Once, it was the home to the witches of Dathomir, otherwise known as the Nightsisters. Tucked away in from the rest of the galaxy in an isolated cluster, the Nightsisters were able to draw energy from the planet itself, and pursued a type of ritualistic magic. They ruled over the population of Zabarak—Nightbrothers—and used them as a warrior caste to serve their purposes.

Then, the Clone Wars. The Nightsisters were pulled into the conflict due to the machinations of Mother Talzin and her rival Darth Sidious. This ultimately lead to the eradication of the Dathomarians and their settlements. The desolation was claimed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems after the last Nightsiser fell.

Now, the planet known as Dathomir is a haunted skeleton of its former greatness. A perpetual crimson glow coats the planet. The bleak world has become an amalgamation of ruined forest, decrepit swamplands, and withered mountains worn to the sands of time.

In the desolate swamps, faint echoes haunt the graves of the long-dead witches, infusing the green fog that spreads above the damp ground. Dreadful whispers rumoured to be lingering incantations defend the world from intruders. Tall tales and rumors of zombies and ritual sacrifice alluding to grisly flashes of imagery.

The trees, large and misshapen, promise misery to those who touch their tortured bark and open themselves to the memories of the place. Eerie as the voices over the wind, the water beneath the fog appears red and bubbling, as if the land itself were pockmarked in cauldrons of blood to keep the incantations alive.

Creatures unaffected by the purge of the Nightsisters still remain. Snakes, reptiles and insects of varying lethality wander the wasteland. Reports have even said that rancor still roam freely.

This is Dathomir.

"Well, this is about as excellent as I could have hoped." The Sith's word were met with silence. He was really starting to wish he had brought better boots. He had read the histories of Dathomir in his times as a Professor of Lore, but he had forgotten about the ruin of the world that followed the fall of the Nightsisters. As much as he might crinkle his nose at the stench of the water, he could scarcely ignore the feeling of the water seeping into his boots, or hope to disregard the water's odor. As much as he tried to focus on something, anything else, that odor felt as oppressive as the fogs which were set about the man.

And every so often, it seemed like a voice would carry itself on the wind. Yet, when Stahoes turned to regard the speaker, he was met with more silence. He had to keep reminding himself that this was a dead world. The Force felt strange here, alien, and he could scarce sense anything here. Perhaps it was because there was nothing more to sense.

Or maybe, a cool voice cooed in the back of his head, it is all in your head. Poor little Benny, losing his mind again.

The Corellian closed his eyes, willing the voice to silence once again. He had come to this planet in search of answers, in search of power. He had heard whispers of dark magics, rituals and other arts lost to time. He was not sure how much of it was true, but there was no harm in the looking.

Reaching down toward his belt, Bentre gave a sigh. He wasn't sure what kind of charge that the device used. Biting his bottom lip, the Corellian flipped the toggle switch on the device. He jiggled uncertainly for a moment as his feet lifted above the water. As he arose, a hazy form Leaning forward, Bentre tried with a wobble to start forward. As the repulsor belt held him aloft, Stahoes floated toward the form. As he drew closer, he felt his blood run cold.

What fresh hell is this? The hissing, normally mocking voice in the back of his head became almost growling with an almost sneering rage. The Shadow pulled the S-5 blaster from its holster as he drew closer. Though he could not recognize the slender form through the thick mists, he could recognize the coloration and style of the clothes. He was approaching someone clothed in the garb of an Inquisitor.

The realization curdled his stomach as Bentre took aim at the form and placed his finger on the trigger. A bright light flashed out from the fog, reflecting from the mists and blinding the Sith. Twisting in a panic, Stahoes heard the scream of a blaster bolt and a loud crack just before he dropped down into the water with a splash. The blaster in his hand slipped away into the water, taking away the Shadow's option to fight easily at a distance.

