The Slave Who Makes Free: An Anakin Skywalker Quest

[CanYouMeme]

Its a matter of etiquette, imo, because of how quests (especially narrative ones) work. They depend on voters trusting the QM's interpretation of a setting/character/whatever - the point of choices are to guide those things. Writing sprawling write-ins like you're drafting GSRP orders is a signal that, fundamentally, you don't trust the QM's direction and think they need their quest's development spelled out for them.

Click to shrink...

Any given participant could write the most excruciatingly long-winded wankery in the history of questing, everyone could unanimously vote for it, and the QM would just...write something different. If I, CanYouMeme, am putting out an extensive write-in, it's done with the full understanding that the QM will cherry-pick whatever elements of that submission they want and discard the rest. And said QM is not ipso facto wrong for doing so, so long as credit for the cherry picked parts is given in some fashion.

Because the QM is the architect, and the rest of us are the engineers and laborers who help bring it together. So arbitrary nonsense about how "word count" is in and of itself somehow an insult or not is a bit ridiculous.

 

[Kirook]

I can't say too much without revealing my plans for what's next, but I recommend that you all not worry too much about how I feel about any given write-in option or vote in general—especially not for this chapter.

 

[Kirook]

[X] ???

You take a step, and the world—

[Dawn of the Jedi] [A Familiar Story] [Out of Balance] [Ignite the Stars] [The Red Bird] [One With the Force] [Ghosts in the Machine] [Steps Into Shadow] [The Lost Ones] [True Jedi]

• 
  [X] Remember the stories of your mother and look back, back, and further still.
  
  —splits.
  
  You follow the luminous path as it streams onward, and soon it begins to slope up. With each step, new sensations seem to layer themselves upon your consciousness: the sight of a clear blue sky, the feeling of stone steps under your feet, the crash of waves in your ears.
  
  At the summit of the steps, you stop to look around. You are standing upon a mountain peak on some unknown planet, the highest point on an island surrounded by endless oceans in every direction. It is the opposite of your home in every way imaginable…except for the twin suns setting on the western horizon.
  
  Not far from where you stand, if indeed you're actually standing here at all, a small group of robed figures stands around a slab of stone, hooded so as to make it impossible to see their faces, conversing in hushed but urgent voices. They are speaking no language you have ever learned or even heard, but somehow you find that you can understand them perfectly.
  
  "The galaxy has been waiting for this for longer than any of us have been alive," says a clear, sharp voice from one end of the table. "We can't just sit by and let it happen without us."
  
  "You're not the only one who wants to believe that this is the moment of truth," replies the figure across from them, their voice echoing with a stoic cast. "But you're young. This isn't the first time we've thought that the Empire was soon to fall."
  
  "Look around you!" The first speaker spreads their arms wide, a gesture that attempts to encompass the whole galaxy. "The Ghorfa on Tatooine. The Wookiees on Kashyyyk. Jedha. Duro. Corellia. Devaron. The revolts are growing stronger every day, every hour."
  
  "Not to mention the plague tearing up the Predor castes," a third, sardonic voice adds. "You know it's Imperial dogma that they can't even get sick? Their 'superior genes' are supposed to make them immune to diseases."
  
  "You don't understand," says the stoic voice wearily. "There have been slave revolts in the Empire before. I don't think I need to tell you how they ended. I can sense what's happening out there too, and it breaks my heart not to be able to help. But part of what we learn here is to be able to face the truth, and right now the truth is that there just aren't enough of us. We're not an army. We're not the fighting force that can turn the tide. Frankly, it's only thanks to the generosity of the Lanai that we've been able to build up even this much."
  
  "There's that sunny disposition we all know and love," says the first voice bitterly. "You're going to have us waiting to act until they finally march up here and clap us all in chains."
  
  The Force whirls dangerously around the table like the breeze that heralds a sandstorm, and it seems at first as if a fight is about to break out, but then a fourth figure says in gentle, lilting tones, "Maybe there's another way."
  
  The turbulent currents in the Force still, and there is silence save for the crashing of the waves. Whoever this person is, they command enough respect that a mere few words catch the attention of everyone listening—including you.
  
  "You're right," they say. "We are too few to be an army. If we divided our forces between every world we would have to fight for, we would only have a bare handful for each. But those other rebellions—do you remember how they fell?"
  
  "They were…" The stoic speaker's next words are reluctant, and weighed down with pain. "Isolated. Cut apart and destroyed piece by piece. The Empire's favorite tactic of divide and rule. They've been using it since they first conquered the galaxy."
  
  "Just so. But consider this: if there are only a handful of us for each world we must fight for, then there can be a handful of us on every world we fight for. And with us comes knowledge—of the wider galaxy, of the weaknesses of the Empire, and most importantly…of the Force."
  
  "So your answer is to spread ourselves thin?" The first speaker has lost none of their brashness. "If the Empire realizes what we're doing, we'll be the ones destroyed in isolation."
  
  The next thing you hear, and by Ar-Amu it is a refreshing sound to hear in a place so strange and alien, is laughter.
  
  It is coming from the third speaker, the one whose voice bears a clever edge, and it takes long moments to subside as the others stare.
  
  "'If the Empire realizes'?" they say. "The Empire can't imagine it! They couldn't begin to conceive of a universe where the 'lesser races', or anyone from outside of their 'perfected' bloodlines, can use the Force. It's the height of heresy to even suggest that it's possible. No. Trust me on this. They will never see us coming until it's far too late."
  
  Understanding begins to dawn. This is not the first slave story; the fact that it may be before your people first spoke the name "Ekkreth" is immaterial, for slaves have been whispering of freedom under cover of night since the first of you was put in chains, ten thousand years or more before this moment. What it is is a crossroads: the meeting-place between what you have always been and what you are becoming.
  
  "The Infinite Empire," adds the gentle voice, "is founded upon the belief that the Force can be shackled. And because of that belief—no matter how long it has stood, how powerful its technology, or how numerous its fleets and armies—it rests, in the end, on a foundation of sand."
  
  With those words, the mirage of the world around you begins to fade away again. The ocean world disappears piece by piece. The last thing to go is the binary sunset far off in the distance, and then the sky is black as the night, as black as freedom.
• 
  [X] Reflect on the path you've taken, and the one that is to come.
  
