Deep within the jungles of Karufr lies a massive temple built from stone blocks, hand-carved by the builders of the Massassi. The ancient race made its home on the planet after joining forces with Clan Taldryan, having been freed from stasis years ago. Now, an entire civilization exists, hidden far from the prying eyes of Karufr's citizenry. As a Jedi, you are one of the few to have access to their secret base.

You step onto the temple grounds and watch the fearsome warriors train in small regiments with their crude weapons. The entire temple is in a state of anticipation as the Massassi know they will soon be called on once more to aid the Dark Jedi of Taldryan in battle. The temple is shaped like a giant pyramid, towering into the sky, and serves as a backdrop to the training ground.

The War Chief notices you and gestures you forward. He clears the area around you with a bellowing command, and the Massassi warriors present form a wide circle with you at the center. A moment later, you realize you're not the only Jedi to visit the temple—the crowd parts slightly to allow the newcomer to enter the ring. The gathered Massassi holler in good cheer. They want to see a fight.

The Chief raises his weapon to the sky and barks a command. The Massassi begin to stamp their feet against the ground, creating a loud, steady beat that seems to get your blood pumping. With little choice left, you lock eyes with your opponent and ready yourself for a fight.

The sound of jungle wildlife sang from the trees, and the Guardian found himself taking a deep breath. There was nothing quite like the smell of trees and wildlife. He did not have much time to just stop and take in his surroundings though. His master had sent him on out on a task, and while he enjoyed the short time away from Sapphire Squadron, he wasn't about to dawdle about amongst the trees.

Bentre had watched the top of the temple rise above the trees as he had gotten closer, and he felt an undercurrent of emotion which grew stronger with each step. He could hear the familiar noise of weapon striking weapon, further piquing his curiosity. Daedric had given him only minimal data on the planet before sending his apprentice out on a shuttle. He knew that one of the other clans was based here, though he could not recall which one when he stopped to think about it. He really didn't care enough to remember such minor details.

As he emerged from the trees, he found himself in a clearing. The full height of the pyramid stretched before him, surrounded by groups of red humanoids. Many were engaged in fierce combat, using blades, clubs, many weapons far more crude than the lightsaber Bentre proudly carried on his side. Bloody savages. These must be those Massassi. He shook his head. I am sure they make happy little soldiers for somebody. He let out a sigh, finding himself frustrated. He wasn't about to learn anything watching these people training. What had Daedric hoped he would find here?

Suddenly, a barking cry met he human's ears. Before he knew what was happening, the Massassi turned to him, and he found himself being ushered forward by the largest of the people. Despite his low opinions, the Guardian found himself feeling pressured to step forward, and looked to either side at the excited crowd as he stepped into their midst. As his feet met the stone of the training platform, he looked up at the elder Massassi to see him smiling.

Another barking cry in a tongue Bentre did not understand rang out, and the assembled warriors moved aside for a moment. Then, he saw a familiar form walk into the circle, wrapped in a black cloak. Casting off the cloak, the The man stood at least a head above the others, his pale skin seeming to glow in the sunlight. The Sith seemed to regard the Guardian with a cool, calculating stare.

“Ah,” the Obelisk raised his voice, “So this is really how this is going to occur?” He waved his right hand in a salute. His pale opponent mirrored the motion briefly. Bentre ignited his lightsaber, placing both hands upon his weapon. He watched as his opponent ignited his weapon as well.

“I hope my Master realizes,” The Guardian began to move forward, his weapon held at the ready, “That after I am done with you, I will come after him next.” With a grunt, he broke into a run, ready to cut down his tall challenger.

Why do they always assume the worst?

Anima was already mentally sighing before switching on his lightsaber, glancing down to take in the cerulean glow of the blade. The weight was comfortable, the most familiar thing he had ever known, and more than that it was a pure extension of his killer instinct. Vaguely, he heard words coming from the journeyman standing across from him. What Bentre was saying, the Rollmaster couldn't say and didn't particularly care.

Let him draw his own conclusions - that's what they all did in the end.

Glancing back up, the Umbaran's mismatched eyes locked upon the smaller human's hazel gaze even as he saw Bentre charging forward. He wasted no time in judging what his eyes could see of the Obelisk, having studied the dossiers belonging to each of the Sadowans under his charge. It was sometimes comedic, knowing so much about so many that more than likely wouldn't even recognize their Rollmaster when face to face, much like now. No mind, he hated crowds and more than that he just didn't care to deal with the nuances of socializing.

Fighting was more fun anyway.

