blah the Prussian

Chapter 4: The Force Will Free Me "Sorry for the cramped conditions, Masters Jedi. We're... not used to having guests." Shmi Skywalker had obviously been through a lot; she may have been beautiful once, but over a decade of being a slave, and seeing her son work day in and day out with no future, had taken their toll. Still, her eyes betrayed an inner strength that had gotten her through some of the worst life had to offer. Qui-gon could see that same strength in her son." "It's quite all right," the Jedi Master replied. A sandstorm had set upon them suddenly on the streets of Mos Eisley; they hadn't exactly been able to return to the ship, so Anakin offered his own house. Qui-gon and Obi-wan probably should have expected the house to be small, with only two rooms, but it suited their purposes in the end. She had even pointed them to Watto's shop for a hyperdrive, though she must have been loathe to aide her owner. He continued: "I'm just grateful to you for sharing what little you have with off-worlders like us." "You saved my son," Shmi said plainly. "What else was I going to do? I know that Dug- Sebulba, his name is- and he wouldn't have stopped until Anakin was dead. Dead or too beaten to be of use to Watto. And then..." "He would have just thrown you out?" this was Obi-wan; Qui-gon's former apprentice had been listening silently by the door. Shmi swallowed; it was clear the prospect terrified her. "As slavers go, Watto's kinder than most, certainly moreso than Jabba the Hutt, but yes." She straightened. "He still keeps us alive with Anakin working, even though I'm too old, but we are an investment. He would stop sending us food- on the off chance we survived, Jabba's goons would prevent our escape, that's why he pays protection money- but, almost assuredly, we would die." She looked at Qui-gon, pleadingly. "Master Jedi, I know your code prevents killing, but... Sebulba won't forget this. As soon as your mind trick wears off, he'll attack my son. Please, I just don't see any way. We're slaves, we're helpless, we have no rights-" "Ma'm." Qui-gon was gentle, but firm. "Your son is not in any danger whatsoever. I sense from him more innate potential in the Force than in any individual I've ever seen." He looked her in the eye, and said resolutely: "I will not leave this planet without your son." Padme found Anakin outside, sitting on a sand dune, staring into the horizon. The sandstorm had subsided, and Tatooine's twin suns hung above the endless desert, shining brilliantly as they set. She let out a breath. "It's beautiful." "The only good thing about this entire damn planet," he said bitterly. "Look at it all. Thousands, millions, maybe, of inhabited worlds, and I'll never leave this one. Figures." His hands were balled up into fists. The sand was wet with droplets of water. Padme tried to get out a response; she couldn't find the words. And so the daughter of the most powerful man in the galaxy and a slave boy sat together, watching the sunset. Finally, she asked: "When did you become a... a..." "A slave?" Anakin interjected flatly. "Don't worry. It suits my owner to pretend I'm something I'm not, not me. I'll always be Anakin Skywalker. A slave on this ball of sand." He looked up at the emerging stars; Tatooine's suns had almost sunk below the horizon by now. "But mom says it was... my father. He was some freighter pilot. Married mom, they had me, then he started losing money, so-" at this a barely suppressed snarl flashed across Anakin's face- "he sold us to Watto. Didn't even have the courage to be there as the Gamoreans took us away. Mom never talked much about what life was like before slavery; probably doesn't want me to know about a better life I'll never have." He sunk back into the sand. Padme just sat there, thinking of something to say. Finally, she managed: "My father, the Chancellor- he's trying to crack down on slavery. It's illegal, you know." She knew immediately that this was the wrong thing to say; this was confirmed when Anakin snapped: "Well he needs to try harder!" She flinched. "...Sorry," he amended, looking down at his hands. "That was too harsh." "No, it's..." she struggled for the right thing to say. "I'm sorry. For all of this. Seeing this, Republicans and Separatists... it all seems so insignificant. You're a- it's all so unfair!" Tears streamed down her face. New ones for the mixture. He put his hand on her. "I've tried to fight this. But I have no power. I'm nothing, I come from nothing. So when you become Chancellor, please, promise me-" at this his voice broke- "promise me that you won't forget us," he finally managed. She looked into his eyes. "I promise." Suddenly, they heard footsteps behind them. "Madame Valorum." It was Qui-gon. "Could you please return to the house? I have to talk to Anakin alone." "So why are you here?" Anakin asked, standing up. He wasn't stupid; he knew the Jedi Knight hadn't simply arbitrarily decided to help him after coming across him in the labyrinth that was Mos Eisley. "I won't waste your time, or mine, Anakin," Qui-gon replied. "Simply put, you have more innate potential in the Force than most Jedi Masters." The boy stepped back, his brow furrowed, trying to comprehend the magnitude of what had been said. "What- what does that mean?" "Anakin," Qui-gon asked, "what do you know of the Force?" "I, uh," Anakin spluttered by way of reply. He steadied himself, and said: "I guess the Force is what makes the Jedi special, right? Like, it's what they use to fight. With the lightsaber, I mean." He thought some more. "I also think it has something to do with control?" Qui-gon smiled, not unkindly. "Not quite." He moved towards Anakin slightly. "The Force is... everything. It surrounds us, it's within us... it's the energy in all things." He looked up at the boy. "To use the Force isn't to use power you yourself have. It is to connect to the Force, to an energy that was already there. Anyone can connect to the Force. It is true, however, that different people have more potential to connect to it than others. Finally-" at this he felt a fluttering of nervousness, and he knew from where- "the Force is not restricted to the Jedi. You aren't a Jedi simply for having the ability to tap into this well of power. The Jedi are not simply people who use the Force and swing their lightsabers around. We are a philosophy, a way of looking at the world." He smiled. "We maintain control of our emotions. We protect the weak and innocent. We defend the law of the Republic. We see the force for what it is; we do not use it as a weapon unless absolutely necessary." Anakin's mind swirled; this was much to comprehend. A thousand questions danced around in his mind. One rose to the surface; Protect the innocent? But what about us? He pushed it back down; it was wrong but he couldn't explain why. Instead, he looked up at Qui-gon. "How?" "Follow me." The Jedi walked off into the night. Wordlessly, Anakin complied. This was his future. This was how he would get off this planet. What else would he do? Already, the excitement at this freedom, this power, was almost too much. The force would free him. It almost made him forget the other question at the back of his mind. If the Jedi are one way, what are the others? "Terrible timing for a sandstorm." It was not the first time Captain Typho had said this. It was only natural. Sitting in the ship's cockpit, he felt so... useless. He wasn't used to feeling useless. His eye twitching with frustration, all he could do was scan the horizon; a useless effort, as it was pitch black by now. He had given up pressing the button that would connect him with Qui-gon's hologram projector hours ago; the sandstorm must have damaged the communication antennae. "Look," the pilot reassured, sitting next to him, "she'll be fine. She has two Jedi Knights with her; I don't think there's anything to worry about from a few Hutt gangsters." He leaned back in his chair. "Look, they're probably in a hostel or something. Come tomorrow they'll be back, then we'll be off this glorified beach." Captain Typho nodded along when another of the Guards burst into the room. "Captain, I have'" "Report!" Typho cut him off. "What news of Madame Valorum?" "No news from there, sir," the Guardsman replied breathlessly. "But... we found a tracker. On the underside of the ship. Gunray's men must have put it there." "What?" Typho rose to his feet, furiously. "Then- then- the Separatists know where we are?" "I don't actually think so," the pilot cut in. "The Separatists have agents on this world. If they knew we were here they have a thousand different ways to blow us out of the sky before we even landed. It might be someone else, unless the Separatists are playing some sort of long game?" "Well regardless!" Typho was pacing wildly. "We need to get that tracker off and relocate, or something! We can't risk-" A creaking sound emanated from the other side of the ship. The landing ramp had been lowered. Almost reflexively, Typho connected his comm link to the other four guards. Not giving himself enough time to think about what he was saying, he spoke: "Intruder in the ship. Battle stations, as soon as possible. All troops, report-" The vwoosh of a Lightsaber cut him off. Typho froze for a second, then sprung into action. "All men, report to the cockpit, now! Repeat, report to the cockpit!" Almost instantaneously, the lights went out. "It's a red-" another Guardsman's warning was cut off by a scream of agony. A sickening crack emanated from the final comm link. Typho glanced at the pilot and the Guard, only the moon to illuminate their faces. Wordlessly, they each picked up a blaster, aiming at the door. Whoever this intruder was, they'd at least put up a fight. They never got the chance. Without warning, the door was blown off its hinges, knocking Typho to the ground. The last thing the Republican Guard captain ever saw was a flash of red and two glowing yellow eyes.