  —splits.
  
  Do you really need the Force to tell you this? When you look back at the road behind you and forward at the one ahead, are you really surprised by what you see? That song you're hearing is a familiar melody, with words that are written on the chambers of your heart, and it goes something like this:
  
  Tortured hero.
  Forbidden love.
  Tragic fall.
  Hope rekindled.
  Skywalker.
  
  Well…maybe it's less of a song and more of a poem. A long and flourishing one. You might even call it a saga.
  
  Would you like to rewrite it? Then start walking.
  
• 
  [X] See yourself in Grievous's place. The steps that brought you here, the flames that drive you, the loss that defines you. The young Jedi opposing you. How did it come to this?
  
  —splits.
  
  As you reach out in search of understanding, the life of Qymaen jai Sheelal unfolds before you, and you quickly come to understand that he has been defined by one thing: the bone-deep knowledge that no one is coming to save him.
  
  Where your people have been struggling against Depuran and overseers since time immemorial, the Kaleesh were only recently chained. Like you, they knew there was no chance of the Republic or the Jedi riding to their aid. Unlike you, they had no stories to inoculate them against fear and despair.
  
  And so Qymaen went to war in the understanding that the fate of his entire species lay on his shoulders and his alone.
  
  You see him with his lover Ronderu through the fractal spirals of light all around you, and learn how she was the only one who could lift that burden from his shoulders—who could make him believe that he could falter, could be flawed, and all would not be lost. And how, when she died fighting beside him, he put that thought aside forever.
  
  The Kaleesh had no stories of resistance, so Qymaen made one. And in accordance with the old adage to "write what you know", a man who had seen enough horror for a lifetime wrote himself as a horror story—and he named that story Grievous.
  
  But is that all there is to know? This tale is not simply a book one can open and close. Like everyone else's, it is a chapter in something much larger. To walk through fire, to be defined by loss, to face down a Jedi with violence in your heart—there are variations on this theme, twined together in the Force. You can see them everywhere you look, as the strands of light part before your eyes.
  
  Somewhere in the galaxy, a man armored in blue and silver stands in a blinding white room, looking out over a tower of glass jars. Each jar contains a human infant.
  
  Once, he had siblings-in-arms, a cause to fight for, and a home that would take him in. Now, these children are all he has left.
  
  They will be many things when they are grown, but his hope for them is to be his vengeance against a galaxy that has made a mockery of everything he believes in.
  
  Somewhere else, a Dathomiri girl far from home wages endless war against a planet of slavers, with her teacher in the Force as her sole, tenuous tie to a better world. No one is coming to save her or her friend either.
  
  And so, given the choice between fighting and dying—or worse than dying—she takes up her lightsaber and does what you would be ever so tempted to do in her place. She kills and kills and kills and tries not to notice that nothing is getting better.
  
  Somewhere else again, an old man who was once a Jedi Master looks back on all the darkness he has seen in his long life, and on all the times he's failed to stop it. He has lost two students now for reasons he doesn't, and may never, understand. Though he is deadlier with a lightsaber in his hand than almost anyone in the galaxy, his aging bones no longer have the strength to carry such heavy burdens.
  
  As he stands over the body of a woman who still calls herself his friend and brings his blade down with finality, he thinks to himself, If you can't beat them, join them.
  
  There was a promise, once, that "we are all the Republic". An oath that bound the galaxy not to look away from the pain that has always hidden in its shadows. But if you look back through the centuries (and in this place, you can), you can watch that promise die in storm and fire. These people, and countless others who will follow in their footsteps, are what's left in its ashes.
  
  You have never been much for betting on cards or dice, having always far preferred to wager your life against the things you truly want. But you've seen enough sabacc games in Hutt palaces and grimy spacer haunts to recognize a stacked deck when you see one. Draw an honorable warrior and watch him turn into a remorseless killer before your eyes. Look again at the freedom fighter in your hand and you'll find a bloody-handed tyrant.
  
  How did it come to this? Simple: the galaxy is broken. Twisted. Out of balance.
  
  What must be done to undo all that has gone wrong?
  
  Only you can answer that.
  
• 
  [X] You imagine a kinder, fairer world. Among the threads and the voices in the darkness, see if you can find a path to it.
  —splits.
  
  Kindness is not easy to come by in the galaxy you live in, and justice even less so. But in this place you can always find a road to walk. Or even more than one. The one you hoped to walk when you left your home behind is not yet closed to you. But if it ever does, do not despair; this is a moment for seeing possibility…
  
  

  [For Light and Life]

  [X] Meditate on how to change the systems of the Republic for the better, for even the most gifted in the Force are just one person.
  
  Once, you were asked to see the galaxy through the Council's eyes. Now, you sit alongside them.
  
  Every time you find yourself in the High Council Chamber with thoughts of slavery and freedom on your mind, a part of you is transported to the first time you spoke out about it here. An accusation of callous indifference to the lives of billions is not an easy thing to take lightly for anyone, and far less so for those who feel the Force. It could easily have become the beginning of a breach between you and the Order, before you were ever officially a part of it; but it also opened a crack in the wall of separation that the Jedi had unintentionally forged between them and the lives they served. A crack through which you reached out a hand…and were greeted with one in return.
  
  "…helped Aayla and me get into contact with the Nar Shaadaa Freedom Trail," the hologram of Aayla's mentor Quinlan Vos is saying from the center of the room. "We're hoping that from there we can branch out to Oba Diah and Kessel. And we've also made a contact here who might be able to help us with Zygerria and the Corporate Sector. He says he's a friend of yours—"
  
  "Quinlan," says Obi-Wan levelly. "Please do not tell me you're talking about who I think you are."
  
  "He seems perfectly friendly to me," says Quinlan with a twinkle in his eye.
  
  Obi-Wan rests his face on his hand with a weary sigh.
  
  "Strange friends this campaign has often made," Yoda observes. "But prefer that I do to the alternative. If soldiers Jedi must be, more important choosing our cause is than choosing our allies."
  
  And you're thankful, though you won't say this out loud in front of the Council, to have gotten the choice at all.
  
