Ask Ajan Kloss Only I Will Remain

[Hannibal Grayza]

High up and far away from the temple on Ajan Kloss, Jedi Knight Hannibal Grayza had sat himself on a large outcropping of a distant mountain. Covered in grass joined by a few stones and a very old and bent tree, it was almost literally half a world away. Peaceful, quiet, and most importantly nowhere near any potential distractions. Hannibal needed to be alone for what he was about to do. He didn't want to risk someone else nearby being affected, after all.

He'd flown up here in Arcene, and it the speeder he began removing a variety of things. Paper charms, small tokens, candles, incense, a plush carpet arrayed with various designs, and a small metal lockbox. He arranged these things under the shadow of the short overhang above the area, a place he could focus in meditation away from every distraction imaginable. He'd been somewhat unfocused since the prison, though not just because it was a difficult experience where a friend had fallen in battle.

Hannibal had avoided killing anyone his entire Jedi career. Sometimes a cut here or there was needed, but he'd focused purely on non-lethal methods of taking people down. But then again, he'd never before had to fight a Sith intent on killing him before. He was sensitive to the eddies and flows of the Living Force, having to cut himself off from distant battle to maintain concentration in the moment when he fought. He'd experienced the deaths of others before of course, and was capable of dealing with it.

Unfortunately, while he was at his weakest, he'd taken hold of Talak Rand's lightsaber. While there had been a large number and variety of psychometric impressions involved in the act, the first and strongest was from Sol Puara. The hate, the anger, and his slow death by poison and suffocation after his mask had been ripped away from him. Being forced to kill someone was something on its own, but experiencing their death firsthand through the Force was enough to shake Hannibal like little else could.

So, here he was. He needed to get past this situation, and the fear and uncertainty that came with it. While Jedi should never encourage to or enjoy killing, allowing the deaths of evil people to pass peacefully by was something Hannibal needed to achieve. He needed to find balance with the lessons of his family and the teachings of the Jedi and become his true self, and a true Jedi. In spite of his titles and training, Hannibal did not always consider himself a Jedi because of his doubts. Now the the time to change that. He couldn't afford to be uncertain or to hesitate any longer.

Besides, Nashyr would laugh at him if he couldn't fight any more and gave up, bless her heart.

Hannibal arranged the various objects in a ritualistic fashion, lit the candles and incense, and sat himself cross-legged in the center of the rug. Entering a code he unlocked the metal box, tilting it so the intricate hilt of Sol Puara spilled forth in front of him, and placed the box aside off the rug. He stared at it for a few seconds, as one might closely watch a dangerous animal or a small bomb, and then sighed softly.

"I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings the end of all things." he intoned clearly and loudly, like a prayer, pushing away all outside thoughts and distractions. Slowly, methodically, finger by finger the young Knight slipped off his gloves and tossed them aside, first the right and then the left. He breathed deep, letting the chill mountain air and the Living Force sink down deep into his bones, reinforcing his mind and his focus.

"I will face my fear. I will allow it to pass over and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path." He raised his left hand and then his right to shoulder length, fingers splayed and palms downwards to face the dark weapon. It lifted gently into the air off the rug, twirling once through the air and arranging itself left-to-right above his hands. Hannibal's palms turned upwards, cupped like a pilgrim seeking to drink from a river or the alms of passing strangers. Another deep breath, the Force passing through him and taking with it his uncertainty and his fear. He could do this. He must. Failure was unacceptable.

"Where the fear has gone, there will be nothing." Slowly the hilt began to fall toward his hands, centimeter by centimeter. The young Knight steeled himself and opened his mind, ready to understand and accept the man he had killed.

"Only I will remain."

The hilt landed in his hands, the psychometric impressions of the past rushing forward like water into an empty vessel. For once, Hannibal did not flinch away.

@Phoenix

 

[The Gatekeeper]

Could the Jedi Knight possibly be prepared for what he would face when he laid his hands on the lightsaber of the fallen Champion of the Dark Side? Apart from the Eternal itself, the man had perhaps been the closest thing left to an avatar of the Dark Side in the galaxy. In many ways comparable to a Sith Lord of old. To read the weapon of another was often frowned upon by the Jedi Order, and that was not without cause. To read the weapon of such a Dark Side avatar would be considered by most an unnecessary and unwise risk.

The first thing that the Knight would feel would be head-splitting pain. Agony would shoot through his mind as a rage and hatred the likes of which he had never before experienced would lance through his mind. The crystal screamed in his mind in resistance of his handling it, but after a moment of pain that was severe enough to make the man wonder if he was going to lose his consciousness, it began to subside.

He would find himself first on a hazy world. Surrounded on every side by a foreign gas. He would look down and see that his wrists bore deep scars like hundreds of tiny cuts, to pursue those thoughts would be to open up a path all its own.

