Lava is mined like a precious natural resource on this volatile and volcanic world. Opposing gravitational forces of the twin gas giants closest to Mustafar tear apart the planet’s surface to reveal the mineral-rich lava flows underneath. Once serving as the capital world for the Confederacy of Independent Systems, remnants of their past influence still linger. Massive mining facilities originally constructed by the Techno Union are still maintained by the native Mustafarians, an egocentric people who would like nothing more than to squeeze minerals for the purposes of trade and commerce from their volcanic planet.

Other than in the pursuit of business interests, few arrive on Mustafar save for those needing to incinerate evidence in its vast expanses of magma. What little curiosity is given to the volcanic planet is thwarted by a natural scanning interference caused by intense geological activity. Pirates, smugglers, criminals and scum all value this world’s ability to dump bodies, tracked cargo shipments and other unwanted articles - the singular reason for the Black Sun’s interest in the Outer Rim world.

A mechanical construct of machinery meant to extract valuable minerals from the magma trapped within its reservoir, the mining facility itself is worked all hours of the planet’s rotation by the native Mustafarians, which is bathed in an endless night, illuminated only by the molten rock. Droids, machines and conveyor belts create the workings of an efficient system to extract the minerals and have it prepared for refinement and transportation. Lacking a suitable surface, metal walkways are shielded against the heat to allow workers passage throughout the facilities. Even with the worst of the heat being shielded against, Mustafar’s temperature remains less than comfortable to most species lacking exoskeletons.

Vorsa was never one to dislike nature, but Mustafar seemed more like a planet straight from the Void. The heat burned her skin just enough to make her feel uncomfortable, and the darkness seemed to sap her strength more and more the longer she stood on the platform. It was no wonder the Dark Lord sought to find his valuable holocron on this wretched rock: Mustafar was a hellish as the Sith’s black heart.

Her gaze averted from the lava flows and bubbling rivers of death and focused instead on the holocron in her hand, red and silver, lights shining from inside its crystalline structure. She could sense the lingering presence of something dark swirling around the device, however it was different than what she used to feel in the Praxeum Vault. There, the Dark Side presence was much, much stronger and oozed from the artifacts, beckoning the unwary and overly curious.

This one, however.... This one was long dead, devoid of any possible information it could once have held. Yet, it was still very powerful a presence, and still the artifact had to be stored away from the Sith and in safekeeping at the Praxeum. The Vaults would soon have a new inhabitant.

Her golden eyes moved again, this time focusing on the four men - clad in black and gray light armor and tac suits, their weapons long since removed as well as their elaborate breathing masks - kneeling in front of her, hands bound behind their backs. Echo-1, her bodyguard, and six more Tanduran commandos stood behind them, pointing their blasters at their backs. The four agents were part of the Grand Master’s own spy network, most likely members of the 75th Special Operations Regiment.

“This will be safer with me,” Vorsa answered their silent threats with an iron stare. “Take them away,” she ordered as the six armed guards lead their prisoners to a nearby shuttle, already running and prepared for a long flight. The Dark Star was waiting patiently somewhere in orbit for its master to arrive, and knowing the good Captain, they were itching to continue on their scheduled journey.

“What do we do with it, General?” Echo-1 approached her respectfully as he observed the device. “We could just throw it into the fire below.”

“We could, Kintan. That we could. But knowledge once lost is useless, and this particular holocron is safe enough for our Masters to examine without being influenced.” She gave him a smile that made his heart flutter. “Worry not. I know how to proceed,” she reassured him and pointed toward the shuttle, preparing to leave.

“I wouldn’t do that,” a voice came from behind her as Echo-1 swiftly turned around, his blaster pointed directly at the intruder. A dark blonde-haired man in common robes stood in front of them, alone and seemingly unarmed. She recognized him easily. The Sadowan Consul seemed relaxed and unmoved by the giant pointing the blaster in his direction.

“Locke. What is your purpose here?” Vorsa demanded as she turned to face the Human. He simply pointed a finger at the holocron in her hand.

