The night came swiftly on Eraidu. But this dusk was different than the others of the year. A planet known for industry and it’s exceptionally long nights, some parts of Eraidu didn’t see daylight for three days. Eraidu was an odd world, called advanced and obsolete by opposite’s ends of the spectrum.

With the long night came the darkness, a vicious, all consuming darkness that led to plague the streets of Eraidu. Police officers struggled to maintain control during these extended nights. But something about these nights crawled at the very nature of the sentients inhabiting the world. It changed them, as if the dark side tainted everything.

One of the worst murders in galactic history occurred during this three-day darkness on Eraidu only six years past. A candle vigil was held in the victims’ honors the eve of the first night of extended darkness.

For those civilians that are familiar with the planet and those that visit often this period is known as The Saint’s Calling. It isn’t known as this because of some religious explanation to this phenomenon, but because of those that pray or ’call’ for safety during the darkness.





A sharp pain burned in Nos’ side and his Gand instincts told him it was, but the many consequences of his aging body. Not that the Gand known by the name Noslym Pnorr was by any Gand standard old, but he was reaching the age that would thusly considered him so. But there was something else that tugged at him and spoke of another cause of this burning sensation in his left flank. His Findsman’s gut told him that the cause was a brewing storm. And if there was any such creature who knew of the coming troubles, it was this Gand known as Noslym Pnorr.

Nos was known on his homeworld as a bum, a failure, and generally considered beneath the rest of his own species. But there on Eraidu he was well respected in the underground world. He’d carved out a niche in his fiery youth and owned a nice little mechanic/repair shop that was a thriving business for the economy of which it was a part.

But since settling down, he’d never felt quite docile. His fiery youth as marked by the worn and scarred skin covering his body, by the dents and dings in armor he’d once shone proudly, but now found itself stuffed in some closet collecting dust, and by the demeanor in which he’d carried himself were all a claim to a throne the Gand had rightfully earned. But still for all his trained and all his merits and all those things he called his own, something was missing. Through thick, thin, or otherwise he’d always felt empty inside.

“Gand would like another.” Nos spoke to the bartender requesting a refill of his strong Tatooine sunburn. The bartender simply ignored him, busy with a familiar Twi’lek dancer. “Gand said Gand would like another.” Nos repeated to the barkeep, but again no answer came of the Gungan.

“Gand WOULD LIKE…” His raised voice only garnered the annoyed attention of a rather irked looking Wookiee and instead of continuing the Gand Findsman decided it best to just let the next round slip and dropped a few credits.

“Gand never liked this place anyhow.” Nos declared stepping out of the cantina.

The Wookiee who had been surveying the patrons of the bar for quite sometime shook its head at the display the Gand had given. Returning his furry gaze to the bar, he continued slipping at a rather large mug of cheap ale. The Wookiee was old, even for his species unlike the Gand. His deep black hair was starting to grey and whiten, the faded coat growing beyond standard length. Twisted into braids in certain areas around his mane and back, the Wookiee still seemed deep in its heritage. Two large brown eyes knew the look of ferocity and as well gentle kindness few of his brothers shared.

But now those eyes -- the only fully visible feature on the Wookiee’s face -- displayed nothing by apathy in their surroundings.

He was called Gruffbacca, known to many as just Gruff. And was wanted in many system with the penalty of death should he ever return or so be forced. With a disdain for bounty hunters and slaver and an even bigger loathing of strangers the Wookiee had managed -- so far -- to avoid entanglements with the goal of bringing him to justice. But the aged furball knew it was but a matter of time before some would come seeking the prize on his head whether it is the reward offered by the law or the lawless, they would come.

A paw grazed a holstered blaster pistol attached to the Wookiee’s satchel that hung over one shoulder and down across his chest as reassurance that he indeed armed to defend himself. It was a vain attempt to feel safe, but still the Wookiee did so.

Across the bar, in the corner, sitting -- no rather -- brooding at a table was a strange human male. He hadn’t ordered anything, but a single drink and just sat, gazing over the patrons the whole night. The Wookiee ship captain had a bad feeling about him.

His glass was refilled and the furball finished off the mug in one gulp, its sheer size no match for the Wookiee’s. The human who look gaunt, almost sickly stood up and moved for the door as Gruff did the same. Instinctively he rested a hand on his blaster, though judging by his first glance the human was not armed and therefore it require only the Wookiee’s strength to best him.

A sharp wind caught the Wookiee’s fur as he exited the cantina, and to his surprise he found the Gand that had exited standing just outside. Gruff began to smell a set-up and drew his blaster pistol turning sideways to ensure the gaunt human didn’t manage to get the advantage behind him. He was angry now, angry and disappointed.

His growls were foreign to the Gand, Nos, who was trying to understand what it was the Wookiee was doing. “You aren’t taking me.” The furball growled in his native tongue.

“Gand doesn’t understand Wookiee-speak.” The Findsman retorted hands up in the air as a friendly gesture.

Gruff swung his pistol back and forth between the door of the cantina and the Gand. “Gand is innocent, Gand swears.” Noslym pleaded.