No, I aged them up because kid Anakin is stupid and him being past the age of consent here allows for some initial development of his relationship with Padme. Also, why do you say this Obi-wan would be dissapointed in his older self? Obi-wan in the OT is absolutely making a vital contribution.

Chapter 3: Tatooine The day that would change Anakin Skywalker's life began much like every other day in his life. At 6:30 in the morning, the 18 year old rolled out of his bed(taking care not to wake his mother) and trudged from the family's two-room hut in the slums of Mos Eisley Spaceport and into the streets of the city center. Even now, Mos Eisley was busy. Vendors were already beginning to set up shop, and some even began to hawk their wares at Anakin("Bantha skewers! Get your fresh delicious Bantha skewers!"); the boy payed them no heed. Even without the smell of rancid meat to dissuade him, he had no money to his name, and likely never would. He opened the door to the shop of his "employer"(a euphemism, of course; "master" or "owner" would be more accurate, but a needed one b because of Republic law) to find the portly Toydarian already there; a rarity, to be sure. Seeing the other man, a well dressed human, with him, Anakin remembered: right, today's the annual anti-slavery inspection. He had stopped getting excited for it when he was around 8; he had seen the truth of the "Republic" too many times by then. "So," the Toydarian, Watto, was saying, "1,000 credits, as usual, for your looking the other way here, yeah? Sounds fair, you have a bunch of other ow-employers to inspect here anyway." "Yeah, about that-" the man was deliberately ignoring Anakin as he began to lay out Watts's machine parts on the front desk of the shop- "look, Valorum's trying to crack down on this stuff, there have been more corruption investigations- I'll need 2,000." Watto's eyes bugged out, as he leaned forwards aggressively. "You kidding me! I already pay too much to Jabba as protection money! Now I have to deal with your extortion too?" Anakin had to restrain himself from pointing out the irony of his owner's moral outrage. "2,000," the inspector replied flatly, "or I tell my boss what you own and you get a date with there Stormtroopers." The phrasing seemed to prompt Watto to remember something. "Yeah, and you get a date with the bounty hunters! You think Jabba's going to put up with Stormtroopers on Tatooine? I pay 1,000, and you don't find yourself sucked into space somewhere near Korriban!" At this the inspector paled; in truth, Anakin knew, it was unlikely that Watto had any kind of leverage with Jabba the Hutt, but an off-worlder, used to living on Coruscant, probably wouldn't. It certainly helped that the inspector changed yearly. "Yeah, yeah, sure," he said, trying to save face. "You see, boy," the portly Toydarian lectured as the inspector walked out of the shop, "this is how you make something of yourself! You need bravery, and an ironclad will, and, above all, smarts! Why, I was once just like you..." The first time Anakin had heard this speech(and he had heard it many times) its reception hadn't been the best. Now, though, he was smarter than that. He tuned Watto out and turned around, continuing to display the shop's many wares on the front desk. Suddenly, the Toydarian's ravings were interrupted. "Watto, my friend!" A young, muscular Dug burst into the shop, giving Anakin's owner an exaggerated hug. "Sebulba!" the Toydarian exclaimed. "Good to see you again, tell me- what do you need?" "What do I always need?" Sebulba leaned against the shop wall, smirking arrogantly. "Parts for my Podracer, of course! With the annual Tatooine derby coming up I want all the advantages I can get!" "Right!" Watto clapped his hands. "Boy!" Anakin looked up from his task. "Go into the back and get out the best Podracer parts we have." Wordlessly, he complied. "So, did you hear?" he heard the Dug ask as he rummaged around the back of the shop. "Word is, the Seppies finally made their move. Occupied some planet called Neblu, or something, I don't know. Supposedly negotiations broke down; Coruscant doesn't know but give it a few weeks, you know how it is. I bet you anything, it'll be war before the month's out." "Aaah, that's good," Watto replied. "War means less inspectors here- I bet the Seppies'll be looser about this than Coruscant. Besides- who wants to take Tatooine, anyway. Hold on"- at this he raised his voice- "Boy! Where'r those damn machine parts? The hell did I buy you for?" Anakin realized that he had been listening in too intently; he had completely neglected his task. Hurridly, he grabbed whatever he could find of the pod racer parts, rushing out to the front of the shop. "Here they are, sir," he said, looking down, trying to avoid eye contact. "Worthless brat," Sebulba muttered. "Right, how much for this?" And so this day in the life of Anakin Skywalker continued, thus far uneventfully. "Master Yoda, I have grave news to report." Qui-gon Jinn sat in front of the hologram of the leader of the Jedi order in the ship's bedroom. It hadn't even been five minutes since they'd come out of hyperspace over the desert world of Tatooine, but Qui-gon frankly couldn't afford to wait to make his report. In the back of his mind, he was annoyed at having to waste so much time as it was(hologram communication being impossible over hyperspace) but he supposed it couldn't be helped. "Speak, Master Jinn." This was Mace Windu, the second-in-command of the Jedi Council. His shaved head made him older than he appeared, but this was deceptive; he was the greatest swordsman the Order had, perhaps the greatest since Revan himself, before he fell to the Dark Side. "Masters," Qui-gon began, his tone grave, "The talks on Naboo have broken down. I don't know how or why, but the central point is that Viceroy Gunray had his Clones attempt to bar us from leaving. Unfortunately, I could not prevent the