I joined the Mabari order when I was still an adolescent. I know it sounds crazy. After all, it was the Mabari religion caused the oppression of Clawdites in the first place. Why would a Clawdite like me ever decide to join? Because I knew it was the only way out. In the Mabari order, I could learn combat and hone my skills of deceit and eventually, I knew I could work my way off of this Force-forsaken planet.
Naturally, this religion rarely allowed Clawdites as converts, so getting in required a good deal of lying. At least it wasn't hard blending in as a Zolan. Clawdites and Zolans are virtually identical, so I didn't even need to shape-shift. All I had to do was use a different name and act natural. It was that easy. At least, for the first few years it was. All of my lies seemed to fall together so perfectly back then.
During my beginning years in the order, I learned the basics of combat, the tenets of Mabari life, and I even became friendly with some of the other young recruits. I avoided those who were too outspoken of their hatred for Clawdites. I gravitated towards the more quiet, relatively peaceful ones who had actually joined because they believed they would be helping people. I figured that if they ever did find out that I was a Clawdite, they would be less likely to report me.
The trouble started in my teen years. That's when the war started. I know that sounds dramatic, but war wasn't unusual on Zolan. A war there was just a conflict that couldn't be solved in one battle. With the tensions between Zolans and Clawdites constantly on the rise, the planet was more often in a state of war than in one of peace. This one, however, was more volatile than any ones in recent memory. Battles were bloodier and increasingly frequent. Sometimes, I'd be expected to join the knights in battle against the Clawdites, but I always had some sort of an excuse to sit it out. It was a cowardly thing to do, to hide when your people were out there dying and I still have no excuse for my behavior.
Eventually, I gathered up enough courage to at least indirectly help my people. I started taking bounty-hunting jobs on criminals. I used what combat I had learned during my years to subdue my quarry. The other members of the Mabari order disapproved of my actions, but they didn't stop me. Whenever they questioned me about it, I told them I was a 'progressive.' Secretly, I was sending most of my pay to the Clawdite resistance to help them fund their part in the war. The rest, I saved as a way to get me off of the planet if I ever got my chance. None of the Mabari, not even those I considered my friends knew what I was doing.
Living this way wasn't easy. I'd hear of casualties on both sides of the war and I'd feel guilty for all of them. If it was a Clawdite that died, I always felt I'd let them down by working with the enemy. If it was a friendly Zolan that died, I'd feel that I had been responsible by helping the people they'd been fighting. I would've given anything for that war to end. It felt there was no way out for me.
A couple of years into the war, I was called to service for the side of the Zolans. I tried giving them the usual excuses, but they wouldn't take it. Reinforcements had been dwindling on both sides and everybody was desperate for new troops. I screamed, fought, and begged, but nobody paid any attention to my protests. I was given a blaster and dropped into the battlefield with the others, most of them battle-dodgers like me, who had tried to escape fighting in the war before being drafted.
The battlefield was a scene of utter chaos. Both sides were inexperienced and frightened. Blaster-fire filled the air and people fell on both sides. I stood to the side, clutching my blaster tightly, but as the battle wore on, I knew I had to pick a side. No matter what I had come to think of the Zolans, I knew that my true side was with my people. The Zolans were too shocked to react when I turned on them. People I had learned to trust, people who had come to trust me, I killed with learned precision. Because of me, the battle was a victory for the Clawdites. My people welcomed me back as a hero. The Zolans condemned me as a heartless murderer.
Everybody knew I couldn't stay. If I did, the Zolans would spare no expense in hunting me down. They wouldn't care who got in their way. They never did. Using the credits I had saved from my bounty-hunting jobs, I bought my way off the planet and escaped to Denon. I continued my job as a bounty hunter and assassin there. I killed countless people. Still, the only time I feel remorse for those I've killed is when I remember those who I betrayed in the war. The people I killed weren't just enemy soldiers. They were friends. They were just unfortunate enough to end up being friends with me. They didn't deserve their fate. May they rest in peace.