Located on Sepros, the ancient Temples of Orian have served as the home for Clan Naga Sadow since the Exodus. In particular, the Temple of Sorrow was selected to become the base of operations for all of Clan Naga Sadow. The Temple has been rebuilt upon a once withered base, creating a hybrid of ancient stone and current era technology.

Within the shroud of Sepros' jungles, the spire of the Temple stands tall and menacing. It is constructed at the heart of a large clearing within the trees, with an impressive courtyard flanking it. The courtyard itself is a testament to the ancient origins of the Temple, littered with remains of the previous temple. Vines grow like slithering snakes throughout the crumbling architecture as if trying to strangle what stone remains and drag it into the dirt once more. Moss coats the stones in defiance to the elements that have stripped the stone bare throughout the courtyard. A grand staircase leads from the grassy ground to the main entrance, with secondary platforms on either side that house landing platforms. Several transport shuttles are settled upon the platforms in varying states of readiness as droids see to their maintenance.

Inside the Temple lies the main hall. The walls are shaped from a marble-like structure with elegant, flowing curves as if molded in clay. Columns line the walls leading away from the entrance towards the central chambers, supporting a balcony that stretches along the walls of the hall as a second level. Multiple corridors are seen between the columns, leading towards the Temple proper. Within these pathways reside the quarters many call home, in addition to various training rooms and small libraries.

This is the Temple of Sorrow, the heart of Clan Naga Sadow.

The Star Courier landed on one of the secondary platforms that stood by the walkway to the main temple. From the coal-black ship’s exit ramp stepped Macron, tired from the long trip. The madman stood with one hand braced on the bulkhead wall as he took in the scenery and scent of the wet air, moss, and damp stone.. “Always good to be home….”

Four Warhost troopers stood at attention just outside the landing pad. From behind them stepped forward a human male with a very serious and almost manic demeanor. His hazel eyes roved across the ship and the scars around them wrinkled as he spoke. “Adept Sadow, you are hereby summoned to account for your experiments in the Cenota facility.”

Macron appeared flabbergasted. “You can’t be serious, Proconsul. I’ve just been to the Core and back. Can’t we discuss this another time?” The Adept’s easy words belied his inner tension. He absent-mindedly touched a stud on one gauntlet and began a quickly timed activation of his energy shield. The Sith whistled in an obvious and unsubtle attempt to be nonchalant.

“I am. I will take you in myself if you do not agree to comply.” Bentre gestured at the troopers to back off. He knew if they got involved their deaths would be a useless waste. “Stand down. We have rumors of torture.”

“I don’t think so. I won’t lie, I do it and I enjoy it. But you will not be taking me anywhere Bentre,” smirked the madman as he detached a lightsaber hilt from his belt. “Feeling froggy? Want to test your mettle Battlelord?” The tangerine colored blade ignited with a hungry snap and high-pitched hiss. The Dark Side began to gather around the Alchemist as nearby onlookers from the Temple stepped back. The air around him seemed thick as he congealed power in his synthetic frame.

“Your mind tricks won’t work on me,” stated the Obelisk as he drew his blacked out S-5 blaster. Bentre’s body was now wrapped with pure power borne of the Force and he quickly considered his options. Closing with the madman would be a bad idea and he hoped to wear him out from a distance. Bentre was no fool and he knew the madman well enough to know how to deal with him. A nearby standing slab of stone covered with eroded Sith script from the old days offered excellent cover.

“I don’t use them. I will just kill you, okay?” chuckled the Sith Adept as he threw his lightsaber with blazing speed at Bentre. The weapon became a buzzing disc of fiery orange and flew like an evil phoenix towards the Battlelord. Cutting him in half would be difficult to explain to the Consul, but if need be Sanguinius could be executed as well.

Bentre felt the attack coming as ripples within the Force. He dropped low with alacrity and responded almost instantly with directed blaster fire. The saber went just over his head to arc back towards it’s master. The bolts impacted the edges of Macron’s energy shield with little effect other than depleting the battery of the generator as the Sith dodged the bolts with dexterity. Macron laughed and caught his errant blade as Bentre found cover. The Obelisk pulled the Force around himself, becoming small in the Force and difficult to see.

The Adept’s outer facade belied the inner turmoil he felt. Bentre was a fellow Sith and the Clan Proconsul. He really did not want to kill the man and hated fighting Shadow warrior types. “Why can’t they be straightforward and just die?” grumbled the madman as he began to clomp towards the standing stone. “Dangit.”

