SithLore

Garen Muln; circa 2 BBY
DOWN THE CRANAN-EXCARGA HYPERSPACE LANE, EN ROUTE TO DAGU
DAGU SYSTEM, INSTROP SECTOR
2 BBY

Clone troopers, once his loyal comrades and best friends, all turned against him in an ambush. Sickly green torrential rainstorm of blasterfire flooded his mind. The weight of their betrayal felt unbearable, as the faces of those he had fought alongside contorted into sinister masks of malice.

Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, his once dear comrades were now heartless enforcers of Order 66, the Emperor's deadly decree to exterminate the Jedi Order. Their blasters erupted with lethal precision, leaving Garen defenseless against the overwhelming onslaught despite his skill with his sapphire lightblade.

'Andy! Andy, no!' he had tried his best to reach his Commander - CT-2039 - but the glazed look in Commander Andy's eyes, and the emptiness of his soul in the Force, had only spelled haunting doom to the Jedi. As the visions of comrades turning against him turned to those of his fallen friends and tormented him, a ghostly figure emerged from the shadows. The towering presence of the Emperor's Apprentice materialized, a haunting reminder of the Jedi's darkest hour. The Sith Lord's mechanical breathing echoed like an ominous symphony, and Garen felt a chilling dread seeping into his soul.

The visions intertwined, memories of his clone troopers' betrayal blending with the looming specter of Darth Vader. The pain of the past and the fear of the present melded together in a nightmarish dance, suffocating Garen with remorse and despair.

«Garen Muln...» the haunting spectre pronounced in his mechanical baritone, the red of his lightsaber bathing Garen's vision in blood. «You will die.»

"Gah!" Garen woke up, his scream quickly devolving into an endless, violent cough, expelling thick sputum in fits of discomfort. Weakly, the semicentennial human with his hair and thick, unkempt beard prematurely greyed out, glanced around, blue eyes puffed up with dark circles scanning his surroundings.

Garen Muln found himself adrift on a refugee transport vessel filled with refugees - mostly twi'lek, some human and the occasional rodian - from Ryloth, which was recently undergoing a thorough bombardment after Grand Admiral Thrawn had so ambitiously exterminated the Free Ryloth Movement.

Hopelessness had clouded his heart. He had once been a beacon of light, but the galaxy's descent into darkness had long since broken his once boisterous spirit. If Clee Rhara or Obi-Wan could see him now, how disappointed would they be in him; yet, he found the thought of disappointing them didn't jar his soul as much as it should have. As the ship journeyed down the Cranan-Excarga hyperspace lane, Garen couldn't help but feel detached from the refugees' plight. Their collective fear and desperation, which he could pick up both intuitively and through his closed-off connection to the Force, echoed his own feelings of loss and abandonment.

Unattentively, his ears picked up Ryl, shooting back and forth in clipped tones of anticipated panic all around him. The ship's crowded and claustrophobic environment mirrored the suffocating grip of the Galactic Empire on the galaxy, even this far out in the Outer Rim. Garen observed the twi'lek refugees seeking solace, and a tinge of bitterness rose within him. 'Hope?' What good was their hope when the Empire's iron fist crushed any glimmer of resistance?

Closing his eyes, Garen tried to silence the memories of his former life. He recalled the wise teachings of Master Clee, who had been his mother in everything but blood. How simple and beautiful those earliest days had been, just him and his beautiful, kindly, authoritative yet gentle Master, whom he could run to every time things got too much for him to handle.

Yet, they now felt like hollow echoes of a time when the entire galaxy seemed not akin to dice twirling in the Emperor's sickly, sinuous fingers, and Clee Rhara was dead and silent, like the Force itself had been for years. Garen's feelings of cynicism intensified. He had lost faith in the Force's guidance. What good was it when the dark side reigned unchallenged? He knew he was hiding not just from the Empire but also from the truth: the sun had long since set on the Jedi. The Jedi Code had failed them; it no longer held meaning for him, and the Force, felt distant and indifferent.

Meditating upon the silence of the Force brought horrid flashes back to the forefront of his mind. Garen couldn't help but reflect on the near-death experience that had haunted him since that fateful encounter with Darth Vader. He had been on a remote asteroid, hoping to stay hidden from the Empire's relentless pursuit, when Vader's wrath had found him. The destruction of the asteroid had been swift and merciless, and he had barely escaped with his life. His comrades, Masters Ana and Ry-Gaul, hadn't been as lucky.

