Chapter 1: Memento of the future
Endor 4 A.B.Y
The Night was young and yet, the people weren't. They were gazing longingly at Selene, the moon as called by the Ewoks. The Empire had taken their homes, burned their families alive and had taken away any sense of freedom that the people of the colonies had once had. Those who rebelled were called criminals and terrorists, often with reason. Too many rebels were here, who had become the same bitter monsters as their enemies. They had fought, perhaps out of vengeance, perhaps out of a need for peace but their hands felt slick with blood.
They were clean now. The second Death Star had been obliterated. Emperor Palpatine was dead. Darth Vader was dead. Trillions of credits now belonged to them via the spoils of war, alliances between absurdly different groups had been formed and now they could rebuild the once might Republic. Many simply stared at the brightly lit atmosphere, as though they had not expected to get this far. As though their efforts were futile. Until recently, they more or less had been.
The Ewoks then started their drums and Luke Skywalker approached them in silence. Everyone looked but did not stare. The lad had been seemingly unaffected by the war, unfazed by the sheer destruction behind him. Perhaps this was the Jedi way, to be calm at all times? Then Leia Organa began transmitting a call on general frequencies.
"This is Leia Organa, last princess of Alderaan, former member of the Galactic Senate, and a leader in the Alliance to Restore the Republic. I have a message for the galaxy. Emperor Palpatine—the greatest tyrant civilization has ever known, responsible for death and suffering beyond measure—is dead. He and a second Death Star battle station were destroyed by Alliance forces earlier today. This does not mark the end of the Empire. The fight will continue. But you must take this opportunity. Join us in the foundation of a new Republic to be shaped by the will of the governed. Claim your freedom and your future. Help is on the way."
Suddenly, the Ewoks began playing their instruments and laid out a feast for all the newcomers. Skywalker walked over to the fire and began burning what was supposedly one of his former comrades. He, like many others, stared away from the fire, seemingly into the abyss. Yet, it looked as though something was there, a faint shimmer in the air. Must be imagining things, as most people do these days.
Gor was not much better. The people looked at him and tried to smile as he recorded their image in full. Thankfully, Gor was honest and encouraged people to be themselves. He wanted the Empire to see the truth for what it was, honest sentient beings taking charge against a sinister menace, not just 2 of the same kind of evil. Soon, this conflict would end and things would return to normal. The people turned their attention on each other and held hands in prayer.
3 million years later, on a planet unknown to most.
The Heaven System, Earth 1512 A.D
The sun began to rise over the city of Mecca, Saudi Arabia. Mohammad Misaq Khuladeen, often just called Lion, awoke from his slumber. Lion was a fat, albeit large man who wore rather simple clothes. He wore the traditional Salwar Kameez, basically formal clothing with pajamas and thick leather boots. He slept naked so he changed into said clothes upon getting up from bed. As per daily routine, he went into his bathroom and began draining water from the pond into buckets. Carefully, Lion put the already heated water, on account of being in a desert, on top of himself and began to wash away his impurities as per the rules of Wuzu. Lion then put his janamaz on the floor and offered the Fajr prayer so as to maintain his faith. Lion, however, had a problem.
He did not truly believe, a death sentence in this society. It was one thing to be of a different faith, it was quite punishable by death to pretend to me a member of this one. Yet, tricking the tribes into believing that he was a Muslim was the only way to advance into the scientific fields of human and plant biology. Or so he thought.
Upon finishing his prayer, Misaq began drinking eating his breakfast which consisted of two eggs fried out in the desert sand, roast goose from Egypt and a special type of what from Greece. The Arabian Peninsula was a hub of trade, being a country that is directly between Asia, Africano and Europa. There were different trade policies, depending on current ties but the Lion was not averse to trading, he merely did not look beyond his own home. The Mamluks, slave soldiers, have been in power for quite some time. He inwardly sighed. It was obvious how it had happened; the previous Dynasty had put most of its problems onto the slaves. They had begun solving the problems quickly and efficiently. Their rate of progress caused them to earn the goodwill of the people as well as put pressure on their oppressors. Eventually, they took over with but a few words to the right people. Then, to enforce their will, they just recreated the problems. It was easy, they and the scholars were the only ones who could tell that something was wrong. So politics suddenly became a factor in a place where religion seemed to decide everything. Maybe it was the other way around. It mattered not. The Mamluks, for all their complexities, assassins and plotting, had been in power for decades. The scholars would be fine, so long as they didn't breathe a word of protest.
Clamping his mouth shut, Misaq went out to meet the gathering sandstorm. He put on his protective gear and saddled his camel, Al Fahl. Would he that he could come up with a better name than procreation. He put his bag containing his books on the mighty steed with 2 closed buckets of water and set out towards the main base of the city. Misaqs house was a bit far away from most civilized areas so he decided to pack some fruit for the journey. He stopped by at a local vendor and an old friend, Ali bin Rehman. The two spoke in a mix of old age English and Arabic.