The Rollmaster took a single long step towards his opponent, grinding his heel hard into the dirt as he transferred his weight. The Massassi's collective hooting and hollering were quickly becoming a dull roar. Bentre reacted out of habit as his free hand reached subtly towards the inside of his jacket. Instead of the cold alloy of his SE-14 blaster palming his hand, he found… nothing. A grimace formed on the Guardian's face out of annoyance. He never went anywhere without his blaster, yet Daedric had ushered his apprentice onto the shuttle with such haste that Bentre had been left with little time to prepare.

Of all the things he could have left behind…

Time was not on his side as the Human's quick strides brought him within range of Anima. He had to commit to the attack or his opponent would surely take advantage of it. Clasping his armory saber with both hands, he first brought it up to his shoulder before tensing his muscles and putting all his strength into a diagonal slash downward. The rich, sapphire blue of his blade hissed through the air, leaving a superheated trail in its wake. Bentre braced himself for the inevitable resistance that would come, either from striking true or the deadly blade of his opponent against his own.

Instead, Anima was already moving, pivoting low using his previously planted boot as the center of motion. His body swung about like a club, his leg already extending as he carried the momentum and kicked off the ground. A quick roll through the air finished the motion as his boot struck the back of Bentre's head, whose own momentum had already carried his body past Anima. The resounding crack reverberated through Bentre's skull and rattled his teeth. He ground them tightly together to keep from biting off his own tongue as the shock faded. Anima could barely hear the connection over the roars of the Massassi that had gathered to watch the events unfold, but it was a satisfying sound nonetheless.

The Obelisk staggered forward a few steps, fighting to keep his balance while Anima almost casually brushed the hair from his own eyes with the taloned fingers of his cybernetic arm. He waited with an insufferable confidence that came from utter faith in his own abilities, watching as Bentre regained his composure and turned to face him.

"Bentre Stahoes," said Anima, his even voice carried easily across the circle between them, "show me your worth."

Bentre did not need any more coaxing than those words. He was already angry enough, having to fight the urge to charge headlong toward Anima. It wasn't that he hated to fight up close, he just preferred to keep a healthy distance until he was sure how to approach things. People were chaotic, not as calm and predictable as machines. He was going to have to be careful to keep moving, or risk getting caught by his larger opponent.

“Don't you worry yourself about that,” the Guardian growled. “I will more than prove myself by the end of this.” Taking a breath, he tried to ignore the dull pain that set in after the blow to the head. The Corellian was going to have to move a little more carefully to avoid any strike like that.

Mismatched eyes gazed from across the circle, but offered little emotion, as though to reinforce the challenge. It did not look like the Sith was going to offer the Obelisk any openings. Oh well, Bentre shifted his shoulder, stretching the muscles slightly, I guess one will have to be opened up. He wasn't about to back down.

Stepping forward with cautious purpose, Bentre watched for any sign of reaction, but was only met with a seemingly blank gaze. I will just take it more carefully this time; I will stay light on my feet. Circling around his opponent, the human tried to jump forward slightly like he was going to strike. Still, not effort was made to block the feints he made. Perhaps I would have a better chance if I went for the side with that odd eye. He smiled to himself. It could be worse than the other. He began to circle toward the Umbaran's left, planting his foot hard into the ground to launch himself toward Anima.

The Rollmaster was not amused. As Bentre came in to strike, he saw the Equite turn his head, before bringing his weapon up in a sharp parry. The Guardian stumbled slightly, but managed to plant his foot and push off hard again in a haphazard upward slash. The blow was met evenly by the Sith Battlemaster, and the Journeyman found himself having to retreat to avoid the concise retaliation that followed. Feeling heat over his skin as the lightsaber passed his flesh, Bentre tried to backpedal, but found that Anima was not going to let him off so easily.

The taller humanoid had no difficulty in covering the short distance between the two, delivering strike after strike which seemed to flow together as evenly as water down a stream. The Obelisk knew that he had been in a similar situation before against that Krath, where he had been forced into close combat against a more skilled foe. Unlike the Krath, however, this Sith seemed to offer up a seamless flurry of blows.

Then, something dawned on the shorter combatant. He could possibly turn things to his benefit, however slight it might be. He continued trying to bat aside quick strikes, passively watching Anima's stance and footing. That might work. Bentre smiled, waiting until one of the strikes was on the backswing. As the Rollmaster's blow descended, Bentre lowered himself, and ducked below the strike. With a roll, he drove his lightsaber upward, aiming for the inner thigh of his opponent.

Anima appeared to be a step ahead of the young human, though. He shifted his footing slightly, sparing his thigh from the full blow, but this still permitted the icy blue beam to cut into his leg as Bentre rolled past.

A slight score, Bentre cheered inwardly, but maybe I can get him even worse this next time. To his surprise, however, the Sith did not appear to lose his composure. Instead, he reached down his free hand, meeting the touch of scorched skin. He looked at the wound, and then back to the journeyman, and he smiled, ever so slightly.

