blah the Prussian

Chapter 8: So Many Vows* The flight to Coruscant was uneventful; for that, Qui-gon was thankful. They had informed the Spaceport they were coming; security was, as predicted, tight, as they made their descent. Almost as soon as they got off, Padme was whisked away by the Republican Guard; Qui-gon had gathered Obi-wan and Anakin as they walked down the landing ramp. "We have to-" he was saying, before a familiar face caught his eye. "Never mind. Obi-wan, take Anakin to the Jedi Temple. I'll join you in just a few minutes." As the crowd began to disperse(with even Owen and Beru going presumably to procure accommodations) Qui-gon strode towards the man he had seen. "Augustinias!" If misgivings about current circumstances entered into Qui-gon's mind, his voice didn't reflect that. "So good to see you again!" Count Augustinias Dock flashed a smile in response. "Likewise, my old apprentice. I heard your own Palawan recently made Knighthood? How long has it been since you got your braid cut, twenty years? Twenty-five?" "Well," Qui-gon responded, "I only hope I taught Obi-wan half as well as you taught me." "Oh no," Dooku shot back, "for you to teach him 1/4th as well should be quite enough." The pair laughed, remembering old times, pretending just for a moment that the world the two of them shared wasn't about to fall apart. "You know," the Count finally continued, "I'm actually quite glad I got to see you one last time. I was about to leave, for Naboo." The statement hung in the air. Qui-gon didn't have to say anything; Dooku had known the younger man long enough to recognize the sadness in his eyes. "I never wanted this," he declared. "I was looking for a diplomatic solution to the very end. But Valorum brought in those lunatics in the Empire Party, and..." Qui-gon asked a single question. "Why?" "Why?" Dooku asked incredulously. "You know why. Valorum's made a commitment to trample on due process to arrest his political opponents. The Republic's laws have proven to be bendable, so the Republic is dead." Qui-gon shook his head. "Not what I meant. Why leave the Jedi? Why leave your vows?" Dooku smiled, pacing up and down the landing pad. "So many vows they make you swear. Protect the people of the Galaxy. Defend the innocent. Uphold the law of the Republic and Senate. Don't let your emotions control you." He stopped, looking Qui-gon in the eye. "But what if the Senate and the Republic are killing innocents? What then?" "Dathomir," Qui-gon said flatly. "When the Senate sent a bunch of Star Destroyers to burn Zabrak children in their homes because some natives that hadn't even developed gunpowder were too much for the oh-so-mighty Stormtrooper legions," Dooku spat out in disgust, "the Jedi chose their vows to the Republic over their vows to the people of the Galaxy. They chose wrong. So I left. And now-" at this he swept his cloak towards the hulking silhouette of the Senate Building to accentuate his point- "the man who destroyed an entire culture is the second most powerful person in the Galaxy. I don't care if we invaded Naboo, and I don't care who shot first. The Separatists are the lesser of two evils, so I'm fighting for them." For the first time in decades, Qui-gon felt acute and genuine sadness. Whatever part of him wasn't every inch the perfect Jedi Knight(and every Jedi had that part, even Master Yoda) was screaming at him in anguish; he was about to lose the man who had essentially been his father forever. Finally, he managed: "I wish it didn't have to end like this." "It doesn't!" Dooku exclaimed, a desperate edge to his voice that disturbed Qui-gon more than he could explain. "Come with me. Leave this corrupted order, take your Apprentice too. You're- you're too good of a man to die for some upjumped aspiring tyrant." Qui-gon was surprised by how much he wanted to take his old master up. But no- he couldn't betray the Order. "And you," he responded, "are too good of a man to die for some corrupt businessman who care more about greed than principle. I'm sorry, Master. But there's still good in this Republic, and it's the duty of good men like us to make sure it triumphs. I won't run away." "Well then." Dooku was obviously trying to hide the devastation he felt. "This is it, I suppose." He walked towards his private luxury transport, a Solar Sailer, before turning one last time to his former Apprentice. "I would wish this wasn't the last time we saw each other, but..." Qui-gon understood. He said the only thing that mattered. "It was an honor being your Padawan." Dooku nodded back. "It was an honor being your master." They stared at each other, until the Solar Sailer's ramp fully lifted. Qui-gon watched the Solar Sailer slowly lift up before flying into the blackness of space, a shadow against Coruscant's almost-risen sun. When the dot disappeared for good, he turned away, beginning the journey to the Jedi Temple. It was apparent to Obi-wan that Anakin had never seen a megacity before. To be fair, Obi-wan himself had been rather impressed when he had first seen it, too. In the city center, some skyscrapers were literally as tall as mountains. Towering above it all were the Galactic Senate, surrounded by a massive square as big as a small city in its own right, and the spires of the Jedi Temple. "What's it like, living here?" Obi-wan was startled by the question. He, too, was absentmindedly gazing at the city skyline; somehow, he never really tired of it. "Confusing," he finally responded. "There's so much to do here you could never see it all, not even in a lifetime. Our public transport is also a virtual maze. Of course, there's also basically everything you could want here." They were now passing through the Aristocrat's district. "No," Anakin persisted, "I mean being a Jedi. A Padawan. Whatever." "Well," Obi-wan mused. "I suppose it depends on your Master. I'm lucky; Qui-gon is a great man and a great teacher, and I imagine you'll get him as well. Apparently Master Windu's a hardass, though." Anakin looked taken aback. "Are you allowed to- you know..." "What, swear?" Obi-wan hadn't really considered it. "Yes. Why wouldn't we be? I mean, I guess the Fundamentalist faction is trying to get that banned too, but no one listens to them. The only thing they fear more than the Dark Side of the Force is the worry that someone, somewhere, might be enjoying themselves." At this he cracked a smile. Anakin chuckled slightly. "So what do I have to do to become a Padawan?" "Well," Obi-wan responded, in truth not wanting to relive some of it himself, "first, of course, the Council has to approve you. Then you have to construct a Lightsaber. Then you- here I go, forgetting it myself." Anakin was turning pale. "Oh, you'll be fine!" Obi-wan slapped the boy on the back; I'm only 6 years older than him, a bit young to be a mentor, he thought in the back of his mind. Fortunately, that wouldn't be his job. As the transport touched down at the Jedi Temple, a dark skinned man with a bald head strode out to join them. Master Windu. Mace Windu was certainly impressive, muscular and athletic despite his advanced age. "Knight Kenobi." Obi-wan bowed his head slightly, as was customary to a higher-ranking member of the Order. Gesturing to a pair of younger Knights, he said: "Show young Skywalker to his quarters. Knight Kenobi, we'll wait for the arrival of Master Qui-gon. You may then present your case before the council." Padme's father released her from the hug after five minutes. She didn't mind; her father had honestly never hugged her like that before. After mother had died, Valorum had focused all his energy on the Senate. It was... good to see he still cared. She stepped back slightly, and looked her father in the eye. "Is it true? Will there be war?" Chancellor Valorum nodded, gravely but not regretfully. "It was unavoidable. There was always going to be a war once the Separatists invaded a member state of the Republic. They had the nerve to fire on a Republic diplomatic mission. They must be broken, for the future of the galaxy." Padme nodded; his rationale, after all, did make sense. "And the Empire Party? Palpatine?" "A useful tool." Valorum waved his hand dismissively. "But nothing more. They're demagogues without an actual plan; they're no threat. What they will do is direct the urban poor's ire at the Separatists, giving us time to solve their problems." He walked to the window, surveying the city skyline. "This will determine how history sees me. We must win this war." Padme moved next to her father. "Is there anything I can do?" Valorum smiled. "Actually, yes. I have a very specific request. You've heard of the Kingdom of Alderaan, yes?" Padme had; it would have represented a monumental failure on the part of the best tutors in the galaxy otherwise. "One of the protectorates of the Republic, famed for its economic strength, yes?" "Exactly." Valorum moved away from the window. "Having Alderaan on our side would make the war significantly easier. So I've taken steps to bring them into the fold." He pulled up a hologram of a somewhat handsome, bearded man who looked slightly older than Padme. "This is Crown Prince Marcus Organa of Alderaan. You are to marry him." *With apologies to George R. R. Martin