ensuing confrontation. I fear civil war is almost unavoidable now. Worse still... I sense the involvement of the Dark Side of the Force." "Grave news, this is." Yoda stroked his chin, frowning gravely. "About much more than simple taxation, this invasion of Naboo is." "If there is a conspiracy"- Qui-gon noted to his displeasure that Windu emphasized the 'if'- "it may already be too late to uncover it. I fear that the broader citizenry of the Republic care little for any conflict between 'Jedi' and 'Sith'. In any case, it is beyond the capacity of any one Force user, no matter how powerful, to engineer a crisis of this magnitude. Again, if there is a Sith Lord involved, they may be merely exploiting a conflict that already exists." "Regardless," Yoda declared, "should war come, clear our duty is. Defenders of the Republic, we are." The jolt of the ship landing on the surface of Tatooine interrupted the conversation. "Apologies, Masters," Qui-gon said, "but I must be going. It is imperative that Madame Valorum returns to Coruscant with the utmost speed." "May the Force be with you, Master Qui-gon." For the first time in millennia, Qui-gon felt, he would need it. "I have bad news," the pilot was saying as Qui-gon entered the ship's common room. "Our hyperdrive was damaged in the fight over Naboo to the point where I can't make another jump. Either we fix that hyperdrive..." "...or we're stuck on this planet for a long time" Obi-wan finished exasperatedly. "War could already have broken out by the time we get back to Coruscant!" "Not to worry," Qui-gon soothed his former apprentice. "I've seen Mos Eisley before; while there's never been a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, there's sure to be the materials to repair a hyperdrive somewhere. Obi-wan and I will head into town, as we're better at blending in with the locals." "I'm going to." All eyes turned to Padme. "I'm tired of sitting in this ship having others do things for me," she offered by way of explanation. Qui-gon raised his hand, preemptively cutting off a fearsome protest from Captain Typho. "This is actually a fine idea. If the Separatists manage to find us here, this ship is the first place they'll look. Better to have Padme with us, out of sight, than in the ship, should they find us." "It's settled, then," the Chancellor's daughter said commandingly. And so two Jedi and the heir to House Valorum set off for the most corrupt city in the Galaxy. It did not take long for Obi-wan to resolve never to set foot in Mos Eisley again. It wasn't the smell; Obi-wan's nose had detected worse on Coruscant alone. It wasn't the labyrinthine nature of the city; the Jedi had the Force to help him with that. No, what killed Obi-wan about Mos Eisley was the sheer number of people, from slaves to crime victims to the poor, who he was powerless to help. Padme had already learned that lesson the hard way. She had almost instinctively started towards a Rodian boy being beaten by an older man before Qui-gon held out his hand, stopping her. "He's a slave," the man said by way of explanation. "I thought- no, actually, I know- that slavery's illegal in the Republic," Padme replied incredulously. "They're violating the law!" Qui-gon smiled sadly. "The laws of the Republic are felt hardly at all in the Outer Rim. We can't afford to blow your cover. The Separatists likely have ears here." Clenching her fists in fury, Padme relented, trudging behind Qui-gon deeper into the city. It was a lesson Obi-wan had learned too many times: no power, be it the Force or social status, is truly absolute. Unfortunately, the reminder on the weakness of the Republic's legal system was the least of their worries. Shop after shop seemed to prove Qui-gon's assertion that it would be easy to find a hyperdrive wrong. Quite a few shop owners didn't even seem to speak galactic basic. As Tatooine's twin suns began their descent, Obi-wan opened his mouth, to suggest they retire to the ship; Padme, clearly unused to this exertion, was nearing her limit. Qui-gon never gave him the chance. He froze, his head arced, alert. Obi-wan knew that stance. His former master had sensed something. "Master-" he began- "I sense the greatest Force potential I've ever felt off of Coruscant," Qui-gon said. He ran off, Obi-wan and Padme following. It had been a long day. Ever since the Sebulba fiasco, Anakin had felt an aura of annoyance seeping from Watto. The Toydarian had spent a good portion of the day muttering about "worthless brats" and hadn't even maintained a veneer of cordiality. And yet, as Anakin entered an alley, his troubles were far from over. "You little brat!" Anakin turned to see Sebulba advancing towards him. "I knew I'd find you skulking around in some alleyway like the rat you are!" The dug brandished an iron bar aggressively. Anakin clenched his fists, resisting the urge to lash out. "Listen, Sebulba, I don't want any trouble-" "Well you made trouble for yourself when you sold me defective parts!" Sebulba swung his weapon for emphasis. "I don't know who put you up to this, Jabba, Fortuna, whoever, but I'll make you wish you'd never been born!" He lunged towards Anakin; the boy could only brace himself for a burst of pain. "You will drop the weapon and go home." Sebulba froze; behind him stood an older, dignified looking man with long hair and robes that Anakin thought he had seen somewhere before. The iron bar clattered to the ground. "I will drop the weapon and go home," the Dug repeated blankly, before striding past the man with a purpose Anakin doubted he'd ever had in his life before. As a younger man and a woman who couldn't be much older than Anakin rushed up, the man approached the boy, smiling kindly. "Tell me, son," he asked, "what's your name?" Anakin was in shock. "A-a-anakin," he managed to get out. "Anakin Skywalker." "Well, Anakin Skywalker," the man smiled, "my name is Qui-gon Jinn. I'm very pleased to have met you."