In front of him was a man. He was old with white hair, and Hannibal would feel an inexplicable anger toward the man. A desire to lash out would nearly overtake him as if the man had plans to murder Hannibal's own parents. It was a burning rage that surpassed anything he would have felt before.

To continue would be to risk a great deal, but to pull back now would be to lose whatever answers he sought. All actions had consequences.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

Pain shot through his head and down his spine, tensing his muscles and gritting his teeth. Instinct made him want to drop the weapon, to throw it off the cliff and never look at it again.

He didn't, of course. The bled crystal was rejecting the touch of a lightsider, particularly one weaker than its original master, but Hannibal was nothing if not stubborn. I must not fear. Pain is an illusion. He thought to himself, powering forward through the waves of agony. When it finally passed he suddenly exhaled and drew a deep breath, unclenching his muscles and opening his eyes.

The young Knight saw the mist, though he recognized the planet Dorin. Maybe? It was hard to tell. He certainly wasn't wearing his mask, something he'd need to breath in foreign atmospheres. Before what he felt for the man before him, however, these petty details were hardly worth mentioning.

He felt anger, and hate, and a murderous intent that scorched it's way through his body like a wildfire. He looked down, seeing the marks across his arms, and a little thought poked forward from the back of his mind.

These aren't my arms. He felt the anger of the kel'dor, but he'd never been angry like this before. He felt it, but it wasn't his, an unnatural and hateful thing. Hannibal fortified himself and looked to the old man, keeping to the scene. Perhaps he might explore the scars later, but Hannibal was methodical. He lived in the moment and focused on the now, and would take this reading one step at a time. If he went to deep too quickly he didn't know if he could keep his focus. He was skilled at the mental arts, but this had been a Sith Champion. Hannibal needed to be careful.

One step at a time, one breath, he would find his answers. He watched the scene, allowing the anger to pass over and through him and continuing his reading. He still experienced it, leaving sparking threads of darkness over his aura in the Force, but they took no root. Hannibal would not be swayed so early or so easily. He needed to know.

What had made Sol Puara so full of bile and wrath, taken him down the path of darkness and slaughter? Who was he, really?

Why had he deserved to die?

@Phoenix

 

[The Gatekeeper]

Hannibal would be able to see the man was sitting in a chair, facing away from him. His arms rested on the recliner, and he looked into a fire pit across from them. It seemed as if they were on a mixed world. Were they outdoors or in? It wasn't fully clear. As if in a living room without walls or a house without a roof.

The man didn't move, and Hannibal would find a saber in his hand now. Had he drawn it? Had it appeared on its own? If he looked down he would see the saber's blade was blood red, and it wasn't just any saber, it was the saber.

It cried out for the blood of the white haired man, and Hannibal would feel an overwhelming compulsion to strike. The hatred was enough to make him feel ill, and he might even wretch onto the ground if he had a weak stomach.

Why didn't the white haired man have a mask? How could he breathe here? Were they actually on Dorin? Was this a memory of a vision? So many questions would plague Hannibal. Each "answer" would only be replaced by more questions. It was a maze one could become lost in forever.

@Mr. Teatime

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

The young Knight tried to steady himself and focus against the torrent of emotion. He'd read weapons before and he knew what he needed to do, it was just a difficult and complicated thing. This anger and hate was so dense it was like swimming through tar. He had a weapon in his hand - no, not his hand - a lightsaber. The one he was reading, on Ajan Kloss. It didn't matter where this vision was, it didn't matter. It didn't matter.

Hannibal wrenched his gaze away from the old man. He felt sick, but he held it in, refusing to lose his way. He could vomit later. He called on the Light Side to bolster his resolve and focused on the hilt in Sol's hand. The Dark Side crashed against him in waves, trying to draw his attention to a hundred different details of the moment, but these questions didn't matter.

Rising up against the hatred was the calm serenity of the Light streaming through Hannibal and into the lightsaber itself, flowing forth in amounts he had never really called on before. To do what he needed, he focused on a single answer and a single object. The lightsaber in his hand, the lightsaber in Sol's hand, the present and the past. His gaze locked on both weapons, the weapon, the Force echoing from him into it through fingers that felt like fire.

"Why do you hate so much? Tell me!"

Finding the present reading unhelpful, he instead sought the reasons behind it, the reason behind everything. There must have been a spark behind what Sol had become in the end, why he had to fight and die as a Sith. That's what Hannibal wanted to find.

Hannibal knew he couldn't keep this up much longer without risking his aura darkening even though it had only been a few seconds, but he could go a little longer. Shut out all distractions, focus on the now, on the moment. The anger and hate he felt, powerful as it was, was only an echo of the past. He would not allow himself to be overtaken easily by a memory.