“Ah,” the single word from the Rollmaster could not be heard over the din of the assembled Massassi. Bentre smiled back, dropping his stance slightly.

Before he could knew it, though, the Equite was already charging forward again. As the Guardian brought up his lightsaber in a confident block, however, the Sith changed directions with his attack, bringing the weapon upside the right side of the Obelisk's head. Only by kicking off the ground did the human keep the attack from becoming lethal. He felt something tear in his ankle, but he had to keep moving. There was something very different now. Looking back at the taller humanoid, he realized there was a wild smile on his opponent's face.

Bentre did not have time to process this information, as with a fierce growl, the Battlemaster grabbed ahold of the smaller combatant, driving his forehead down into the human's nose. Even as the Corellian tried to stem the pain by calling upon the Force, he found himself being assaulted by a flurry of lightsaber strikes. The smooth flow of strikes from before had become chaotic and unpredictable. Calling upon every reserve of strength, the Journeyman struggled to disengage from the frantic melee. He needed a moment, he would take anything, even just to draw a breath.

Anima was not about to allow that, though. Before Bentre could make it three steps, The Battlemaster grabbed the smaller Guardian by the side of the head. “I told you to prove yourself,” the word came out as a snarl. Using his finger, the Sith drove his finger into the eye socket of the Obelisk, prompting a scream.

The noise only seemed to heighten his excitement, so he drove his finger deeper. Soon, it seemed as though all the human could feel was pain. This seemed to bring no end of entertainment to the Umbaran, as he laughed in what seemed like some sick joy. Then finally, the pain became overwhelming and for Bentre, the world became darkness.

And how exactly was he supposed to show his worth? Even a nerf could see the difference between them. As Bentre rubbed the source of the throbbing pain in the back of his skull, the human struggled to figure out his next move. A coppery taste began to flow over his tongue, causing the Guardian to spit reflexively. Blood and saliva marked the dirt at his feet, the bloodlust of the gathered Massassi becoming all but tangible in reaction.

He could have shown his worth all right, if he hadn't been so careless. Bentre could have kept distance between them, using his blaster to keep Anima on the defensive while he - hopefully - wore down his aggressor. At least enough to make the playing field a little more even.

"Believe it or not," Anima grumbled, "I do have other matters to attend to…"

Bentre almost growled in frustration, hearing clearly the unspoken words of his opponent. Clearly, he would have to be the one to make the first move and they both knew it. This was his trial so to speak, and Anima was more than content to observe.

Like any journeyman, Bentre had skipped ahead, so to speak, in his saber training. How could he not? He may not have been trained in any of the forms beyond the necessary basics, but the Guardian had explored the options that would be available to him eventually with a greedy delight. Now, standing face to face with the Clan Rollmaster, he couldn't so much as place the stance Anima had taken. In fact, Anima hadn't fallen into a stance at all. He was wide open, and completely relaxed. That meant only one thing.

The walking stack of bantha fodder wasn't even trying yet.

The realization cut like a knife and went straight to where it hurt most, Bentre's pride. Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath Stahoes centered himself, not willing to back down even a single step. He would show Anima he was a foe worth taking seriously, or die trying. Either way, his pride, his sense of self, was beyond the insult thrown unspoken against him. He clasped the humming saber hilt tightly in both hands, adopting a balanced stance as he spread his legs outward and turned his torso towards Anima. Locking eyes he matched the Rollmaster's cold gaze, unwavering even against the pure corruption he saw within the Umbaran's left eye. "Like I said," Bentre stated with confidence, "after you I'm going to kill my Master."

The shadow of a grin tugged at the corners of Anima's mouth, betraying his emotions ever so slightly. Both men began taking even steps towards each other, Bentre still uneasy at having to take such a drastic approach in comparison with his usual tactics. The world almost seemed to fade away in the tension filled moments that passed, neither of them taking notice of the Massassi that surrounded them outside of the white noise they had collectively become. This was a personal matter, and it only concerned the two participants holding the the supposedly civilized weapons of contained plasma.

Just outside of arm's reach, Anima's grip shifted on the shortened hilt of his personal saber, raising the weapon up towards his shoulders. It was aggressive, and was Bentre's first clue as to how the battle was to be.

Okay, not quite the first. The first was the unexpected but no less painful spin kick the Umbaran had delivered in answer to the Guardian's initial attack… Making that the second clue but the first one that really gave him time to analyze.

Still, he took note of what he perceived, tightening his grip on the hilt and causing his knuckles to turn white. Bentre took hold of all of his pride, his anger at himself and the situation, using it as fuel to ignite the power that lay dormant within him. Drawing on the darkness of the Force, Bentre focused on amplifying his strength beyond his current limits.

