Chapter 2: Weaving a Tapestry of Peace

The gust of a summer breeze ran through her long brown hair, bringing with it the fresh scent of the blossoming flowers that the lined either side of the white cobbled walkway. The rush of the wind roared in her ears. She closed her eyes and let the music play across her face as her hair took up the dance, waving freely in the warm air.

"Padame, I told you to braid your hair" Her older bother Bail reprimanded from her side. "Now it is a complete mess, and the delegates from Mandalore will be here any moment." He turned his head back to look towards to the landing platform with prefect stature. "Why mother let you come at all is beyond me. With your wild appearance they might mistake you for one of the witches of Dathomir." 

Even though his tone seemed harsh, she could tell he was being facetious. Still she couldn't allow him to get away with it that easily. "Well brother, with your rigid stance and ugly facade they might mistake you for one of the gargoyles of Malastare." Beside her, Bail's face blushed a deep red. Perhaps that was a bit too far, but he should have known better than to comment on her hair. She hated putting it up and much preferred to let it flow free and unconfined.  

"Cease your bickering you two." Padame's mother said softly on Bail's left before he could form a rebuttal. "Our guests will be arriving soon and we must be proper hosts." Her mother looked beautiful in a light silver dress that flowed passed her ankles. Unlike Padame, her mother's dark hair was braided into two tight buns on the side of her head. Her face was gentle and kind, with blue eyes that seemed to glitter and flow like water. She looked every bit the eloquent queen she was.

A faint whine sounded in the distance and grew louder with each passing second. The Mandalorian shuttle was approaching. For some reason, a ball formed in Padame's stomach and she felt strangely nervous. The Madalorian's were once a warring people. Indeed, thousands of years ago they ravaged the galaxy battling the Republic in the great Mandalorian Wars. But they had turned over a new leaf, or so they said. Their delegation was arriving on Alderaan with the hope of joining the Republic and cementing peace between their peoples. So why couldn't she shake this feeling of unease?

The shuttle came in slow and with a whoosh of the retro thrusters, arrested its motion. The repulsers kicked in and it alighted gently on the landing pad. As soon as the ramp came down, a woman stepped out in plain fitted white clothing. Without stopping to take in the beautiful landscape that was Alderaan she crisply strode forward. On either side, she was flanked by two men clad in black. Their expressions stern, but not unpleasant. 

"Greetings esteemed ambassadors. On behalf of all my people and of the Galactic Republic, I welcome you to Alderaan, may our air fill your lungs with peace, our water wash away your fears, and our earth provide a fertile place for your acts of kindness to grow." Padame's mother spoke the customary Alderaanian greeting with a delicate and practiced tongue.

All three of the delegates heads bowed curtly. In unison they brought their closed right fist across their chests. Padame had read about this in preparation for their arrival, it was a standard Mandalorian salute. A symbol of respect. The woman in white replied "On behalf of the people of Mandalore we graciously accept your welcome and extend our salutations in return. We are grateful to you, Lady Organa, for hosting this ceremony." The woman continued, now looking up towards Padame's mother, grasping her hands behind her back. "However, you will forgive my bluntness, but where is the Republic delegation? We were told to expect them." 

"There is nothing to forgive Mando Opell. The Republic delegation will be arriving on the morrow. They have experienced unavoidable delays on Courscant, but they will be leaving shortly. My husband Lord Terra Organa is traveling with them. Until they arrive, you will be treated with all that Alderaanian hospitality has to offer as our esteemed guests." Padame was ever surprised at the ease and eloquence with which her mother spoke. "Now allow me to introduce my son. Prince Bail Organa and my daughter, Princess Padame."