Since the aftermath of that harrowing ordeal, Garen had questioned why he had survived. He should have met his end that day. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, as if the Force had abandoned him even in death, refusing to claim his sinful soul so that he wandered the galaxy, lost and rejected. The scars, both physical and emotional, from his encounter with Vader served as a constant reminder of his vulnerability, his inability to save everyone he cared about. No longer the confident and steadfast Jedi Master and General of the 256th Legion within the Grand Army of the Republic, he now felt every bit the broken old man he truly was.

His knees popped and creaked with every step as he got out of the corner he had been sleeping in and began to make his way through the congested greens and blues and pinks of twi'leki women, children, and elderly. His blackened, charred soul barely held on to the remnants of his former self, tormented in his sleep by the haunting symphony of mechanical wheezes and raspy exhalations, the heavy thudding of dark footfalls illuminated by the blood-red of an evil lightsaber.

The memory of that near-death experience lingered like a specter in his mind. It had shattered his sense of purpose, leaving him riddled with doubts and haunted by what could have been. The old man often wondered as to his sins; what had he done to deserve this miserable existence? Could it be that he, or the Jedi as a whole, truly incurred the curse and scorn of the innocents that had been slain as collateral in their war against the Separatists?

His ears registered a thickly accented announcement in Ryl. From what little Garen knew of the language, he could tell that their vessel, a GR-75 medium transport funded by Alderaanian charity, would be exiting hyperspace to deftly make planetfall on Dagu within the next cycle.

Joints groaning, Garen found himself withdrawing as far back as he could, lost in his own bitterness and despair, to sit with his back against the rear viewport of the transport. Palming his chest, the old man's chest heaved in a silent sob, a broken soul adrift in the sea of hopelessness.

'If anyone's listening, please... guide me. Why am I here? Why am I still alive...?" he silently begged up to the heavens.

Kamiili, of Ghôsh Tallav
THE MARSHES OF DAGU
DAGU SYSTEM, INSTROP SECTOR
OUTER RIM TERRITORIES

The marshes of Dagu sprawled endlessly under the crimson sky, a labyrinth of thick, twisting mangroves and murky waters that seemed to exhale steam in the humid air. Garen, ever wallowing in the memories of his days as a Jedi, and the macabre culmination of those days that had rendered him a lonely survivor, navigated this treacherous terrain with the grace of someone who had made it his home. He moved silently, his senses attuned to every rustle and whisper of the marshland.

For years now, Garen had found solace among a group of Twi'lek refugees who had fled the chaos to hide here in the Outer Rim. They had established a makeshift settlement amidst the mangroves, hidden away from the prying eyes of any who sought to harm them. The refugees regarded Garen with a mix of reverence and curiosity, knowing only fragments of his past as a Jedi. To them, the aged hermit was their sage, their healer, and their guide through the dangers of Dagu.

It was in this fragile sanctuary that fate intervened once more, in the form of an Alderaanian relief mission, precisely alike the one that had settled him and the twi'leks here. If anything, the Organas did their job well. Picking up the Ryl scuttlebutt that went around, Garen soon came to know that this mission in particular had brought with it survivors from the devastating Bombardment of Haruun Kal. News of the horrendous affair had reached their settlement as just the latest of Imperial atrocities, and Garen found himself lumbering over to where the Tantive III had offloaded the assortment of Korunnai and Balawai - most ancient of enemies, finally reunited thanks to Imperial tyranny.

Near the outskirts of the Twi'lek refugee settlement, amidst the haphazardly erected shelters woven from reeds and salvaged materials, Garen paused. His attention was drawn not by sound or movement, but by a subtle disturbance in the Force—a ripple that spoke of an unfamiliar yet potent presence approaching.

Emerging from the mist like a vision borne of the marshland itself was a Korunnai female. She walked with a quiet determination, her strides purposeful yet weighted with the exhaustion of a journey fraught with hardship. In her arms, cradled protectively against her chest, was a three-year-old boy whose dark complexion mirrored her own, his bright blue eyes wide with innocent curiosity as they took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

The Korun's black hair, touched with light brown strands that caught the early light, framed her face in wild waves that seemed to echo the untamed spirit of Dagu. Her dark skin bore the marks of suns and struggle, yet her gaze—an electric gold and filled with a blend of hope and uncertainty—held a resilience that spoke volumes of her inner strength.