"Misaq, how are things?" spoke Ali to Misaq
"Say the words, please" sighed Misaq.
"What? Oh right. Forgive me, I am a recent convert. Assalam o alaikum." Replied Misaq.
"I don't have a problem with it, you should just develop a habit of saying so, in case the people who deal exclusively in Arabic happen to come along. Anyways, Wa alaykumu s-salam." Said Misaq.
"What will it be this time? I got pomegranates, figs, dates, lentils, grapes and peaches."
"Give me the watermelon."
"Are you sure? I'm not certain how the others would react to you eating a melon during an intense scientific debate."
"Let me worry about that. Got any coffee?"
"Not for you, those people from across the seas pay well for it. Anything else?"
"No."
"Well, try to avoid the Inward Trails. Some odd bumps have been found and I'm worried it might be quicksand."
"That's not going to be a problem. Farewell, uh I mean, Allah Hafiz."
"Allah Hafiz."
Misaq stuffed the melon into his back and started heading towards the Inward trails. The trails were so called was because they were formed around strange rocky hills whose tops seemed to curve, pointing towards something. Common superstition stated it must be the work of Jinn. Perhaps a prank of sorts. At any rate, Misaq made his way there.
One hour ater, Misaq was passing along the centre of the trail when he heard shouting ahead. He tied Al Fahl to a nearby rock formation and made his way forward, into a path adorned with tall rocks, thorns and old grass. He peeked forward.
In front of him was a horrid sight but nothing too unusual. A trader must have put his wares there and decided to bring his family along. Mistake. His head had been separated from his body with a single swipe of an axe, if the bandit standing around with an absolutely massive one was any indication. Six bandits in total, all wearing red armor and black turbans. The color was just for intimidation. It was working. As expected, the trader must have tried to save the wife and kids, resulting in his death and their slavery, if the cage full of empty eyes was anything to go by. They were tied up and gagged. They looked weak but the Ottomans paid well for slaves. They needed soldiers for their upcoming conquests and those soldiers wanted slaves to take care of their duties. Sometimes formal, mostly informal. The Mumlaks weren't much better. Sure, they openly condemned taking weak slaves, only because they would weaken the system. Or so Misaq had been taught.
One of the bandits stopped talking and looked at him, dead in the eyes before uttering a word "Hujum!" and her colleagues rushed into action, picking up their weapons from the floor. Misaq, immediately grabbed for a knife that wasn't there and realizing his predicament, panicked and ran directly opposite to his attackers, rather than take the route he once came from.
Misaq ran about 6 feet before taking an arrow to the butt. He wailed about in agony and accidentally sat down at the arrow, breaking off its tip. The bandits quickly caught up to him.
"Let's go, you sons of-". Misaq never finished his sentence as the big bandit stood him up and the other two started beating him. One of them punched his nose, causing it to bleed, the other started executing a series of one two's all around his torso while the big one squeezed his arms. After what seemed like an eternity, it had only been a minute, they stopped. Misaq had immediately gone from a foolish traveler to a beaten, broken, bloody mess of a man. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he really should have taken Ali's advice. His eyes were alright but his lower face was covered in blood, his clothes were tattered, there were scratch marks everywhere, his skin was torn in numerous places and was in agony in his arms.
The fourth bandit arrived, the one who had shot the arrow. He took off his Turban. No, her turban. She spoke a rather harse voice. Of all the languages Misaq could learn, the inability to learn Arabic, his national language, had always been his downfall.
"Allaenat , laqad ahtajna 'iilayh haya! anzur 'iilayh , lan yanjaw min rihlat aleawdati. eindama 'aqul albaqa' , tabqaa ، 'ayuha alhamqaa allaeaynu!" Spoke the woman.
"La tujad tariqat fi thadyayn min himar aljaradh nathiq bika. Lays baed ma suhibat fi misr." Grumbled the Big one.
"Hasanan madha alana? hal naqtuluhu?" Asked the woman harsely.
"Daena natrukuh huna liamut baynama nakhudh jumlahu. laqad rasadatuha fi altariq 'iilaa huna. nihayat munasibat litajir smin. almawt bisabab eadam wujud 'ayi shay'in." stated the one who beaten Misaq so thoroughly.
The two stared at him in shock. Must be a subordinate speaking back to his elder. All in all, Misaq was glad their attention was elsewhere or they would have noticed something poking out of Misaq's pants. Damn it, you were just beaten to a bloody pulp, keep it under control.
The final bandit made the decision for everyone. He jogged towards Misaq, drew out his curved sword and hit Misaq on the back of the head with it, giving Misaq a concussion. Having have solved the problems, the group stole Misaq's belongings, his camel, packed up the slaves and moved out, leaving Misaq to either die of suffocation or heatstroke.