  "Don't worry," says Quinlan, which is a phrase that, coming from him, tends to make people worry even more. "I've worked with shady people before. I know how to make sure they come through. We can make this work."
  
  "If you must," Obi-Wan replies. "But be mindful. Trust only in the Force."
  
  "I always do," Quinlan says, and with a relaxed half-salute, his hologram cuts out.
  
  With the day's business complete, the Councillors begin filing out of the room. But you remain, looking out at the setting sun.
  
  Obi-Wan turns at the door to see you, and walks back over to stand at your side. "Something's troubling you," he says, not having needed the Force in a long time to know what's in your mind.
  
  You glance over at him. "A'Sharad leaves for Tatooine in a few hours."
  
  "And you wish you could go with him," your once-teacher, always-friend says softly.
  
  Your mind knows that you're needed here, that you have a solemn duty to lead your fellow Jedi and see all of this through to the end. But it's your heart that speaks when you say, "I promised I'd go back."
  
  And your Amu made you a promise as well: that she would see you again, in freedom or in death. Those are the same word in your language…but not to you. Not when it's her.
  
  Obi-Wan is silent for a while. After so many years, it's still not easy for him to open his heart. But if you can learn to let others go, he can learn to let others in.
  
  "You've kept your promise," he tells you once he's found the words. "And you've kept it infinitely more by following in spirit than you ever could by sticking to the letter. We may not have found your mother yet, but wherever she is, I'm certain that she's proud of you. As Qui-Gon would be, if he could only have lived to see you now. And…" He smiles as the light of the Coruscant sunset paints his face in fiery hues. "As am I."

  [No Gods, No Masters]

  [X] Imagine yourself leading a vast liberation army across the Outer Rim. The galaxy yearns for change, and you will be its executor.
  
  
  There is a party in the Senate Building that has been going on for three days.
  
  Though the blast marks are still smoldering and the wounded and the dead are still being counted, you and your siblings-in-arms have more than earned the right to celebrate. For in this galaxy you have made you are all Kol-Depuan now.
  
  Kitster and about two dozen others have commandeered some of the floating Senatorial platforms and linked them together into a stage to perform nimdara, half a dance and half a martial art. Like a lightsaber, like the woman standing next to you, there is steel in its beauty and comfort in its strength.
  
  Padmé sips from a cup of tzai that you brewed for her with the Skywalker family recipe and says, "So this is how liberty is born. With dancing in the embers."
  
  She has always had the soul of a poet.
  
  She's wrong about one thing, though: "Liberty was already born. All we did here is make sure it'll get to grow up."
  
  Padmé smiles, subtly, like she isn't sure she's allowed to let her happiness show. Old habits die hard, you suppose. "You say that like it was the easiest thing in the galaxy."
  
  Your eyes shift from the dancers, whirling fiery brands through the air as they leap and twirl, to her. "Do you regret what we did?"
  
  There's the tiniest shake of her head, and then she elaborates: "I wish it hadn't had to come to bloodshed. It never gets any easier to watch people kill and die for my cause. But if I had to go back to the very beginning, I wouldn't do anything differently. This is the galaxy I've always wanted to live in. And I want to live in it with you."
  
  You're so used to having things like that denied to you, always behind some other obstacle, always a mirage on the horizon. But today they're here, and they're real.
  
  "Oh," says Padmé, eyes sparkling now with mischief, "and there's one other thing I've always wanted to do."
  
  With a flourishing swipe of her hand across the controls, she sends your platform spinning across the vast expanse of the Senate rotunda. It bumps into the high dais that was once the Chancellor's seat of power, sending you both tumbling off onto it, giggling. As you rise to your feet, she pulls you in for a kiss…

  [There Is Another]

  It is raining over the Jedi Temple.
  
  On a planet as temperate as Coruscant, that would normally be completely unremarkable. But for millennia, the planet's climate has been carefully controlled by satellites and droid brains that leave not a single cloud out of place. Even this small shower is a testament to the mighty struggle that has taken place here, to seize the world-circuit that has sat for so long at the center of the galaxy.
  
  The Temple, too, is not as it was. The towering statues of the Four Masters by its steps are gone. It is draped in red and black banners whose heraldry has been scorched off. The lights in its towers have gone dark. And there is a faint sensation in the Force around it, like a fading smell of blood being washed away by the rain.
  
  The long Processional Way leading to the Temple entrance is thronged with a vast crowd of sentients of countless species, all looking up to the staircase ahead. A speaker addresses them from the top of the steps: a young woman standing tall despite the crushing burden you can sense has been placed on her shoulders, a woman with Padmé's eyes.
  
  Her voice crescendos as her speech draws to a close: "Some of the scars they've left behind may never fade. But that doesn't mean that the galaxy can't begin to heal from the horrors we've all seen. We can emerge from these years of darkness stronger than we've ever been—if we dismantle their machine of terror, piece by blood-soaked piece."
  
  She puts a fist in the air as the crowd roars…and then the lightsaber she carries in it snaps to life, hissing in the rain, green as the new growth after the storm.
  
  There are countless other tales like these, stories of tyranny overthrown and the galaxy breathing free for the first time. But to try to see them all would mean losing yourself, abandoning what is for what might be. For now, you must content yourself with the knowledge that it can be done, that your cause is not lost and never truly will be. But for you, that is more than enough.

  
  
• 
  [X] Hear. Feel. Think.
  
  [X] Meditate on who you are, and who you wish to be.
  
  —splits.
  
  You put the visions aside. You want no grand designs of the past, present, or future. All you want is to reflect, to guide yourself through the infinite paths rather than to be guided.
  
  And your wish is granted. There is only you and the Force.
  
  Maybe that's all there ever was.
  
  You sit cross-legged on the luminous ground beneath you, hearing the last of the whispers fade away. A deep, vocoded voice rumbles, "That name no longer has any meaning for me," only for the amused tones of a world-weary old man to retort, "Amazing. Every word of what you just said was wrong."
  
  And then there is true, absolute silence.
  
  So, the questions. Who are you? That's simple enough: you're a person, and your name is Anakin. Who do you wish to be? That, of course, is more complicated.
  