Padame and her brother exchanged the official royal greetings with Mando Opell and the other delegates; Ambassador Tiko Galdore and Ambassador Argo Fett. Padame was never a fan of proper etiquette, but she respected her mother and father too much to defy them. She knew what was expected of her and she obliged, all be it begrudgingly. The initial unease she felt upon the Mandolarians arrival had turned to excitement. She remembered the name Fett from her studies in intergalactic history. If she was correct, he once served as a general in the Madalorian Army during the Death Watch Skirmish over a hundred years ago. Could this be the same Fett? He looked rather old, with thick white hair, a well kept goatee, and hard facial features, chiseled over the decades. He might have been handsome if not for a jagged scar that ran down the left side of his face. It extended from above his eyebrow, down past his eye, coated white with scar tissue, along his cheek just rasing the edge of his month. He had clearly seen action in his day. Padame resolved to find an appropriate time to ask him. Perhaps over the ceremonial welcome dinner tonight.

After all the customary introductions were over Lady Organa led them back along the walkway towards the Royal Palace. The young yellow sun was beginning to set below the distant white capped mountains, extending its vast fingers of orange, red, pink and gold across the color soaked clouds; as if grasping unto to the last moments of day. The palace gleamed, luminous and lusterous in the waning sunlight. Colors danced across it's polished white marble. The three great towers grazed the clouds, gently caressing the majestic sky. A farewell to the setting star and a warm welcome to the rising silver moon. As the light continued to dim the twilight poplars, that lined the walkway hidden among the other flowers, began to blossom. Their soft blue and violet bioluminescent pedals spreading in anticipation of the coming night. If the air had smelled sweet before it now came alive with a soothing floral scent. There couldn't have been a grander or more beautiful beginning to the forthcoming peace summit, Padame thought to herself in awe. She loved her home more than anything. Yet as she looked up towards the first stars that dotted the darkening sky she felt an inexplicable and somehow inexorable pull.

As they walked through the main gate, which consisted of two great statues twenty meters tall of a man and woman clasping hands, Padame looked over at Argo Fett. For a single moment, in the glow of the twilight poplars, she thought she detected a look of deep sorrow in his dark eyes, etched into the creases of his brow. But just as quickly as it appeared it vanished leaving the same wise, somber face as before. With nightfall, the feeling of unease returned to settle like a cloud over Padame's troubled mind. Would this summit truly give birth to lasting peace?       

               

Chapter 1: A Run in with Smugglers

The old freighter sling shot around the oblong asteroid with only centimeters to spare, dodging the laser blasts fired at its bow.

"Blast, I thought we had him that time!" Said the gunner to Obi Wan's left. He could feel the frustration radiating off the young cadet, but he paid it no mind. The lad was young and competitive, eager to prove himself. No doubt one day he would get the chance, but from the looks of it, that day was not today. The pilot of the old Corellian freighter they were pursuing was skilled. Indeed, that was an understatement. He was one of the best pilots Obi Wan had ever seen.

"Jedi Kenobi, we are dispatching four Y wing fighters to rendezvous at sector 148 as per your request. But, sir, I respectively disagree with this maneuver. The ship is clearly headed towards the Core along the Parlemian Trade route. Perhaps to the Hapes Cluster or Taanab. The Y wings will be going in completely the wrong direction." The Bothan Commander, unlike the cadet was cool and collected. He had many years experience and it showed; both in his crisp military stature and the white streaks that ran through his jet black hair. By all accounts he was right. The smugglers did seem to be going straight towards the Core. Obi Wan took a moment to quiet his mind and opened himself to the Force.