Chapter 7: The Coalition The blur of millions of planets and stars surrounded them, creating a tunnel of brilliant blue. Tatooine had been nothing but a bright tan speck when they had jumped to hyperspace, bound for Dantooine, and then- the Core Worlds. Now, after only an hour of travel, it was an eternity away. Anakin somehow still hadn't tired of looking out into space from the Lavender Ghost's common room. He heard the door open behind him, then close. Turning around, he saw Qui-gon sit down across the table from him. Finally, the Jedi spoke. "At the Podrace. You did that, didn't you?" Anakin swallowed, before meeting Qui-gon's stare. "Yeah." Silence ensued. Anakin opened his mouth again, before Qui-gon's raised hand cut him off. "I understand why you did it," the Jedi reassured. "I'm not even going to say you shouldn't have. But you need to know-" Anakin knew where this was going. "You said the Jedi were one way to experience the Force." Qui-gon smiled faintly. "Perceptive. Yes, the Jedi are indeed one way to experience the Force. We connect to it by controlling our emotions, by being at peace. But there is another side- the Dark Side." At this, he stood up, returning, perhaps unconsciously, to how he taught Obi-wan all those years ago. "In the early days of the Republic and the Jedi, when our understanding of the Force was still limited, the Republic, then only controlling the Core Worlds, came under attack by another spacefaring people: the Rakata Infinite Empire. Winning battle after battle, the Rakata threatened Coruscant itself. And so, the Senate, in desperation, voluntarily relinquished power to the leader of the Jedi Order, a man named Vitiate, making him Emperor. Vitiate feared the Republic's destruction, and he hated the Rakata, who threatened to enslave him and everyone like him. So he drew on these emotions, and won. With every victory, he became more and more powerful. Eventually, he destroyed the Rakata forever. But the use of these powers took a terrible toll. Some say that his embracing of his anger, fear, and hate was enough. Others argue that whatever was on the Rakata homeworld was the last straw. Whatever the truth..." "He was corrupted by power," Anakin finished, "and he refused to step down as Emperor?" "Well," Qui-gon replied, "he and his followers justified it by calling the traditionalist Jedi weak; they argued that the Jedi, to be effective defenders, needed to remain trained in what was coming to be known as the Dark Side. But yes." He nodded. "He didn't want to give up his power. The Jedi who still embraced the light revolted, along with many citizens of the galaxy who didn't want to replace the tyranny of the Rakata with that of the Emperor. And eventually, they won. Vitiate and his followers retreated into the unknown region, bearing a new name: the Sith." "So was that man... Vitiate?" Anakin asked. Qui-gon smiled despite himself. "No, no. If that was Vitiate, we'd be dead. No, he wasn't the first Sith, nor the last. Many, many Jedi have been seduced by the easy path to power, to victory. Darth Revan, for example; the greatest admiral the Republic has ever known became its greatest enemy when he used the Dark Side to win the Second Mandalorian War. What you need to remember is this." At this he leaned in to Anakin, resting a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder. "These men never set out to become tyrants and monsters. They were motivated by noble intentions. Save the Republic, bring the Mandalorians to justice... escape slavery." At this he stood up. "What you did wasn't wrong. But you need to understand where it leads. The power you gain in the pursuit of a noble goal will consume you as it has many others, until power is an end in itself, not the means." He opened the door. "I promise, Anakin, that as your master, I will keep you from this path. No one is destined for one path, or the other- we'll choose the right way, together." Anakin was left alone in the room, as the ship sailed through hyperspace. The night of the Galactic Elections had been the worst night of Anders Valorum's night. The fact that this was probably the most decisive election in the history of the Republic since the Third Mandalorian War certainly didn't help. Indeed, Valorum's life work- breaking the power of the corporations that made up the Separatist Alliance- hinged on the election. But the fact that his daughter, his only child, who he had watched grow up, was lost in the Outer Rim- that was the real reason his night had been spent obsessively checking his hologram projector every minute. The sleepless night had taken its toll. It was all Valorum could do to keep from drifting to sleep in his office chair. And then, as dawn was breaking over Coruscant, his device beeped, projecting the results of the election against the wall of the Valorum manor. With resigned moan equal parts exhaustion and frustration, Valorum had hurled the projector off his balcony. Conservative Party: 35%. Separatist Party: 35%. Empire Party: 30%. The Chancellor regarded Sheev Palpatine through heavy eyes, as the other man sat across an ornate table that had been in the family since some war or another. The other man's face was painted with a subtle, yet self-satisfied smirk that made Valorum want to blow up a planet. "Senator Palpatine," Valorum began, "Let me be the first to congratulate you on your party's stunning success in this election; for a third party to win so much, and even a massive majority on Coruscant, is quite impressive." Indeed it was; Populist parties had advocated for a return to Empire many, many times before, but none had ever won more than 1% of the Senate seats. Valorum almost wished Palpatine would interrupt him, dispensing with the formalities and getting down to business. Instead, the other man simply leaned back, smirk ever-present, and watched the most powerful man in the galaxy try and fail to pretend to be a gracious loser. "It is often necessary," the Chancellor continued, "for two groups with opposing viewpoints to put their differences aside and act together, for the good of the Republic." Pausing to force the words out, he continued: "It would be an honor and a privilege to invite the Empire Party to join us as partners in a new political coalition." There it was. The first coalition in centuries. For the aristocracy of Coruscant to join with populist demagogues- but no, it would be unpleasant, but needed. A coalition between them would yield an absolute majority of 65%, which under the Constitution of the Republic allowed for automatic passage of legislation. When the galaxy was united again his sacrifice would be worth it. Palpatine, ever the benevolent victor, bowed his head graciously. "I thank you for the great honor, Chancellor." When he wasn't giving a speech, the man's voice remained strong, and yet was somewhat- comforting, Valorum supposed was the word. "Indeed, nothing would please me more than to join you in this project to restore justice to our Republic. Of course, we wish to be true partners in this endeavor..." his voice trailed off meaningfully. This was to be expected, and Valorum was prepared for it. "You will of course be consulted in all legislation and have a role in government-" "We want one thing," Palpatine countered, all traces of the smirk now gone. "An assurance that the first act of our government will be to authorize a special tribunal to prosecute all leaders of the Separatist Alliance for corruption and treason." Valorum paled. "That would mean war!" "War is coming whether you spring it now or not," Palpatine retorted, "and I'm your only path to an unquestioned wartime government." Valorum had to admit, he had a point. He was about to nod, before Palpatine continued. "And one more thing. I want control over the ministry of war. I am, after all, the only candidate for the job with military experience. I was the one who brought Dathomir to heel." Palpatine stared at Valorum matter-of-factly, as if challenging the man to contradict him. It was a sound argument. Palpatine's 13th Fleet had brought the costly Dathomir campaign to a swift end. Although... "Some would say genocide," the Chancellor retorted. "But," he hastily added, "I accept your offer. We stand together for the Republic." They shook hands, and Palpatine exited the room, no longer bothering to hide the smirk. Valorum leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he had doomed the Republic. The front of his mind, though, could no longer put up resistance against the exhaustion from his sleepless night. Sleep took him. Count Dooku had greeted the news with dismay and fury. He had thought Valorum to be a good man, if misguided, truly committed to what he saw as the best course for the Republic to take. But this? Valorum had gotten into bed with demagogic thugs in order to enforce his political will. He had, rather than fighting the Authoritarians, coopted their movement into his damnable coalition. The Republic, Dooku decided, was dead. Viceroy Nute Gunray seemed equal parts excited and terrified. "Order your Clone Army to reinforce Naboo," Dooku was saying to the Viceroy. "It's the gateway to the Outer Rim and I want it to hold for as long as possible." Above him, a flight of luxury ships screamed ahead. If it wasn't the herald of civil war, the mass exodus of the Separatist Senators from Coruscant would have made for an amusing sight. Literally thousands of rich businessmen boarding their yachts, all headed for Naboo. The Chancellor wouldn't be able to draft a law allowing for their arrests for several days, so Dooku had no qualms about staying here. "One more thing," he remembered. "Tell General Shaleel to expand our chain of command; we aren't fighting Hutt anymore." He switched off the hologram, and got on his speeder, bound for Coruscant's spaceport- possibly for the last time.