"Come on, Macron," Bentre leaned against the crate which served as his cover, calling out almost mockingly as he gripped his S-5, " I just merely require an account of your activities."

"No means no. Don't tempt your luck too greatly, Proconsul," The statement was spoken in low volume, but the tone felt off given the gravity, "you don't want to end up a subject on the table.

In the deepest pit of his gut, Stahoes couldn't help but take some pleasure in this task. He couldn't care much less for calling an Elder on the carpet over what he deemed mere hobbies but he had accepted this burden when he took his office. Besides, he thought with a smile, how often do you get to go toe to toe without reservation?

"Oh, how is that? I suppose you have some fun little activities planned back in the pits when you finish her, Alchemist?" Stahoes probed, hoping to keep the Adept talking. Yes, it might distract the Sadowan Elder, but it also gave him a chance to hear about the older Sith's work. Too few took that art to heart in the way that Macron did.

When no response came, the Sadowan Shadow poked his head from behind his column carefully, concentrating on maintaining his cloaked visage. Macron Sadow was walking through the hall slowly, his eyes scanning the room.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the Adept almost sang out softly, with the slightest giggle to his voice. It appeared the largely-synthetic man was on a hunt of his own now.

Taking a breath to focus in the Force, Bentre studied the man as he prepared to run. If he was careful, he could circle around the man. After several moments, the Shadow felt he was ready. Trying to keep his footsteps as light as possible, Stahoes set off across the room in a wide circle. As he stepped closer, he could feel his heartbeat increasing. The Battlelord raised his dagger in preparation, but could feel a knot in his stomach as he prepared to jab the weapon into the Sadowan elder's back.

"Caught you," the words were spoken in a sing-song tone. Macron swiveled his head slightly as he turned his body, his palm facing his Shadow opponent a moment before Bentre felt the impact that assaulted him through the Force. sending the man tumbling.

Kark me. Bentre grumbled as he pulled himself up from the gound. Ignoring the pains, he reached down for the worn lightsaber on his side. He ignited the weapon as he flicked his wrist in a dramatic fashion. "Well, if the sneaking and shooting won't work," he muttered darkly, "I guess that just leaves the lightsabers and what not. Are you sure I can't just get a bit of a tale instead?" The Shadow gripped the hilt of his weapon in a hammer grip as he stepped forward.

This could mean his death, just maybe. Still, he doubted it. One way or another, Bentre Stahoes was not going to back down. However it occured, he was going to come out on top.

Why Bentre, I thought you’d never ask!” The Adept giggled madly and removed a lightsaber from his belt with a flourish. He raised it to his face, ignited the screaming tangerine colored blade, and swept it downwards in a formal salute. “It’s been a long time since I had a good duel and I hear you’re pretty good. Exciting!” Macron gathered the Force around him and channeled it into his body to increase his alacrity and power.

Bentre relished the opportunity to test his mettle and not hold back. Though he normally engaged in banter he realized this was a deadly serious confrontation and clamped down on his rolling commentary. His own body rippled with the Dark Side as his muscles quivered. The Battlelord stepped in confidently with a hammer-fisted grip and swung his Feral lightsaber hard in a downwards splitting blow. The amethyst colored blade sparked as it was contacted his foe’s orange weapon.

As the Proconsul came in, Macron swept Bentre’s blade obliquely to the right with his weapon held in his right hand. Simultaneously the madman stepped back with just his left foot crunching on gravel in the courtyard. He turned his hips and body axis slightly counterclockwise and the Alchemist arched his back in a classic demi-volte maneuver. The right hand which had parried now raised, rotated palm upwards, and lunged forward with the point of the orange blade aimed directly for the oncoming Proconsul’s throat.

Bentre nearly stepped into the riposte as his momentum from the heavy swing carried him forward. He quickly moved his own blade to the side to knock his foe’s lightsaber blade away and side-stepped the lunge. “Shavit!” he exclaimed with one hazel and one red eye flashing. The Sith slammed his own purple blade down powerfully across the outstretched Elder’s weapon to beat it down and caused the madman’s guard to drop.

A well-placed straight front kick plowed into Macron’s stomach as the Obelisk attempted to drive him back and cause him to give ground. Between the Dark Armor and the Juggernaut’s body that had hardened like durasteel it was like kicking a concrete pylon. Macron grunted with the effort of resisting the blow. It gave him pause and that was the opening the Obelisk sought. As Bentre rebounded he raised his off-hand and blasted tendrils of burning electricity at Macron. They impacted the madman, causing his bones to light up as he screamed in pain.

