Begeren. Once a prosperous Sith world, it has been the site of numerous battles throughout the millennia. Grand halls and monuments were torn down and re-purposed by looting Republic forces thousands of years ago, before they were driven from the planet. Isolated settlements still dot the planet's surface, but the inhospitable, craggy, and desert-like terrain, along with the beasts common to many desert and Sith worlds, have kept most humanoids from colonizing. Occasional skirmishes have left debris scattered throughout the desert, and battles were fought here as recently as the Galactic Civil War. The planet is now under the control of the One Sith and is rumored to be full of all manner of priceless, ancient Sith artifacts.

The Dark Council has pushed forth to Begeren and the Grand Master, on his quest for ever more powerful items, has decreed the Clans and Houses seize anything of value. The unity shown by the Brotherhood during the beginning of this Crusade is fracturing, with the Clans and Houses growing tired and frustrated with the seemingly endless succession of battles. Tempers are flaring between former allies, with outright aggression no longer uncommon. Despite this, you have responded to the Grand Master's call—though whether it's to actually seize the items for the Brotherhood, destroy them, or use them for your own purposes, only you know.

You have followed the call of the Force to a stretch of desert wasteland, seemingly unremarkable save for the various rock outcroppings that dot the landscape. These outcroppings, though, hide a subterranean cave network, known to be a den of wraids. Though the entrances to the caverns are typically narrow and dark, these tunnels quickly widen. Below the surface, bioluminescent plants and lichen provide limited light.

You know that, despite reaching this place first, you won’t be alone for long, as an ancient Sith tomb is located deep within the caves the wraids now call home. Exactly what you’ll find in that tomb, you’re not sure—but it is something of great power, that much you can sense. You know it is your duty to find it, whatever it is, before any others can locate it. What you do with it when you find it… that is up to you.

As you near one of the entrances to the caves, you think you hear the sounds of footsteps, or maybe skittering, down below—and above ground, you hear the distant crunch of rock underfoot as someone else has found a different rocky cave entrance as well.

Tarax was well aware that the mission he was tasked with would not be as easy as it had been presented. The occasional stomping of feet below - it sounded like quadrupeds - accompanied with the echo of humanoid feet climbing down a nearby passage led Tarax to believe that the leadership had once again failed to properly plan the entire mission. You'd think that by now they would have learned from their mistakes, he thought to himself.

"'Just go to the caves,' they said. ‘It's a simple in-and-out job,’ they said. Well, they're all frakking idiots." Tarax grumbled to himself as he descended the narrow passageway deeper into Begeren rock. The moist air assaulted Tarax’s senses, and not in the usually pleasant or favourable way.

Before long Tarax emerged into a big cavern, its ceiling high enough to fit a five storey skyscraper, and wide enough to park two Sentinel-class transports front to back. Casting a glance upwards, Tarax noted that the ceiling of the cavern was lined with stalactites. I frakking hate this place already, he decided.

Tarax surveyed his surroundings, keeping an ear out for his soon-to-be-arriving companion, when he saw the gateway to the ancient Sith Tomb. He gripped the hilt of his sword Nitemare and moved towards the large, decorative stone entrance. Just as he stopped in front of it to study the ornate doorway, a voice behind him yelled out “Hey! Who are you? What are you doing? Get away from there!”

Already in a bad mood and getting more irritated by the second, Tarax turned around and glared at the newcomer: a tall blond-haired man – taller than himself, even – built with lean muscle and what looked like plenty of attitude. Tarax knew that this was going to get really annoying, really fast.

“Who the frak are you?” Tarax demanded rudely, feeling his anger rising.

The newcomer was visibly offended at the tone, his own face growing dark with rage. “I’m Furios Morega of Plagueis. Who’re you?”

“I’m someone who’ll beat the kriffing snot out of you if you don’t leave. Now.” Tarax growled in response.

That was all the provocation Furios needed to lunge at Tarax, his Echani knives appearing in his hands as if though out of thin air as he aimed for Tarax’s torso. The Taldrya dodged to his left, avoiding the attack that would have left him bleeding like a freshly gutted nerf. Before Furios could regain his composure, Tarax unsheathed his Rakatan sword and slammed the pommel into his opponent’s back, its spike digging into muscle and sending Furios sprawling onto the ground, blood flowing from his wound.