“That. It belongs to my Clan, not your “Dark Lord,’” he replied as he moved closer, Echo-1 moved in between them to protect his charge, but Vorsa’s hand on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

Retreat for now. I do not wish to see harm come upon you, child, she sent him the telepathic message, and a clear order he would never disobey. The hulking Human retreated back, still keeping an eye on the Consul. He took up position next to the shuttle’s ramp and remained there, eyes fixed on their adversary.

“What you seek, Locke, Consul of Sadow, is not yours to take,” she countered calmly, placing the small holocron in one of her belt pouches. “Nor is it owned by the Dark Lord…any Dark Lord,” she emphasized her last statement as if to signify a certain individual. Locke knew who she meant.

“I have a sniper holding position within these buildings, and a squad of men waiting on my command to storm your shuttle and take whatever they want.” Locke moved closer, each slow, deliberate step emphasizing his determination. “Give me the holocron, and we can part ways without bloodshed. This I promise.” He came to spitting distance and extended his hand in courtesy.

Vorsa studied his features for a moment, examining his face and body language. Then, she smiled. “You are no Sith, child. Why do their bidding?”

Locke cocked an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by her question. “I serve my Clan, Herald. That is all,” he replied in a kind yet strong tone. “Now, why are you stalling?”

“Because your sniper isn’t there anymore.” She flashed a confident smirk.

Locke observed her expression for a moment. “You’re bluffing.”

“I do not bluff,” she retorted immediately. “It would seem you and I will have to handle this. Order your men to retreat, and I promise you none of mine will interfere.” Her orange blade ignited, nearly indiscernible from the background lighting.

Locke raised his right hand as an almost invisible squad of shock troops retreated further into the shadows of a nearby building. The Consul’s lightsaber ignited in his left hand with a hiss as he looked back at the Neti. “Fine by me.”

The two combatants charged each other, lightsaber leading the way.

As the two approached each other, Locke aimed a quick, slicing strike toward V'yr's midsection. He nearly missed the counterstrike, pivoting as the Neti side-stepped and aimed her weapon at Locke's shoulder. Locke parried, sending his opponent's weapon just out of harm's reach. The pivot gave Locke an opportunity to shift his feet, circling with V'yr, her own steps following. In a moment, her orange lightsaber was silhouetted against the dark, nearly obsidian-colored wall of the mining facility, instead of cloaked against the volcanic fires that looked so much like her own weapon.

Studying each other, the two traded strikes a few more times, each testing the other. Locke did not know how much V'yr knew about him, but he knew little about her. He knew she was a Neti, like his mentor Malik. He knew she was Herald, and thus carried the weight of the Dark Council. He also knew that she was a Jedi, and wondered just how much of her loyalty the Dark Council truly commanded, or if most of it belonged to Clan Odan-Urr.

Locke blinked sweat from his eyes, the heat here oppressive. He had been surprised to find the Neti outside the facility, rather than inside where her strange skin would have been protected from the elements. Here, where exposed, it seemed to glow, although that could have been Locke's imagination, or the after image of the lava as his eyes adapted to the dark backdrop of the facility. It seemed that this woman had a strong will, if she would come out here to find what she sought.

Her voice broke into his thoughts.

"Again, why do you obey the Sith?"

"I do not obey them, so much as lead them," Locke answered. He wondered why she did not attack. Had she decided that words were safer? Was she weak here, due to her natural physiology? Locke did not know much of non-human races, but Malik had demonstrated some sensitivity to different climates.

V'yr continued. "True, but you must answer to your clan's elders, and rumor indicates that Darth Ashen has returned to your system. That must weigh heavily on you."

Keeping his lightsaber ready just in case, Locke thought for a moment. He had to choose his words carefully here, but he was no stranger to his beliefs being challenged. He knew, as Consul, he would have to defend them. He did not know what this Jedi might do with whatever he told her, but there shouldn't be any harm in divulging a little.

"There is a threat coming. You may know about it. The Crusades were only the beginning. These...Sith, that I follow? They will be useful in the coming conflict." He knew that many - even most - of his peers did not agree with his belief, or thought he was seeing demons where there were none, but Locke was firm in his theory. There was a threat, and it would come.

V'yr did not reply for a moment. "The Council knows of no threat," she said. "and your Sith and Dark Jedi are chaotic and unpredictable."

