his will as power and created a barrier once more. Atra flung his hand forward and tendrils of electricity crashed against Tisto's protection. A corona formed along the point of contact, dispersing the energy of the assault even as Atra continued to pump more into it, sustaining his attack.

"Good reflexes," the Combat Master added, a nod of what almost appeared to be respect towards the Kiffar's tactics following his words. Atra's mind was working at top speed as he analyzed the situation. There was an uncouthness to Tisto that stood distinctly apart from his fellow clansmen that Atra had dealt with before. He was headstrong and confident—despite a lack of having a clearly formulated plan. And, to top all that off, the Combat Master was becoming painfully aware of the bruise forming in answer to the prior impact against his ribs.

Atra took a deep breath and reached into the depths of his power again, ready to unleash another round of lightning to further test Tisto's abilities. The Kiffar had something to say about that. A nearby crate was pulled from its state of abandon and launched like a missile towards Atra, Tisto's hand guiding its path. The Combat Master answered by refocusing his energies and pushing back against it. The crate came to a halt and screeched with protest. The Kiffar pressed harder, thrusting his palm ever forward. Atra's lips curled back almost in a snarl. He focused on meeting Tisto's efforts inch for inch. Unable to withstand the opposing forces, the crate buckled in on either side before both men released it and it fell to the ground with a puff of salted soil.

"Why don't you make this easier on yourself and back the frack off! Take the beating you deserve and die already," Tisto shouted, putting up both hands in a guard and launching himself forward.

"Or," Atra countered, "you stop wasting my time."

The Combat Master planted his feet and readied himself for impact. He had felt several punches already and was fairly confident he could give a 'show of force' without taking too much damage. Tisto closed the gap quickly and took the opening, despite the warning crawling up his spine. A gloved fist aimed straight at Atra's chest connected as the Umbaran left himself wide open, tapping into the Force and hardening his body against the blow.

The pair stood there as if frozen for a what felt like several moments but wasn't even two heartbeats. The Combat Master stood his ground through the impact, but the shock to Atra's system was something else entirely. He steeled his resolve and refused to move an inch even though his body wanted to give in to a spasm. Instead, power coalesced in Atra's palm in the same instant he twisted and thrust his hand into Tisto's gut. The concentrated application of power focused on a single point and hit the Kiffar like a punch and then some.

The impact sent Tisto stumbling several feet back and left him clutching at his stomach, a spitting cough escaping his lips. He cursed himself for allowing his focus to get the better of him once again. Atra, on the other hand, was bouncing back and forth between regret over his decision and a smirk of success. One thing was certain, both of them were hurting.

"I did come here for my own reason." The Combat Master took a deep breath before spitting bloody saliva into the salt beside him. "But now... you have my undivided attention."

Tisto worked his hands open and closed as he rose to his full height and steadied himself once more, the shockboxing gloves like a second skin that he barely noticed. "I'm not wrong," the Kiffar muttered in an attempt to assure himself that victory was his to claim, calling back to his prior comments.

Atra tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps," he intoned. "Otherwise, what's one more unmarked grave?"

Tisto's mind drifted back to all that he had lost, the saber being the most recent addition. A grave I can't ever visit again, the Kiffar thought to himself within a miasma of anger and pain.

Tisto didn't struggle as the emotions crashed down upon him. The Kiffar just put his hands to the ground, willing the Force to him. Without hesitation he brushed his hands forward against the floor, pushing against it with both his hands and the mystical field his clan mates talked about. A scarlet line of salt leaped from the ground, obscuring the boxer and launching out towards Atra. The Umbaran barely sidestepped the wave as it rushed towards him, the smaller distance making the waves width tougher to dodge. As he finished his sidestep he saw the Kiffar in a stance similar to that of a sprinter.

Tisto launched himself towards Atra, rage driving him forward. Salt leaped up slighting as he did, making small arcs that trailed his moment. He couldn't see much outside of his opponent, everything fading into mere background. He threw out a right hook as he neared the Umbaran, feeling int connect with the mans jaw as he heard the telltale snap-hiss of a lightsaber and felt an intense pain erupt from his chest. Tisto didn't have the time to register what happened, instead simply calling on the Force as his body crashed into his enemies, then everything went black.

Atra slammed into the wall behind him due to the Kiffar's weight. He deactivated his lightsaber as he pushed the body off of himself. He took a look at the wound, sighing to himself with a wince. There was a whole in the Kiffars body that seemed a bit to the left of where the heart would be. The Umbaran took a few seconds to collect himself before returning to his search wordlessly. It was just another unmarked grave.

Two Hours Later

Tisto's eyes shot open to see nothing but the trails of salt that had marked his battle with the Combat Master. He found it hard to breath as he fumbled with the comlink he has secured on his belt. He didn't look at his injuries, hoping to avoid dealing with reality.

"Hello?" came a voice, though he couldn't place it. "Tisto respond."

"Crait. Send help. Think... dying." he croaked out, hoping they could hear him. Not wanting to push his luck any further he closed his eyes once more and called on the Force to place him into a coma.