View Full Version : Re-Awakening Past

5 March 2004, 03:48 PM
Author's Note: The first rpg campaign I played in was the origin of my username Seghast, and the campaign ended abruptly as the gaming group broke apart, leaving loose ends. This is my attempt to finish the tale of the character of Seghast, though I never finished this story. In fact, I'd forgotten about it until I stumbled across it late last night. I thought I'd post it here, and see if anyone thought it was worth finishing... This is my first story submission, so go easy on me, please. That being said, on with the story and all.

Re-Awakening Past

The man known only as Seghast stared out the viewport at the stars streaking by, trying not to sigh again. It wasn’t an easy task; his life, or at least the last year or so of it had been a nightmare. As part of the new Rebel Alliance, he had seen combat repeatedly. He’d killed many an Imperial, and saw far too many innocents slaughtered in the crossfire. He couldn’t help but feel the Republic had really had this coming on some level, though. After the Battle of Endor had come the rise of the New Republic. Almost fifty years later, the Republic had become so weakened due to greedy senators who were more concerned with lining their pockets than they were with keeping an able-bodied military, that it was almost completely smashed when a re-formed Empire launched a surprise assault, led by a Sith named Fate, and his right-hand man, Mercer, a fallen Jedi.
It didn’t take long for the remains of the Republic to form a new rebellion, but it had taken long enough... Fate had taken over ninety-eight percent of the Republic’s territory in less than three months, including the capital world of Coruscant. Rumor spread quickly that Fate was a blood relative of the late Emperor Palpatine, such as his grandson. Rumor spread that Mercer was a cannibal. Rumor after rumor spread, and with them, fear spread across the galaxy. Fear kept most of the galaxy loyal to Fate, the new Emperor. That fear tripled when it was revealed that Fate was indeed the grandson of Palpatine, and had inherited a great deal of his strength.
Fate established a stranglehold on the galaxy, and the rebellion had been split on how to deal with the issue. After weeks of arguing, the rebellion itself split into two factions; one wanting to avoid conflict with Fate, and one wanting to declare open war to save the galaxy.
Seghast had gotten himself mixed up with the rebel faction wishing to fight Fate and his new Empire, and had been in more conflicts than any man should ever have to face as a result. He’d seen Fate, had seen Jedi fight him and lose. He had seen Mercer killing indiscriminately. He had seen hundreds of examples of Imperial ruthlessness and cruelty.
He and his squad had been one of the more elite teams within the alliance. Their success rate was nothing short of amazing, even when the odds said that the chance of success was neigh impossible. Somehow, they’d always managed to pull it off.
Almost always, anyway.
The last mission had been doomed from the beginning. It had led them to a direct confrontation with Fate and Mercer, with a surprise appearance by Lord Dais, who was thought to have been killed almost twenty years ago by the late Jedi X.
Against two Sith and one Dark Jedi, his squad had never really had a prayer. He saw most of his companions fall in battle, and watched helplessly as even the Jedi were slaughtered by the trio. It wasn’t just a failure, it was the blunder to end all blunders. Bad intelligence, courtesy of Captain Magyar, had cost them more than half the team, and all of the Jedi.
Only four members of the team had survived to escape back to base.
After the last fiasco against Fate and Mercer, and their forces, the higher powers in the military decided it would be best to take his squad, or what was left of it, out of the spotlight for a while. The others had enjoyed a short break from the fighting to recuperate, but not he. Within the next two days, they would undoubtedly be heading out on another mission, while Seghast had begun his personal mission yesterday. He wasn’t ready to go back to the war, not yet. He had yet to recover from the fact that Mercer was him. Or was he Mercer? He shook his head. It was too confusing to think about at the moment. All he knew was that he had to get away from it all for a while, and try to figure out who he was.
It was a daunting task, to say the least. It was over a year ago when the Alliance had dug him out from the rubble of a collapsed building. When they’d found him, he had been a mess. Broken and bruised, Seghast had known only his name, and nothing else. At least, nothing else pertaining to him and any family he might have. Even the Jedi had been unable to help him remember who he was. They’d told him the building he had been in, or under, was an Imperial facility, but nothing more than that. He had wondered if he was truly an Imperial at heart, but decided that didn’t feel right.
The Jedi had informed him that he had potential in the Force when they noticed him behaving strangely, and he had not been surprised, though he knew not why. To him, it explained why he heard voices on occasion; voices telling him what to do in battle, voices urging him to be merciless towards his enemies. It explained why he sometimes felt like a god of death on the battlefield. The Jedi had told him that this was the influence of the Dark Side, and that he needed to fight it. It was a hard fight, and he often lost, but he tried.
Now, though, he wasn’t sure if he had the strength to fight it anymore.
Seeing Mercer’s face revealed, up close, and seeing that they shared the same face had destroyed his confidence in himself. Was that who and what he really was? Was he destined to be like Mercer? He’d always thought he was better than that, above that, and stronger. Maybe he was wrong...
Now, alone in a shuttle in the middle of hyperspace, he felt anger boiling over within him, anger at himself for being so damned weak. He was stronger than Mercer, he was better than him, and he would never become what Mercer was.
With the anger, he could hear the voice again, telling him to take the shuttle and go find Mercer. To challenge him. To strike him down and prove once and for all that he was not the same breed of animal as Mercer. Again, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. He couldn’t afford to let the voice of the Dark Side draw him away from his mission to rediscover himself. This was too important to allow himself to become distracted by anything, least of all the seductive influence of the Dark Side.
He wasn’t sure where he was going. He’d allowed instinct and the Force to guide him when he programmed in the coordinates. He knew where he’d began the jump, but really had no clue where he was going to end up, and he didn’t care to check the navicomputer and see where his course was taking him. It really didn’t matter, as long as he got some answers. He’d have been content to have flown to Tatooine if it meant getting at least one piece of his life’s puzzle.
The navicomputer beeped, telling him that the shuttle was about to drop out of hyperspace. Wherever he had been going, he was now there. He watched as the starlines reverted back to stationary dots, hanging in the void of space, with a small planet a couple of hundred thousand kilometers in front of him. He glanced at the navicomputer, and recognized it as one of the lesser-known worlds within the Hapes cluster. Immediately, he began to wonder why he was there. Was he born there? Did he live there? Did he have business there in the past? A thousand questions came rushing to him, all at once...
Along with the voice of one irritated traffic controller on the comm, demanding an identification code...