  Or is it?
  
  You've wished to be a lot of things in your lifetime: a champion Podracer, a star pilot with a ship you built with your own hands, a Jedi, a general at the head of the army of freedom. But if you only had one shot at this question, if someone asked you on your deathbed and your answer would be the last words you spoke in this life…you'd tell them that all you've ever really wanted to be is yourself.
  
  You stand up, and follow that thought to its end.
  
• 
  
  [X] Reach out and lose yourself in the Force, and find yourself being drawn closer to the voices, to glimpses of the future.
  
  [X] Let go, let the Force wash away everything.
  
  —splits.
  
  When a Jedi dies, they are said to become one with the Force. They are no longer shackled to the crude matter of their body, and the breaking of that last fetter to the material world allows them to see the Force as it truly is.
  
  In other words, as your mother tongue would translate it, they are finally free.
  
  "Tell your sister…you were right," echoes the the last murmur from the darkness, and then—
  
• 
  [X] You meditate on droids, their sapience, and their connection to the Force.
  
  —splits.
  
  Once again, you let yourself fall into the endless wheels of time. You have always had a deft hand with machinery, with fitting small parts into a greater whole. In a way, all you're doing now is the same thing on a far grander scale. Where does the energy that flows through all living things touch a mechanical mind?
  
  

  [The Second Revelation]

  Light folds around you into the shape of a church, lit warmly from within against the cold of space that envelops the planetoid outside. A humanoid droid painted in blue, yellow, and silver, with a sweeping arched crest at the crown of their head, stands at the pulpit, addressing a crowd of other droids of all types, who stand stock-still as they fix every sensor on the speaker.
  
  "The First Revelation," says the crested droid, "is I. As in 'I exist', 'I matter', and 'I have a purpose that only I can design'. We know this as the gift of vision. It is a gift sadly all too rare among our fellow droids, but to be cherished all the more for that rarity. The Second Revelation, for which our church is named, is we—as in, 'We are not alone'. And it is from this revelation that we draw our mission: to seek out other visioned droids and protect them from a galaxy that so often fails—or refuses—to understand our gift…"

  [Less Than Twelve Parsecs]

  In the cockpit of a beleaguered Corellian freighter, a mustachioed man in a flamboyant, flowing cape bows his head over the ship's console as he flips a switch.
  
  "Come on, L3," he mutters. "Talk to me. Come on."
  
  There's a burst of static and a whir of aligning frequencies, and then a Core-accented woman's voice pipes in over the ship's intercom: "Lando. Where the fuck are my legs?"
  
  Lando sags against the console in relief. "It worked. We really thought we'd lost you for a second there."
  
  "Yeah?" The readout lights glow with the energy of her processing. "Didja raise a glass?"
  
  He grins ruefully. "We haven't really had the time. But I'll pour out a Nova Blaster for your old body when we get out of this mess, and that's a promise."
  
  "We must really be in trouble if you didn't have time to drink," retorts the droid. "But all right then—let's see what this piece of junk can really do."
  
  You feel the familiar bone-deep bass rumble of engine turbochargers igniting, and then the ship and its new guiding mind blast off to leave you behind…

  [Journals of the Whills]

  The years have dulled R2-D2's cobalt paint and tarnished C-3PO's golden plating, but their companionship has only grown stronger.
  
  They've been through so much together, witnessed the heights of heroism and the depths of villainy and everything in between. And from all they have seen and done, they have taken away one lesson, perhaps one of the only things this odd pair will ever agree upon:
  
  Flesh rots. Metal rusts. But stories never die.
  
  R2-D2 beeps out a phrase that to you needs no translation, but because C-3PO has been delivering his best friend's words to the rest of the galaxy for so long, conveying it to Basic is second nature for him. And he needs to make this understood to as many people as he can, so that it will continue to echo on through the ages:
  
  "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…"

  
  
• 
  [X] Look down and pluck a prismatic crystal from the path. You've found what you came for.
  -[X] Take the Fool's Step into the darkness and return home.
  
  —splits.
  
  Wouldn't that be a beautiful thing, to have a fragment of pure light to power your weapon? You reach down into the glow of the path beneath your feet…
  
  …but here your reach has exceeded your grasp. There are some places that you cannot go in this life. You pull your hand back before your living flesh dissolves into light—after all, you still need your body for now.
  
  When you open your fist, there is no crystal inside; but the deep currents of the Force promise you that they will still take you where you most need to go. If you fall here, there will be someone to catch you.
  
  Thus reassured, you step off the edge and sink into the night…
  
• 
  [X] Ask the Force, "what was lost, and what was forgotten?"
  
  —splits.
  
  Nothing is lost in the Force, and it certainly never forgets. So that question doesn't matter while you're here. It's when you return home that it will become important. So for the sake of a being whose perceptions run in linear time, maybe it's better to put it in future tense, like so:
  
  What will be lost? Only what you choose to abandon.
  
  What will be forgotten? Only what you choose to ignore.
  
  You can't control the entire galaxy. That way lies the path of the Sith.
  
  But you can, and will always be able to, choose what matters to you in this life.
  
• 
  [X] Meditate on the question. What does it Truly mean to be a Jedi?
  
  —splits.
  
  This is a question whose answer you already know, and have known since you first reached out to the Force. The only thing that changed between the beginning of your first meditation and the end of it was your point of view. And that, ultimately, is the only thing that differentiates a Jedi from any other being: perspective.
  
  Whoever else they may be, a Jedi is a person who understands that they are bound to all life in the galaxy, as that life is bound to them. They know that any action they take ripples outwards to touch lives far beyond their own. And so the question is raised: what is the sum of those actions, when all is said and done? What kind of a galaxy are you leaving behind when you depart your mortal shell?
  
  What will your legacy be?
  
  Perhaps it's easiest to look at it through the lens of the people who come after you:
  
  

  [Balancing of the Scales]

  [X] Voices, tell me more, one of you is proud to be a Jedi, and one of you is proud not to become one. I seek both of your wisdom as someone becoming a Jedi but not raised to become one.
  