Locke laughed softly, the heat straining his throat. "Of course they do not, or they deny it, but it is there, and it will come. We must be strong. The dark side-"

He barely knew the attack was coming. It was a burst of power, a lightning-fast strike toward Locke's sword arm. He sidestepped, evading it, but that did not allow him more than heartbeats. V'yr spun through the space he had occupied, circling back, her momentum carrying her to another strike, seeming to anticipate which direction Locke would go. Only a hastily erected defense saved Locke from injury, the two lightsabers crackling together as his feet slid back across the durasteel plates of the mining facility's outer walkway.

Quickly summoning the Force, Locke strengthened his arms until he could push V'yr away. She stepped back, moving more slowly than Locke would have expected, but he did not press the attack, instead studying his opponent. He glanced at her scalp, then back to her eyes, making a mental guess before speaking. "Your hair doesn't look too good," he said.

She did not retaliate, nor immediately speak. Something about her hair seemed almost withered, as if this environment had a negative effect on it. Was she weakened more than normal by that attack? There was only one way to find out.

Locke gathered the Force, channeling his hatred of the Jedi to build strength. They were truly fools to ignore half the Force because of their outdated belief system. He would demonstrate their error.

"As I was saying, the dark side is a weapon that we must use. It is far more powerful than the light alone!" He finished the last words through gritted teeth, himself surprised at the anger surging through his soul. It sought an outlet, and he gave it one, violet streaks of electricity erupting from his offhand as he extended it toward V'yr.

The Neti responded sluggishly, but it was enough. She lifted her lightsaber, catching the strike against it. Locke growled as the last of the gathered energy left him, the torrent collapsing as quickly as it had come. He breathed deeply, coughing quietly as some bit of ash from the air got stuck in his throat. For her part, V'yr seemed more worn out, but it was hard for Locke to truly tell.

There was a pause as neither Jedi spoke for several standard seconds. Then V'yr broke the silence. "Yet, peace and diplomacy make for stronger ties than fear and intimidation. If you seek a strong defense against a superior foe, you must have strong ties."

Is that why Pravus allows your Jedi to live among our ranks? Locke wondered. That led to another question, one he wondered if V'yr had considered.

"It's true," he said, "the light has it's place, as does the dark. I do wonder, though. No doubt you are familiar with the treacherous ways of those who follow the dark side. Let me ask you a question: How will you protect yourself against the dark side practitioners on the Council? How long do you think the Grand Master will allow you to survive unhindered, and hold the others back?"

“Do not mistake our pacifism for incompetence,” Vorsa retorted with conviction, her unrelenting gaze shining brightly under the ambient light. “We are not some rabble to be tossed around like pieces on a Dejarik board, and your Grand Master isn’t as all-powerful and all-knowing as you seem to think. Neither is Ashen or the rest of their ilk.” She deftly unclipped the belt holster and drew forth the red holocron. “But I see now you will not be convinced nor swayed. And I would much rather see this destroyed than in your hands.”

With a flick of the wrist she sent to device flying over the ledge. Locke’s eyes widened as he reached out, invisible tendrils of Force power pulling on the holocron before it fell into the fire below. He felt her attack, and the trap, only a mere moment before it struck. He steeled himself as best he could as Vorsa’s knee impacted his abdomen with enough force to break bone.

Locke gasped for air and belched at the same time, pushing down the instinct to vomit. In the same heartbeat, he felt his body bend, as if pushed by an invisible hand, tossed like a rag doll across the metal surface onto the other side of the platform. The Consul’s head banged against the metallic railing as he came to a sudden stop, prone and nearly helpless. The holocron he mentally held onto bounced across the durasteel plating and came to rest precariously close to one of the ledges.

Vorsa charged again, ignoring the holocron completely. The Force passed through her body like a current, propelling her forward even against the pain and fatigue. Mere heartbeats separated Locke from his demise and all he could do was raise a hand in defense. Vorsa jumped, ready for the kill - and slammed into Locke’s invisible barrier. The impact of her own enhanced momentum reverberated through her, sending jarring pain through every inch of her body. She yelped against the blow and fell backwards, her head bouncing against the metal floor. The orange blade from her hand slid out of reach as Locke regained his composure enough to stand.