"Stand down," a female voice called out as the light turned about, flashing in Bentre's eyes again as light was deflected off the mists. Bentre did not heed the voice, instead sloshing through the water with all of his might. The going was slow, but Bentre trusted the Force as he waded forward toward his attacker. Another bolt flew toward's the Sith, this one barely missing his shoulder as he ducked off to the left, further soaking his clothing. Finally, his feet found greater traction as mud began to give way to more solid marshland.

"What brings you here then, woman?"

Alethia considered the man as she looked down the sights of her blaster. She raised an eyebrow silently, which served only to rile up the Sith.

Strike her down, the dark voice in his head urged. With a snarl, Bentre's hand dropped to his side to his lightsaber. pulling the weapon from his belt and igniting it's blue-white energy blade. As he placed both hands upon the hilt of the lightsaber, he charged forward, determined to cleave this Inquisitor woman in two.

So much for a quiet walk back to the shuttle, Alethia mused as she probed the charging Sith's defenses with a few blaster bolts. Stahoes easily batted them aside, barely slowing. We go to the effort to stand up traps and monitors in all the nightsisters' old ruins, only to bump into some idiot Sith out here in the muck. She sighed, dropping her blaster to the soft ground and bracing herself. I really must learn to delegate.

Bentre was closing in, azure blade held aloft, ready to come crashing down upon his newfound enemy. The woman waited until he was committed to the strike before slipping to the side and clear of the saber's arc. The smoke and steam that rose from the ground when impacted by a lightsaber hardly improved the wretched stink of the swamp.

Bentre recovered quickly, twisting his body to bring his arms around, swinging his blade up and across to his opponent's hip. Alethia didn't let it get quite that far. She lunged forward, darting deep into the arc of his swing, so close to the Sith that she nearly collided with him. When the swing hit her, it was Bentre's arms that struck her instead of his blade. Her left arm snapped over his elbows like a mousetrap, holding his arms tight against her side. Alethia's other hand swung around and into Bentre's face, cracking his head back. Two more strikes in lightning succession, and the Sith's grip on his saber has loosened enough to deactivate the blade with a swooping hiss.

The Odanite slipped back a bit, moving to disarm her opponent, but the bloodied Sith roared, willing the Force through his veins like an infection. With inhuman strength he swung his torso about, flinging the woman into the air and several meters away. Alethia hit the sodden earth with a splat, her body rolling out of view, eaten up by the thick green mist covering the ground.

The Sith grimaced at the sensation of the dark side burning up and down his arms, but he wasn't going to give his enemy the satisfaction of hearing him hiss at the pain. "That was good," Bentre said, his voice distorted by the blood flooding his nose. He spit a red glob to the ground before continuing, "Not anywhere near good enough, but I like a girl who tries new things."

Bentre reactivating his saber, expecting an attack. All that greeted him was the buzzing of his own blade and the gently rolling fog. "Come on! If you couldn't take that hit, this isn't going to be much of a fight." He reached out with his senses, probing about for the girl. Dathomir itself was an oppressive presence, so much so that he almost overlooked his opponent. A Force-blind inquisitor? I didn't know they made those, he mused as he stalked over towards his still-prone prey.

Either she's hiding her power and you're too stupid to realize it, the voice seethed from the back of his mind, Or you just weren't worth wasting a Sith on.

"Shut up," Bentre whispered, scowling to himself. He snapped back to attention at the snap-hiss sound of a lightsaber igniting behind him. Turning, he saw the blue glow through the fog. Stahoes glanced behind him; seeing no sign of the first inquisitor, he settled in a deep, wide stance, his blade held vertically across his body. The approaching figure slowly resolved into the hulking shape of a droid.

"You will desist from attacking my mistress and surrender your arms immediately," the KX droid announced affably. "Failure to cooperate will be punished appropriately."

Wow, the voice commented in mock wonder. You are so pathetic that she's going to let her droid kill you.

"Shut. Up!" Bentre screamed.

The droid shook its head. "Such incivility." It brought the lightsaber up in a rough approximation of the Vaapad high guard.

Too bad, the voice cackled, I was hoping for Djroid So.