Gruffbacca understood and was somewhat inclined to believe him when the human exited; he was genuinely surprised by the look on his face. The human drew his own weapon and was gunned down by Gruff before getting a chance to fire. Gruff then whipped his muzzle end back at Noslym, who watched with interested, hands still high in the air.

The made a few more growls, these just more of grunts than actually language.

“Gand doesn’t know what is going on, but Gand doesn’t care. Gand only want to finish Gand’s drinks and Gand can’t even do that!” The Findsman ranted on.

“A friend of yours?” The Wookiee finally growled.

Though Nos didn’t directly understand him, the Findsman was versed in the Force and instead of trying to interpret went directly in to the foreigner’s head to translate.

“No, Gand is alone tonight. Tonight…” The Gand searched the surrounding skyline, it was already dark. Nos began backing away, but the Wookiee stepped forward to compensate. It was one foot back, one foot forward to counter. For several feet they did this.

“The Saint’s Calling. Gand need to get home. Bad time for Gand to be out, bad time for Wookiee to be out. Not at night.”

“Why” The Wookiee continued his roars.

Noslym was sure that he could draw his own blaster pistol, tuck away in the folds of his tunic before the old Wookiee could manage to get a shot off, but the Findsman wasn’t sure if his aging body could move fast enough to roll out of harm’s way or duck to miss the shot in time. Instead, he decided diplomacy was his best way out, but he needed to find the words soon. The later it got on Saint’s Calling, the worse things got.

“Just bad for Gand and Wookiee. Gand wants to leave. Had nothing to do with human attacker.”

“I believe you.” The Wookiee said lowering his weapon.

The Wookiee took his attention off Noslym to place his blaster back into the holster concealed by his satchel and when he looked back up the Gand was gone. His nostrils picked up a faint scent, but it would be impossible to track on a world like Eraidu. At least with the level of sensitivity Gruff had in his nostrils.

Gruffbacca turned to return to his ship, the Wanderlust, when he noticed the human was still breathing. What Gruff had thought was a blaster, was in reality not what he perceived. Instead it was a lightsaber. The weapon of both Jedi and Sith, but the question was, which was this human?

“W-wh?” The human was fading fast.

The Wookiee suddenly felt guilty. As if what he had done was wrong. What if this man really was a Jedi?

“Who are you?” The Wookiee asked.

The human couldn’t answer, he was coughing blood and didn’t have longer than a few seconds left. Even if he could, Gruff doubted the human knew what he’d just asked. It was the pain of his species, with a language so difficult to speak, few ever bothered to learn to translate as well.

In his head all the Wookiee felt was a sense of wrong doing. And in his heart he was overcome with grief.

And then nothing.

It was calm, emotionless, and empty.

But it was brief, lasting only a few moments before it climaxed with one word reverberating in his head.

It wasn’t even a word, it was a name. Lane.

The feeling that directly feeling was fulfillment, peace, tranquility, and happiness. And after the Wookiee’s emotions came crashing down and he felt grief, anger, frustration, and most of all he felt guilt.

Was he even defending himself? The human was surprised, he didn’t plan on attacking. Perhaps he believed he was defending himself from Gruff’s attack? The questions swirled. But mostly he was just trying to find an excuse. His paranoia had gotten the best of him.

Lane.

[FONT=Times New Roman]II. [/FONT]

Many years into the future…

There was a fire burning in the corner of the cemetery, a young man staring into the dancing flames. They crackled, popped, and swayed with the wind, but never bowed to its might. The fire had been burning for years. And it would burn for years to come. Beneath the black flame, burning in effigy was a tombstone. Marble, a gorgeous and firm grey and blue stone imported from Naboo’s most prestigious mines it read only ‘Lane’, below that was ‘Remembered forever.’

It was a testament to the man who laid to rest there. Who killed him it was not known, but someone had been searching. Searching his entire life. Well maybe not. He’d always wanted to know, but had never just searched.

Though the possibility seemed astronomical. Finding his father’s killer in a sea of possible suspects numbering in the trillions and beyond. So instead he came to this grave marker on his homeworld and the homeworld of his father, Yinchorr.

The dust kicked up with the wind that was blowing. And despite the arid desert that surrounded the man he felt cold. He almost shivered. He placed his hand on the marble tombstone and bowed his head as he had since he was a boy and first visited his father’s resting place. The boy who had dreamed nothing more than becoming the man his father was.. had been… had grown to realize this dream. He was a Jedi, not as brilliant and skilled as his father, but a Jedi nonetheless.

“I.. I’m going to do it a little different today, dad,” He said looking at the hologram of his father’s smile projected in memory as the flame was. “I’m lost.” The expression on his face turned grim. “Master Hobart died this morning, the sickness was just too much for him. I wish you were here,” The young man squeezed his eyelids shut trying to hold back tears. Despite his coming to this spot every year for two decades he’d only cried the first time and since he’d been stronger, trying to show his father – who he believed was always with him in the Force – that he had become a good man, a strong man.