Yeah, exactly, in the long run it evens out. Anyway, @Kalken, first off, the sources you've cited are from a site called Islamwiki or whatever, which based on looking into it seems to have an anti-Islam agenda. As for the origins of terrorism, it was due to a mixture of the failures of the West(and USSR) and the failures of native Arab rulers, particularly the secular Arab nationalism of Nasser. The consistent failure of these ideologies led to the rise of the likes of Khomeini and the adoption of Islamist ideas by men like Saddam. I'd also love to see your thoughts on the arguments I've already put forth, given that you've made two posts without addressing them and I've reminded you once.

@Kalken Also, didn't mention it earlier but it doesn't matter what the Quran said because we're talking about the impact of Islam. As to slaves, slavery was present in Arab society long before Islam; the religion was mounded by the existing society.

They aren't as represented in terrorism against the Western world, but that hardly means that they aren't represented in terrorism. The assassins of Mohandas Gandhi, for example, were Hindu extremists angered by the creation of Pakistan, and the Hindutva movement continues to perpetrate violence against Muslims in India and is quasi-Fascist. Again, this isn't against the West because they stopped having issues with the West after the end of the Raj, but it is there. As to Hindu wars of religion, my god, pick a number. The Mughal-Maratha Wars come to mind, but India's history has been rife with conflict between Hindus and Muslims and the Hindus have been hardly innocent in this. Of course, Hinduism was often not the root cause of this, but, as I'll get to, neither was Christianity or Islam for their religion's wars. Virtually nothing in the Quran is reliable as a source on Mohammed. You have to remember that everything that he did was passed down orally for two generations before the first Muslim historians wrote them down. Regardless, it's hard to describe Mohammed as a "warlord" at least initially. I can guarantee you, however, that the Arabs still would have invaded the Byzantine East and Sassanid Persia, because both had just finished fighting a long and devastating war with each other. The Arabs were a raiding people, and saw weakness; that had much, much more to do with the early expansion of the Caliphate than did Islam. It's also worth noting that after the Arabs conquered the Byzantine East and the Sassanids their borders coalesced mostly around what is now the Islamic world. They launched raids against their neighbors from France to China, but ultimately didn't commit to expansion in any direction except towards Constantinople. If they were a bunch of Jihadi zealots they wouldn't have stopped; instead they were people who expanded in the face of weakness and stopped when they found strength, much like any other Empire. (sidenote about Jizya- there was a tax that non Muslims had to pay, but on the other hand Muslims also had to pay a special tax into state public services; non-Muslims didn't have to contribute to this, so it evened out) To say the Thirty Years War was caused by religion is the lazy explanation designed to prove a political point but it ignores what was really going on. The Protestant Reformation came at a time when the House of Hapsburg was consolidating their control over the Holy Roman Empire; Protestantism found acceptance among sovereigns who were opposed to the interests of Rome and Vienna. So, as the Northern German princes began to form the Protestant League they did so not because they were zealots who wanted to force their beliefs on others but because Protestantism was an excellent way to identify yourself as an enemy of the Empire's centralization. For the Emperor to enforce Catholicism, meanwhile, was an excellent tool to exert Imperial dominance, as happened when Rudolf II's edict allowing the Czechs freedom to practice Protestantism was revoked. Thus the Thirty Years War was less a religious war and more a war about the centralization of the Holy Roman Empire. For further evidence: Catholic France sided with the Protestants, because France didn't want a centralized HRE. This is true of many conflicts ostensibly about religion; there are almost always deeper elements at work. Overall a mistake that a lot of people make when thinking about history is adopting the idea that people in the past were idiots. This was not the case. People in the past weren't a bunch of fanatical lunatics frothing at the mouth to burn the infidels; they were normal people with earthly concerns for whom religion was just a part of life, and often a convenient political tool.

There isn't a Hindu ISIS because there's only one Hindu country, India. Not a big enough sample size. Buddhism, though, does have blood on its hands from Myanmar. In any case, it's not useful to say a religion is "prone to violence" as if this were a math equation when religious violence is Farley consistently cause don't by factors well beyond the religion itself.

Don't get me started on Tankies. I've had one who said that the Soviet invasion of Poland in WWII was simply to save the Poles from Nazi Germany. Speaking of Marxists, the idea that Trotsky represented the good side of Communism is as common as it is inaccurate. Trotsky shared many of Stalin's policies, such as Collectivization, which Stalin initially opposed to sideline Trotsky but then adopted once Trotsky was silence to crush his former ally Bukharin. If you want a genuinely Democratic Socialist USSR Bukharin is probably your best bet, yet so few know of him largely because of Trotsky's influence on the Latin American Revolutionary scene.

Hoo boy, several. Leading up to the release of Xenoblade 2 someone called me a Nazi because I disliked Pyra's design. This is distressingly common, even among amateur historians, but comparing the situation leading up to the fall of the Roman Empire to the present day is absolutely moronic. I've seen the argument that The Handmaid's Tale is appropriating African-American's experiences with slavery when depicting the living conditions of slaves which ignores the fact that Black people weren't the only people to be enslaved. Just the other day I saw a video thumbnail calling Prince Zuko the best written character of all time, which, given the sheer weight of incredibly written characters throughout the history of literature, seems rather doubtful. Don't get me started on rivalries within the ASOIAF fandom, the War of the Five Kings is constantly being fought on the internet.

Those visual novels should not exist. Really that simple. Anyway, it depends on the game. If it's something like Call of Duty, historical accuracy is to be preferred, but it's hardly a major issue if some details are incorrect. I'm not going to throw a hissy fit if they get the SS Totenkopf uniform wrong. If the game is supposed to simulate history, though, like most Paradox games and the Total War series, historical inaccuracy is a big issue. For example, in Rome: Total War, Ptolemaic Egypt uses units from Ancient Egypt; this is a real issue, as the game is supposed to simulate warfare in that period. Basically, historical accuracy is absolutely needed only when the game's goal is to simulate the period. If the era is a framing device, though, minor inaccuracies are acceptable so long as there isn't anything egregious.