“No wonder you’re in the Council. You’re tougher than you look.” He coughed and grasped his aching chest as his saber returned to his hand, ignited. His first step was labored but each one that followed seemed to give him strength. The Force flowed through him, invigorating his muscles and banishing his aches as he stopped in front of the Herald, meeting her fiery gaze with equal fury. The yellow blade made a pirouette through the air as the tip charged towards the Neti just a bit too slowly. Vorsa was the will of the Force: she had commanded it for four hundred years like a weapon never removed from her grasp and it had never failed her. With invisible hands she gripped the Consul’s ankles and in one swift motion she spread her arms, and his legs, apart.

The initial shock stunned the Sadowan as his legs did an involuntary split. His physique certainly allowed for it, but it was no less painful like this. He rolled away from his adversary, grasping his aching groin and huffing loudly. Vorsa scrambled for her saber as best as she could, her head still spinning, her body still fraught with pain. Locke mimicked her motions as best he could to grab his own blade once more. They stood up almost simultaneously, pointing their weapons at each other.

Their gazes locked in realization: the holocron was still on the ledge, its fate literally hanging in the balance. As best they could, they sprinted towards it, scrambling to reach it first. Locke grabbed for the small box just as it flew from its resting place into Vorsa’s outstretched hand. She twirled her blade in a challenge, and the Consul charged her.

She tried to kill me, Locke realized, hurling himself at the Jedi. He struck low and V'yr's blade seemed to appear there, deflecting the attack.

It seems the time for words is over. He pivoted, lightsaber spinning up to strike V'yr's chest. She danced out of range, discarding the holocron like some useless trinket, allowing her to focus on the battle. Locke ignored it as well, following her movements as she backpedaled and attacked his side in one smooth motion, like a shifting current of liquid. He had to be careful to stay away from the edge of the platform, but tried to stay near the area the holocron had come to rest in.

I can do that too.

Light on his feet, Locke side-stepped, avoiding the attack. V'yr's lightsaber slid through the empty space, but she soon shifted again, body following her weapon through it. To Locke it seemed that her lightsaber followed him, as he stayed barely one step ahead, avoiding it once, twice, then a third time. On the fourth, he could not avoid it, but aimed a high velocity parry at a sideways angle to Vy'r's weapon, the two blades scratching together almost horizontally between the combatants, both pointed to the side.

Sweat beaded on Locke's forehead, threatening his eyes. He hastily wiped it away with his free hand as he parried another attack. He felt his emotions evaporating, fading away like clearing smoke over his mind. He had been shocked that the environment did not seem to affect V'yr near as much as he had thought. He had been surprised when the Jedi had tried to kill him when he was weakened. Those emotions were gone now, replaced with nothing.

He parried again, his weapon stopping V'yr's head on. It was uncharacteristic of his style, and Locke had to quickly summon the Force to give him strength to sustain the lock.

His tongue worked and he swallowed, filling his throat with enough moisture to speak clearly. He knew his lips were dry, his skin irritated by the heat and lack of moisture here. That did not matter; only the battle did.

Locke barely recognized the cold, hoarse tone of his own voice. "If you will not surrender the holocron, I will destroy you."

That was not completely honest. He would do whatever he could to not kill the Herald of the Brotherhood, even if he had the opportunity. Even in the cold void of his battle mind, Locke's stomach twisted thinking of what the Grand Master would do if a Consul were to kill one of his Councilors.

V'yr's reply was shockingly calm, especially given their environment and the intensity of the battle. Locke wondered if Neti required moisture to speak the way humans did, or if they generated the language some other way. It was a distant, absurd thought, given the intensity of their encounter.

"You cannot win. I command the Force much more thoroughly than you ever could."

Then she broke the lock, spinning to the side. Locke felt the Force surging within her as he stumbled forward, his strength suddenly pushing against nothing. A brief trickle of fear danced on the edge of his mind. He had not been prepared for such a move. Perhaps the environment and the battle were taking their toll on his mind, as well as his body.

Desperate to regain control of his movements, Locke turned and brought his lightsaber up to defend. He watched V'yr change orientation and drive her fiery blade toward his stomach, his eyes widening as he realized he was moving more slowly than her and that he would not be able to stop it in time.