5 March 2004, 03:50 PM
The identification proved to be less troublesome than he had initially feared, though it raised several more questions about just who he really was. On instinct, he’d punched in a code sequence quickly and transmitted it to the traffic controller. There was a pause, followed by the controller informing him that it was a very old code, and that he’d have to ask the senior officer if it was acceptable. The senior officer had then come over the comm, asking who he was. When he revealed his name to be Seghast, their was another pause from the traffic controllers. This pause was longer than the first pause, and when the senior officer finally spoke again, his voice was shaking. He informed Seghast that he’d performed a voice-check to authenticate Seghast’s claim of being who he said he was. The voice was a complete match, and the officer apologized profusely for having delayed him, and promptly cut off the transmission after giving him full clearance to continue on his present course.
Seghast found himself wondering why the man had been so shaken up. For that matter, how had he known an identification code, and one that was so old at that? It was creepy, to say the least. Silently, he wondered what other surprises awaited him at the end of his flight...

He sat the shuttle down in a small clearing, a short distance away from what looked like an abandoned prefab home. He exited the shuttle and began walking towards the small house, noticing that the closer he got to it, the more cold the air became. The plants closest to the house were all twisted and dark, deformed. Tree, grass, vines, everything. Though he had never received Force training, he could still sense an aura of darkness all around the little home. This was clearly a domain of evil, and the very nature of the place chilled him to the bone.
Fear fought to rise up and take control of his body, urging him to run away. He was terrified of what he would discover inside the little home, but his desire to know who he was, and who he had been, overrode his sense of fear. However, the fear would not subside completely; no, it knotted itself in his stomach, warning him to tread carefully.
He paused just outside the entrance, looking at the old-fashioned hinged door. It was still hanging in place, though weather and lack of care had stained it’s wooden surface entirely. It had begun to rot heavily, and he suspected that within a year or less, it would rot completely away. Giving the door a gentle push to open it, he stepped inside, nearly choking on the dusty air. No one had lived here for a long time, that much was obvious.
The home was sparsely decorated. The previous owner, whom he supposed had to have been himself, had apparently not been one to keep excessive trinkets.
“Still aren’t...” he murmured to himself, referring to his own spartan room back at the rebel base. He and his squad all shared a large area with several small rooms, one for each of them. The others had decorated their rooms to fit their personalities, and had gathered all sorts of little trophies and general stuff to keep them amused. He had nothing extra in his room, just his bed, a nightstand with a reading lamp, a desk with computer terminal, a chair, and a trunk that held his clothes and a few books. He didn’t even have a mirror.
Judging by the looks of the house, he had been very much the same way in his past life. He didn’t know if that thought should comfort him, or scare him.
Looking around the room, he figured that it had been occupied during the rise of the Empire, maybe as late as a couple of years before the Battle of Yavin. Everything was covered with dust and cobwebs, untouched for an estimated fifty to sixty years. He blinked once, and in that split second, everything became new again.
Though he’d never had a vision of any sort before, he knew immediately that he was experiencing one. He was seeing the house as it had looked many years ago, before it was abandoned. He did a slow turn, taking in how clean and new everything looked. When he finished his turn, he found a small surprise in front of him...