“If you were here, I know I would know what to do. I just feel empty now.” The young man had a tear rolling down his face now.

“I’m.. am I cursed?” The young man asked. Not necessarily of his father or of himself, but maybe to the Maker or some god that had long forgotten him. “Why am I so alone? Why does everyone I care about have to die?”

“I just,” He stood up from his kneeling position and wiped his eyes. But one hand still remained touching the pillar. “I just want guidance.”

He stepped back, dropping a small flower on the marker he turned away. In the distance was a tall figure, imposingly tall. As the young man drew closer he knew it to be his best friend, his ‘partner-in-crime’ so to speak. It was Gruff, a Wookiee and an old one at that even by his standards. Gruff had owed the young man’s father a life-debt and with his father’s premature death, it became the Wookiee’s duty to honor his debt to his father with the son. And Gruff had never been begrudged about it either. He’d always been the best of mates with the young man and slowly, the young man warmed up to him.

He growled in the Shyriiwook language, not all of it was understood by the man, but most of it was and from that he was able to guess what the Wookiee meant. As it always went. “You okay Danzim?”

Gruff had always called Dan, by his full first name despite his nickname and had never said his surname before. Dan believed it was because he called his father by their surname and to do so would just be a constant reminder of his father’s passing.

“I’m fine,” Dan said with a wave of the hand almost dismissive of the question.

“Do you want to go?” Gruff asked.

Dan nodded his head.



They’d been quiet most of the trip home to Naboo. Gruffbacca had been wanting to say something, but couldn’t summon the courage. It had been six years since he made his life debt to Lane’s only son. And in those six years he’d seen nothing, but tragedy in the boy’s life. He felt like the cause of it all, the spark that had ignited the flame that ruined this young man’s life.

Dan turned to him and finally he spoke, “I want to go there.” He said dryly.

“Where?” Gruff retorted with a simple growl.

“To where he died. I want.. no.. I need to go there. I need to see it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yes I do.”

“Don’t keep blaming yourself for everything. Just.. .. remember him as he was Danzim, not as he is.”

“As he is?! As he is? He’s dead!” Dan had a touch of anger in his voice now.

“Exactly my point, remember him in life not in death.”

“I need to go there Gruff.” His voice was gentle once again. It was the voice of a man with nothing left, empty, grieving, always grieving.

“No you—“

“—Whether you take me now,” Dan interrupted. “Or I go by myself, I am going.”

The Wookiee let out a deep sigh of disappointment. When he turned to face the young man he saw that Dan was looking back, his deep marine eyes staring directly into Gruff’s hazel orbs, a look of pleading on his face.

Dan was determined to go. Gruff was determined to keep him away from that cursed world. The air was stale, the silence was too. There was no choice, he had a debt to honor. And despite his arguing he had no intention of doing otherwise.

“Then we’ll go,” Gruff finally replied.



The streets were almost vacant in the Ole’ Grand sector on Eriadu’s capitol city, as if the people had all, but disappeared. It was eerie, like some bad story from a Holofilm. Danzim was totally oblivious as to why, but Gruffbacca knew precisely why. It was the same when he’d been here last, when he’d committed what he regarded as the great mistake of his life. When he’d murdered a Jedi.

Danzim seemed enthralled by the world. But that was how he’d always been when they arrived somewhere new. Having been traveling the galaxy with Danzim and his Master for nearly five years now, he’d seen this look of awe more than once. And each time it was greeted with the same frail smile Hobart always had given his youthful curiosity. But now that was gone and even Gruff felt the pain of its absence. He’d never been close to Hobart, but he’d respected the Jedi as he did all Jedi.

Dan spotted several criminals, those that were unlike the normal civilians and were roaming the streets.

“What’s going on?” Dan asked. Gruff contemplated not answering. He wanted to leave Eriadu. But he shrugged it off answering, “It’s called the Saint’s Calling.” He allowed Danzim a moment before adding, “It’s a time when Eriadu goes dark for three nights, the system star’s rays not reaching the capitol until seventy-two hours have passed.”

Danzim was greatly interested, most likely trying to explain the phenomena in his head, thinking over the various causes.

“I’ve heard of this before I think.” Dan admitted. “You and my mother spoke of it before, a long time ago.”

Suddenly Danzim’s thoughts were interrupted. Instead of his thoughts and musings all that filled his head was feelings and sadness and rage.

And the words; ’Killer’ repeating.

[FONT=Garamond]Killer

Killer[/FONT]

“Who?!” Dan asked, catching his Wookiee companion off-guard. Gruff growled back.

“I.. what? No one.. No one.” Danzim answered.

[FONT=Garamond]Killer.

Killer.


….Killer.[/FONT]

???

The lightsaber moved swiftly through the air, as if it were a part of its surroundings. The Traveler, moved with such grace and elegance that it was hard to tell if he was fighting or dancing. He had a certain watery-momentum that ebbed and flowed with his opponent’s movements rather than innovated based on the wielder’s mind. It was the special style that the Traveler had developed while meditating on Kamino during a horrendous storm, watching as the seas crashed so violently against the cities that jutted from the fluid landscape.