"Excuse me," Kamiili's voice broke the silence with her heavily-accented Basic, a mix of weariness and urgency as she approached Garen. "We... we're looking for sanctuary. Can you help us?"

Garen regarded her with a steady gaze, his expression guarded yet touched by a glimmer of empathy for the weary travelers who sought refuge in the heart of the marshes. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the unspoken plea in her eyes, before gesturing for her to follow him deeper into the settlement.

As they walked, Garen sensed the Korun's apprehension and the unspoken questions that hung heavy in the air between them. Her son shifted in her arms, his gaze alternating between the unfamiliar faces of the refugees and the mysterious figure who led them with silent assurance.

They reached a clearing at the center of the settlement, where the morning sunlight filtered through the canopy of ancient mangrove trees, casting dappled patterns on the ground. Garen turned to face Kamiili, his features softened by a hint of compassion as he spoke.

"You are safe here," he assured her quietly, his voice carrying a reassurance born of experience. "Rest now. You and your son are welcome."

The Korun nodded gratefully, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she surveyed their new surroundings with a mixture of relief and cautious hope. She glanced down at her son, brushing a gentle hand over his obsidian locks as he nestled closer to her, comforted by the unfamiliar yet comforting presence of their newfound sanctuary.

"Thank you," Kamiili murmured, her voice a fragile echo in the tranquil morning air. "My name is Kamiili," she supplied. "This is Sam, we are of Ghôsh Tallav. We," she glanced at the weary settlers behind her, "are all of Haruun Kal that yet lives."

At that, a pang of sorrow stirred within him—coupled with a flicker of recognition that tugged at the corners of his memory. Her presence evoked echoes of a past he had tried to bury, memories of comradeship and shared purpose amidst the turmoil of galactic conflict.

He saw in Kamiili's demeanor a strength that reminded him of his old friend. Garen's thoughts drifted to the days when the Master of the Order and himself had stood side by side, their bond forged in the crucible of the Clone Wars, their lightsabers cutting through the darkness that threatened to engulf the galaxy.

"Mace," Garen murmured under his breath, his voice barely a whisper carried away by the morning breeze. He remembered Master Windu's commanding presence, his voice resonant with authority yet tempered by a deep-seated understanding of the complexities of the Force.

"What?" Kamiili's voice shook Garen out of his flashback, and the Jedi-that-once-was took deep, calming breaths to recenter himself. Opening his eyes, he called began to guide the Korunnai, helping them settle in and teaching them the ways of the marshes. Unlike the desert-dwelling twi'leks, the highlanders of Haruun Kal he expected to adapt quickly.

Yet, even as he did, the aging Jedi found himself taken with Kamiili's presence. She was a natural leader; whether or not she had functioned as one in her own society prior to all this he would not know. Yet, in her presence, Garen glimpsed shades of Master Windu's strength and resilience—qualities that had once defined the Jedi Order at its zenith. And as they navigated the fragile peace of their sanctuary amidst the unpredictable embrace of Dagu's marshes, Garen Muln found himself silently vowing to honor the memory of his old friend by protecting those who sought refuge. It was the only reason he had for existing now.

The Creature and the Child
A woman worn by tragedy yet resilient in spirit, Kamiili approached Garen with an urgency born of desperation. "Please," she implored, her voice tinged with a mixture of hope and desperation, "my son is txur fa Pelekotan. 'Force-strong', as your people call it."

"Strong with the Force, yes," Garen murmured, leaning with his back against the wall of hutt as Kamiili lowered herself into a sidesaddle in front of him. A pained expression crossed his face. "Kamiili, I cannot."

"Pxasik!" Kamiili spat out in anger. Garen did not know what the word meant, but it didn't take much to understand that it was an expletitive. She had asked before, even begged. Yet Garen had turned her back every time.

"You are the only one who can help him and yet you sit here, do nothing!" she exclaimed at him.

Garen regarded Kamiili with a gaze that spoke volumes of his own inner turmoil. He had once been a Jedi, devoted to the ways of the Force and the teachings of the Order. But now, after the fall of the Jedi Order and the horrors he had witnessed, Garen had withdrawn from the Force, believing himself unworthy to wield such power.