Immediately, the ship's bridge took on an entirely new appearance. Colors filled the air: the yellow orange rays of the gunners frustration, the flashes of red fear from the pilots as they did their best to evade the rocks on the edge of the Roche Asteroid Field, the solid gray of Commander Jensen's resolve. Then there was the calming blue of Obi Wan, he saw himself as if looking down from above. He went deeper, reaching out across empty space towards the fleeing ship as it rolled and dived. As he grazed its hall a rush of thoughts ran through his mind, like memories one thought were long forgotten. It was a modified Corellian YG-4210 starship, built 130 years before in the shipyards of Fondor. The builders were diligent and careful, they loved their craft and it payed off. Almost a century and half later it was pulling tight maneuvers it was never designed to make. Dents and scorch marks marred its outer surface, new wounds to match the old scars. Obi Wan continued, extending himself past the hall and the cargo. There in the cockpit, burning white hot, like a sun in the force; the elusive pilot, no more than a boy of twelve standard years. Obi Wan brushed against his consciousness, not wanting to reveal his presence. The reaction was instinctual and automatic. The pilot spontaneously closed in on himself, an implosion so sudden that it forced Obi Wan back, returning him to the bridge where his body was waiting; staring through the transparsteel windows. The lad was quick, he'd give him that, but just before his retreat Obi Wan caught a glimpse of the pilot's destination. A single image blazed in his mind: two harsh suns beating down on a barren dessert.

"Jedi Kenobi?" Commander Jensen was standing behind him, an inquisitive look on his face. "Are you sure you want the Y wings in sector 148."

"You look, but you do not see Commander. The freighter is bound for the far Outer Rim. They would not risk taking the main hyperspace lanes, it will likely travel the back routes via Nal Hutta." Obi Wan's tone was clam and even. If his response was not to the Commander's liking, Jensen didn't show it. He merely nodded curtly and relayed the command.

A sharp beeping turned into a solid tone as the targeting computer locked onto the fleeing starship. The gunner beside Obi Wan shouted triumphantly. "I got him now." Brilliant red turbolaser blasts erupted from the cannons and streaked towards the smugglers.

The Corellian freighter reacted even before the shots were fired. Banking hard, as if about to turn, it dived sharply between three large asteroids, circling around the nearest one in a downward helix. The turbolasers collided with the asteroid, vaporizing rock and shattering the orb into a shower of debris. Meanwhile, the freighter's three large engines could be seen passing underneath its pursuer on a ninety degree trajectory.

Red sirens blared on the bridge as the dust and particulates collided with the ships shields. Obi Wan was not concerned. The Republic Nebula Enforcer's had excellent shields, otherwise they would have never considered a pursuit into the outskirts of the asteroid field. Still the ship was far larger than the smugglers and less maneuverable. They couldn't continue this charade much longer.

"Hold your fire, we don't want to cause any trouble with the Verpine!" Commander Jensen yelled. The Verpine were insectoid natives of the Roche Asteroid Fields, inhabiting the interior of the larger planetoids using artificial environments. They had begrudgingly allowed the Republic forces to enter the field in pursuit of the smugglers. With a hive mind, they considered each rock important, regardless of how small and would not take kindly to their destruction. "Sharp to port. It seems you were right Jed Kenobi. There last stunt sent them right into the arms of the Y wings. They won't escape us this time." His confidence was palpable.

But as he said this, Obi Wan felt a twinge in the Force. "I wouldn't be so sure, Commander. The Force is strong with this one. Tell your Y wing pilots to prepare themselves."

In the distance, Obi Wan could just make out the glimmer of the Y wings yellow and silver halls. But it was still too far to make out their characteristic 'Y' shape. The smuggler's ship was careening right towards them.

"Lieutenant Brigs, prepare the tractor beam. As soon as our fighters take down their shields, I want you to lock on and reel them in." Jensen was an excellent commander, he exuded authority and his crew respected him. He might even make a good general some day, Obi Wan thought to himself.            

"Commander, the Corellian class freighter is approaching our blockade. As of now it shows no signs of slowing. In fact, it has increased its speed to point one. It looks like it is preparing to jump to hyperspace." Ensign Vy's voice rang out through the silence as the crew waited, holding their breath.

As the freighter entered within the Y wing's range, they converged opening fire. Only the ship was no longer there. It had rolled into a high speed corkscrew, putting it off to the right of all four Y wings. Two banked in order to continue pursuit, while the others needed to change direction completely, costing them precious seconds. Red lasers flared against the freighter's aft shields as it ducked and dodged. Regardless of how good the pilot was, Obi Wan knew the century old vessel he was flying was only so maneuverable. Soon they would break through its shields.