Unfortunately for Bentre the armor the madman wore seed to ameliorate electrical attacks to some degree. Darksiders were known to use them to torment their foes and the Adept fully expected it from fellow Sith. Macron controlled the pain to a tolerable level and responded with his own fierce stream of fluid electricity. Bentre caught a portion of it on his blade, fat sparks popping as the tendrils encircled the plasma beam and the rest cracked around his hands painfully. Both lightning attacks stopped as the two caught their breath. The onlookers that had not already fled did so at the expectation of what might come in the battle between the two Sadowans.

Macron recovered first. The Juggernaut seamlessly accelerated his body and lunged in. The point of his blade drove Bentre’s upwards and aside, and his off-hand smashed into the Proconsul’s face with a Force-empowered crushgaunted fist. The blow rocked Stahoe’s head back and staggered him as the Juggernaut came on. He folded his left arm as the puch impacted and delivered a follow-up left elbow smash into the right side of the Obelisk’s head. As Bentre began to fall, the Alchemist kicked him hard with his right leg in the gut with a field-goal style kick that lifted the Corellian up a bit as he fell.

The last thing Bentre saw as the blackness closed in around his swollen eyes was Macron leaning over him as he shut off his lightsaber. “I won’t kill you. No, no. Too many repercussions and you are a stalwart Sith. But you will be spending some quality time in my lab…. And we will have some real fun this time. You won’t be asking about my business again I think.”

Macron stopped for a moment as he considered the Proconsul, but he did not lower his weapons. The madman giggled became a chorte as he closed the distance between Stahoes and himself. which caused the Battlelord to involuntarily take several steps back in an attempt to keep the distance between them.

"A little word," Bentre grimaced as he drew his right hand from his lightsaber, "I just need an account of your activities and we can all go home. You have your own business to address, I am sure." As he spoke the last word, Stahoes threw his right hand forward, unleashing a fork of white-hot energy from his fingers. The bolt hit the Sith Adept in the chest, prompting a loud grunt from the Mach Alchemist. Taking advantage of the apparent break in the action, Bentre lifted his lightsaber as he gripped the weapon in both hand, charging toward the man and driving the weapon downward toward the Elder's shoulder.

If he had been more careful, he might have seen the glint in old Goura's eye. With a flick of his wrist, Macron brought the lightsaber up in a swift motion, parrying the intended blow with relative ease. Before Bentre could draw a breath, could react to the change in momentum, Macron placed a finger upon the Corellian's chest. Pain exploded from the point as the Proconsul felt a sharp impact akin to a punch, which drove him forward a few steps as he reeled from the unexpected pain. The Equite clutched his chest as he took another two steps backward.

"Wanna see something," Macron's voice went from a giggle to a chortle with the words, "that you can report to the Consul?" Raising his weapon blade is even in orientation to the ground at just below chest level, he extended his arm out in a calm challenge that belied his mad smile.

Bentre drew himself up slightly, trying to force the ache of pain as he squared up his own stance. "I assume you mean something other than a demonstration of Force prowess at point blank range, I hope? Maybe something about your pits, or a bit of secret you gleamed from poking about in entrails or something?"

The Adept laughed as he poked his lightsaber toward the Equite in a taunt. The motion caused Stahoes to flinch for a moment before the Shadow stepped forward to meet what he implied as a challenge. Macron seemed to wait for the distance between them to close again before driving a sharp strike toward his Proconsul's side

Bentre's eyes narrowed as he threw himself aside in a panic, desperate to avoid the blow. Macron turned his weapon aside before pointing a finger at the center of the Battlelord's chest. A lance of lightning branched from the Elder's finger. Upon impact, Bentre's body began to convulse with the energy delivered by the Sadowan Adept. He could only scream as the pain overcame him, and soon pain seemed to be all that he could feel as he twisted in agony. As the Elder paused for a moment, he thought that perhaps he would be spared. However, the laughter preceded a fresh wave of pain and light told him otherwise. Screams turned to gurgles and Macron only paused only a moment, still laughing as he delivered another wave of lightning into the man.

Still chuckling over the unmoving form of his Proconsul, Macron tilted his head curiously. The Proconsul had requested an account of his of torture or alchemical experiments. "Oh, don't worry too much," he smiled as he grabbed the leg of his opponent's now-prostrate form, "we will have plenty of time to share secrets together, both in the arts of torture and Alchemy." With a grunt, the Elder began the job of slowly dragging his opponent's body back to his shuttle.