In fact its aqua light that engulfed the Traveler made it almost seem like his opponent was indeed at war with the violent seas of Kamino. Those same oceans which had given life had so destructively taken it away as well. The Traveler was well aware of this dynamic relationship, its giving nature only equaled by its wrath.

Hence his creation of the lightsaber form, which was more of an art than anything. Deadly to both its enemy and the user who spawned it; just one simple mistake could prove fatal.

The Traveler’s opponent however moved with rage and anger. Each blow coming crashing down with such brute strength. He slashed, swung, kicked, heaved. There was no method to the madness. There wasn’t any grand plan instead the Traveler’s foe relied only on his strength. The Traveler parried and blocked each and every strike however and thusly made this brute’s tactics in effective. The very secret to the style the Traveler utilized was turning an opponent’s strength against them, and so the Traveler had.

The Traveler’s opponent was undoubtedly a Sith, dark and twisted, with pallid complexion and scarred features he was truly a mangled being of a man. If he could so be called. His arms and body were large, with a portly belly, but muscled and defined arms that were full of such raw power they would seem overwhelming if the two were in hand-to-hand combat. He grunted and roared with such animal instincts behind his actions that any bit of humanity that was noticeable physical was stripped away. The Traveler had oft stared into his hellish eyes, filled with reds, oranges, and the color of fire, but also with torment, anger, rage, and a deep hunger for death.

If one were to see stare into the eyes of the Traveler they might see the complete opposite. Soft, idyllic blue with endless forgiveness among other traits displayed by the two orbs that lightened his face.

But even for the Traveler who had spent many hours reading and studying, who’d meditated among most serene and the most dark places in the galaxy, and who had locked blades and wits with many opponents before now, he needed his concentration. No battle did he ever consider ‘easy’ nor did he ever think he’d won any fight that required physical interaction. And so his mind was with his foe and his movements and that of his own movements.

He did not see from beyond as an attacker approached. Stealthily, it was doubtful that even the Traveler would have noticed if he wasn’t pre-occupied anyways. This assailant had spent their time focusing this ability, to sneak up on someone, to gain the advantage of surprise.

The attacker struck him with the end of her lightsaber against his head.


The Traveler fell to the ground unconscious.

The thoughts just kept coming in, vaguer and vaguer than the last. Dan was trying hard to keep concentration. It felt as though someone was invading his mind and violently. His head burned with a vicious pain, and throbbed. In fact he felt groggy and exhausted even.

Ever since stepping foot on Eriadu.

[FONT=Garamond]Killer!

Deceiver!

Betrayal!

Killer!

Killer![/FONT]

They just kept on. But who? Danzim thought to himself amongst the clutter of shouting.


"Here." Gruff finally piped up.

They hadn't walked too far from the spaceport, but still it seemed to stretch on forever with the mess that was swirling in his head. Dan wasn't too concerned now though, now, his mind became free of these problems. Or at least, he blocked them from his consciousness.

He walked up slowly, the door of the cantina still shut and probably locked for the Saint's Calling. His hands were outstretched as if feeling the waves at a beach somewhere peaceful, like Naboo. That's where they should be, Danzim was due for another Master. And some rest. He hadn't slept in days, the last five he'd been up with Master Hobart as he took his last few breaths reminding him of his Jedi duties. Hobart had spoken softer than usual, he'd felt a strong connection for Dan and he was trying to make his passing easier for Dan. Despite all of Hobart's wisdom, both Dan and Gruff knew this to have been futile. Gruff was there as Hobart imparted his final bit of wisdom, his old body, fragile and giving up on such a wonderfully strong soul.

“I will be lost without you Master.” Dan had said in those last few hours of Hobart’s life.

“Lost? The force is always your guide my young one, and I who becomes one with the Force, will be there with you forever.” Hobart explained in the terms he’d always used when talking to young Dan/ Hobart always had a way of imparting his wisdom in ways that Danzim could understand it.
“I will be sad with your passing Master.”

“Sad? Have you so easily forgotten my lessons? The fourth tenet of the Jedi code? There is nothing to be sad about Dan, nothing is lost nor gained today. I move to, but the next stage of life as I become one with the living force.”

But Gruff had a feeling that this knowledge did not get through to Danzim, even though Dan tried to let it sink in, he just couldn’t let go.

The young Jedi stood there gazing upon his father’s murder scene as if he were lying there dying. Gruff had lied and said that he wasn’t with Lane when it happened, but of course the Wookiee couldn’t tell the truth. He couldn’t just say that he had murdered Dan’s father, that because of his paranoia he’d shot and brutally killed a Jedi Master.

Danzim turned back and looked at Gruff, his eyes welling.

“I can feel him. It’s like... he’s here.” Dan explained.

The wind picked up and suddenly the feeling was gone. Replaced by only a deep emptiness and then a chilling cold. The warmth that was his father’s remnant Force ghost faded until there was not even a memory of what it felt like. Dan had Goosebumps and the hair stood up at the base of his neck. The pounding headache returned with the chills and suddenly Danzim felt sick.