He felt fire across his abdomen as the lightsaber struck, searing into his side, feeling as if the lava far below had been poured across it. He screamed, the oneness of his mind collapsing as he felt the unfamiliar feeling of his own life force weakening. Locke dropped to his knees, lightsaber falling next to him as he grit his teeth and stared up at V'yr. She was standing nearby, doing something, but Locke could not tell what. Darkness encroached on his vision. She had not hesitated before, and he did not believe she would now.

Locke closed his eyes, the heat mixing with an odd coldness in his stomach. He had to do something soon, or he would be no more, and if he died, what then? His followers would have no leader, a clan would be in chaos. Someone would replace him, but what would they do? Time slowed as his thoughts wandered, the pain dimming. Was that the feeling of death? If he passed on here, his successor would likely be far more ruthless. They would waste the lives of those who followed him, of his allies and the troops loyal to Naga Sadow. As a Sith, they would seek their own ambitions, and in so doing, weaken the Brotherhood.

Just as this Jedi seeks to do by killing me. She must be trying to destroy it from the inside. She will use this holocron somehow, and I cannot allow that.

It was strange what complete thoughts he had in those moments close to death. He could not let her succeed. He had to show her that she would face impossible barriers wherever she tried to strike. He would not be the weak link, and he would make sure, somehow, that there were no others. A pure rage erupted from his center as he absorbed the Force. He would survive this, and he would warn the others. Locke opened his eyes, glaring up at V'yr, who seemed poised to strike. He planted his palm against the ground below, barely constraining the dark side-fueled convergence of Force energy that gathered there.

I will not let her weaken our empire.

"For the Brotherhood!" he growled, voice barely audible.

As V'yr's lightsaber descended toward Locke's head, an invisible current of Force energy surged from the ground around his palm. It struck out at V'yr, reversing her direction, making her stumble and fall back. She had been ready, and somersaulted backward in a controlled motion, but her lightsaber had gone flying, and she was far away from the holocron. Still, she immediately began to rise, calling back her weapon with an invisible grip.

Locke steeled himself and stood up, one arm clutching his side. The holocron was nearby. He groaned as he scooped the relic up, first thinking to throw it, but then remembering V'yr's telekinetic prowess. Instead he sprinted for the edge of the platform. If he could drop it right off the side, perhaps V'yr could not bring it back. His mind set on this singular task, Locke continued moving forward, even as he felt the Force tug at his body, V'yr likely trying to stop him. He willed his own control of it into his legs, increasing his muscle strength. Then he lunged forward, landing at the edge of the platform. He gasped as his stomach smashed into the ground, the air knocked out of him.

Side throbbing, Locke looked down, seeing another platform below the one he was on. It had no railing, and there was lava below it, but if he just dropped the holocron, it would not be destroyed. He rolled onto his back, holocron clutched to his chest, staring at V'yr. She was on her feet, blazing lightsaber ignited again. The Neti kicked Locke's own weapon, sending it past his head, falling to the platform below. His hopes began to fade.

She's going to kill me and recover the holocron, his mind told him. He had only one last option, and no idea if it would work or if he would survive. Calling on the Force, Locke braced himself and rolled off the side of the ledge, dulling his pain.

It seemed like several heartbeats before he hit the platform below, hearing and feeling his spine crack, his eyes widening, pain shooting throughout his body. He cried out again, much more weakly than earlier. The pain in his side seemed to double, causing his body to tremble violently. With the last of his energy, he thrust the holocron out, over the edge, and released it from trembling fingers.

With difficulty, he looked up, seeing V'yr standing at the railing above. He panicked for a moment, thinking she would just call the holocron back, but it did not happen. Whether she was unable to do so or chose not to, she did not recover the holocron. He thought she might jump down to finish him off, but she did not come, only looking another moment, and then disappearing.

Fading quickly, Locke shoved his hand into his belt pouch and thumbed his comlink, hoping his commandos could track the signal and would not be eliminated by V'yr and her people. It seemed to be his only chance for survival.

Finally, he was left alone, with only the bubbling lava and the low rumble of distant machinery for company. Back broken, stomach aflame, body tired beyond anything he had ever felt before, he let those sounds lull him into unconsciousness.