Probably moving to Prague. It opened up my perspective so much, made me a smarter and better person, and gave me so many of the opportunities I have today; I would never even think of going to university in the UK if I still lived in the US.

Actually, I'm basing this much more on the fall of the Roman Republic than Wiemar Germany.

Chapter 2: The Count of Serrano It was clear to Qui-gon that, whatever else Captain Typho might have been, he was a good soldier. His quick reactions to crisis, barking out "Form perimeter around Her Excellency and prepare to force our way out" was proof of this. The Republican Guard complied, surrounding Padme, weapons drawn, blasting at the Clone Troopers with practiced ease. The Clones, for their part, did return fire, only to have their efforts prove fruitless. The armor of Republican Stormtroopers might have been paper-thin, but their counterparts in the Republican Guard were, notably, better equipped; below their armor's red exterior, a layer of Chromium kept them safe. His former apprentice, Qui-gon noted with approval, had also kept into action. Obi-wan sprang between the Clones and Padme, deflecting their blaster fire with a practiced ease. He could not, unfortunately, be everywhere; bolt after bolt slammed into the armor of the Guard. Chromium was strong but, Qui-gon knew, it would not hold forever. He glanced over at Captain Typho; it was a hard glance, not exactly dominating, but it reminded the Captain that, in military matters, the authority of a Jedi Knight trumped all. Qui-gon ignited his lightsaber, charging at a group of Clones that were blocking the hallway to the landing pad. Precisely, almost artistically, his lightsaber flashed across the Clone's blaster rifles, rendering them useless. A quick flick of Qui-gon's wrist sent his adversaries careening backwards. Slamming into the wall, they sunk to the ground unconscious. Qui-gon wasn't naive enough to think that the implications of this firefight weren't going to mean many would die... but he meant to refrain from participating in that mass slaughter for as long as possible. Deflecting a wave of blaster fire from yet another group of Clones as the group entered the hallway, Qui-gon pulled out his portable hologram receiver. Bringing up an image of the pilot of their ship, the Jedi breathlessly conveyed: "Things turned violent. You'll likely have company soon. Tell the crew to man their battle stations." Slamming the Clones to the ground with a metal bar, he was able to look behind him. Obi-wan was now able to deflect enemy fire much more effectively, as Typho and his squad advanced right behind Qui-gon towards the landing pad. As the group burst out onto the landing pad, Qui-gon's prediction rang true. a large force of Clones was running towards the ship, reinforcing a squad that had already taken up positions and were only barely being held at bay by the ship's lower cannon. Meanwhile, true to its name, a Vulture Droid circled up above, exchanging fire with the ship's upper cannon. "Obi-wan, cover the door," Qui-gon barked, using the force to send some of the crates the Clones were using for cover flying. "Get Padme into the ship. I'll handle the Vulture Droid." The Jedi deftly reversed his grip on his lightsaber, whipping his body around and throwing the weapon like a spear. It sailed through the air, striking the Vulture Droid in the head. As the droid crashed into a Separatist anti-air gun, Qui-gon pulled his lightsaber back into his hand and darted into the ship, followed closely by his former apprentice. Padme hurried into the ship with her escort; it was down to 5 Republican Guards now, their armor sadly breaking in the face of sheer numbers. As they ushered her away, she looked back, relieved to see her Jedi bodyguards had survived. The younger one- Obi-wan, as she recalled- screamed "We need to take off, now!" as he rushed into the cockpit; the part of Padme that was ignorant to the fact that five men who had been responsible for protecting her with their lives for weeks now, the part of her that had already forgotten she remained in mortal danger moreso than any other time in her life, might have made a sarcastic remark. As it stood, Padme was grateful that the pilot was one step ahead of the Jedi, as the ship was already taking off. Bolt after bolt of anti-air fire crashed into them as they travelled upwards. Fortunately, the Republic VIP transport was built to withstand at least some of the fire it was taking. It also seemed as if the ship was now able to handle the Vulture Droids currently being brought to bear against it; being in the air meant that both its top and bottom cannons were able to be brought to bear against the enemy. In spite of the audible booms produced as Droid after Droid was blasted from the sky, Padme was much more worried about the Separatist Fleet that the ship was fast approaching. As the first line of Lucrehulks came into view, Padme tentatively asked the pilot, "Do we... have a plan?" The man turned to face her, his face drawn with irritation. "Does it look like I have time to-" at this he flinched slightly, appearing to remember who he was talking to. "Sorry," he amended hastily. "I' able to get us to light speed, but not to get us on course to Coruscant. I- I don't know where we'll end up. Is this okay?" Padme Valorum nodded. The ship aligned itself between the Lucrehulks, enemy fire proving ineffective, and blasted off into hyperspace, into the unknown. Augustinias Dooku, Count of Serrano, leader of the Separatist Movement, liked to consider himself a calm man, slow to anger, with a great deal of control over his emotions. And yet, as he st in his office, in Coruscant's Separatist Party Headquarters, Viceroy Nute Gunray was trying his damnedest to challenge this facet of Dooku's self image. "You did what?" Anyone unfamiliar with Count Dooku would find this to be a rather innocuous question; as if the man was simply asking his children what happened in school that day. Not Gunray. The Trade Federation's Viceroy had noticed several telltale signs, from the biting tone Dooku adopted to the slightly tighter grip with which he held his drink. These pointed to one thing: Count Dooku was angry. "Sir, you have to understand-" the hologram did almost nothing to hide Gunray's nervousness; nervousness which was only exacerbated as the Count slammed his fist on the table. "Understand what?" he snarled, prompting a slight jump from Gunray. "That you thought, for some obscure reason, that