By now both men were beyond reason and control, each only wanting to rip the other into pieces. While Furios was still down Tarax kicked him in the face, causing blood to spill onto the ground next to the tomb’s entrance.

Suddenly an eerie, ancient laugh filled the dark cavern. The stalactites threatened to come crashing down from the booming sound. From beyond the tomb rose the spectre of the ancient Sith Lord entombed within, and without hesitation hissed out “Come, my pets. Kill these intruders.”

The chilling howls and stomping feet alerted the two Dark Jedi to the dozen or so wraids converging on them from the opposite ends of the cavern.

“Oh, frak my life.” Tarax and Furios both said at once.

With an audible sigh, Tarax gritted his teeth and turned to face the left-hand group of wraids, igniting his saber to accompany his sword. The Prelate next to him could feel the older Marauder focus his anger at the beasts. With a furious roar, the enraged Obelisk sprinted toward the half a dozen wraids. Furios reached around himself for the mild wound on his back. Instantly the welt grew warm as the Force repaired the damage. Feeling more flexible, he glanced from the Primarch to the stampede approaching on his right to the elaborately carved door that concealed the dark side energy he had been tracking. He grinned as a plan began to form in his head. Sheathing his knives and spitting the recesses of blood from his mouth, the Epicanthix hefted a nearby rock and hurled it at the half a dozen wraids charging unimpeded. The stone thudded short of the corrupted beasts but it served its purpose well. The animal the rock landed closest too roared and refocused itself at his attacker. The others followed suit, stumbling over each other to redirect the raw power behind their assault. “Perfect,” the Plagueian muttered.

Satisfied with the single-mindedness of the stampede, Furios ran for the door. Reaching the construct, he spun around and faced the animals. With the distance between the man and the beasts closing in rapidly, he somersaulted out of the way, allowing them to collide with the doorway. The fastest of the group struck the door first. The Force power behind the dark beast smashed against the energy protecting the door, creating a mildly palpable shockwave. Having been prepared for a non-Force powered blow, the Prelate stumbled a bit as he landed. Another and another shockwave followed as more beasts struck the Force-imbued door. The fourth crashed through the barrier, causing the greatest blow as the last two wraids knocked into the first four. The stone door began to crumble beneath the force of the reptilian creatures. Several of the smaller stalactites on the cavernous ceiling fell to the ground, which missed the wraids and Dark Jedi. One almost hit Furios but he scrambled aside, pulling himself to his feet. Determined to finish his plan, he focused on his legs, willing their strength to their peaks with the Force. With Force-driven speed, the Epicanthix ran to the nearest wraid and punched it, adding a small dose of electricity to the blow. The animal toppled over for an instant but quickly recomposed itself along with the others. By the time each were charging again, Furios was already running for the other Obelisk in the cavern.

As Tarax finished off the last of his attacking wraids, his burning anger began to cool. The sound of bounding wraids finally caused him to start turning back toward his contender for the relic. By the time his body had turned to face the source of the sound, Furios was almost right in front of him, pursued by the rest of the dark sided beasts. At the last instant, the Prelate skidded to a halt, just outside sword’s reach, and leapt to the side. A grunt of surprise was all Tarax was able to utter as half a dozen massive reptilian behemoths clamored into him. Furios chuckled as a freight load of raw muscles rammed into the cyborg. Having taken care of two birds with one stone, the Epicanthix ran through the ornate doorway, over the rubble of the door, down the freshly exposed hall toward whatever relic he had come for.

At the end of the corridor shone pale light, pulsating and flickering with energy. Within the chamber stood several elegantly carved braziers, each wreathed in ghostly blue flames. The walls and ceiling were covered in the crafted visages of hundreds, maybe even thousands of slaves. The stone faces appeared as if they were screaming to be free of some kind of inescapable barrier. In the center of the chamber, ornate steps led to a massive throne, decorated with countless gemstones, twinkling with the reflection of the burning light. Behind the seat, a menacing sarcophagus stood, almost looming over the chair. Perched upon the throne was the spectral Sith Lord. On either side of him stood two pedestals. The one on the right held a sword, its black blade shimmering in the light, while the other held an elaborately decorated bracer with gold inlays swirling around on silver. Furios neared the first stair before the ancient Sith Lord spoke.