As if reading his mind, Ensign Vy called out, "Their shields are down to 30%, but they are nearly out of Roche Field's gravity well. They should be able to make the jump to hyperspace within moments."

"Ensign Krea, convert all nonessential power to our engines. I want that ship stopped!" Obi Wan didn't need the force to hear the conviction in Commander Jensen's words, his entire being was focused on capturing the smuggling vessel. Obi Wan reminded himself that this wasn't the first time these ships had slipped through their fingers. Indeed, over the past standard year over three hundred smuggling ships had evaded  Republic forces on main trade routes. That is, before they realized they were utilizing the asteroid field as cover. Sure not every ship made it through. The Verpine discovered about a quarter of the ship's wreckage among the treacherous space rocks. Clearly, the danger was not enough to dissuade them. Something big was happening and it was Obi Wan's directive to determine exactly what.

"Their shields just fell, Sir."

"Lieutenant Brigs, the tractor beam!" Commander Jensen cried.    

"I am locked on." Said Lt. Brigs, as a drop of sweat fell from his brow. Relief evident in his voice.

Then, suddenly, the ship which they had been pursuing for so long, disappeared right in front of them. A look of surprise flashed across Commander Jensen's face. But just as soon as it had arrived he had regained his composure. "Lieutenant Brigs, report! he said starkly."

"I... I... don't know what happened. I had locked on, how could they jump to hyperspace?" Brigs was in shock.

"Commander, if my analysis is correct the second their shields went down they evacuated their cargo bays. The tractor beam sensors mistook it for the ship and attached to the cargo instead, allowing them to escape." Ensign Vy has made an apt assessment, Obi Wan thought, the maneuver most have been timed perfectly. In fact it was hard to believe such a thing was possible even for a computer. But then, Obi Wan had seen more mysterious things in his travels.

Lt. Brigs faced the commander, head down in defeat. "I take full responsibility, Commander."

"Don't be too hard on yourself Lieutenant. I doubt even Jedi Kenobi could have predicted they would be smart enough to exploit a design flaw in our sensors. At least we didn't come out of this completely empty handed. Let's bring in the cargo and see what we are dealing with." No doubt this is why Commander Jensen was so respected by his troops. He was always impeccably fair. A trait that seemed to be growing less common in the military ranks these days.

"There is no need to wait Commander. You will find nothing of value in the cargo. It was intended only as a distraction." Obi Wan explained. He had sensed as much through the force as he probed the ship.

"Then why would they go through all the trouble of evading our forces, if they had nothing to hide?"

"Because they did have something to hide. Their navigation records. They went through great pains to make sure those did not fall into our hands. No doubt they would have self-destructed the ship if they had been caught." Obi Wan replied. "The real question you should be asking, is why would a smuggling ship with nothing on it be bound for the Outer Rim? .... Commander, I would like you to prepare a shuttle for me."

"Where do you intend to go, Jedi Kenobi?" Commander Jensen asked, perplexed.

"I thought it was obvious, Commander. I am headed to Tatooine." Said Obi Wan with a sly grin.

            

Introduction: A New Beginning

                            A long time ago, in a galaxy far,

                            far away....                                                 

STAR WARS

Episode I

A DARK POTENTIAL

                                                     It is a period of peace and order in the 

                                                     galaxy. The Galactic Republic, under 

                                                     the guidance of the wise Jedi Order, 

                                                     have united countless star systems under 

                                                     a unified government. Now, delegates 

                                                     from the once war torn planet of 

                                                     Mandalore meet at peace summits on 

                                                     Alderaan to discuss their annexation 

                                                     into the Republic.