it was a good idea to TAKE THE CHANCELLOR'S DAUGHTER HOSTAGE? The very same daughter, might I remind you, who is the darling of Coruscant high society, and popular with the common people? And to do all this the week of an election?" "Understand that-" at this Gunray swallowed, before continuing. "Understand that our benefactor told me he had intelligence suggesting that the Republic was planning a false flag operation. They would pretend to assassinate Valorum's daughter and then use int as an excuse for-" Dooku rose a single hand, cutting Gunray off. "Yes, I see," he replied, with a deliberately thin veneer of kindness. "And tell me, Viceroy, did you take such a rudimentary step as to, perhaps, question what proof our benefactor had?" Dooku, in truth, had always been opposed to this mysterious, hooded man; true, he had played a major role in funding the expansion of the Separatist's armed forces, but there was quite frankly something... off... about him. Dooku might have left the Jedi Order due to their refusal to actually do anything to fix a broken Republic because of some antiquated "Code", but Dooku didn't wholly reject their teachings. He didn't have proof, but something about the man called to mind images of... that. Of the Dark Side. "In any case!" The Count rose to his feet, cutting off whatever(assuredly inadequate) excuse the Viceroy was about to provide. "I should be going now. We're about to make our final pitches to the people of the galaxy going into the elections. I'll see if I can't clean up the mess you've left me." His luxury speeder flew through the streets of Coruscant. Past the mansions of the old nobility, past the Grand Opera House, past the Jedi Temple, where he had spent the first half of his life. Wasted, on a lie, Dooku thought ruefully. No, perhaps that was unfair. The Jedi had stood for something, once. Now? They were just another decaying institution in a decaying government. The breadlines Dooku's motorcade passed as he exited the affluent areas of Coruscant put this into stark relief. The Galaxy wasn't what it once was. He drew himself up to his full height and strode towards the steps of the Senate and the podium, through the crowds, dignified, the very picture of a statesman. Valorum's speech was long and droning. Concepts such as "rule of law" and "the monopoly on violence" were thrown around. The man, Dooku reflected, wasn't a bad leader. But he was terrible, absolutely terrible, at leading a crowd. Half of what he said probably wasn't even understood by the general populace. An anachronism, unsuited for a Republic. Now that, Dooku thought wryly as he moved up to the podium, is a metaphor for the old aristocracy if I ever saw one. Surveying the crowds, he took a deep breath, and began to speak. "Citizens of the Republic," Dooku began, "I come before you- all of you, regardless of species or place of birth- to tell you the truth. Valorum and his gang of aristocrats have attempted to demonize and unfairly smear the corporations that make up the Separatist Alliance. They forget the debt of gratitude they owe us. It was not the aristocracy, it was not men like Valorum, who brought the glory of the Republic to the Outer Rim, who reduced the pirate Empire of the Hutt to a simple underground crime network! And it is not men like them, born into power and privilege, who you should be putting your faith in to drive the Galaxy forwards! It is the Separatist Party, who will bring government by merit, rather than government by blood, to the Galaxy, and it is the Separatist Party who will make this Republic a Republic of equals, rather than one led by Coruscant and the Coruscant nobility. " Around an hour later, his speech ended: "These taxes are nothing more than the latest attempt of the nobility to break the power of the corporations, because they offer a better future for ALL the galaxy. People of the Republic, I invite you to show the nobility that their attempt to hold on to their last scraps of power at the expense of progress will not work!" The irony of the Count of Serrano denouncing aristocratic dominance was not, of course, lost on Dooku. He moved towards his motorcade to subdued applause and not a few hecklers. Dooku could certainly understand why; he had essentially just told the population of Coruscant that they had too much influence. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. The Separatist's power base always had been the population of the Outer Rim. Dooku just had to bank that Coruscant's urban poor would hate the aristocracy as much as they hated the corporations. "Going already, sir?" his valet asked as he ducked into the speeder. "Yes, please, Dexter," the Count replied, "any Party other than the Conservatives or Separatists are nobodies anyway." And yet, as he was about to duck into the speeder, something(he would later attribute it to the Force) stopped him, enticing him to turn around. "Senator Sheev Palpatine, of the Empire Party!" announced the director of the speech event. The Empire Party... Dooku seemed to recall them as one of the many minor Parties that dotted the Galactic Senate. But this man, Palpatine... he seemed different. He was middle aged, seemingly in his mid-fifties. His appearance combined a wizened face with real fire and passion. "People of the Galaxy," Palpatine began, "many words have been thrown around by my learned opponents today. 'Laws' and 'precedent' but, most of all, 'peace. Peace! It's what we all want, no? A peaceful, tranquil galaxy. And yet... peace on whose terms? My fellow citizens, I maintain that the peace offered by the aristocracy, the peace offered by the corporations of the Separatists- this peace is a lie. This peace is an excuse for the aristocracy to monopolize political power with their corruption. It's a shield that lets the corporations systematically plunder the people of the galaxy. Peace is a lie- there is only strength, those who have it, and those who lack it. Through strength, we gain power. Through power, we gain victory. Through victory-" at this he rose his fist into the air, and brought it down onto the podium- "OUR CHAINS ARE BROKEN!" There was silence. It lasted about a second. "Though victory, our chains are broken!" The chant started out in a remote corner of the crowd, then spread like wildfire until practically the entire audience was shouting up to Coruscant's skyline "THROUGH VICTORY, OUR CHAINS ARE BROKEN!" The Count of Serrano ducked into his speeder. His face was deathly pale.