Chapter 6: The Lights of Coruscant The recorded Hologram of Qui-gon Jinn towered over the Senate floor; Count Dooku had never been so displeased to see his former comrade. Qui-gon was one of the last hopes of the order, Dooku had always thought, and yet here he was, sending the Galaxy closer to war. Then again, Dooku reflected, we're hardly blameless in this. Not for the first time, he cursed the rashness of Nute Gunray. "This is where we stand," Mace Windu declared from his position on the Senate Floor, as the hologram switched off. "A Republic diplomatic mission containing two Jedi Knights has been attacked. It is not the place of the Jedi to interfere in the politics of the Republic, so what the Senate does with this information is up to them. However, this seems to be fairly transparent aggression, in fact treason, on the part of the Separatist Alliance." "Serious charges," the Chair of the Senate, Mas Amedda, mused, standing besides Chancellor Valorum(his face pale, presumably over his daughter). "How do you answer these, Count Dooku?" All eyes turned to him. "We still have no idea as to what exactly happened to spark a confrontation," the Count declared; he had been preparing this argument from the moment Gunray told him of events on Naboo. "Before the Senate jumps to conclusions, it would be wise to launch a full-scale investigation into the matter. This way, the Senate may make an informed decision in regards to this crisis." "Are there any-" Amedda began, but was cut off as a new voice filled the chamber. Palpatine. "We all know what an investigation would find!" the Senator shouted, as a murmur of assent rose from much of the Chamber. "The Republic's investigators would be payed off, like they were when every human in the Outer Rim was laid off in favor of Clones, like they are every year in Mos Eisley, like they did when they 'proved' that your Clones are only used for manual labor, like they have been whenever the rich and powerful come under investigation. This will be solved when the illegal private armies of the Separatists are dissolved and their leaders are in prison for treason and corruption, and not a moment before!" The chamber descended into a roar, everyone yelling at everyone else; and yet, somehow, Palpatine's voice, more of a bellow now, rose over it all. "Money and the Law are the weapons of the rich and corrupt! THE TRUTH IS MINE!" Mos Eisley's cantina, Obi-wan had decided, was not doing much to improve his opinion of the city. Some band was making a ruckus on the cantina's central dias; the Jedi was no expert, but he presumed that the chunks of Bantha meet being thrown were not a sign of a positive reception. Weaving his way through the congested crowd, he got the attention of the Rodian barkeep. "Excuse me, do you know where I can find a pilot for hire?" "Y poona no ma shindo! Nani no waka ani posla ni spatna!" Unbelievable. The one being in the galaxy who doesn't speak basic, and he works in this bar. "I- oh, never mind!" Obi-wan turned away from the bar in frustration. Just as he was about to ask people face to face(an awkward proposition to be sure) he felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning, he was greeted by an older man, in his mid thirties, whose grin called to mind countless holonet advertisements. "Looking for a ship to Coruscant?" the man asked. "I think I have just the thing." "Splendid!" Obi-wan tried not to show his relief. "Can I ask your name?" "Yeah, sure," the pilot responded, his eyes already scanning the cantina for a table. "Owen Lars." Anakin held his mother tightly as the pair stood outside their shack. "I'm sorry," he said, guilt eating at him, "I couldn't get you out." "Don't say that." Tears rolled down Shmi Skywalker's face as she stroked her son's hair. "The Force has granted us such a boon by freeing you. I'm getting old, I can barely take care of you. You're strong in the Force, you can be a Jedi, you have your whole life ahead of you. Don't you ever feel guilty on my behalf. Promise me." The Force let us be slaves in the first place, a voice in the back of his head whispered. He ignored it. "I promise. I promise this isn't the end. As soon as I get enough money on Coruscant, I'm coming back for you. I'm coming back for all of you. Watto, even Jabba- I'll free every slave they have." His mother looked up at him, smiling ear to ear. "I couldn't ask for a better son." Qui-gon and Padme were waiting back out on the streets. "So now we should head to the Cantina," Padme was saying. "I hope Obi-wan's found a pilot." Qui-gon nodded in silence. "I call her the Lavender Ghost," Owen declared proudly. They were seated across from each other at a booth in the Cantina. A somewhat younger woman sat next to Owen; presumably his girlfriend- Beru, Obi-wan thought her name was. "She was a heavy bomber used in the Zabrak war; I bought her in an antique shop after the model was replaced by your standard-issue TIE Bomber. This thing might be old, but I tell you, it can sure fly! This one could cross the space between two fleets at the First Battle of Dathomir in less than twelve parsecs!" Obi-wan stared back, blankly. Beru rolled her eyes. "Owen, a parsec is a unit of distance. If you're going to lie, at least lie believably." "Don't listen to her," Owen sputtered, trying to save face. "Look, you need to get somewhere, all the other pilots here are aliens, you can trust me!" "And what do you mean by that?" Obi-wan asked, raising his eyebrows. Owen realized his error. "I didn't mean anything by it," he said hastily. "Just... you know... you're obviously not from here, I'm not from here, I won't sell you as a