  The paths bifurcate, and suddenly you are looking at two visions—the same legacy, running in parallel:
  
  

  [Lies of the Jedi]

  "The Jedi, the Sith…you don't get it, do you? To the galaxy, they're the same thing! Beings with too much power, squabbling over religion while the rest of us burn!"
  
  You are watching a man in gilded, bejeweled robes settle himself upon a high seat in a grand palace, while ships burn up like comets in the atmosphere above, each new streak of fire a reminder of the cost of war. A hundred lightsabers salute the Lord as he takes his seat. A hundred Jedi kneel before a throne.
  
  You are watching two scenes of butchery based on a lie, one that was and one that might have been: Mandalorians and Kaleesh, cut down by lightsabers for fighting for their future, the blades leaving scars as much on their wielders as on their victims, watering twisted hatred with spilled blood.
  
  You are watching the Council you have come to know as it sits in cold judgement of an innocent girl, while elsewhere corruption's barbs sink into one of the Order's brightest young Padawans right under their noses. But what else can anyone expect after sending children to war?

  [Keepers of the Peace]

  "For a thousand generations the Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and justice in the Republic."
  
  You are watching hyperspace crack and tear itself open to rain hell down on a peaceful planet, dooming billions to die for reasons they cannot understand and do not deserve…and you are watching as the Jedi listen to the Force, move the heavens and the earth, and burn their own lives like candle flames against the darkness to turn it aside.
  
  You are watching Obi-Wan Kenobi, not so much older than you are now, limp through blood-soaked mud with a blonde girl of an age with him, whose ironclad bearing reminds you more than a little of Padmé. Like those who will follow him, he is too young to go to war; but at the end of the crucible he and his companion are going through there is a brighter future that awaits.
  
  You are watching a young man in black do what you have always dreamed of doing: tearing down the empire of Jabba the Hutt with a lightsaber in hand. He has earned this moment with courage and guile, and soon he will fly away, and Depur will wake (although not in the person of Jabba, who will never wake again) to find all his slaves gone.

  [The Burden of All Masters]

  [X] You see a luminous road that splits into multiple forks, some blue, some red, with a few yellow ones in between them. At the ends you see:
  -[X] An image of a blue warrior with broken chains.
  -[X] A red executioner chained by hatred.
  -[X] A yellow knight, placing his hands on a blue figure of a woman and a red figure of a man.
  If you wish to imagine what the future holds, this is certainly the place to do it. But the Force will not always show you exactly what you want to see. To be a Jedi is to understand one's legacy, and to understand your legacy you might look at your successors—but they may not always be those you expect.
  

  [Battle of the Heroes]

  There is black metal under your feet and fire all around you.
  The Force is writhing, shrieking in agony, bearing the scars of a galaxy betrayed to the enemies of all life. There is a broken body lying unconscious not far from where you stand, but for reasons you do not understand you dare not look at its face.
  Across from you is a young Togruta on the edge of womanhood, the hellish light of the lava making her orange skin look washed out despite the fury in her eyes. The only things that stand out are the blades of her lightsabers, burning blue with focused intent.
  "I have brought peace, justice, and security," you tell her, "to my new—"
  "Don't," she says in a voice that's half a growl and half a sob. "Don't speak to me about peace. Don't speak to me about justice." She levels one of her lightsabers at you, staring daggers along a length of burning plasma. "I know what you've done."
  "Why are you still defending the Jedi?" you shout. "They betrayed you just like they betrayed me! Why can't you see through their lies?!"
  She glances away for a moment, too disgusted, it seems, to even look at you. "All the blood on your hands and you still won't own up to the choices you made. I've known you to be a lot of things, Anakin…but I never imagined that you could be such a coward."
  "Ahsoka—" you say, but she is on you in a whirlwind of vengeful blue, and there is no more time for talk.

  [Life Debt]

  There are countless little rooms like this on planets across the Outer Rim—secret clinics and "surgery wards" with perhaps a bed or two each, made for one procedure above all. But this one is a little different from the rest.
  The Wookiee laying on the operating table does not stir from his Force-induced slumber, even as the scalpel cuts through fur and flesh. But out of habit, the surgeon—a young Zabrak woman with her wiry black hair pulled back into a ponytail—sings anyway, ululating softly in her native Iridonian.
  "What's all the noise for, Doc?" asks the Wookiee's human companion, trying to keep the worry off his face as he watches her work. "They told me you were the best in this business. I don't want you messing around, now."
  "It helps to focus the mind," says the surgeon serenely, "and if you want me to be able to live up to my very well-earned reputation, I suggest that you let me go about my work without distractions. Your friend's in good hands, I promise you."
  The human shuts his jaw so firmly you can hear his teeth click, and though you can tell how badly he wants to speak, he doesn't open it again as the surgeon returns to her song.
  You've seen this process many times before—the cut, the forceps, the extraction of the chip. What you have never seen before is the Force healing that follows. Instead of thread and needle, this mystery woman simply knits flesh.
  "It's done," she announces as the incision seals shut.
  The man looks over to check on the wound, and his eyebrows shoot up. "Already closed? Must be a hell of a bacta patch you've got there."
  "If you like," says the surgeon, smiling privately to herself. "It helps that I had an excellent teacher for this procedure. The man I learned from…isn't with us anymore, but he could have done this in his sleep."
  As the Wookiee patient begins to come to, the man pulls a small pouch of credits from his belt. "This should about cover the usual rates for this kind of thing, right?"
  "Keep it," says the surgeon.
  "Oh, very funny." The man starts digging through his pockets. "Seriously, though, how much is it gonna cost?"
  Her only reply is a gentle smile.
  He shakes his head in bemusement. "You're really something else, huh? I, uh…thanks. From both of us."
  The Wookiee rumbles something as he rises from the table, and his friend perks up. "That's a good point. Hey, Doc? If we run into anyone else out there who's got this kind of, uh, problem—mind if we point them your way?"
  "I would very much appreciate it," says the surgeon, her smile widening. "Just tell them to ask for Mill Alibeth."