Anyone have a way to defeat the you know whats at the end of Chapter 7? Incidentally, I feel bad for anyone squeamish about large bugs, Chapter 7 seems designed to trigger them. Definitely my least favorite part of the game so far.

I'm changing a lot of stuff around with Dooku, but essentially he didn't think he'd be actually fighting Qui-gon.

Ashnard takes it for me. He's the only main antagonist that is essentially his own thing, unrelated to magic, a human. His goals are also rather relatable; he's an ideologue, who views himself as he harbinger of his own twisted vision of utopia, where strength decides everything, rather than blood. He's clearly a product of the feudal environment, as are those who follow him, which IMO AIDS the game's themes way more than Ike being a commoner. Definitely the best part of Fire Emblem Tellius.

So here it is, as per Hylian's request. I have never tried a multi part narrative before, so don't expect by any means this to be a masterpiece. Feedback, then, is not just welcome but requested,

Episode I: The Phantom Menace [MEDIA=youtube]JG5OsfOuEy0[/MEDIA] The Galactic Republic, which stood as a beacon of stability for millennia, is reaching a breaking point. For centuries, Republican expansion into the Outer Rim has been spearheaded by corporations. With the conquest complete, these corporations have become powerful political actors in their own right. Banding together into the SEPARATIST ALLIANCE, they are able to effectively resist the will of the central Republican government. Now, they exercise this power for the first time. In protest of the Republic's CHANCELLOR VALORUM'S pushing of harsher taxation of the corporations, they have sent their Clone Armies to occupy the small planet of Naboo. The Chancellor sends two Jedi Knights, along with his daughter, Padme Valorum, to negotiate an end to the crisis. None of these figures could have known at the time that they were participating in the last act of the First Galactic Republic... Chapter 1: Naboo The sleek, silver vessel, about 100 feet long, burst from hyperspace and into the approach to the blue and green dot that was occupied Naboo. As the ship sailed through space, closer to the despoiled world, and between the massive Lucrehulk-class Battleships of the Separatist Alliance(specifically the Trade Federation), a voice rang out in the cockpit. "Paging Trade Federation Fleet, this is Captain Typho of the Republic diplomatic delegation. Permission requested to land in Theed." The Republican Guard Captain set the comm device down, sinking back into his chair. It was strange; he was the veteran of countless missions like this. So why was his brow so much more wet this time? "Trade Federation fleet to Captain Typho," came the reply a few seconds later, "permission granted. Welcome to Naboo." Padme Valorum, heir apparent to the Valorum political dynasty, watched the Separatist fleet out of the cockpit window, sipping an expensive-looking drink. She was not, it was apparent, as well trained as Typho at hiding her nervousness. Why, the woman of 22 wondered, in all likelihood not for the first time, did father see fit to assign me to the most important diplomatic mission since the Mandalorian Wars? Padme, in truth, knew why. Anders Valorum, most powerful man in the galaxy, was grooming his daughter to succeed him as head of the family that had dominated the politics of the Republic since the fall of Darth Vitiate. She only wished he hadn't staked the peace of the galaxy on her worthiness as a successor. Then again, she thought wryly, taking another sip of her tea, somehow I think I won't be doing the lion's share of the negotiations. Coruscant was bright tonight. He had always loved the vibrant streets of the Republic's capitol- the sheer diversity of the galaxy was on full display, in the food, the pedestrians, even the differing languages of advertisements. But- tonight, it was different. Squinting, he could see that the streets, in spite of the familiar din drowning out all, were empty. The din-was it familiar? It initially sounded like the footsteps of city life, of millions of beings simply traveling to their destinations, but- no. It was too ordered, like a military march. When had it become too ordered? And, above it all, he could hear a heavy- was that breathing? It rose and rose and rose, drowning out everything, crushing Coruscant under its oppressive weight, until... "Master." Qui-gon Jinn's eyes shot open. This was disturbing, deeply disturbing. He hadn't lost control of his meditations like this since... ever. He rose up from the mat he had laid out in the center of his room, and considered the other man. "Obi-wan, you don't need to call me Master anymore, remember? We are Knights, both of us." Obi-wan Kenobi rubbed the back of his head, where his Padawan braid used to be. "Right, right. It's still hard to get used to, you know. Anyway"-at this he turned- "we're about to land on Naboo. I thought you'd want to be ready for the meeting." Qui-gon simply nodded, walking to the window of the craft, watching as the Separatist fleet receded into the distance and the ship was consumed by the clouds of Naboo. And yet, he couldn't forget what he had seen-or rather, heard- when meditating. What was happening to the Galaxy? "We've given them permission to land, sir." "Good, good." Nute Gunray, Viceroy of the Trade Federation, the premier member of the Separatist Alliance, rose from his chair in the governor's office in Theed, Naboo, and began to pace the room. This was, as any of his underlings in the room would be able to note, an increasingly common occurrence. Gunray, truth be told, was not cut out for high stakes intergalactic diplomacy. He was, he told himself, just an honest businessman, after all. Honestly, why couldn't Dooku just take care of this himself? The fact that it was Gunray's rash occupation of Naboo that set this crisis into motion in the first place, of course, somehow eluded the ostentatiously