                                                     Meanwhile, the Jedi are concerned with

                                                     recent disturbances in the Force. A large 

                                                     number of smuggling ships are breaking 

                                                     through Republic trading lanes near Hutt 

                                                     Space. Young Jed Knight, Obi Wan Kenobi, 

                                                     is dispatched to investigate.

                                                     While on route, Obi Wan comes to the aid 

                                                     of Republic enforcers who are attempting 

                                                     in vain to board a rogue smuggler's ship....

    

Prologue: An Arcane Power

The dark durasteel hall drank in all light from the distant sun as the small ship darted like a shadow towards Korriban. As the forsaken planet loomed, the whispers of long dead Sith Lords stretched out through the Force. Their cries of aggression and hate radiated with the intensity of a black sun. The robed and hooded figure in the meditation chamber of the ship grinned. The ancient Sith knew why he has here.

The empty cockpit whistled and beeped as the controls moved effortlessly and autonomously, guiding the ship into a perfect landing onto the rocky, desolate surface. Ksshhhhh, the landing ramp lowered and the sound of the pressurized air mixed with the whistling of the wind and sand. It almost sounded like the screams of the tormented souls forced to build the tombs that lay in the valley ahead. The hooded figure slowly, deliberately descended. His robes were coarse and black. His stature, small and slightly hunched. What little exposed skin was bleached white and ravaged as if by untold centuries. Yet despite his small figure, his presence emanated a great power. The air around him seemed to sizzle and crack with energy. A harsh smell of ozone accompanied him as we walked towards the lost Valley of the Sleeping Kings.

Large humanoid statues stood a hundred meters tall on either side of the valley entrance. Carved from solid rock their great spears were crossed in contention to intruders. Along their bodies, etched in a million different languages was an ancient promise: swift death finds all who enter here. The hooded figure laughed, a hideous cackle. Six thousand years ago, at the height of the Sith Empire, such a threat would have held just as little meaning to him as it does today. He continued under the arch of spears and stepped into the valley.

Just as soon as his foot fell, the valley came alive with the echoes of a hundred hissing reptiles. Three meters long, standing two meters tall and covered in a million spiny scales, the monsters rushed towards the figure. Their two, six inch talons, gleaming on each of their four legs, as their spike covered tail waved behind them. Yet the hooded figure merely continued walking forward completely undeterred. As the nearest reptilian creature drew with a meter its mouth opened wide, revealing an array of three rows of sharp serrated teeth. Suddenly a crack, like a great sonic boom, ran through the canyon and a tremendous pressure wave sent the nearest forty assailants sailing into the rock walls, shattering bones and crashing skulls. The remaining attackers arrested their momentum and quickly changed direction fleeing in terror. The hssiss, as their species is known, are easily manipulated by the wills of the dead Sith whose spirits still roam their forgotten tombs. But as the hooded figure knew, all things' wills bend to fear.

On he went through the ancient ruins, once great mausoleums of the fallen. Now, collapsed and eroded by time. Desolated by thousands of years of grave robbers scouring for Sith relics of immense power. They were all of them deceived. For the power that lay in these ruins did not reside in the artifacts, but in the secret knowledge contained deep within.

If not for the foreboding echoes of the dead, or the suffering that still seemed to cling to the chiseled rocks, the place may have once held a certain majesty. For great stone statues of the Sith Lords lined the walls and their tombs were intricately carved, containing may places for large gems and plated gold, long stolen away. But the hooded figure felt no sorrow for the loss grandeur. Indeed, he felt little kinship with the founders of his creed. They were weak. Their death, a testimony to their failures. There was, but one whose power he respected. And even this great master succumbed to the relentless pursuit of time. After countless millennia controlling the shadows and breading chaos, Darth Plagueis was no more. His secrets buried deep by his fallen brethren, who were so horrified by his power that they had stricken his name from every record and attempted to destroy his tomb. As in all other things they had failed at this too.