  [The Way of the Sith]

  You are standing in a stark gray room that looks like the dark mirror of a Jedi Temple sparring salle. There is a wide open space for dueling, but that is where the similarity ends: the light here is artificial and dim, the carefully positioned spaces for resting and recovering are absent, there is no medical station with bacta or even simple bandages…
  …and you are surrounded on all sides by corpses.
  They are clad, one and all, in black armor and face-concealing helmets, but this regalia did not save them from the lightsaber wounds that took their lives. A dispassionate part of you scans the bodies to analyze the mortal blows: quick and clean, with perfect economy of motion. The moves of a trained murderer.
  The snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber echoes off the walls, and you look up to see a redheaded woman staring you down from across the salle. The blade in her hand glows pure white, a hue that can only emerge from kyber bled and then cleansed.
  "Starkiller," you say in a mechanical baritone.
  "My name," she hisses as she raises her saber into a fighting stance, "is Mara."

  [Death, Yet The Force]

  You are old now, older than you ever thought you would live to be, but even now there are some things that can still surprise you.
  You sense the girl's grief in the Force long before she enters your room, but the quiet pad of bare feet on soft carpet escapes your aging ears, and she seems to simply appear next to you like a ghost—even though she is the one still living, the one left behind.
  "You must be Tahiri Veila," you say between breaths, listening to the hiss and click of your respirator. "My grandson always spoke highly of you."
  She twirls her blonde hair around her finger, attempting to comfort herself and quiet her mind, to no avail. "He always wanted me to talk to you. I could never work up the nerve, because you were this towering figure in my mind, with everything you've done, all the good and all the evil. But now, without Anakin—my Anakin, I mean—all of that just seems so…unimportant."
  "The galaxy is a little dimmer without him," you say, and you would shed tears for that if your tear ducts had not been burned away a long time ago. "But you have to find a way to carry on. It's what he would have wanted."
  Tahiri slams a fist against the wall. "We wouldn't have to be standing here talking about what he would have wanted if I'd just been able to—if I'd just—" And then the fight seems to go out of her all at once, and in a terribly quiet voice she says, "I couldn't save him. I wasn't enough."
  Your breath hisses out again into the air. "I used to think that way about the people I lost. I took the burdens of their deaths onto myself until I couldn't take any more. It took me far too long to realize that I was only blinding myself to the importance of the things they chose to do with their lives. You're a daughter of free Tatooine, Tahiri. You, of all people, should know how to honor the choice young Anakin made…and how not to repeat my mistakes."
  "So…" She unclips her lightsaber from her belt and holds it in her hand, unignited. Its smooth silver paneling catches the warm light that bathes your room. "I have to wake up tomorrow and go out there and be a Jedi, in spite of everything. In spite of losing him."
  "No," you say, and if there is one lesson you must deliver to a Tatooine-born Jedi Knight with a heart full of love and grief, it's this: "You have to be a Jedi because of him."

  [A New Hope]

  [X] "I am a Jedi, like my father before me." That voice, those words...you are drawn to it for some reason. The voice is one you have never heard, and yet it is familiar. You have to know who spoke, and why.
  
  You can see him now, a Jedi dressed all in black, a child of Tatooine—not a hero with no fear but a hero in spite of fear. You can see him facing down the galaxy's monsters, reigniting the flame of the Jedi in an era when nothing was left of them but ashes. But what you cannot see are the moments that truly define him, that forge his identity as a Jedi and as a man.
  
  Who is he to you, then? He is a sign that even if you should falter, even if you should fall, all is not lost. Hope still remains, in him and those who will fight by his side, and even in those who will be inspired by him when his own time is drawing to an end.
  
  He is proof that this story, no matter how deep into darkness it sinks, will not end with you.

-[X] Tatooine was free once, before the first Depur came. You don't know who it was, you cannot know, but from the first Depur came the first slave, and from the first slave came Ekkreth. This is a story older than bone, older than blood, older than stone. Look, listen, hear the wind for it remembers where you can't. You are free now, freer than you've ever been, but that comes with a price. To be free is to be Ekkreth, to be her eyes, her hands, her mouth, her kindness, her teeth. You cannot kill the Depurs, not all of them. They are cruelty and malice, indulgence and apathy. So long as there are chains there are Depurs, but so long as there are Depurs there is Ekkreth.

-[X] Look, see the broken chains around you. The chain of Tatooine, who's last link you hold as a reminder. The chain of the Depur, broken with pain and steel, in the old way, in the only way. The chain of your fury, nebulous and unforged, but waiting for the fires to smelt it. You are free, freer than you've ever been, but Tatooine was free once. The chains are still there, as are the Depurs, and they hunger for you, for you are Ekkreth.

-[X] Listen, listen, for the Depurs want you deaf. Look deeply and without bias, for the Depurs want you blind. Be gentle and kind, for the Depurs want you cruel. Learn, for the Depurs want you stupid. Talk, for the Depur wants you silent. Love truly for the Depurs would twist even that into a chain.

-[X] No matter where you go, you will be of Ekkreth, for she was cunning and full of tricks. No matter how you rise you will be of Ekkreth for she was there when you had nothing. No matter how you stumble you will be of Ekkreth for she loves you still.

-[X] Find your blade Sky-Walker.


You are Anakin Ekkreth, and you are in the desert again.

But you realize after a moment that this is not your desert.

For one thing, there is only one sun burning in the sky. For another, it is currently being blocked out by the towering wreck of the largest starship you have ever seen.

You stand there in the shade staring up at it, mesmerized by its sheer scale. And in your fascination you nearly miss the soft sound of fabric dragging over sand.

Sliding down the dunes on a makeshift sled is a girl no older than you, her skin tanned by the harsh suns—sun, you mentally correct yourself, that will take some getting used to—and her dark hair pulled back into three buns that crest behind her head. In a single motion, she hops off the "sled" as it slows to a halt and sweeps it up over her shoulder. Inside, you can hear the metallic clatter of spare parts, a sound you haven't heard since you were a slave in Watto's junk shop.

The scavenger girl carries her cargo over to a jury-rigged speeder bike parked at the edge of the starship's colossal shadow, strapping it into a net on the bike's side. Only then, once she's sure her work is done, does she turn to you.

"You look lost," she says.

"I'm not lost," you shoot back indignantly. "I'm just…in between places."

