The sky roiled, clouds twisting together; a thick grey sludge, slick from rain. Down below the soil was under a constant barrage from the wind and water, as the mud too, like the sky, was churned into a great viscous heap. In the midst of this maelstrom, a body lay motionless. Apparently unconscious, the figure was collapsed beneath a tree – a precarious place to be, considering the frequent snakes of lightning rending the sky.

From these flashes in the sky it could be seen that the body was male and human, or at least humanoid. Age, undetermined, but one thing was for certain – he was not in good health. Red smeared his lips, where a broken nose had spit out blood, and – although it was not visible – there was a chance of a break in his left arm (which was currently pinned beneath a staff).

His body wasn’t about to bring him out of the state, and therefore it was left to fate to deign him some other means of awakening. Luck, it seemed, was not on his side. The storm rode on for another long day, without his presence being detected by a single soul. Finally the ill-weather cleared, and the sun poured across the landscape, warming the body’s pale cheeks.

Footsteps, somewhere in the labyrinth of the forest, were crushing sticks and leaves underfoot. Everything was still water logged, causing each footfall to be punctuated by a squelch. Someone was approaching, and although he didn’t know it yet, Vega Van-Derveld was soon going to find out exactly whom.

Rain was not something Lahout enjoyed very much. His home world of Vandelhiem received very little extraneous moisture such as this, he was of the opinion that water should be mined out of the ground like any other element.

Apparently, this planet held a different belief.

He had taken shelter from the rain under some low-lying bushes. Or rather, he had attempted to do as such. Within moments of entering the shrub, water had begun to soak into his clothing. Muttering about how backwards this planet was, the Mar'hute Seeker vermiculated the air around him into a semi-hardened mass for shelter. The chances that there was another user - or what this galaxy called a 'Jedi' - within a close enough contiguity to feel the usage was low.

Once the rain ceased, thank heaven, Lahout released the air to go about its business. He resumed his former pace across the forest floor in an easterly direction, toward what his senses told him was a large establishment of living beings.

"And then there were two..." he commented to himself. His black eyes looked into the distance at what his other sense told him was a body - a living body at that. At this distance, it was hard to tell.

A score of minutes later and he stood a few feet from the body.

"In a nasty fight there," he said again, under his breath. "One oughtn't not get into fights that get one abandoned for dead..."

It was obvious by the bloody face, and the broken nose -twisted to an odd angle that this person had been on the receiving end of a bludgeon. A staff of sorts was entangled with the body and its left arm, causing Lahout to guess that additional injuries were probable.

"Never enter a fight unless you're going to win..." continued Lahout to himself as he knelt, and grasped the face by its chin for further examination. The man was unconscious, and it was impossible to tell from a casual glance how grievous any internal injuries may be.

"Unless, of course, you plan on loosing," he concluded to himself as he deliberated about what to do.

Perhaps it was the rain, perhaps the presence of another Force user, perhaps impending doom. Whatever the reason, the cogs within Van-Derveld's mind slowly began to whir to life as his subconscious willed him fervently to awaken. What his mind had not taken into account, of course, was that when he did rouse finally, the pain of his injuries would hit him full force.

“Ah-gh,” he winced, and tried to turn his head away from the harsh light of the sun.

A little warning siren began to ring in his head. Where was he, why was he having difficulty moving… a fight. It must have been a fight. He could taste what must have been his own blood on his lips, yet felt no immediate revulsion or nausea. Why? He was, or had been, a warrior.

“Where am I,” he choked, and more importantly, “Who are you?”

"You are, in the middle of a forest on a planet forsaken by any deity you happen to believe in," replied Lahout. He squinted slightly, and looked deeper into the man.

A user. A user who had been beaten rather badly, the opponent must have been very well informed, or simply very capable.

"I am Lahout," he continued after completing his brief probe. "I wouldn't move very much, you have a broken arm, and perhaps additional injuries..." He trailed off there, and carefully began to straiten the man out, starting with removing that staff from the tangle of limbs.

Deity – ha! If it were not for his sorry state, he would have protested such assumptions, but quite clearly the time for arguments was not at hand. He watched as this Lahout removed his staff – yes, it was his, he remembered it – from his grip. A forest, he pondered. How had he gotten there? In time he was sure things would piece themselves together, but for now he remained frustratingly unaware.

“You have my gratitude for your kindness, but I presume,” he asked, through sparse coughs, “that you are not helping me out of the goodness of your heart? No one in this life or the next does anything without wishing to have some favor done for them in return.”

Lahout stopped in his work to glance at the man with a raised eyebrow.

"You Jedi do, or at least, that is what I have heard."

He straightened the man's legs out, and felt them carefully, no broken bones there thank heaven. He stood now, and looked distastefully at the wet, sodden mass that was his pant legs. It would take hours to get them dry.

“Jedi?” he spat, the contempt thick and strong in his voice.

It appeared that, in spite of the injured nose, his body was intact. Brow furrowing with meaning, Vega slowly pushed himself towards his feet, following the actions of his ‘benefactor’. They looked such a pair; all haggard and soaked. Van-Derveld pulled his cloak about his body closely and for a moment examined his abettor.

“Those bastards can claim no allegiance from me.”

Despite the implications of his words, he posed no threat. He was tired, weak even, and reliant upon his retrieved staff to keep his posture straight and steady. Paranoia reared its ugly head, and Vega bowed to its questions.

“At the risk of sounding a hypocrite… what, exactly, were you doing wandering these forests? How am I to know that it was not your hand that rendered me unconscious? That this is not an attempt to beguile me for some insidious purpose of your own?”

A Jedi who disliked his fellow Jedi, this was something Lahout had not seen before. Sure, there were 'light' Jedi, and 'dark' Jedi, and they killed each other, but in the end Jedi from one side stuck with the Jedi from their side.

"You could, if you wish, think that Jedi," replied Lahout with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "What I am doing here is not something I will divulge to one whom I know nothing of, one of whose name I do not know. If you desire no assistance to the nearest inhabited town, which is approximately thirty kilometers to the south, I will continue on my way."

It was true, he required aide from this man. His pride would, for the moment, have to take a back seat to his needs. The words which he spoke next had a certain tone of forced humility to them, as though it pain him to be so polite.

“I seem to have forgotten my manners. I am Vega Van-Derveld. You know my name, and as I am sure you have deduced, I cannot tell you my reasons for being here, as I do not know them myself - now,” he said, motioning his free hand towards Lahout.

“Your story.”

Lahout smiled somewhat grimly, and turned to squint at the sun. The rays of light seemed to diffuse on his monochrome gray skin, and vanish completely when they touched his coal black hair.

"Apology accepted," said Lahout. He continued, "My story is somewhat longer than yours, Vega Van-Derveld, but I see no need to make it long. I am a Seeker of the Craftsman clan of the Mar'hute from the planet that is commonly called Vandelhiem here, in this terminally ignorant galaxy. This planet is just one of the many I have passed through in my search."

Motioning toward the south, Lahout made clear his intentions to continue with the journey that had been interrupted. "You are able to walk, yes?" he asked.