And suddenly voice broke into his head, deep, baritone and strong. Not like before, not like the whispers, this was a true voice. The presence was overbearing and dark, Danzim knew it to be a Sith. He’d never faced a Sith so he didn’t exactly understand how, but his mind recognized this invader as a Sith automatically. Even Danzim was confused by his assured feeling. The voice spoke, no commanded as it always had, but this time in sentences as if there were a totally new person in his mind.

[FONT=Garamond]He’s a killer, kill him![/FONT]

Who? Dan asked in his mind.

[FONT=Garamond]The betrayer![/FONT] The voice returned.

Who is the betrayer?!

Dan felt so uncomfortable and more exhausted by the minute as if he was fighting to get the voice out of his head and losing, but he wasn’t. Danzim was curious to know who the presence was.

[FONT=Garamond]The betrayer must die![/FONT]

Who?!

But no answer came yet, there wasn’t silence. The voice was muffled at first, intelligible whispers cluttering his mind. Until slowly the voice faded completely. He didn’t realize it immediately, but he felt rejuvenated and well-rested again as if the fight was over. Dan wished Hobart was here so that his Master.. well his former Master could explain the phenomena to him. It only added to his emotional pain to think this way, so instead he tried his best to push Hobart to the back of his mind and focused on the entrance to the run-down cantina.

There was recent blaster damage, the doors having withstood the onslaught bore the black scars. Other than that nothing struck Danzim as odd or out of place, it was a simple entrance to a simple cantina. He was disappointed. He could no longer feel the presence of his father and the Padawan longed for that warm feeling that was now gone.

Someone approached, putting Dan on guard, but Gruff didn’t draw. Almost as if he knew the approaching figure.

The figure was a Gand, a rather stocky one at that. Not that the species was naturally so, but this one more than others. It was obvious he wasn’t as active as the rest of his kind.

Dan’s suspicions proved true when the Gand stopped at the sight of Gruffbacca.

“Gand know you.” The Gand declared.

Gruff growled a response that was something along the lines of ‘crazy old fool’.

“Gand remember Wookiee almost kill Gand.”

Dan looked at Gruff with confused eyes. The Wookiee Danzim knew was calm, mild-tempered, and almost the complete opposite of the rest of his own. The fact that this Gand had once known Gruffbacca didn’t strike Danzim as odd, he’d been to this planet before and was extremely long-lived.

“He’s some old codger,” The Wookiee growled. “Don’t know him at all.”

“Old? Gand is much younger than Wookiee.”

Now Danzim was taken aback. The Gand understood Gruff? But he still didn’t say anything, he kept his comments to himself wishing to watch the situation unfold.

“Gand remember, Wookiee was here when Saint’s were called before.”
Gruff ushered his head as if to ask for them to leave and this prompted Danzim to ask.

“Can you understand him?” Danzim asked.

“No Gand can’t.” He responded.

So it was true, the Gand was a Force-user. Danzim nodded his head with his answer revealed by process of elimination.

“Are you a Jedi?” Danzim asked.

“No Gand isn’t. Gand is old tradition of Gand’s people. Gand is findsman. Gand have strong connection to Force,” He explained. Intrigued by his words, the Findsman picked up on this and continued on. “Elder teach Gand when Gand was youngling to use connection to find prey, but Gand not use connection for this reason and for this reason Gand is shamed by Gand’s people. Gand not welcome on homeworld.”

Dan found the idea of a non-Jedi and Sith force-user captivating. He’d heard of them, but to see one up close was a completely different experience than reading about them in some Holobook in the Jedi archives. More so his interest was piqued in that Dan was starting to suspect this Gand was responsible for the invasion of his mind. Though it’s seeming innocence their meeting so soon after that encounter in his mind.

“Who is the betrayer?” Danzim asked looking for a reaction.

“What?” The Gand returned, offering no tell.

“Nothing. Something from an old children’s story about Gands.” Danzim said with a smile.

“Gand would like to hear, but human and Wookiee shouldn’t be out right now. Not safe.”

“We know.” Gruff finally barked after having been silent for much of their back and forth.

“Gand told you before.”

Gruffbacca was giving him a fierce glare now, even behind the wiry black and grey hair that dangled in his face.

“But Wookiee wouldn’t listen to Gand,” The alien commented. “Wookiee wouldn’t listen and then Wookiee killed,” Danzim’s eyes widened at this declaration. “Bad things happen on Saint’s Calling. Wookiee didn’t listen and Wookiee killed Jedi.”

Dan’s hand instinctively moved down to his lightsaber, his hand feeling the smooth cylinder shape, the disk-stacked design toward the focusing end of the blade brushing his hand, he pulled the weapon from his belt.
The voice returned as if the wall it was stuck behind collapsed with this revelation.

[FONT=Garamond]Betrayer!

You must kill this betrayer and avenge your murdered father.

You must avenge me![/FONT]

"Wake up." Gruffbacca roars.