It was a child, a boy no more than five years old at the very most. He stood around one meter tall, give or take a couple of centimeters, and wore all black. Most striking of all to Seghast was the resemblance he noticed between the child and himself, which he noted included taste in clothing, as he, too, was clad entirely in black. Both had silver-colored hair, though the child’s hair was long and reached down to his waist. Seghast kept his hair short, hating having his hair even reaching down to his shoulders. Both had eyes the same shade of green, though he could see the child’s eyes lacked any of the sparkle and zest for life that most kids seemed to possess. In fact, he would have described the child’s eyes as being cold and emotionless. Their faces were near identical in shape and appearance, and for an instant, he found himself wondering if this was a vision of himself as a child. He shook his head; no, that wasn’t right. Somehow, he knew the child was his own, his son. Seghast was amazed at this instinctual knowledge, and of the very fact he had a son. More precisely, that he’d had a son. It took him almost a full minute to regain his composure and find his voice again.
“Hello...” he said, forcing a smile to make the child feel a bit more at ease. The child did not respond in any way, shape, or form. Instead, the child looked past Seghast, to something that was behind him, and the boy’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. It was then that Seghast heard a labored, mechanical breathing from behind him. Sensing danger, he whirled around, his hand automatically going to his waist for a lightsaber that, in reality, wasn’t there, but was hanging there in the vision, waiting to be used. He pulled it free, but before he could even activate it, he felt a sizzling pain in his side. He knew he had been fatally struck by a lightsaber, and as his vision began to go out, he could make out the image of an infamous black death’s head mask.
Somewhere, in the back recesses of his mind, he knew that he had just been killed by Darth Vader. He also knew that it was only a vision, but the pain was so real that he couldn’t stand it. He cried out, and promptly passed out, crumpling to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut...

He knew not how long he had lay unconscious in the floor, but as he opened his eyes, he took note that his body refused to respond to any commands. He was left with little choice but to lay there longer and wait for his body to become obedient again. His right arm was laying out in front of him, hand open...
...And a few inches in front of the hand, under a small table, lay the lightsaber from the vision. He could tell the vision had ended, as everything, especially the floor, seemed to be dusty and dirty once more. Well, almost everything, since the lightsaber was gleaming like new, sitting there, waiting for it’s master.
Waiting for him.
He knew he was laying in the very position his body had fallen in upon his death in his previous life. The lightsaber had fallen from his hand as he’d hit the ground, and had rolled under the table. His fingers twitched, and his arm began reaching for the weapon, signifying that he was successfully in control of his body again. His fingers wrapped around the cold metal, and he sat up, examining the lightsaber more closely. The grip was comfortable, as if it were made for him, and him alone.
“Stupid... Of course it was made for me.” he mumbled to himself. It was, after all, his lightsaber. Or had been. He supposed that it was now his again.
He stood up, still holding the lightsaber in his hand. With two emitter matrixes, it was clearly a double-bladed saber. He thumbed the activation stud, watching two blood-red blades emerge from the ends of the saber. He knew from his experience fighting alongside the Jedi that a double-bladed saber was the most dangerous form of lightsaber, that only a true master could wield such a weapon safely and effectively.
Screw up, and you were likely to loose a leg. Or worse, your life.
He spun the saber a couple of times, feeling like he knew precisely what he was doing. And apparently, he did. He felt so comfortable that he began to twirl the saber like a master swordsman, going behind his back, rolling the hilt around his neck, letting the deadly blades come perilously close to ending his life before expertly stopping the technique and reversing direction, all in one fluid motion.
Feeling quite satisfied and amazed with himself, he shut the lightsaber down and hung it from his belt. Cautiously, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was there, waiting to murder him again. The house was still empty, save for himself. Now feeling much safer, he automatically headed for one of the doors within the house, which he suspected to be a bedroom...
...His bedroom.