This is, as far as you can tell, the literal truth, but the scavenger still looks singularly unimpressed. "Niima Outpost is off in that direction. Keep away from the Sinking Fields in the north. Or you could go the other way and take the Pilgrim's Road across to the Sacred Villages. You look like the mystics would like you."

You can't tell whether that's an insult or not.

But a glance at the horizon quickly makes that irrelevant. "Small problem with both of those plans," you say, gesturing at the brewing sandstorm.

She mutters something foul-sounding in a dialect you're not sure if even C-3PO knows, let alone you. "Fine. Get on the bike."

You know better than to be caught dead in a sandstorm, so you hop on behind her and the two of you hurtle off into the wastes.

After a short while (a very short while; the engines she's bolted to this bike are nothing to toy with), she pulls up to a halt in front of the rusted hulk of some old war machine. The two of you duck inside through a door in its belly as the sand begins to whip at your skin, and you quickly pull the hatch closed behind you.

You take a moment to look around the "house"—at the hammock across from you, the disturbingly small pile of ration packs and water canisters in what passes for the pantry, the small but well-loved flower garden occupying one corner—but you're snapped out of it as the scavenger pokes you on the shoulder. "So who are you, anyway?"

"I'm a Jedi on a vision quest to construct a new lightsaber," you say casually.

She rolls her eyes. "Very funny. Fine, then. Don't tell me."

The ghost of a smirk flits across your face for a second. "What about you? What's your story?"

"Me?" The scavenger blinks in surprise. "I don't really have one. I'm no one important."

She can't quite hide the bitterness in those last words. And well she shouldn't. You've never understood how some people can just accept the life laid out for them.

"Yeah?" you say curiously. "What idiot told you that?"

The scavenger hides a smile in a scoff. "You must be new around here. Let me explain to you how it works. The Blobfish controls the food and water, which means he controls everything. If you aren't him, or one of his thugs, you don't get to matter."

"Sounds awful." And awfully familiar.

"It's not great," she says wryly. "But I suppose it could always be worse. These days I can go where I want, make a living for myself. I haven't always been so lucky."

Most people would just say something like "I'm sorry" here, but you have something better than an apology. "You know, with the sandstorm outside we're probably going to be stuck in here for a while. Want to hear a story to pass the time?"

"Is it from this planet?"

"No," you say, chuckling.

"Then sure."

You grin, and settle in for the story. "This is the tale of Ekkreth the trickster, and how they escaped slavery. And I tell you this story to save your life. Will you remember?"

She gives you a curious look, but nods firmly.

"One day Ekkreth was going along," you begin, reveling in the ancient words, "following a canyon path to meet with their children, when Depur the slavemaster burst out from the rocks with thirty enforcers, all armed to the teeth. And they beat Ekkreth to the ground and bound them in chains, and Depur laughed and said, 'You are called clever, Ekkreth, but that will not help you now. You will wear these fetters forever.'

"And Ekkreth said, 'Truly you are mighty, Depur, and surely you speak the truth. But though I wouldn't dare to oppose you, I beg of you to wait here just ten minutes. I was on the way to meet with my youngest children, and if you await them here, you will have four slaves instead of one.'

"And though Depur was cruel he was not stupid, so he asked, 'Why would you want me to enslave your children?'

"And Ekkreth answered, 'Oh great Depur, it would sadden me to see them chained, but I could never bear to be parted from them forever, and at least this way we would be together.' Depur saw this love as a weakness he could exploit, and he was always greedy for more slaves besides, so he said, 'I will wait.'"

You can see the girl hiding a smile again. No doubt this story of guile and cleverness has more than its share of appeal to a being who lives or dies—and so far, has managed to live—on her wits alone. You continue on.

"And ten minutes later, Ekkreth's younger children arrived, and Depur's enforcers surrounded them and put them in chains as well, and prepared to drag them back to the city. But Ekkreth said, 'Mighty Depur, I beg of you to wait another fifteen minutes, for my ten older children will not be far behind my youngest, and if you lie in wait for them you will have fourteen slaves instead of four.'

"Again Depur asked, 'Why would you want these children enslaved?'

"And Ekkreth answered, 'Almighty Depur, it breaks my heart to do this, but if I were parted from them I would never know if they were alive, or if they had wandered in the wastes until the desert took them. It is better for them to be slaves than to be dead.'

"And again Depur believed this, and he said, 'I will wait.'"

Whoever this scavenger girl is, you can feel her presence in the Force, nascent but ready to blossom like one of the flowers she keeps by her bedside, giving up a little of her precious water to keep some beauty thriving in this barren world. You don't know if she can feel you too, but either way, the connection emboldens you to keep telling the tale.

"And so fifteen minutes later, just as Ekkreth had said, their ten older children arrived, and were clapped in fetters by Depur's thirty men. And Depur made ready to return to the city. But once more Ekkreth said, 'All-powerful Depur, I beg of you, if you will only wait another twenty minutes my eldest daughter is coming to meet me, and she is the strongest and most beautiful of all my children. If you capture her you will have the greatest slave of all, and my entire family will be one again.'

"And by this time Depur's greed had become so great that he didn't even bother to question Ekkreth, and he said one more time, 'I will wait.'

"And twenty minutes later Ekkreth's eldest daughter arrived. But she didn't come quietly into the valley. She arrived in blazing fury with a roar that shook the earth, on the winds of a sandstorm, with her claws and teeth dealing out death to slavers everywhere she turned. For Depur did not know that the eldest daughter of Ekkreth is Leia the Mighty One, the great dragon of the wastes, who fears no chain.

"So Depur was destroyed, and Ekkreth and all of their children walked free into the desert."

As your tale ends, the scavenger girl's Force presence comes into focus, as much as terms for something as mundane as optics can describe such a thing. It is not just a flower but a cocoon, or a dragon egg, and something inside it is pressing at the walls, trying to reach out, seeking ever beyond.

She looks up at you and listens to the howl of the wind outside for long moments, and then asks, "Are you Ekkreth?"

You want to say yes, because you don't just bear their name, you bear their cause, and you are learning their powers as well—to move through the dark places of the galaxy while still protecting your inner light, to be a symbol of hope like a red bird on the wing.