"I cannot," Garen replied tersely, his voice carrying the weight of years spent in isolation and self-imposed exile.

"But he needs someone. A shehu, a master," Kamiili pressed, her eyes pleading. "He needs to understand his gift, to learn control."

Garen hesitated, torn between his desire to protect the fragile peace of their sanctuary and the call of duty that once defined his life. As days turned into weeks, however, Garen found himself reluctantly drawn to Sam, a spirited boy with eyes that mirrored the untamed spirit of Dagu itself.

In the quiet moments of their days, as Sam had grown older and more independent of his mother, he often wandered over to Garen's hutt in the marshes. Garen had taught Sam the rudiments of survival in the marshes—how to find clean water, which plants were safe to eat, and how to move without leaving a trace. Sam was eager and quick to learn, his natural affinity with the Force guiding him instinctively. Out of their entire community, Garen had bonded with Sam the most. He had had even, on occasion, wondered if this was what it would be like to have a son.

Yet as the boy aged up, and Kamiili had heard word of Garen Muln's past as an honoured master in the Jedi Order, she began to insist that Garen train him. Kamiili herself, like all Korunaii, was Force-sensitive. In their native tongue, they referred to the Ashla as the Pelekotan. Kamiili could sense the immense potential in her offspring, potential she knew he had inherited from his father, who had been the eyktan of ghôsh Tallav. Kamiili and her son were now literally the last of the ghôsh itself, but Kamiili was not nearly as strong as Sam himself. She had already taught him the basics of the Path of the Pelekotan.

"He is txen, his sähena is far deeper than mine," Kamiili protested. It was a Korunnai turn of phrase, 'txen' meaning awakened - in the Force - and 'sähena' meaning vessel. She meant to say that his powers were now waxing, and his potential was far greater than hers and that he had a deeper cup to fill that she simply could not on her own. "Only someone of your skill could train him."

Garen closed his eyes. The mechanical hiss of Obi-Wan's apprentice echoed through his subconscious, a haunting sound that seemed to pierce through his soul with a cold, relentless reminder of the Dark Lord's ominous presence. In hindsight, he was the Emperor's apprentice now. Yet, he had once been Obi-Wan's. Garen shivered at the thought.

"... I cannot."

Kamiili stormed out of the hut, fuming and cursing in three dialects of Koruntongue.

Meanwhile, in the heart of Dagu's sprawling marshlands, where the mist hung like a veil between the towering mangroves, five-year-old Sam Tallav moved with the boundless energy that seemed to define his very being. His black hair, streaked since birth with a white lock that fell over his forehead, caught glimpses of sunlight that filtered through the dense canopy above, and his dark skin blended seamlessly with the earthy hues of the marshes. But it was his eyes—bright and electric blue—that mirrored the curiosity and wonder of a child exploring a world filled with mysteries.

Sam had always been drawn to the marshlands' secrets, where every ripple in the water and rustle in the undergrowth promised adventure. On this particular day, his explorations had led him deeper than ever before, beyond the bounds of safety set by Master Muln, the cranky old hermit who watched over the refugees with a wary yet protective gaze.

As Sam ventured further into uncharted territory, a subtle shift in the marshland's ambiance caught his attention. A primal instinct tingled at the base of his skull, urging him to tread cautiously. It was then that he spotted it—a massive feline creature, its sleek black fur blending with the shadows, its amber eyes fixed upon him with predatory intent.

Sam froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest as fear and determination waged a silent battle within him. He knew the stories of the palulukan—the apex predator of the Dagu marshlands; an enormous, powerful, six-legged panther with its eyes covered in a naturally-armored, obsidian exoskeleton, and capable of blending into its surroundings with lethal grace. Yet, despite the danger looming before him, a spark of something deeper stirred within Sam—a connection to the Force that he had begun to sense under his mother's tutelage.

[begin Force Sensitivity app: 100 words]

Closing his eyes, Sam drew upon the power he had felt but not fully understood—a reservoir of energy that flowed through all living things. Instinctively, he sought solace within the Light, the power his mother called Pelekotan. In that moment of quiet surrender, a surge of energy surged through him, connecting him to the ancient power that coursed through all life. It embraced him much like his mother did at night, only unlike his mother, it would never leave him again for he had forever opened himself up to it.