“Who dares intrude on my tomb?” the voice bellowed.

“Furios Morega of the Dark Brotherhood!” the blonde Obelisk replied

The ethereal Sith pondered for a moment and stood. In a flash of Force energy he was standing mere inches away from the Epicanthix. “And how many are there in this Brotherhood?”

“Hundreds.”

The ghost slowly circled the intruder. “I’ve counted several millennia since I was entombed here and in that whole time, not one worthy Sith has stepped foot in my resting place, not until now anyway.” Furios held back the urge to say he was Obelisk, not Sith. The Sith Lord stopped in front of him. “Not one practitioner of the Dark Side of the Force has come to claim my legacy. How about this, you shall fight your friend there to the death and the winner can take my relics for their own.”

“Friend? I was going to kill him before-“

“You bastard!” Tarax yelled, interrupting the Plagueian. “I’m going to enjoy killing you!”

The dead Sith laughed and flashed back to his throne as Furios turned to face his opponent. The older man was bruised and battered from his fight with the wraids. His prosthetic arm twitched from the damage and his right leg was badly swollen. Rage poured from his eyes and his nostrils flared in primal anger. Saber and sword remained firmly grasped in his blood-covered hands.

Tarax had completely lost it. Reason and sanity had both escaped him, to be replaced by uncontrolled rage and bloodlust. Ignoring the crippling pain in his leg and arm, he raised both Nitemare and his lightsaber and lunged at his Plagueis opponent, wraid blood dripping off of him as he flew through the air. Furios raised his own lightsaber to block the assault but was unable to overcome Tarax’s sheer wight as it came down on him. The two men fell to the ground hard, Tarax pinning Furios beneath his damaged, bleeding body, the sudden impact knocking their lightsabers from their grasps.

Furios grunted in effort as he tried to get his feet beneath the injured Taldryan behemoth. Furios closed his right hand into a fist and threw a punch at the bigger man’s head in hopes to disorient him long enough so he could shove him off of himself. The move had the opposite effect, as the blow only enraged Tarax even more. Using his free hand to grab Furios by the collar, Tarax lifted his opponentfrom the cavern floor and slammed his forehead into Furios’ face, breaking his nose with an audible crack.

“FRAKKING SITHSPIT!” howled Furios as blood gushed down his face. His own uncontrollable rage taking over, he called upon the Force to aid him punched Tarax in the face once more, causing the Taldryan Obelisk to reel backwards in pain. Furios used that moment and finally shoved Tarax off of himself, causing Tarax to fly backwards and hit the tomb wall.

Above them the ancient Sith spirit cackled with pleasure at the sight of two dark Jedi tearing themselves to pieces.

Furios wasted no time in going after Tarax; his bloody face set in murderous rage. He unsheathed his Echani knives once more and jumped at Tarax before he could regain his balance, thrusting the knives into his shoulders. Tarax cried out in pain as the shock ran through his body, dropping Nitemare to the floor.

Furios leaned in close to Tarax’s ear and groweled “I’ve got you now, you kriffing sleemo.”

“Not…yet,” replied Tarax.

Before Furios could register the cyborg’s response, Tarax grabbed his AKraB vibrodagger from its sheath behind his back, and shoved it upward through his throat into his skull.

A look of bewilderment and disbelief passed over Furios’ face as he tried to say something, only to have blood spill out of his mouth. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and his body fell to the floor in a limp, bloody mess.

Above them the Sith spirit continued laughing, pleased at the outcome of the battle. It looked down at the wounded victor and hissed, “You are indeed a powerful Sith warrior. You may take my relics for yourself.”

In response, Tarax bent over to pick up Nitemare, walked over to the open sarcophagus and smashed the relics. The spirit, tied to the relics, screamed in agony as its spirit was destroyed.

“I hate this mission,” spat Tarax as he passed out from his injuries.

The taller of the two pulled the carved up saber hilt from his hip. “I’ll be sure to deprive you of that enjoyment,” he said, igniting the cerulean blade. This man’s rage is everlasting. How many times has he allowed his anger to take control already?