dressed Viceroy. One of Gunray's fellow Nemoidians, a messenger, rushed up, carrying a hologram transmitter. "Viceroy," the man said, bowing slightly, "a message from-" "What do they want now?" Gunray snapped, cutting his servant off, snapping his fingers obsessively. "Must the Republic constantly harry me even outside of these cursed negotiations?" The messenger leaned in. "Sir," he whispered, "It's from our benefactor." Gunray froze. "Oh." The Viceroy straightened himself, adopting a veneer of bravado that, as anyone with half a brain could see, was paper thin. "Put him on, then." The Trade Federation Vulture Droids pulled away as the Republic luxury transport touched down on the landing pad of Naboo's Gubernatorial Palace. The ten Republican Guards trooped out of the ship, led by Captain Typho. Their armor was derived from the typical uniforms of Republican Stormtroopers, only red. They were followed by the Jedi, with Padme bringing up the rear. She let her eyes dart across the cityscape. On the surface, it didn't look like anything under military occupation(although, Padme supposed, she hadn't exactly experienced military occupation). When one looked closer, though, the telltale signs were there. The air traffic wasn't the hustle and bustle of public transportation- the skyline was dominated by Vulture Droids. On the ground, too, rather than speeders, Trade Federation Tanks patrolled the streets. Was this what war looked like? She was shaken from her reverie by the arrival of a well dressed Nemoidian, flanked by around 20 of the Trade Federation's Clone soldiers. Intergalactic corporations had conquered the Outer Rim with these sallow-skinned, bald soldiers. "Ah, Madame Valorum," the Nemoidian said welcomingly. "I am Rune Haako, assistant to Viceroy Gunray. Please, follow us. And, ah, excuse the extra security, believe me, they are strictly for your protection." At this, Haako smiled nervously. Padme nodded by way of response, but couldn't help noticing the two Jedi Knights sharing a glance. The Viceroy- Nute Gunray, Obi-wan recalled his name was- was furiously giving orders to a Clone captain as they entered. The newly-minted Jedi Knight glanced over at his former master. Qui-gon, almost imperceptibly, shook his head. Wait and see, Obi-wan heard the voice of his friend in his head- only two Jedi with an extremely strong bond could communicate in this way. Gunray isn't stupid enough to make this violent. I'm more worried about our own side. Obi-wan could see what he meant; it didn't take one strong in the force to detect the waves of suspicion coming from Captain Typho. Nute Gunray dismissed the Captain, and turned to face them. "Welcome, welcome, friends! Sit, sit, we have much to discuss." Padme complied, sitting at the elaborate table that had been prepared for the negotiations, with Obi-wan and Qui-gon taking either side of her. Typho and his Republican Guard stood at attention behind them. On the other side of the long table, Gunray and Haako sat. The tension was palpable. "So!" Gunray finally declared, grinning widely and, as was painfully obvious, insincerely. "Shall we begin?" The négociations were- and Obi-wan knew that his master would disapprove of this sentiment- a long, boring affair. Terms such as "historical rights" and "inexcusable aggression" and even "debt of gratitude" were thrown around more than once. At one point he was shaken from his reverie by the Viceroy slamming his fist on the table, declaring that "these taxation laws are a grievous assault on the freedom of trade of the entire galaxy!" Padme, though, had it under control, cooly replying "these alleged attacks were passed into law legally and without any corruption. The only one doing any attacking here, Viceroy, is you, with your illegal occupation of a Republican member state." "Ah," came Gunray's retort, "but how are we to know these proceedings were fair? The corruption of the Senate is well known!" At this even Haako, seated next to his boss, rolled his bug like eyes in exasperation. It was then that Obi-wan felt it. A wave of malice that assaulted his senses, that he had never felt before- in fact, that none of his order had felt for millennia. Panicked, Obi-wan looked over at the others. Padme and Gunray were arguing as before, but Qui-gon, Qui-gon was rising to his feet, looking with shock at something, reaching into his robes- And then, in an instant, it passed. With a vwoosh, Qui-gon's lightsaber sang to life, the ray of green deflecting s red blaster bolt. The bolt sailed from his former master's weapon and onto the table, where it sent up a cloud of fire and glass. Instantly, the room sprang into action. With a shout of "At the ready!" Captain Typho and his men drew their blasters. Nute Gunray, for his part, scuttled behind his own line of Clone troopers. Obi-wan drew his own lightsaber, the blue erupting from the metal baton, and charged in front of Padme, joining Qui-gon. "We're leaving." Obi-wan winced; Captain Typho didn't just say this as a statement of fact, but a challenge... and a challenge Nute Gunray didn't fail to pick up on. "No, you can't!" the Viceroy protested, sounding panicked. "You must stay here!" As if to reinforce his point(and it certainly did need reinforcing, sounding more plaintive than commanding) around 40 Clone Troopers stormed into the room, surrounding the party. "Viceroy!" Qui-gon's voice cut through the tension. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You are attacking the Chancellor's daughter, guarded by two Jedi Knights, and-" It's impossible to know who fired the shot that cut Qui-got short. It could have been a Clone, tired, without much training, just wanting to live another day. It could have been a Republican Guard, panicking at being so surrounded despite the years of training. Regardless of who fired it, one thing was clear. The shot that cut Qui-gon Jinn's speech short would be the first shot of the Separatist War. The room erupted into chaos.