The Brightness, clashing against the Darkness, yet intertwined... Life intertwines with death, summer with winter, starlight with shade, and growth with decay. The former the power of Pelekotan, the latter void of Pelekotan. With a steady mind and unwavering intent, he reached out hesitantly, extending his hand toward the towering feline predator. The Force responded, forging a fragile bond between Sam and the palulukan, bridging the gap of fear and instinct with understanding and tranquility. It was a moment of profound awakening—a whisper of destiny amidst the untamed wilderness of Dagu.

With trembling fingers, he raised his hand toward the approaching palulukan, a gesture of defiance and desperation.

[end Force Sensitivity app: 197 words]

The air around Sam crackled with unseen energy, a palpable tension that seemed to alter the very fabric of the marshlands. The palulukan hesitated, its predatory advance faltering as if sensing a force beyond its comprehension emanating from the small, defiant figure before it.

"G-Go away," Sam whispered with a mixture of fear and resolve, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of marshland creatures.

The palulukan growled low in its throat, amber eyes narrowing as it assessed this unexpected prey that dared to challenge its dominance. Yet, as moments passed and Sam maintained his stance, a subtle change began to take place—the creature's aggression tempered by a flicker of curiosity and something akin to respect.

Meanwhile, back at the refugee settlement, concern rippled through the gathered inhabitants. Twi'lek refugees and Korunnai alike joined Garen Muln in a frantic search for the missing boy. Voices called out Sam's name in hushed tones, their worry palpable in the air as they combed through the dense foliage and murky waters of the marshlands.

"He couldn't have gone far," Suula, one of the most capable Twi'leks Garen knew, and a trusted confidant, murmured, casting a worried glance at Garen, her purple, tiger-striped lekku twitching in obvious anxiety. [color=fuchsia"The marshes are dangerous, especially for a child."[/color]

Garen's jaw tightened with worry, his brow furrowed in determination as he scanned the surrounding terrain. "We have to find him," he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility that came with protecting those under his care.

Just as despair threatened to settle upon them like the mist that clung to the marshlands, a rustling in the underbrush drew their attention. Gasps of astonishment escaped the lips of the refugees as they beheld a sight that defied all reason.

There, emerging from the shadows with an ease that spoke of a newfound understanding, was Sam—riding atop the back of the palulukan. The massive feline moved with an unexpected gentleness, its amber eyes reflecting the light of the setting sun as it approached the search party.

"Sam!" Kamiili's voice rang out, filled with equal parts relief and disbelief. She, along with Garen, rushed forward, their hearts pounding in their respective chests as they all beheld the miraculous scene before him.

The palulukan stopped before the group, its gaze shifting between Sam and the adults who stood in stunned silence. Sam slid off its back, landing lightly on the marshy ground before running into Kamiili's open arms.

"Mama," Sam gasped, his voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and exhaustion. "I... I tamed it, Mama. With the Force."

Garen knelt down, his hands gripping Sam's shoulders as he searched the boy's eyes for any sign of deception. What he found, however, was an earnestness that left no room for doubt.

"You tamed the palulukan?" Garen asked softly, disbelief giving way to wonder.

Sam glanced back at the palulukan, which had settled onto its haunches a few paces away, observing the exchange with a calmness that belied its predatory nature.

"I closed my eyes, like Mama taught me," Sam explained breathlessly. "I felt... there was so much light, master! It was like... like a wave washing over me. I reached out, and... and... she..."[/color] he glanced back at the gigantic apex predator behind him. "... She understood."

Garen's gaze shifted between Sam and the palulukan, his mind racing with the implications of what he had witnessed. The Force had guided Sam, just as it had guided Garen in his own journey through the darkness that had engulfed the galaxy.

"This is... remarkable, Sam," Garen murmured, his voice filled with awe. "Your mother was right. You are truly gifted."

As the last rays of sunlight bathed the marshlands in a golden hue, Garen Muln looked upon Sam of Ghôsh Tallav with a newfound sense of purpose. The Force had spoken through the bond forged between boy and beast, guiding Garen toward a destiny intertwined with the teachings of the Jedi and the legacy of those who had come before him.

And as they returned to the settlement, Sam walking beside Garen with an air of newfound confidence, the marshlands whispered their secrets to the winds—why was Garen here, he had asked once. Why was he still alive?

Well, he had been answered.