Despite being on the first level of the Citadel, the massive courtyard remains hidden behind towering walls of stone and sediment. An elongated central patch of neatly trimmed grass stretches out for almost fifty-meters while maintaining a twenty-meter width. At the center of the grass is a large, ovular fountain in the shape of the Arcona emblem, with water running from the tips of each pointed edge. Vegetation grows along some of the walls, and an archaic clock-face is carved into the face of one of the entryways. A small group of rotating sharpshooters are scattered across the walls as the courtyard is supposed to serve as a safe place for Arconans to enjoy some quiet time, or to meet with visitors. It has served as the venue for multiple honor duels over time and there is a significant crater off to the side of the grass left behind as a result of a contest between Marick Arconae and Wuntila Arconae. The duel had taken place prior to either Arconae serving as Shadow Lords and in a quieter time before all Arcona knew was warfare.

Towards the back of the courtyard, closer to the base of the cliff that the Citadel is constructed upon, a tall tree shoots up from the stone, its shade guarding an entrance into the Citadel proper.

There comes a point in everyone's life where they must reflect on the past. Things are done to them, words said in love or hate. That time had come for the Young Battlelord who was stalking the halls of the Arcona Citadel on Selen.

He had always liked walking the quiet halls. It soothed him in a way he could not describe, however, today those halls did little to quell the rage in his heart of the beast clawing to get out. Marick had finally returned to Arcona.Many simply passed this off. many came and went as they pleased in the Clan but to the few that knew of the history, the two force users shared it only spelled disaster.

The Grey Fang had killed the Sith’s self appointed grandfather Zakath in cold blood, leading to the suicide of his Master Nath. Rrogon was the only one left to carry the family name Argona in their memories and he would never forget the one who had made such a fate come to pass.

As the Juggernaut neared the Citadel courtyard, famous for Shadow's previous battle with Wuntila, he could feel his cybernetics twitch and whir with agitation. But he continued onward, his mission would not be swayed by his failing body or glitching hardware. No, he would see this through to the end, no matter where that end might lay.

Spying the open doorway that lead to the courtyard he took a long and ragged breath, stepping through into open sunlight. It took a second for his eyes to adjust to the blazing sun outside and when they did, he could see the Happan standing near the great tree that marked the Courtyard. Rage pulsed through his body and red filled his vision but he willed himself to calm down if but for a moment.

Blindly rushing into the fight would only get him killed, his target was far more skilled than he was and the Kaleesh knew it. Slowly he reached down by his side and drew the revolver hanging on his belt and aimed it at the Elder. The Happan stiffened slightly and with water like grace moved deftly out of the line of the bullet that fired a split second after, taking him from harm's way if only for the moment. As the Arconan spun to face his attacker his eyes widened slightly, but his expression remained the same cold and calculated.

“I knew you would be able to dodge that, Marick.” Snarled the Rrogon and he reholstred his gun and drawing his lightsaber with his other hand his metallic thumb posed over the ignition switch.

“You were a fool to think you would be able to return to Arcona without consequences, Fang!” The Sith yelled the venom dripping from his voice like some great wounded beast.

“How vain of you coming back thinking everything would be alright, that no one would remember what you did to the Clan, that anyone who did would forgive and forget! Well, I haven't forgotten, you piece of Bantha dung and I will never forget what you did to us, or me.” Hissed the shaking Kaleesh as he stalked forward a few feet as the metallic talons on his feet began digging grooves into the soft soil beneath them. The Shadow did nothing, his face still a mask of nothing and calm, it infuriated the former Obelisk to no end.

“What to stuck up from your time on the Dark Council that you forget what you did!? Or maybe you do and you just don't give a damn!” He snarled taking another step forward.

“I'm sorry, Rrogon,” The Happen said his voice strong and resolute just like he had remembered it from all those years ago.

The Sith stopped dead in his tracks and rocked back a step like he was struck by an invisible wall shaking his head he struggled to understand what was just said.

“You're what?” he asked softly confusion sinking into his voice

“I said I'm sorry.” The Shadow said again not making any moves the Sith could see.

“Sorry!? You're sorry! Sorry doesn't even begin to wipe clean the stain you have brought to yourself! You murdered Zakath in cold blood, my Grandfather in cold blood and caused my master, MY mother, Nath to take her own life in grief!” The Sith was panting now, the anger and rage boiling howling to be let loose into this world once more.

“You betrayed us, me, Arcona, Shadow Gate, Everyone that looked up to you for guidance and leadership, and all you can say is your sorry! Look at me Marick, take a good long look. You caused this to happen to me, and nothing you say or do is ever going to change that.”Skar was pacing now his rage consuming his mind until something snapped and an icy calm overtook him.

The anger was still there but as it turned into such a cold and tempered blizzard that it chilled his very core. “I'm going to kill you Marick for what you did to all of us, and I swear on my name and the name of my Ancestors before me you will never find rest while I live. You, your family, and any who try and stop me will face the same fate you will in the end.”