slave to Jabba!" Obi-wan supposed the man wasn't wrong. "We can offer you 15,000 credits up front," he said, not wanting to waste any more time. The man's eyes lit up. "You got yourself a deal." He remembered his master's words. "The Force is your tool. You have only to seize it." His eyes closed. "They took everything from you. Everything but hate." The mass of metal hung over their village, blotting out the sun. "Your hate is your strength. Use it." Fire rained down on them, like it was the end of the world. Their catapults were useless. He felt a hand grabbing him, dragging him away from the burning wreckage of his home. His mother had been there. His sister had been in there. Why was father pulling him away? He had to help them. "You were weak then. You couldn't save them because you didn't hate. Never forget how it was to be weak. Never forget, that you may avenge them." His father left him in the underbrush of the jungles, waiting with their prize hunting knife. It bounced off the armor of the men in white like a pathetic leaf. They pointed their black sticks; father fell, like it was nothing. He dared not move. He lay there for hours, looking into his father's glassy eyes. "I'm the only one who can make you what you need to be." He saw clearly. Mos Eisley. Three people moving towards the docks. One more, in a Cantina. Jedi. His hand clenched around his weapon. There would be no mistakes this time. They met Obi-wan in the Spaceport, flanked by a man and women in pilot's outfits. The man walked forwards, hand extended. "Owen Lars, veteran pilot. A pleasure to fly you." Qui-gon took his hand dispassionately. "Can I ask where the ship is?" Padme asked. "Oh, the ship?" Owen replied. "Yeah, it's back there." He jerked his thumb behind him. The Lavender Ghost was certainly... interesting. It had standard TIE Fighter wings, but they extended far back, surrounding quite a long hull. Two turrets protected the roof and underbelly of the craft. Obi-wan caught his former master's eye, as if to ask 'is this okay?' Qui-gon nodded back; he could feel the dark presence getting closer. In fact... The Jedi whirled around, igniting his lightsaber, only barely blocking the red blade of a dark-cloaked figure. A Sith. The man backstopped before launching a flurry of blows with his lightsaber, each blow harder to block than the last. He's better than me, Qui-gon realized, to his mounting horror. How could we allow this to happen? "Obi-wan," he barked, already sensing his former apprentice coming to his aid. "Get Padme and Anakin to safety! Remember the mission!" Anything more was cut off by the relentless fury of his assailant's attack. Desperately, he tried to back off, dodging his opponent's lightsaber and regaining some momentum. The Sith shifted to a flurry of stabs, forcing Qui-gon to remain on the defensive, knocking each blow away. Suddenly, the Sith leapt into a backflip, landing with catlike grace in a crouch. An instant later, a laser blast sailed over Qui-gon's head, throwing up a cloud of dust. Beru manned the ship's upper cannon, sending bolt after bolt towards the Sith; his lightsaber blocked shot after shot, sending them careening into buildings. Owen stood on the landing ramp. "Get in, now!" He bellowed. Qui-gon didn't have to be told twice. The makeshift freighter lifted off of Tatooine. The last thing Qui-gon saw of the planet was the man just standing there, staring after them. Qui-gon was sure, to his dread, that this was not the last time they'd see this man. The hologram did nothing to suppress the bombast of Wat Tambor, Chairman of the Techno Union and leader of the Separatist's Hardliner faction, as he made his case. "We have Senators threatening to send us to prison," he was saying, gesturing wildly. "At this point war is necessary for self-defense!" Dooku, seated in his penthouse, saw to his dismay several of the other Separatist leaders on the hologram call nodding in agreement. "Think about what you're saying," Dooku said, keeping his tone neutral. "War won't benefit us. It would ruin all chance to reform the Republic from within. It would cut into our profits and we might end up destroyed forever." "Bah!" Tambor's mechanical frame heaved with incredulity. "We won't end up destroyed! We have infinite troops, against what? An army that struggled to defeat some Zabraks? We'll be in Coruscant in a month!" It was a testament to the Count's self control that his exasperated grimace remained mostly imperceptible. Does this idiot really intend to take Coruscant? And once he takes it, then what? Madness. Madness and stupidity. He said: "Let's wait for the election. They might not get enough seats to push for it. There's still hope for peace." Tambor didn't protest, probably because he knew it was a false hope. After what the Separatists pulled, they'd be lucky to win any worlds outside the Outer Rim, where their Clones could harass voters unopposed. Still, it was something, anything, to put off war. "Very well!" The Chairman of the Techno Union looked pleased with himself, sitting back on his throne-like chair. "Tomorrow, I suppose, we know if there will be war!" Both men knew the answer to that question. The holograms flickered out, and Dooku leaned back in his chair, staring from his penthouse out at the city that, despite everything, he had grown to love. All around him, lights were flickering out, as the city went to sleep. Dooku doubted he'd do the same; this was the most important night of his life, and probably the most important night in galactic history for centuries. The lights are going out across the galaxy. I hope I'll see them again in my lifetime.