The room, made dirty only by the passage of time and the accumulation of layer upon layer of dust, was just as sparsely decorated as everything else he’d seen so far. There was a bed, a nightstand with an old lamp, and a trunk. Nothing more.
“Just like my room back at the base.” he said to himself.
Absentmindedly, he opened the small closet, expecting to find it empty. To his surprise, there hung several black garments very similar to the one he was wearing, though time had begun to cause the fabric to decay, leaving holes in the clothes.
“If my clothes are here,” he asked aloud, “then what’s in the trunk?”
He didn’t use his closet at the base; he’d always preferred his trunk. Apparently, the reverse had been true in his past life. He approached the trunk cautiously, wondering what he might find inside. Weapons, perhaps? Some sort of collection? A trap for nosy intruders?
“Yeah, that’s all I need to do, trigger a fifty some-odd year old trap that I set and kill myself...” he grumbled as he opened the trunk, being as careful as he could lifting the latch and lid.
It took a moment for the realization that his head hadn’t been blown off to sink in, and another few moments to realize that the contents of the trunk were only clothes.
Female clothes.
His wife?
Digging deeper into the trunk, he uncovered a picture frame with two pictures still inside. The first picture was of the child he’d seen earlier, the one he instinctively knew to be his son, attempting to give a smile. It didn’t quite come off as genuine, but the attempt was comical, even cute. The second picture...
It was himself, with a dark look in his eyes. He guessed he’d been having a bad day when this particular image was taken... Beside him stood a fairly tall woman with long blonde hair that seemed to flow as gently as a mountain stream. Her blue eyes sparkled, and she positively radiated beauty, both inner and outer. She was definitely a Hapan, had definitely been his wife, and again, he instinctively knew that she had loved him very much. He studied the image of her carefully, and, to his surprise, found himself mentally identifying the few resemblances she bore with their son. He smiled in spite of himself; it was so easy to think of them fondly, even though he didn’t really know either of them. Or, to be more precise, he didn’t really remember either of them. He knew that he’d remember all about them soon enough, and he looked forward to it, to finally having memories of a family. It was only one of the many things that he had been denied ever since waking up in that godforsaken pile of rubble over a year ago, but he felt it was one of the most important of things, if not the single most important thing.
He was starting to feel good about his past life and who he’d been. After all, a man with a wife so beautiful and loving, and such a handsome young son, had to be a wonderful person, didn’t he?
But still, there was one nagging voice in the back corner of his mind...
If you were such a wonderful person, then why does this house reek of darkness?

15 March 2004, 07:52 PM
Good story so far, Seghast. I'm enjoying it! So... what happens next? Don't keep us in suspense for too long now. ;) :)

15 March 2004, 11:41 PM
Well, I don't know if I'll ever finish it. That was as far as I got before I got so tangled up in working that I lost the time and interest in finishing it. I'm looking to see if anyone even thinks it's worth finishing.

It's reassuring to see at least one person enjoyed it. Whenever work slows down and I have the time I need to sit down, I might add more.

16 March 2004, 04:58 PM
Originally posted by Seghast
It's reassuring to see at least one person enjoyed it. Whenever work slows down and I have the time I need to sit down, I might add more.

Well, I know how things can get. I still hope you get to finish it one day, though. :)