“Die!” Tarax shouted, charging recklessly. The white lightsaber swung first, arcing toward Furios’ head. His blue saber snapped toward the strike, blocking with one hand. The force of even an off-handed blow caused the Epicanthix’s arm to tremble. The Sith sword followed an instant later, causing Furios to leap back, just out of reach of the speeding metal. He landed lightly a few feet away. The Taldryan lunged at his opponent, aiming both his weapons for the stomach. The sword tore through only air as the Prelate stepped to the side but the saber managed to graze his left arm. Pain like red-hot fire shot from the fresh wound as Furios swung his saber with his right arm. Tarax hopped away from the attack, allowing the Plagueian to step away and regain more distance from his enraged foe. I can’t take much more but his fury can’t last much longer either, can it?

Taking the moment to heal his wound, the Aedile focused a moment on the arm and prepared for the next charge. The old man was perfectly ready to oblige and savagely lumbered toward him, swinging his cold blade downward. Furios narrowly dodged left of the swing but the white saber followed, lunging once again, this time aiming for the face. He pushed the oncoming lightsaber aside, barely avoiding a lethal impalement. Instead the attack stabbed through the hood of his robes, easily burning a hole in the black fabric. Desperate to stay alive, the blonde Obelisk swung back but his opponent’s two weapons blocked the strike. Tarax pushed away with his blades, causing the Prelate to stumble backward. He recovered his stance but before he could do anything, Furios was lifted off the ground by the Force. The Primarch’s outstretched hand still held onto the Sith sword with two fingers as he maintained concentration. Unable to move, the Plagueian could only watch as the arm holding him pulled back and sharply thrust, flinging him back. He hit the ground on his left side and skidded through the dusty floor, coming to a slow stop against the wall of the cavernous chamber. The hilt of his lightsaber rolled to a stop next to him. The anguished stone faces seemed to focus their gaze on him in the unnatural light. The Epicanthix got to his hands and knees, coughing at the fresh bruising on his back and side. Picking up his fallen weapon, he slowly rose to his feet while the Taldryan began walking toward him, still glaring with hatred. Damn it! I have to hold on. If I let go too early, I’ll die for sure.

“I’ll be the first to admit, that was a good little trick you pulled with the wraids.” Tarax said coldly. “However, I am going to kill you but I’m also going to make you suffer first.” Furios was about to reply when the glaring image of her dying enveloped his mind. “I’m going to turn you into a quivering mess!” the older Obelisk said but the Epicanthix took no heed. He staggered and grabbed his head as other, equally gruesome thoughts stormed his brain. Suddenly, the need to hold back his fury for the opportune moment lost all priority. Only her safety mattered. Tarax laughed, unaware of what was coming.

With a thunderous roar, Furios ignited his saber and charged at the aging Taldryan. Expecting the Plagueian to fall, he barely managed to block the first powerful blow toward his head with his crossed blades. Already a second one was swinging for his legs, to which he barely stepped out of the way. A third strike lunged at his chest, again greeted by crossed blades that forced the blue saber to strike the stone floor between his legs. The Prelate pulled his free hand back and punched his opponent in the face. Tarax stumbled back and desperately lunged his two weapons at his assailant. They were dodged easily as a kick connected with his overextended side. He fell to the ground several feet away, dropping his weapons as Furios roared another enraged scream.

The Primarch grabbed the closest weapon, his saber, and struggled to his feet but fell back down. His adversary watched as the pain in his right leg returned with vengeance. Whatever control he had over his injuries was over and a cerulean blade was coming. With his last efforts the human Obelisk rolled away from the attack. With a last effort of his Force energy, he used his free hand to push a cloud of dust into the enraged man’s eyes. The Plagueian reeled, trying viciously to wipe the debris from his eyes. Tarax took the moment of time to focus on healing his leg. Exhaustion was setting in and the injury was bad from being exerted on for so long. He managed to heal enough of it to get back to his feet before his opponent regained his sight. Furios’ eyes streamed tears from both the irritation and anger as he renewed his assault. The first strike was parried but the Taldryan was weak. The second parry broke his grip as the spiked saber hilt fell from his hand. The third blow swung through his neck. The white-haired head fell, severed from the rest of the body. The surviving Obelisk panted as his fury at the man petered out.

An echoing laugh heralded Furios’ victory. The Sith Lord’s ghost appeared standing next to the corpse, the two prizes floated next to him, turning slowly in their suspension. “At last I can pass on my legacy to someone worthy,” he stated. Furios knelt and held up his hands as the sword and bracer came to rest on their palms.