Turning to face the Happan fully now his thumb depressed the ignition switch for the lightsaber in his hand letting the Plasma blade leap to life its humming edge read to slice into flesh and bone alike. With a roar of Primal almost beastel like rage, the Kaleesh charged forward his blade ready and waiting for any counterattack.

In response, the Shadow’s hands finally moved from underneath the armor weave cloak he wore, flashes of metal sprung forth speeding forward in almost mind-numbing speeds at the charging Sith. But Skar was ready for this and he rolled forward underneath the first set of throwing dagger the Eldar carried but he could do little to doge the second wave of them, all he could do was block what he could. His saber flashed into three of the Small daggers but two found their mark one embedding in his shoulder and the other just barely grazing his abdomen. First blood had been drawn and it belonged to the Saddow who back away quickly to gain some distance from the angered Kaleesh who was pulling the blade from his flesh. In a fit of rage, he broke the blade in his metallic hand letting the shards of metal fall freely onto the ground, standing to his full height he drew the revolver once more and began to fire at the retreating Elder.

Four slugs fired from the weapon three of them missing their mark entirely as the nimble Hapan ducked and dodged out of their path but the last one found its mark As the Kaleesh focused his mind into the force to slow the movements of the Arconan for just a brief instant, it took all his focus to do so but it paid off as the armor-piercing round punched clean through one of his exposed legs.

Marick had to catch himself due to the pian and fire in his leg. But the Sith would not give him time to rest or take stock wiping his dark-haired head up he saw the Sith closing in fast his saber poised to cleave him in two.

“Die, murderer!” Scremned the Kaleesh as be brought the blade down

Marick Tyris had envisioned his return to the Citadel countless times in his head. Unsurprisingly, out of all the scenarios he had imagined, the one at hand did not come as a significant shock.

Pain, hatred, anger and sorrow radiated through the Force, but not from the white-hot agony that shot up the half-Hapan’s wounded leg. No, the true anguish radiated off the young Kaleesh that had finally found his outlet to unload years of pent up fury and frustration. Rrogon Skar shouted at the top of his lungs as he charged the wounded traitor. He did not seem perturbed in the slightest by the protruding throwing knife that had somehow lodged itself into his cybernetic shoulder.

Time slowed for Marick as the Battlelord cleaved his pale blade down onto the Master’s skull. There was no time to dodge. A direct parry would buckle his balance. There was no more time.

The Gray Fang did not so much as flinch or flail. He did not fear his own death. He instinctively shifted his weight to his uninjured leg, a mixture of the Force and his own adrenaline numbing the pain now that he was no longer putting direct pressure on it. Just so.

Years of hard-earned reflex took control as an obsidian dagger appeared in each of his hands. The twin blades, tempered with Sith Alchemy, crossed into an an 'x' above his head to meet the descending plasma blade. Instead of trying to buck back against the Juggernaut's descending momentum, the Shadow rolled his wrists, leveraged his daggers on a fulcrum, and redirected the heavy blow away from his body. At the same time, he pushed off with just his arms and threw the rest of his slender frame down towards the ground. He landed neatly on his shoulder and rolled through the grass until he was a few strides away.

The whole maneuver happened quicker than the enraged Kaleesh’s eyes could track. Unbalanced and now over-committed, Rrogon lurched forward and stumbled into the trunk of an overgrown tree casting shade from the overhead sun. The Juggernaut recovered quickly, and wheeled around furiously to locate his quarry.

Back on his feet and favoring one leg, Marick smoothly sheathed his daggers and replaced them with the hilt of his Elder lightsaber.

“Rrogon. You have every right to hate me,” Marick spoke, his lilting voice calm and crisp as the autumn air wafting through the courtyard. Warm streams of blood started to soak into the threads of his synthweave leggings. He could handle the pain, but knew he needed time to properly stem the bleeding.

He also knew that the Kaleesh was is in no state of mind for words.

Short on an alternative course of action, Marick ignited his lightsaber and held it out in front of his body like a warding flare. The violet blade with a black core was a stark contrast to his light skin but perfectly matched his dark hair and grayscale attire.

“Is that the blade?” the Kaleesh sneered. “Is that the blade you took his head with?”

Skar’s crimson glower met Tyris’ icy blue gaze. He was searching, Marick knew, for some kind of admission. Some kind of tell, or break in the former Voice’s perpetual mask of indifference. Guilt, regret, something that could vindicate or bring the Kaleesh some kind of emotion other than unbridled hatred.

Marick had no answers for him, however. Words were wind.

The once Shadow Lord of Arcona glanced at the crater he had been partially responsible for leaving etched into the Coutyard’s landscape. Like Wuntila all those years passed, the only thing Rrogon would understand now were actions.

Meanwhile, a small crowd of spectators had begun to form, one of which was a small child with silken, utterly straight raven hair pulled up into pigtails and tied with ribbons. Her headband sprouted a pair of bunny ears and she carried a mask of some kind.

Ignorant to the scrying eyes, Rrogon let out another guttural, bone-curdling scream. The Juggernaut charged, and this time prepared to better balance the weight of his attack.