Hours passed and night began to fall, until finally the methodical pace of the hooded figure took him to the end of the valley. There a great mountain stood, the remnants of a long dormant volcano. The dark figure at last came to a stop. There he stood for a long time, as the seven moons of Korriban crossed overhead. Reaching out with the Force, he rooted himself in place. Building invisible tethers to the hard bedrock. Time seemed to slow and after what may have been an eternity his hands darted outwards so fast another sonic boom filled the canyon. His fingers were curled into talons, his palms extended up towards the dark night sky. Slowly he began to rise his arms reaching over his head. As he did the earth began to shake. Large cracks formed in the rocks of the volcano. Tremors spread throughout the valley, until suddenly the massive mountain itself began to lift into the air. Rocks cascaded down in every direction. Crushing ancient statues and filling the valley behind the hooded figure. Yet he remained stationary and though rocks tumbled behind him, none came within ten meters of his rigid form. With a brush of his hands to the left, he sent the long dead volcano crashing down into a distant valley. Where once there was a mountain now lay only jagged rocks and a half buried sphere of solid lava two hundred meters in diameter. The ancient Sith Lords sought to destroy the tomb of Darth Plagueis by tapping deep into the crust of Korriban to resurrect a volcano underneath. They had only succeeded in burying the crypt deep  under the earth. For the Force protected his tomb from the scorching heat of the magma. Now their failure was complete.
With a sharp thrust of his fist the hooded figure punched a two meter hole in the rock that still encased the tomb. Slowly, deliberately he entered.

Far from the ruins of the other crypts, Darth Plagueis's burial site was in pristine condition. Although, far less opulent in terms of gems, it was made of a type of polished black marble, that glimmered and flowed in the starlight. Its shape resembled that of an enormous pentagonal pyramid with its base held on the backs of a thousand salves molded from a type of obsidian like metal. Each of them two and a half meters tall. From their form, they were likely modeled after the ancient sith species that were native to Korriban, now long extinct. The only structure that decorated the exterior was an elaborate model of the galaxy which was surrounded on the top and bottom by two giant hands that seemed poised to crush it. While this adorned the forward facing side, There was no discernible entrance that the eye could see. But the hooded figure was not looking with his eyes. With the flick of his wrist the figure reached out with the Force and bent two of the slaves so they were prostrating before him, revealing the entrance beyond. Using theirs arms as a ramp the figure stepped into the vault.

Inside, was a great antechamber, its walls were laced with platinum and gold tapestries. From floor to ceiling the images told of the many heinous crimes committed by the Dark Lord. Two adjacent large staircases led up to the central chamber, in the center of which, lie the statue of a great guardian. It was more than three meters tall with the head of an alien skull. Its four arms extended outwards ready to attack, though bearing no weapons. The statue was made of a white metal that stood in stark contrast to the black marble floor. The hooded figure reached out to the statue with the Force, expecting a trap, but the whole place was shrouded in an ethereal shadow. If this bothered him he did not show it, and he continued to walk up one of the staircases to the main burial chamber.

A booming yet hollow warning echoed through the room, resonating from the very walls. "Go no further or face certain doom." The baritone words seemed bereft of life, empty and forlorn.

Again the hooded figure's hideous cackle of a laugh escaped his lips. "You resist me even in death, just as I have foreseen. It is of no consequence. I will have what I seek. And you will surrender yourself to me." The statement was spoken with absolute certainty, bending the future to the fulfillment of his will. And his voice, it would have given a rancor chills;  erratically alternating between high and low pitch it was precisely calculated to induce fear. The words were malice, ripe with hatred, and dripping with power. He continued to walk forward.

When he was within a few meters of the burial chamber entrance the guardians eyes blazed a fiery yellow and with that it came to life: a darkside golem. Moving almost swifter than the eye can see it reached down to its belt and extracted four lightsabers. Their characteristic snap-hiss filled the antechamber as they ignited. A blood red glow fell upon the room. Without hesitating the guardian swung two of his swords directly down on the hooded figures head, just as it prepared to swing the other two across his body. It never got the chance.