The voices swirled around Danzim's head, sounds try and penetrate, but his anger is like a durasteel curtain. The rage building inside him over this revelation. The one being that had been there for him in the wake and through all the tragedy in his life had been the very start of it all.

"Gruff... tell me it's not true. Tell me it's a lie."

Danzim's pleading was futile, both of them knew it to be the truth. And stretching out with the Force he could feel the truth in the Gand's thoughts. He didn't bother to feel Gruffbacca's guilt and grief, he ignored it, searching only to find the truth behind his father's murder. He'd found it. And he didn't like the answer. The truth always hurt, especially when it came to Danzim. All he'd known was hurt.


"But why?"

Dan was trying to hold back his building anger, but it was consuming him. "Did you even know him?"


"Wake up." The Wookiee repeated.

But Danzim did not get an answer. His head felt as though there were a thousand drums beating at once inside, his mind was confused, filled with thoughts and voices that were not his own. He became overcome with fear, anger, hatred, and more poisonous bile that just overwhelmed him.

"Gand knows Wookiee killed your father."

The voice chanted in his head.

[FONT=Garamond]Kill the betrayer. Kill the betrayer. [/FONT]

Danzim tightened his grip on his lightsaber. The blue blade strummed to life with that all too familiar snap-hiss! and the blade flung towards Dan's target. The Gand was instantly decapitated, his lifeless body fell to the ground apart from the head the rolled away.

Gruffbacca just kept repeating. "Wake up."

Something was wrong. The Gand couldn't know who Gruffbacca had killed was his father. And it was as if Gruff wasn't even there anymore. He didn't react, he didn't respond. Ever since Danzim had left his father's grave site he'd felt cut off, disconnected from the Force and from the galaxy around him. All he could feel was a darkness that skirted the edge of his mind. It was like a battle was raged within him and he wasn't the one fighting, he was just the host.

Danzim looked down at his hands, they hurt. The were the worn hands of a farm boy grown up to be something he could only dream of being in his youth. Scars that had healed many years ago began to bleed again.

"Wake up."

"Wake up."

Things became darkened.

His head wrenched in pain as he was forced to his knees in agony.

Shadows came to life and swallowed the area around him. The night began to engulf the area entirely. The Saint's Calling was truly something dark and unnatural.

Danzim retreated to a chant his Master had taught him so long ago.

"The darkside has many tricks, but I am a servant of the light. As long as the light is with me, the darkness can never touch me."

His hands, his head, his entire body burned with a furious agony. His vision had long since blurred.

"The darkside has many tricks. Fear is one of them, but the light knows no fear. The darkside has many tricks..."


Darkness....





Danzim Lane awoke inside an empty room. It resembled a hospital room. White covered every surface, the sheets, the bed, the walls, it was plain. But even still, despite it's innocence, Dan still felt that feeling tugging at him.

He got up from the bed and explored the room. The door was locked and refused to open, yet Dan could feel a purity on the other side. He struggled, trying to cave the door in, but with no results. His lightsaber was no longer at his side. Dan turned around, looking at the rest of the room and soft sunlight pouring in. The bed he'd just been in was gone replaced by a table. On the table was a strangely ornate box. Almost like a jewelry case of older days.

The Padawan approached. He lay his hand down on the box, feeling the worn surface as he wipe across the surface. His hand began to tremble as it came near the latch that held it shut.

[FONT=Times New Roman]Open it..[/FONT]

A voice, much different than the previous one called.

[FONT=Times New Roman]Open it and take what's inside.[/FONT] The voice demanded. This one wasn't as deep, it was female and soft, but still just as dark as the one before it.

He opened the box and inside was a red jewel, a crystal.

[FONT=Times New Roman]Take it and strike down your father's killer.[/FONT] The voice demanded.

Danzim could feel the weight of his lightsaber return to his belt. He unclipped it and held it in his hand.

[FONT=Times New Roman]I can feel your anger. Take the crystal. [/FONT]

"Who are you?" He asked.

[FONT=Times New Roman]Take the crystal, strike down your father's killer![/FONT] The woman repeated. [FONT=Times New Roman]Avenge your murdered father...[/FONT]

The voice continued on, filling the room with her whispers.

All the pain flooded back like a torrent.

[FONT=Times New Roman]Take the crystal and your pain will end, take the crystal! Strike down your father's killer! Give in to your hatred. [/FONT]


[FONT=Times New Roman]Give in to your hatred! [/FONT]


"NO!" Danzim screamed.

The voice faded to almost nothing, but it was still there. Dan could feel it.


"I am a Jedi. It's not the Jedi way." Danzim declared.

He slammed the box shut. The darkness consumed the room.





The Traveler awoke in the darkness. He was sweating profusely, his aqua eyes coming to life once more. He panted trying to catch his breath as he sat up from what felt like a stone slab.

He reached out with the Force, but there was nothing. Only the darkness was with him now.

The Traveler's breathing slowed. And finally he spoke.

"I am a Jedi, like my father before me."

The Traveler had been hurt, bad. He could still fight if the situation called for him to brandish those skills he’d spent so much time trying to Master, but for once, it didn’t.