The Light flowed into the weapon, seeking the crystal at its core in an attempt to pacify it and sooth its anger, to both begin to purify the weapon and make it easier on Hannibal to get the answer he was looking for. Even if it all worked out, and he got his answer and the crystal turned silver, he'd probably be exhausted afterwards.

His goal was to lay to the last remnants of Sol's hatred and anger to rest along with Hannibal's trouble with Sol's death. He felt as if neither of them could find peace so long as the kyber crystal still burned with such echoes, like a phantom who had died without completing their life's work.

Of course, he was ready to drop the thing if things started going poorly. His mind was fortified and he was beginning the purification process, but he would rather fail now and try again later than let the darkness grab hold of him.

@Phoenix

 

[The Gatekeeper]

The difference between the psychometry, purification, and meditation all began to flow into one. Jumbled between one another, nothing that Hannibal found would be very helpful.

He opted not to pursue the memories and therefore the source of Sol's hatred. The reasons he felt such a disdain for this man and perhaps even the reason he had joined the Sith. His attention instead turned to the crystal, and its radiating darkness in the Force.

Tell you what?! You're no one to us. We are hatred and suffering. What do you know of such things? a voice seemed to answer him. Its source was far from clear, and it was obvious that the crystal would not be easily dominated.

Burning pain would shoot up Hannibal's arm that gripped the saber. It would drive him to his knees as it kicked and fought against the Light. @Mr. Teatime

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

Hannibal recoiled as it felt like lightning ran up his arms but held firm, catching himself as he almost fell over using his left arm. The crystal in the weapon was fighting his intrusion, and Hannibal got the impression he wasn't going to be able to read much of Sol's past while the lightsaber was so soaked in darkness. That, and he may have taken a small misstep somewhere. It wasn't exactly often he read an object with such a long and emotionally charged history on purpose.

But it was only pain. A superficial thing, it didn't matter to Hannibal. He'd felt plenty of pain before, and he certainly had suffered in his own way. He bore the scars and tattoos to prove some of it on his skin, echoes of battle, hard times, and lost friends. He pressed forward toward the crystal itself, gritting his teeth. Something like a voice echoed through the weapon, a being that was bled for the sake of Sol's anger.

Hannibal and the Light flowed the tracks of pain and hatred, swirling around the crystal. It was a truly angry thing, it had been for a very long time. But it didn't have to stay that way, wracked with agony.

"To live is to suffer. Across the galaxy people suffer, and I can feel it on every world I walk. I fight to protect those who suffer.
You are angry and in pain, but you are not defined by it. Let me help you. Find peace and purpose in life, to guard others from the pain you suffer. Tell me why you hate, and let it go!"

Once more into breach. Hannibal would not try to purify the blade, to bring it peace and serenity and let the the Light Side wash away the darkness. He would do it. He was earnest and focused in his attempt now. He had his doubts about certain things, and his fears, and his sorrows. He had suffered in the face of pain and death and hard work, but he marched on anyway. Life and freedom were worth living and fighting for, and he would impress upon the crystal his experiences and the Light that had shone through it all as best as he could.

There was no taking away the past, but Hannibal was offering the hateful presence a chance to move forward into the future at peace. A chance to be used to fight against the people who slaughtered the innocent and brought pain to others and to the crystal itself. A promise that together, they could be a force for good in the galaxy, no matter what had happened in the past, that it would no longer be wielded by someone with a soul full of hate and pain. It was never too late, and no one was beyond redemption, they only had to make the choice, even if it was hard at times. Hannibal hadn't given up on Talak, after all.

He righted himself in spite of the effort and the pain, the Light Side passing over and through him into the lightsaber, lifting it back up to face level. He put just about everything he had into making it understand and offering it the choice, and would likely be forced to drop the weapon if it refused strongly. He was certainly insisting, but he wasn't going to try forcing the weapon to be purified. That wasn't how this worked, that was how the Sith did things. He was not trying to dominate the crystal, but to redeem it.

All he would could do was push through the murk and offer his hand. An impression of Hannibal himself interposed itself in the haze within the weapon, shining like moonlight, a small haven amongst the freezing cold and burning fire. It beat back the closest shadows with its radiance but it wouldn't last long. He was no master after all. He could only do his best. Either this did something meaningful, or he'd have to accept he'd failed.

The ghostly figure's hand reached out into the shadow in search of the crystal's heart, shouting into the mist of images, echoing amongst the thick mist of hatred and suffering.

"Take my hand and let go!"
​

​

@Phoenix

 

[The Gatekeeper]

It continued to pour pain into his arm, screeching in agony as he drew closer. But as he did, it would be clear that there was something more going on here. A portion of the mist that had surrounded them seemed to take on a physical form. It was darker now, wrapping up something below.