The hooded figure blocked the first two lightsabers with his bare hands, using the Force to dissipate the the extreme heat of the plasma. He then sent the metal golem careening into the far wall with a powerful force push.

As the guardian righted himself. The air began to spark and crackle with static electricity. Suddenly great lightening bolts shot forth from the hooded figure's finger tips. They collided with the guardian and surrounded him in a halo of bright blue light. The chamber filled with the smell of ozone.

"Hahahaha, you are skilled, stranger, but it will not save you." The golem laughed. Its voice again emanating from the very stones. It advanced, seemingly unaffected by the lightening.

Still rooted to his spot halfway up the stairs with the lightening cascading from his hands, a great scowl spread across the hooded figure's face. As the warrior advanced the figure reached out with the Force toward the ceiling and sent spears of energy into the microscope crevices in the rock, causing them to fragment and fall. Large junks of black marble began to rain down on the golem. However, he was more nimble than he appeared. Dodging them easily, he swung this time with all four of his lightsabers in a crisscross motion. The hooded figure had no choice but to evade. Using the Force he vaulted into the air and landed on the other side of the antechamber. Turning, he saw that the golem wasn't far behind. The lightsabers were becoming a problem, but nothing could match the power of the Darkside. At the heart of darkness lies chaos and the essence of chaos is entropy. As the metal golem advanced, he reached out into the Force, harnessing his anger and hatred for this nuisance to maintain focus. Time began to slow as he tapped into the fuel cells that powered the plasma swords. Enough energy was stored to power them for generations, but with the Darkside the hooded figure turned seconds into centuries. The glowing swords began to flicker, fade and as the golem swung them in a fatal arc, they abruptly were extinguished. A wry smile found its way to the shrouded figures face as he repeated one of his favorite Sith proverbs: "all lights must go out."

If the metal guardian was perplexed by the loss of his weapons he did not show it. Without the slightest hesitation he moved to hand tactics. Striking at the black robed figure with a series of twenty lightening jabs, followed by several round house kicks. But each time he struck nothing but air. The hooded figure had created some sort of force field around himself. The harder it hit the stronger the shield became. The attacks could not get through. So again the guardian switched tactics. Using two of us arms he reached for the hooded figures neck. Although it could not strike him, it could grasp the edges of his shield. With a powerful throw, the golem tossed the robed figure across the room into the other staircase.  

Adjusting mid air, the robed figure landed softly on the top of the stairs, another grisly smile on his face. But in a blink of an eye, his face morphed and contorted into a look of absolute rage. Energy billowed off him in waves and then, suddenly, a tremendous explosion filled the room. It seemed to originate from the guardian's own metal chest plate. It blew apart one of the far walls and buried the golem in an avalanche of rocks. The hooded figure stood firmly in place, completely untouched by the blast.

Again the guardian's voice rang out from the rubble "You would tamper with the very fabric with which we are made. Such a reckless display of power I have not seen for countless generations. But you cannot destroy me. My armor was woven with the Darkside of the Force. You would have to dismantle it atom by atom.  By then I will have escaped and avenged this witless intrusion."

The dark figure reached out with the Force to the incapacitated golem, a flood of memories washed over him and immediately it all became clear. "So it is with Darth Grievous I quarrel. An apprentice of Darth Plagueis, you attempted to take your master's life. As punishment, he bound your soul to this retched form to protect his crypt for eternity. You are a fool. I have mastered the Darkside of the Force. Serve me and I will release you from his curse."

"Why should I exchange one master for another? I am bound to his will." Replied the golem, struggling to free himself. Though buried under meters of rock his voice radiated clearly.

"And soon you will be bound to another's. Each passing moment brings you closer to being my servant. You, like the galaxy, will be mine!" With that the hooded figure turned and passed through the entrance to the main burial chamber. Once he had obtained the secret of Darth Plagueis's power, none could resist him.