The UK, France, Germany, Sweden, etc. have all been excellent at integrating their immigrants before the refugee crisis. Now, though, they're taking in a huge number; we can cut them some slack if their integration is going down.

Oh no, it's just a ha fished WWI metaphor with no real validity. Although I can say that Mor Ardain has little to no resemblance to any actual Scottish government or culture in history; it very much is an amalgamation of Germany and Austria-Hungary, with some of Rome thrown in with the element of the Senate.

I mean, there's a side quest where you basically destroy the Black Hand with glorious Hapsburg Ladair might. Gormott is Bosnia. Uraya is France, Indol is Italy, Tantal is the United Kingdom, etc. Argentum is Switzerland. And then Torna are the Bolsheviks or something.

Okay, no joke though, I am more patriotic for Mor Ardain than I've probably ever been for any real country. I genuinely appreciate Monolith Soft so much for making an Empire with an Imperial Germany/Austro-Hungary aesthetic not be just generic Nazi ripoffs. Plus, Morag is IMO one of the only female characters with an actively good design(I don't know if her hat is intentionally an Austro-Hingarian Hussar Captain hat but it sure looks like it) as it wasn't sexualized, which of course is why she's my newest Monarchist/video game crush.

Chapter 5: The Podrace "Clear your mind." Anakin Skywalker sat cross legged in the sand, his eyes closed. Qui-gon paced next to him, the moonlight washing over both of them. Technically, he wasn't supposed to be doing this. The Jedi, after all, required that a child be younger than ten to begin training; it was reasoned that introducing children to the Force as they were going through puberty could have negative effects, and admitting adults caused the risk of infiltration. Training one outside of the Order, of course, was strictly prohibited; it was in the interests of both the Order and the Republic that the Jedi maintain a monopoly on Force users. Still, though... The idea we have a monopoly on Force users died on Naboo. If it's returning... the Order needs one of his potential, whether the rules allow it or not. The orders of Anakin's makeshift Master came as quite a challenge for his chaotic mind. Images swirled around him, with no rhyme or reason. He was familiar with some... Watto's snarl, the Republic Inspector avoiding eye contact, Sebulba with his pole. There were new images, though, ones he'd never thought he'd see. Two Jedi Knights. The Chancellor's daughter, in whom he'd confided more than he ever had to anyone. More than anything, though, he saw the power of the Force. He saw the one who made his life a living hell be dominated by this power. It seemed to call to him, offering what he'd lacked since Watto and the Inspector had shown him what the Republic's peace truly meant: hope. He forced them down, down, out of sight. The tension in his body released. Qui-gon's footsteps stopped. Silence filled the air. After what felt like hours, the boy heard: "Good. Now. What do you see?" He saw... everything he had ever known. A herd of Banthas, trudging through the desert, looking for some of the last watering holes on the planet. One of them, an older one, could no longer take it, and sunk to the ground, the herd moving on. Soon enough, a pair of Dewbacks were fighting over the corpse. The skull of a Krayt Dragon overlooked them, a relic of a bygone age before Tatooine's desertification had driven life to the brink. "Death. I see death." Qui-gon smiled faintly. "Look again." A pair of small, rat-like creatures dug their tusks into the sand, pulling out roots. As they scarfed down their findings, the Jedi continued. "Everything changes. Mos Eisley, if fossil records are to be believed, was once a rainforest. What we see here are relics of a bygone age. But life finds a way. Those small creatures down there will become Tatooine's dominant species a million years from now. This is life, this is the Force. We're all part of it, and it's much bigger than we ever will be." "Wait-" Anakin was sensing something new, and yet somehow familiar. It felt hot and swirling, like a vortex. His eyes shot open. Qui-gon was staring off into the distance, concern slowly dawning on his face. "I feel it too," he said. "We need to go inside. This is more complex than I ever anticipated." Beep. Beep. Beep. The noise was brought to a halt by a mechanical voice: Your Holocomm 15 has been unable to establish a connection with another device! Ending attempt. Somehow, Padme thought, the artificial cheeriness is the worst thing of all. "That was the fourth time we've called them," she said tautly, leaning back onto the only chair the Skywalker owned. Privately, she was fighting desperately to ignore the growing sensation of panic building in her. How can this be happening? "It would be extremely unwise to try to return to the ship." That was Obi-wan; he leaned against the wall, his brow furrowed with concern. "We're going to have to find another way off the planet," Qui-gon confirmed. Turning to Anakin(he figured something like this concerned the boy as well) he asked, "Is there any other way off this planet?" "Yeah, the Cantina usually has like 5 pilots who you could get." Midway through the sentence Anakin tried and failed to suppress the mix of panic and realization that swept across his face. A silence descended upon the room. Eventually, Padme asked the inevitable question. "Can we... can we afford that? I think I have 15,000 credits with me. The rest are in the ship." As good as lost. "A ship to Coruscant is about 12,000," Anakin replied dully, looking visibly deflated. Slamming his fist into the wall, he vocalized what everyone was thinking: "I'm never getting off this planet." "Don't say that." Qui-gon spoke gently, but firmly. "I made a promise that I wouldn't leave the planet without you." "Ideally, though," Obi-wan spoke up, "we'd leave the planet at all. Whatever's here, it's stronger in the Dark Side than anything since the last Revan War. So tell me," he asked, turning to Anakin, "how does one escape slavery?" Anakin, seemingly rejuvenated by Qui-gon's promise, replied: "Well, I can think of one way. It's a long shot, though." "You'd what?" Watto had likely never been confronted with such a strange sight. A richly adorned woman, more beautiful than any he had ever seen, some old man in robes, and next to them, Anakin. "I'd like to enter the Podrace," the boy confirmed. "I've done test flights on them before, I know how they work." Watto crossed his arms, deciding to humor the boy. "And what will you be betting?" Anakin looked his owner in the eye. "Freedom. For myself and my mother." "Hahahahaha!" Watto burst out laughing. Apparently, the kid had a sense of humor after all. "You know, I could get some money from you as