The black fog was a humanoid shape, and gripped in one of its hands was the top of the head of a kneeling, bloody figure. Through the mists surrounding them, pillars of light reached the ground, and the black creature recoiled from it.

Begone! This is not your home! the misty creature said. It was clear this was who Hannibal had been talking to. A creature of pure darkness that had no intention of taking his hand or giving over its domain easily.

The kneeling figure was covered from head to toe in blood and looked too weak to move or reach out to him. The figure was one of a Kel Dor, but without a mask or goggles. Whatever it once was, it was all but helpless at the hand of the creature now.

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

His arm was beginning to shake from the persistent pain and the firmness of his grip, but he held on. His other hand gripped the lightsaber overtop the other, squeezing tightly. Do or do not, I must not fear, pain is an illusion, only I will remain. He silently repeated his mantra, focusing himself on the task at hand. This was definitely something meaningful, this shadowy presence within the weapon. It certainly didn't seem to like the Light that was pouring in through Hannibal, at the very least. Now that he was here, it was easier. Though he was tiring, the Light gave him strength and purpose for the moment.

His first idea was to directly engage the dark thing standing over the bloodied figure, but that felt wrong somehow. Jedi used the Force to defend, never to attack. His intent wasn't to destroy this dark thing, it was to purify and protect the crystal and the last echoes of Sol Puara, to free them from hatred and agony.

Hannibal was a Jedi in the end, after all is said and done. So he didn't hesitate.

His ghost-white figure stepped forward towards the shadow, both arms rising up and flashing with the radiance of the Light Side and the Living Force, his intent and will iron-hard and clear as ice. The past of this weapon and its former owner didn't really matter after all. What mattered was the now, and what would come next.

As he stepped toward the figure flecks and streams of Light gathered with his own to form the figure of a great white staff. Light shone out across the darkness and bent to wrap around the bloodied figure of the kel'dor, shielding it and seeking to drive the figure of hate and suffering out and away from the crystal. Unrooted, it could then be purified, or at least sink back into the greater energies of the Force. The Jedi's voice echoed out into the murk with power and will behind it, imbued with his desire to protect, to heal, and his love for all life.

"This is not your home.
I will draw you, dark thing, as poison is drawn from a wound!
I release you from your past. The Force will set you free!"
​

Sol Puara's final words, their meaning turned around. Sol would never be free so long as this apparition of darkness bound itself to what may very well have been his most personal possession. He would never be put to rest. At least, that's what Hannibal was thinking.

This was it. It was very likely either this worked or he'd drop the lightsaber. Though the Light he shaped within the weapon were solid and, Hannibal himself was shaking from the effort. He was drawing on the Force quite a bit all at once, and not all the burning he felt was just from the darkness resisting. But he was a Jedi, and he did not hesitate.

@Phoenix

 

[The Gatekeeper]

The light that wrapped around the Kel Dor touched the hand of the dark creature and it shrieked a hideous, horrible sound. It was a scream of agony and fear that turned to rage, but it couldn't do anything to the Light.

It traveled up the creature's arm and it clutched the stump of itself as it began to recoil from the Light.

But the Light simply sliced right through it. Driven back deeper into the mist and away from the Kel Dor, the two would soon be alone, but just as quickly as it had begun, the vision began to collapse.

The Kel Dor collapsed to the ground, weak and broken, but free from the grip of the dark being who was now gone. The mists seemed sucked away and the ground opened beneath Hannibal's feet. He would find himself falling and falling before jolting back to "wakefulness."

His body would be drenched in sweat, his breath heavy, and his muscles exhausted. If he looked at the arm gripping the saber, he would see that very real burn streaks tangled along his forearm, and it only further blurred the lines between what had been real and what hadn't, but he was alive and he'd withstood his journey.

 

[Hannibal Grayza]

Just as quickly as it began, it was over. Hannibal blinked once and immediately fell over, rolling onto his back, his muscles trembling. They felt like jelly and burned like he'd just run a triathlon all at once. His hand and arm had streaking burns working their up, worked together like black and red vines across his skin. Great, more things to heal. He'd need to call his tattoo artist again.

He struggled to keep his left arm up, just long enough to click the activation stud on the lightsaber. In a flash the shadow under the overhang was lit up in a silver glow, like a pillar of moonlight. Hannibal smiled, and just as quickly the blade went out as his hand dropped to the ground. He'd done it. It hadn't quite been his original goal, but the young Jedi felt like he'd learned something valuable in the end.

"Yeah, kriff off Dark Side. May you find peace in death, Sol Puara." he muttered quietly, and let himself fall asleep in his exhaustion.

At least he had his rug to rest on.

//End Thread