        

                 

Forward: On the Impetus of Love

Let me tell you a little bit about my brother John. He loved to make people laugh. Of all his humor, my personal favorite were his impressions. Sure he could do the Christian Bale Batman, but you haven't really laughed until you heard him do a rendition of the classic story A Christmas Carol starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as Ebenezer Scrooge and Jason Statham as Bob Cratchit.

Well John and I, both true geeks at heart, loved to stay up late summer nights and discuss what made great stories, like Star Wars or Lord of the Rings, so inspiring and epic. Inevitably, we would end up discussing the latest Star Wars movies - episodes one, two, and three - and articulate every little thing that made them terrible. This prequel bashing is something I am sure many nerds can identify with, but let me be fair. As a preteen boy, I did enjoy them when they first came out. Then I got older and began to understand the importance of plot, dialogue, and character development. Needless to say the movies were ruined for me. No offense George Lucas (who I am sure is not reading this), but I have no idea what you were thinking, nor why someone did not stop you at some point, take you aside and say: "George, this is awful and also blatantly disregards plot points made in the original trilogy that you created." (That being said, if you are reading this George, thank you for making Star Wars, I totally forgive you for the prequels... sort of). In any case, those movies happened and they, along with their cartoon counterparts, now consist of the more than fifty percent of what is canon in the Star Wars universe (as of this writing). That is just something we all have to accept. 

WRONG! My brother John and I got tired of accepting these stories as part of the universe born of the original trilogy. They just did not do the legacy of Star Wars justice. Thus, we began concocting our own story. One that would better fit in with the classic movies we all know and love, while at the same time, attempting to encompass all the aspects of epic stories we previously discussed. We spent many a late night conversing over possible plot lines and building a strong story ark. Finally, we began to outline it. 

Now I have a confession to make. I dragged my feet a little. John was always asking me if I wanted to work on our outline and often I would put if off until the next day, or the next time I visited home (I was away at college the majority of this time). The truth was, while I loved working on it, it was very difficult. I grew up with these stories and developing something that could fix all the plot holes of the prequels, be true to the characters, and also be a compelling, epic science fiction fantasy, well it was not an easy task. I felt the weight of it and if not for John's encouragement, I probably would have never pursued it at all. But, little brother's are nothing but persistent - even to the point of being annoying - so with John's incitement we creating an outline for the first one and a half episodes. Of course, by this point we had roughly figured out everything until the end, but we had yet to work out the details. Then something happened, something that directly led to me writing this here today.   

Not so long ago, in a galaxy all too close... my younger brother, John Michael Kozak, was diagnosed with a type of acute leukemia. He was only seventeen years old. About a month later, on a Tuesday night, he passed away with my hand in his. The brief battle he had with cancer was more epic and courageous than anything I could ever write. John was a true hero, who fought to the every end against impossible odds. I would be remiss here, to not mention the other heroes in this tale. My older sisters Wendy and Genny, who stayed with John many times overnight at the hospital. My loving parents, George and Mary Ann, who did everything they could to help John, get him the best treatment and make him as comfortable as possible. My little brother Jeremiah who watched our littlest brother Isaiah, while the rest of my family was at the hospital. And my youngest brother Isaiah, who was so strong through John's passing despite how close they were. But wherever there are battles, strive or war, there is loss. This reality my family experienced firsthand the day John passed away.

When John got sick I knew that we had to finish the story we had started. When he died, I knew  it was up to me to carry on his legacy. In that light, the weight on my shoulders is greater, for not only is this story about Star Wars, but it is also about immortalizing the humor, kindness, and love of a truly great man. Yet John too, has given me the strength I need to lift this burden. He has empowered me with the will to carry on. With him I share the load. Let it be known that none of what I write, henceforth, is mine. The story is equally John's. Further it belongs to you dear reader, as well as any who take from it humor, wisdom, joy, or even grief. Let these be the impetus for you to write your own stories in a galaxy far, far away.