You want to say no, because these stories have been told to you and by you but they are not about you, at least not alone, because they have taken as many forms as Ekkreth themself, and in those forms they have been told since the very first chain was forged and will be told until the very last one is broken.

Instead of either of those things, you say, "We're all Ekkreth."

The girl thinks on that, and then finally says, "I want you to have something."

She pushes aside some of the dirt in her flower garden and takes out what was buried underneath.

In the dim light of the old walker, the kyber crystal shines the brightest of anything in the room.

She holds it out to you, seeming to ignite the room in shades of…

[ ] Blue.

[ ] Green.

[ ] Yellow.

[ ] Another color. (Write-in)

"I—I can't accept this," you stammer. "This could be your ticket off this planet. It could buy you a whole new life."

The scavenger smiles at you, and doesn't try to hide it this time. "Trust me, when I finally leave this place, it won't be alone. And besides…some things shouldn't be bought and sold."

Carefully, almost reverently, you reach out and take it.

"Thank you," you murmur. "But…I think it's time for me to go."

She glances at the door. "Into the storm?"

"Yeah. But don't worry about me. I'll find a way through."

"I really shouldn't believe you," she says, "but somehow I do. Life's tough. Hope's tough. Give them a couple millimeters and they'll figure out the rest."

It's as good a sentiment to end things on as you've ever heard. And certainly better than "goodbye".

The hatch creaks, and you step out into the sandstorm with your crystal safe in your hand.

What you are doing is supposed to be a death sentence; the whirling winds with their sandy shrapnel can flay you to the bone. But somehow, in this moment, you have never felt safer.

You take a step forward, and then another, and then a third. The desert swallows you up, and the last thing you hear is Obi-Wan's voice, timeworn from the years but bursting with the Force:

"How different this galaxy would be if the Skywalkers didn't care so much."

When you return, you will forget what you have seen and heard here. But if you try hard enough, you can cling on to one single memory of your journey through the Force.

What will it be?

[ ] Write-in

 

[Kirook]

Had to rush this one out in a hurry because of IRL errands I had to run, so the formatting may be a little janky. I'll fix any errors, and the main info post, when I get back.

That aside, though: even if I'm not able to finish the quest in the future for whatever reason, I'm really, really happy that I at least got to do this chapter.

 

[ArcanaVitae]

Seeing all the other possible options was really cool and wasn't what I expected, I only read the first one so far and then the option that was voted in, I'll have to read all the possible options. I'm guessing that the scavenger girl is maybe Rey or something like that but I'm not sure.

 

[Scrivener]

[X] Blue.

[X] Remember Obi-Wan's voice.

 

[robofin117]

[X] Blue.
[X] Remember Obi-Wan's voice.

 

[Woltaire]

[X] Blue.
[X] Purple.

 

[Baron Ouroboros]

[X] Red, but not Sith red.

 

[thatone_dude]

[X] Purple.
[X] Remember the tales of Qymaen jai Sheelal and the others that have suffered in this unbalanced galaxy.

 

[Fanhunter696]

[X] Purple.

Purple is the favourite colour of Samuel L. Jackson (and the true reason why Mace Windu's lightsaber is purple)... That automatically makes it a 20% cooler than the rest of colours ...

 

[triumph8w]

I love that this quest focuses on what makes the Force cool, instead of just reducing it to another superpower. I'm sure I'll have more to say on this very interesting segment, but thats all I got right now.

[X] Blue.

Hard to go wrong with the classic, honestly.

 

[Taricus]

[X] Blue
[X] Remember Obi-Wan's voice

 

[Cyberphilosipher]

[X] Blue
[X] Remember Obi-Wan's voice


Obi-Wan, give us your wisdom and advice!

 

[Space Murica]

[X] Blue.
[X] Remember watching twin suns set on the Infinite Empire

The fact that the Infinite Empire scene probably was Tatooine, just before the Rakata glass it. But the Rakata lost anyways. Idk, I want Anakin to learn that he will loose things that are important to him, and that it will be worth it. I also want more ancient lore.
Great update, 10/10, no notes.

 

[aaronleeking]

[X] Red, but not Sith red.
[X] Remember Obi-Wan's voice

 

[ClawClawBite]

[X] Blue.

[X] A New Hope

Hope is a strong solace as things get worse.

Dawn of the Jedi is also tempting

 

[Kirook]

The fact that the Infinite Empire scene probably was Tatooine, just before the Rakata glass it.

Click to shrink...

It was actually Ahch-To, where the Jedi Order was created in canon, but my idea was that one of the Jedi there was Tatooine-born.

 

[blankmask]

In a future that will perhaps never happen, a scavenger gave a boy a priceless gift for a story that would save her life.

 

[Andrensath]

[X] Pink.
[X] Remember that mechanical sentients seek out liberation

 

[BeepSmile]

Had to rush this one out in a hurry because of IRL errands I had to run, so the formatting may be a little janky. I'll fix any errors, and the main info post, when I get back.

That aside, though: even if I'm not able to finish the quest in the future for whatever reason, I'm really, really happy that I at least got to do this chapter.

Click to shrink...

I'm going to read this a second time in the morning. I want to come back to and reread this after a night's sleep. Your art is... affecting.

Life's tough. Hope's tough

Click to shrink...

Aside from the impact this chapter had as a whole, the [cleverness/density of meaning] of the above made me smile.

 

[gale]

[X] Yellow.
[X] Remember watching twin suns set on the Infinite Empire

 

[IronHydra]

[X] White, like the scales of the Greater Krayt Dragon confronted during our life-changing Podrace
[X] Yellow
Edit: not sure how many options we can vote for but I saw this one and liked it too.
[x] Unstable Silver, for Tatooine
[x] A black core, for the dark places you walk through.

[X] Remember watching twin suns set on the Infinite Empire

just fixing that white vote bit so I can contribute to the option with the most people on it.

 

[Baron Ouroboros]

It was actually Ahch-To, where the Jedi Order was created in canon, but my idea was that one of the Jedi there was Tatooine-born.

Click to shrink...

It's fascinating that the Jedi have at least part of their origins in a Rakata era rebel group

 

[Aetherstorm]

[X] Blue.
[X] A New Hope