He forced himself off the cold stone slab, his side splitting with pain, the left flank bleeding. He had been scourged in someway; the flesh was mangled and torn. The muscle which had been toned from physical activity and his naturally lean frame was jagged and bleeding heavily. But that wasn’t the main problem, there was bruising up his side to his ribcage. He wasn’t very good with medicine, but judging by the pain from breathing he was receiving with each breath, he’d punctured his lung somehow.

The Traveler was still trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing he remembered was fighting the Sith Lord, Scuro. Afterwards all he could recall were memories of his childhood.

He walked in the darkness, his hands in front of him trying to feel his way around the room. The Traveler was in too much pain to concentrate with the Force to ‘see’ for him, so he did it the old fashion way. He fumbled around his belt after he ran into what felt like a corner for the second time, looking for an illuminator bar he did at one point have with him. It seemed that his belt was missing as well. He could feel the frozen cold of the stone beneath him, so he knew he was without boots too. From what he could tell he’d been stripped of his robes, tunics, and was left with only pants to cover his body. It was a pretty discouraging feeling; the man was notorious for his anonymity. The hood he’d worn had almost always been up in the presence of others mostly due to the intimidation factor that came along with it. The Traveler’s face alone would not be seen as reason to shy away, which whenever he could avoid the fight he would most enjoy, but with the hood, the thought of some unknown factor beneath the shadows of his cowl, possible opponents were more likely not to engage him.

With his illuminator bar or some other manner of lighting and unable to concentrate to focusing his vision within the Force; he fumbled around blind for what felt like several hours before he came across a code pad. If only he had the code. Or a droid to slice it or the tools to slice it himself.

Whomever had captured him wanted him trapped and alone in the dark. The Traveler found himself a wall to lean against and slide down to the damp ground. His arms crossed over folded knees against his chest he tried to recall the situation. He closed his eyes using his photographic memory to relive his fierce engagement with Darth Scuro. Details rushed back out of sequence, almost backwards, but not entirely in that order.

He awoke from the unconsciousness, saber locked with Scuro’s crimson blade. He journeyed down the long, winding stairway following close behind Master Sing Se as they chased Scuro into his last refuge. Master Sing Se was slain during the first clash, though he didn’t know Sing well; he always felt disheartened when a fellow Jedi passed. He sees images of their continued duel from room to room in the ancient ruins of Khar Delba.

Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick…

The code pad was sounding and then as if a vault door opened, the large stone door swung open as if on cue. Still sitting the Traveler waited for someone to enter, but no one came, no noises, no voices, nothing. He peered around the corner, painfully leaning forward.

There was no one.

After coming to the assumption that the door was timed to open, he stood up from the puddle of pooling blood beneath him and journeyed out of his prison cell into the hallway that shed a little more like than his previous confinements.

The labyrinth of hallways that the Traveler was overlooking now at the top of a raised area above them all. The staircase he had to descend looked frail, as if it were ready to collapse. From his perch above the halls he could see the exit, but the ridiculous architecture of the tomb would prevent him from seeing where he was going once he got inside the labyrinth. He pulls an illuminator bar from the wall and it blinks and fades, but still provides some measure of light for the Traveler.

As he enters into the maze of twists and turns that may or may not lead him to the light, he continues to recall the time before his capture.


“You will perish Jedi!” Scuro’s booming voice had declared. “You are not worthy of my Master’s blade! I will be the last thing you see before you die, I will not be the weak link.” The Traveler slammed his blade with the strength of the Force against his enemy’s blood red saber crashing against it with enough Force to falter the Sith. Embarrassment was his reaction, so it told the Traveler that somewhere his Master was watching and judging by his quick change to a brutish offensive he was afraid of future chastisement.

“Die Jedi! Die!” The Sith’s fanatical chanting found repose in the Traveler rather than the riled retort he would have liked.


As the Traveler rounded yet another corner in the labyrinth he found himself in a dead end. He was losing blood faster than he would have liked and felt as though he would collapse at any moment. So instead of pushing on ahead he sat, crossing his legs in a meditative position and immersed himself into the Force. The pain became like a distant feeling as if he wasn’t in his own body, it faded until he could barely feel it anymore. The Traveler could feel a calming feeling come over his entire body and he focused that energy on his wound, it felt like liquid was in his lungs and he was losing blood by the pint on the left side of his body. And then with the aid of the Force he slowed the bleeding. It was a temporary ‘patch’ so to speak, but it worked. For now.

Next he brought his concentration to the opening he’d seen, giving himself ‘eyes’ of a different sort. He began walking once more, this time aware of what turn was the right one, as if a gentle nudge pointed him in the direction. The light stung his eyes as he reached it and found that he’d been brought beneath the temple. He dropped the illumination bar, holding his hand in front of his eyes trying to help them adjust to the sudden increase of light. The warmth of the system’s star struck his icy-cold skin and a rushing sense of freedom overcame the isolated pain for a short time.

Too short.





“Do you think you’ll go back for his body?” The Healer asked.