comedian! But, seriously, what are you betting?" "He's being serious." This was the beautiful woman. "We're prepared to offer this in exchange." She took out a hologram transmitter, and pulled up an image of a large ship. "Turbolasers, hyperspace-capable, worth millions of credits. All for one boy and his mother." Watto pretended(poorly) that the offer didn't interest him. "Ah well," he said lazily, "you know, it's interesting, but I think I want to keep the mother. How's this: you get your freedom, then you buy her from me later?" Anakin looked taken aback, but the man with him nodded. "We'll take it," he said. Watto clapped his hands. "Wonderful! A Podracer is provided at the track! Well, good luck!" As the group walked away, Watto snickered to himself. There was no way some rookie would beat a pro like Sebulba his first time. That ship could easily pay protection money and bribes for the rest of his life. They didn't know what they were throwing away. "I'm very sorry about this, Anakin," Qui-gon was saying as they walked away from Watts's shop, "but unfortunately we can't afford to negotiate. Not with a potential hostile Force user on the planet. You'll get enough money to free your mother in no time, I promise." Anakin tried to hide his frustration. I should be grateful, he reasoned; this would seem like a dream to him only yesterday. Somehow, though, it rang hollow. "Of course," Qui-gon continued, "you do have to win. We no longer have a ship to offer." "I've been on test drives through the Mos Eisley course hundreds of times," Anakin reassured. "How hard can it be?" Famous last words, Padme thought, biting back the words. Anakin had never seen the Mos Eisley Podrace stadium so packed before. Slaves, after all, weren't allowed to watch Podraces. The Hutts, though, when making the unofficial law code that ruled Tatooine, had neglected to specify that they weren't allowed to race in them, apparently underestimating the greed of his Toydarian master. He nervously stroked the pin on his racing jacket. Number 15. Apparently, dead last. Figured. "What the hell are you doing here?" a familiar voice rang out. Turning, Anakin saw Sebulba striding towards him, a look of disbelief on his face. "Did Watto seriously let you in" Anakin nodded by way of confirmation. "After I beat you today, Sebulba," he grinned, "I'm going to be free." Sebulba was incredulous. "Beat me? With that?" It came out as a bark of mirth. Indeed, Anakin's Podracer wasn't exactly the most impressive-looking(starting in dead last didn't exactly help matters) but he knew the course. He hoped that would be enough. "After you lose today," Sebulba continued, "I'll beat your ass so hard you'll-" His threat was cut off by the blaring of the track's PA system. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages, welcome to the 564th annual Mos Eisley Podrace!" As the bombastic voice went through all the racers, Anakin climbed into his vehicle. It was a small pod(hence the name) connected to a pair of engines by a plasma stream. All Podracers shared the same basic control scheme, and this one, as confirmed by a cursory glance at the cockpit, was no exception. "And, a newcomer today, a slave hoping to gain his freedom... ANAKIN SKYWALKER!" Anakin perked up. The mention of his name meant the race was about to start. Sure enough: "On your marks... get set... GO!" Anakin's foot slammed down on the exhaust pedal, his vehicle shooting off into the makeshift track constructed on the Tatooine dunes. Above them, a camera speeder circles, no doubt for the benefit of the audience. Good, thought Anakin, somewhat viciously, let Sebulba's humiliation be public. He was shaken out of his fantasy by the race reaching the first real obstacle of the course: a network of caves. Swiftly, he turned his Podracer, deftly avoiding the Stalagmites(or was it Stalagtites?) jutting up from the cave. Other racers, newcomers to this track, weren't as lucky; several wrecked vehicles dotted the cave floor. "SKYWALKER SHOOTS AHEAD TO TENTH PLACE!" came the faint roar of the announcer. In the back of his mind, Anakin wondered how the audience's ears weren't blown out. No matter. Breaking at just the right time, he drifted around a sharp turn; another, less skilled racer broke too early, spinning off of the track. Two others crashed into each other, Anakin shooting ahead. The fastest Podracer in the world wasn't a match for raw skill. His self-congratulation was brought to a rude end by a set of dots in the distance. A Bantha herd. Why now? Bantha herds had been known to hold up speeder traffic for hours; he couldn't afford to wait. Hitting the gas, he shot forwards, weaving in and out of the herd. Screams of pain and terror surrounded him as racers collided with Banthas. He burst from the herd, the announcer's commentary("And an intervention from Mother Nature herself gives Skywalker Second Place! Just look at that reaction time") giving him comfort. There was one more obstacle. Sebulba? Where is Sebulba? It was then he noticed two things. About 50 feet away, Sebulba's Pod. Then, around a half mile away, but still visible in the distance: the goal post. His heart sank. There were no more obstacles! There was no way to close the gap. Sebulba would win, and after all this, he- No. I refuse. There is a way. I will MAKE a way. Taking his hands from the controls, he closed his eyes. The din of the announcer, the cheers of the audience, the sand assaulting his face- he pushed them from his mind. There was only him, Sebulba, the goal, and freedom. He knew what he had to find. A Podracer's engine, in order to maintain its speed, needed constant cooling. That cooling, though, took a lot of power. For efficiency's sake, it was turned off whenever the Pod was at rest... and the vehicle's designers had been too lazy to design an automatic on/off system. Even someone who had only learned about the Force last night could use it to flip one switch. He opened his eyes, returning to the controls. The goal was only a quarter mile away now. Closer, closer, closer... what if I did it too- He needn't have worried. A single spark on Sebulba's engine caught his eye. A second later, the Pod burst into flames, the plasma connection to the engines severed. As his Pod shot into the lead, he caught his opponent's eye. Sebulba, on fire, in pain, looked back in terror and despair. Then, in an instant, it ended; his Pod spun into the wall of the stands, crushing him in a mess of machines and flame. In the next instant, he became free. As his Pod came to a stop, as the announcer narrated what was blindingly obvious to anyone with eyes("And a freak accident gives Skywalker the victory! Yet another promising career cut short by faulty equipment!") he walked out in a daze. That was it. He was no one's property, he felt powerful. The Force had set him free.

