Hello, little man. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you. See, I was a good friend of your dad’s. We were in that Hoth pit of hell together over five years. Hopefully, you’ll never have to experience this yourself, but when two men are in a situation like me and your Dad were, for as long as we were, you take on certain responsibilities of the other. If it had been me who had not made it, Anakin Skywalker would be talking right now to whatever bastard I managed to squirt out over the years. But the way it turned out is I’m talking to you, Luke.
I got something for you.
This lightsaber I got here was nabbed by your great-daddy during the first Galactic War. It was won in a sabacc game in a seedy grunge bar over in Galactic City on Coruscant, made by the first jedi to ever make light sabers under a standard kyber crystal trade contract. Up till then people just carried pocket knives and stabbed the shit out of each other. It was won by laser cadet Spridel Skywalker on the day he set sail for Corellia. It was your great-grandfather’s light saber and he wore it every day he was in that war. When he had done his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the light saber, put it an old tihaar cask, and in that cask it stayed until your granddad Topher Skywalker was called upon by his planet to go off-world and murder bounty hunters. This time they called it the Great Bounty Hunter Purge. Your great-grandfather gave this light saber to your granddad for good luck.
Unfortunately, Topher's luck wasn’t as good as his old man’s. Topher was a Republic Army grunt and he was killed, along with the other grunts , in the Outer Rim. Your granddad was facing death, he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leaving that planetoid alive. So three days before the bounty hunters swarmed the region, your granddad asked a gunner on a junked up spice freighter named Dikdok Calrissian, a man he had never met before in his life, to deliver to his infant son, who he’d never seen in the flesh, his prized light saber. Three days later, your granddad was dead. But Calrissian kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his dad’s light saber.
This saber. This saber was on your daddy’s belt when he was shot down over Hoth. He was captured, dumped in a refurbished wampa cave prison camp. He knew if those Aa'kuan bastards ever saw the saber it’d be confiscated, taken away. The way your dad looked at it, that saber was your birthright. He’d be damned if any grunks were gonna put their greasy bantha-loving hands on his boy’s birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something. His ass.
Five long years, he wore this saber up his ass. Then he died of dysentery, he gave me the saber. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my own ass two long years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family, except they were all dead and I was stuck alone on this shithole of a desert planet with nothing to do but wait for you to show up.
And now, little man I give the saber to you.