So I just beat THAT boss at the end of chapter five. I think I have an easier way than what was discussed in the thread.

I've seen a scenario like this where Tywin does sack the city but places Aegon, Rhaegar's eldest son, on the throne.

Lawful Good, leaning towards Lawful Neutral. Ultimately, in my opinion, morals are subjective, but maintaining rule of law is in most cases better for everyone, so I act according to the law.

Genuinely love the design of the city in Uraya, reminds me of European old towns.

So I'm going to sound like a noob but is there an easy way to take out those 3 blades blocking the route to the Urayan Capitol?

Absolutely. In 10th Grade I made the mistake of not taking my legally prescribed Aderrall, which made me essentially a mess and caused me to fail a Chemistry test.

Well, Tywin would have had no claim and would have been facing the Rebel army that just won the Trident and are veterans. The Westerlands would have been alone against at least four Kingdoms and that's assuming the Reach does nothing. Not a good idea.

Boi what did you say about my main girl Cat? I'm afraid I have to disagree. Show Cersei is a better person than book Cersei, but book Cersei is very much human. Her desire for power very clearly comes from having so little control as a result of being married to Robert combined with having her narsiccism nurtured by Tywin. It's not moral, but it's very human. In one of my favorite scenes in the series Cersei sleeps with Taena Merryweather and is upset that Taena doesn't resist her, because she wants the feeling of dominating someone like Robert dominated her.

They're good adventurers, Brent, Seriously, fuck that motherfucking unique monster. This is like the fifth time I've died to that son of a bitch doing the same motherfucking star crossed lovers quest. Fuck that vulture bastard.

So I'm near the end of chapter 2 and I have to say(do not give me spoilers on this) the Empire doesn't seem that bad. Like, they

My lord, Jin is edgy.

That's not actually true. Most of the far right victories were before Trump's election; Wilders lost in the Netherlands and le Pen lost in France, and here in the Czech Republic, the center right under Andrej Babiš(who, admittedly, is still a piece of shit) beat out the far right.

The Czech Republic is just looking better and better. Although I suppose this could get European companies to push for it...

Ah man, can't play as a Monarchy anymore. Ah well, should be good and I wonder just how many of my head canons will get contradicted.