“I don’t think so,” The Traveler spoke his voice smooth. “There wouldn’t be much of’a point, Master Sing Se became one with the Force. All I could collect would be his clothing and lightsaber, that’s if, Scuro or his Master didn’t already claim it.” She had just finished bandaging his flank after releasing him from the bacta tank. He was barely just over half his the prescribed time and despite her warnings he was returning to his quest. The longer the Traveler was in the medical ward on Mon Calamari, the more time Scuro and his Master had to meet up with other Sith or worse disappear from the face of the known galaxy.

“Where will you go?” The Healer asked. “I mean, do you even know where to start?”

It was a good question, where was he to begin? There were several locations coming to mind, but he had one stop to make before resuming his chase. He hadn’t been there since he was just a Padawan, after his first Master had passed. The Traveler missed the days before he began to road to becoming a Jedi Master; things had been simpler, easier.

He shook off the memories and journeyed down the open hallways of the Mon Calamari medical center. Quite a few Jedi had flocked to this place since the Order’s disbanding, most of which we’re Healers, but others not, those that weren’t saw to good use as rescue workers or grief counselors. All in all the Jedi weren’t totally gone from the galaxy, just Imperial space. The Traveler nodded to those that acknowledged him, his hood was up now, the white coloring blending with the medical surroundings effortlessly. He longed for a cigarette, but didn’t dare break the medical center’s solemn rules. Especially with such an unstable environment, he didn’t want to risk an explosion because someone’s oxygen machine was leaking slightly.

As he reached the turbolift he was caught by tall, ebony Jedi Master. He recognized the Jedi almost immediately. His regal eyes and buzzed head with salt and pepper hair were too familiar to the Traveler.

It was Kingsley Grimm.

“Where are you going?” He asked catching up and getting in the lift with the Traveler.

“Home,” The Traveler responded.

“Home?” Grimm repeated.

“Home.”

“And then where?” Grimm asked, knowing what kind of answer to expect, also knowing the reason behind his previous destination. Truth was the Traveler was going to his father’s gravestone once more. Kingsley was good friends, very good friends with the Traveler. Good enough to actually know the enigmatic Jedi’s name and enough to know that he didn’t expect to survive his next encounter with Scuro. “You know you don’t have to continue this alone,” But Grimm couldn’t finish. The Traveler was already walking out of the turbolift on the hangar bay floor.

“Yes I do.” He said putting distance between himself and Grimm.

Kingsley contemplated letting him go without further word, it wouldn’t do him much good anyways. The Traveler was thickheaded, it wouldn’t be like trying to convince a zesdra to change its stripes. But he just couldn’t end it like this. He ran to catch his old Jedi friend. “No you don’t,” He said putting his large, almost paw-like hand, on the Traveler’s shoulder.

“I’m not lettin’ any more Jedi die because of this. Scuro wants me, he wants to torture me and watch me suffer. He can do that best by hurting the people sent to help me,” The Traveler looked down ashamed at how much death had come from the hands of Scuro and himself. “I ain’t lettin’ what happened to Master Sing Se happen to you or someone el-“

Before he could finish Grimm interrupted. “Master Sing Se? Ba Sing Se died six weeks ago on Naboo, you know that best of anyone.”

“Whad you talkin’ about? He died when I chased Scuro to Khar Delba!” The Traveler retorted bewildered by Grimm’s claim.

“Master Gruff was with you, not Master Sing,” Kingsley was the confused one now. But then there was a glimmer of hope in his eye for a short time. “Then Master Gruff is alive?”

“I.. I, I don’ know.” The Traveler admitted. He pulled his hood back revealing a beard and long hair, but both were kept in check. Kingsley was surprised to see this face, for he was used to the young, exuberant face of his friend. “What do you remember,” Grimm asked. “Ah.. I remembered dueling Scuro with Sing and when Sing was struck down I fought him alone. And then… I was hit from behind. Next thing I knew I woke up on Khar Delba…”

“No, Master Gruffbacca went with you to Khar Delba. You had cornered him there after he attacked you on Yinchorr. After he killed your father,” Kingsley was slow to continue. He could see the pain in the Traveler’s eyes.

“Grimm, my father has been dead for years.”

Kingsley backed away trying to take in the Traveler’s confusion. Something terribly wrong had happened to him, his memories seemed replaced with those of another, but they were jumbled as if the process wasn’t complete. He made a mental note of this, so that he would be cautious around him in the future, there was no telling what he was prone to now. Rather there was no telling whose’ memories had juxtaposed his.

“Who do you think you are?” Grimm asked trying to get to the heart of the matter.


“I am Danzim Lane, son of Sirius Lane.”

Kingsley put a hand on his lightsaber, defensively moving backwards. He knew who Danzim Lane was, but that was not who stood in front of him now. Kingsley sensed in the Force confusion and fear in the Traveler, but other than that what was left of his old companion was still there. Still that same presence he’d always felt when he probed the Traveler.

“No, no you are not."

There was a pause before he revealed the Traveler's true name.

"You are Josiah Barrett. You were born to Carris and Ziszah Barrett on Iego."