A flash of cyan streaked through his vision and crashed harshly against the blue of Bentre's saber. The kinetic impact reverberated from his hands and up his arms, almost causing the saber to slip out of his hands despite his grip.

"You're holding it too tightly. You're not on Nar Shaddaa with rod in hand." Anima muttered alongside a quick flourish of his blade.

"Why? Wanna watch?" Bentre sneered before stepping forward with a sweeping slash. He could sense the power emanating from Anima, clearly tapping into the Force as well, but refused to be daunted no matter the odds.

The Sith stepped back, planting his rear foot before grasping his hilt in a two handed clasp and delivering a hard uppercut of his blade against Bentre's oncoming attack. Anima held back, having only just begun his evaluation of the journeyman, and didn't seize the opportunity for a counter-slash. Still, the bloodlust was strong in the air and certainly infections. The Sith was forced to fight more than one battle, fighting against the urges swelling within him.

But wouldn't it be just the best to spill that fresh blood everywhere?

Anima bit his lip hard, focusing on the task at hand as he deftly deflecting strike after practiced strike from Bentre. Say what you will, the Guardian had been studious and was most certainly trained in the basics.

So engrossed in the exchange occurring between them, neither noticed the sky darken as ominous clouds rolled in. Bursts of light came from deep within, followed by telltale rumbling. The first droplets of rain were answered with a hiss as the liquid came into contact with the coursing energy of their sabers and instantly vapourised. Bentre audibly cursed, knowing the ground beneath their feat was going to become less than stable as the downpour began. It didn't help things that the Guardian was already panting while the Battlemaster seemed to be still warming up.

Desperation seeped into Bentre's actions, his clothes growing tight against his body and restricting his range of motion as the rain battered against them. At the very least, he had Anima actively moving as opposed to pretending to be a statue of some kind - a performance that would have been more than aggravating. As lightning crashed overhead, turning the active encounter into a series of still frames, Bentre noticed the Umbaran's eyes closing protectively with each flash of light just as they separated from a saber lock. Using the momentum from Anime pushing him away harshly, Bentre let himself slide backward in order to create space between them.

The Human's face filled with concentration as his brows knit together and he hid one hand behind his back. Anime was closing the gap between them with steady, sure steps despite the faint feeling that something was wrong. However, he had finished his personal judgement and it was time to end the farce. Just as he was closing in on Stahoes, the Guardian threw out the palm he had kept hidden and unleashed a spark of energy that he had been focused on creating. The jolt of electricity lanced out and scattered in an instant throughout the droplets of rain, creating blinding fractals that burned against the Umbaran's sensitive eyes.

Growling with frustration, Anima took a stumbling step back and raised his cybernetic arm defensively. The Force all but screamed in warning just before he smelled burning alloys and an agonizing searing cut across his left cheek. Anima opened his eye to see his vision clouded in a red hue amid the blue glow of Bentre's blade sticking through his constructed palm, the taloned fingers twitching involuntarily as the humming blade pressed against his cheek.

Howling in rage, Anima lost the fight with the bloodlust amid the howls of the Massassi and the roar of thunder. The large man all but metaphorically threw the Force forward as he lashed out with his right hand, a concussion of power crashing against Bentre's ribs and launching him backward. The blade, thankfully, slid back along the trajectory it had taken in its attempt to impale him and did no further harm.

Anima wasted no time charging after the Guardian, hissing with uncontained fury and crashing into Bentre like a natural disaster. His right arm reached out and grasped the skull of his foe, pulling him close as he slammed his forehead against Bentre's head. The exchange of force worked both ways, a gash forming over Anima's right eye as sweat and blood poured down the side of his face. Bentre's eyes were both turning a marbled mixture of black and blue even before he slammed the man into the muddy ground. The Rollmaster began punching repeatedly with his damaged hand, paying no mind to the erratic twitching and convulsions caused by the damaged servos. The taloned fingers lashed out, scratching and gouging at Bentre's eyes as he slammed his metal hand against him like a club.

The first wave of exhaustion creeped over him, the Force seeping from Anima's limbs and allowing him some semblance of control once more. He didn't bother looking down at the still form between his legs, but instead turned his gaze straight up towards the clouds in defiance of the lightning flashing painfully within his sight. The Rollmaster panted heavily, letting the water wash over him and pull blood and sweat down to form dirty pools beneath him. Though by now, it was hard to tell how much of the blood came from which of them.

The Massassi were more than pleased, already separating from their makeshift circle and engaging each other in their own reenactments of the fight they had just witnessed. Anima waited for the crowd to thin before dropping his guard and giving in to the world that had decided to start spinning around him, laying in the mud next to the raggedly breathing form of Bentre.

"Get stronger," Anima muttered between gasps of air, "maybe you'll be the one that kills me."