How many times is TWEWY 2 going to get cockblocked? Ah well, this seems like a first step.

Every time George R. R. Martin posts on his blog and it isn't to announce he's done with Winds of Winter

Right, good. Seriously, Morytha is a cool area but I don't want to explore it because I'm constantly being swamped by a bunch of regenerating zombies.

Please tell me that e ho regenerating enemies from Chapter 8 aren't the norm from here on out, seriously.

Still makes making that decision for all of humanity quite arrogant. I believe the ending has it say "conflict will happen in the future because humans are as bad as gods" or something like that. This would be correct if Jeddah wasn't so cartoonishly evil. If his argument was convincing it could work quite well; as it stands he provides no proof whatsoever for his claims. Being religious doesn't make you a moron.

Because Alm makes a bunch of grand proclamations about how, despite the fact that killing Duma means that an unprecedented level of manual labor will be needed to prevent famine, to the point where the Emperor himself needs to be on the fields working instead of administering the country, it's a price he's willing to pay without consulting everyone else. It seems like a pretty monumental decision to make amongst your group of less than 100 people. Right, and here he'd still fall from grace, it would just have a more central focus in the plot. It would also tie into the last line about humans being just as bad as Gods. Writing a flawed protagonist for the sake of being flawed is bad writing. They have to be flawed in a way that actually makes sense; for example, Peter Parker in Spiderman 3 makes a bunch of bad decisions but its written so poorly that honestly it would have been better had he been a boy scout. The same applies here.

Palpatine is more based on the Pupulare politicians of the late Roman Republic. What I should probably make clear in the story is that he isn't the first to advocate for the poor, so the Jedi don't immediately suspect him of being a Sith just because he says some inflammatory things. My Republic is less stable than the one of canon. Plus, Palpatine in canon was basically what he was because of fears over the PATRIOT Act. I don't want to tell that story. Also this isn't the Sith Code in my version. Meh, I can manage it; the main thing is that it was more important to me to give Anakin development time for three installments; he's basically a blank slate in AOTC, wasting his screen time in TPM, which I want to avoid. Thank you very much for the writing advice! I made Anakin's dad a random guy because I didn't like the idea of Plagueis creating Anakin for the purpose of being Vader because it robs the character of agency(any similarities to Rey in TLJ are entirely coincidental). And spoilers I guess, but yeah, Owen and Beru will play a more important role here.