Misaq awoke to the sounds of a whirlwind gathering in the distance. He attempted to stand but the pain in his arms forced him to reconsider. He couldn't tell how long it had been, perhaps a day or two, perhaps barely a minute, as the sun had barely changed. Yet, today Allah would not favor him anymore than he favored anyone. There was a saying amongst Misaq's tribe that after that Muhammad P.B.U.H, there would no more prophets, no more divine aid, the rest was up to men themselves. He always hated that saying.
Misaq noticed some soft sand up ahead. Recalling the theory that there was water in quicksand, he slowly began to crouch and waded his way towards the quicksand. Upon reaching the sand, Misaq slowly put his hand near the sand's surface to feel the texture. Suddenly, he felt something. Something old and ancient speak out to him. Perhaps it was me, I do get involved in these stories too much. Don't worry my good friends, his story ends here as being the idiot that he is, his research into chemistry merely made him average, this will likely be his end as he is now hallucinating that the sand is speaking.
The quicksand turned into a hand and grabbed his arm. That's….new. Before Misaq could scream, he was suddenly pulled in, right in time as the winds passed over him.
Misaq landed on a hard metallic surface. He felt no pain. What is this? Friends, maybe I can stop the story here, what you mean I'm ruining the story? this is it, this is the end, this…. Hmm fine, fine. You think something else is going to happen? Fine, I'll refrain from acting out of line again.
"Who said that?" said Misaq. There was no reply.
[Dragon's dogma OST: 1-05 Character Creation]
As Misaq began exploring his surroundings, he came to realize something. His wounds had healed and his clothes had seemingly repaired themselves. He observed the area. It appeared to be some kind of throne room. The walls were of a thick, smooth sheet of metal, harder than anything Misaq had ever seen. They were curved and there was something flowing into them, a long tube of sorts. Misaq poked at it with his foot. A surge of lightning passes through it, causing Misaq to piss his pants. And now he needed to take a shit. It was quite dark with only certain walls and a throne visible so he hoped that no one could see him.
"Oh what fresh hell is this?" Misaq took off his pants and began to poop. After twenty minutes, he was done and realized he needed water to wash away the impurities. Almost instantly, a slot in the ship opened, filled with water and washed away the filth. Misaq quickly took some of the water and washed his ass with it. The water felt cool to the touch and almost clean.
Misaq pulled up his pants and walked towards the giant metallic thrones. No, not metallic. It was made of bones and soft stuff. Misaq sat on it. It felt comfortable. Then, he had an idea. A moment later, a slot opened up, revealing glass? His idea had been to read a book.
Misaq walked towards the glass. He reached out to touch it. Then, he thought to himself, where am I? Is what I'm doing safe? Shrugging the thought away, Misaq touched the glass in his hands. Finally, he picked it up and realized it did nothing. There had been an item behind the glass. Some kind of black box with a cylinder poking out of it.
Misaq took it out and rubbed at it to clear the dust away. Doing so caused the camera to flicker to life and a holographic image appeared, scaring the pants off of Misaq, further reducing his sanity. Then, his fear was replaced by curiosity as the beings in the picture began to speak a dialect of English.
"Hello, people of the future," spoke a cheerful man. He was rather hairy, with a fully grown brown beard, thick rippling muscles and green clothing. His eyes were blue and his skin appeared red. No wait, that was dried blood.
"Ack, I'm still covered in blood. One second," he washed away his blood. "Ok, people of tomorrow, my name is Gor. You might now understand me but I'll find a way for that problem to take care of itself. I am a member of the Rebellion against the Empire, you know, the galaxy spanning one? Today marks a day the Rebellion will never forget. Tomorrow will be a day the entire universe will remember. I am just one of many of the so called rebels. Together, we will forge the Republic back into the safe haven it once was. Welcome to my recruit program.
Now the first thing you may notice is, on board the ship, my machine can read your every thought. Not to worry, that's just Bingo, the resident A.I. He can read minds and will stop doing so once you have achieved mental perfection via the force. Master Skywalker has already started instructing me on the basics, so I'm going to record my own lessons. To start off with, ask for the Holocron. It will show you a vision of what can and cannot be done. Until next time, cadet. Fare thee well."
The image stopped moving and vanished. Misaq sat back on the throne and thought about it for 5 minutes. Then he came to the inevitable conclusion.
"Oh. I'm dead. I need to figure out what the picture was saying. Skywalker and Holocron. What do those words mean? And now I'm thinking aloud. Fantastic."
Upon thinking of the Holocron, the throne started moving. Misaq quickly got off. The Throne split in half, revealing a cubical object which started floating. This time, Misaq backed away. He had two options; to either explore the area or touch the bizarrely shaped object. He decided to explore the area. As he turned, he slipped and landed backwards on the device, causing it to seemingly push him forward. Misaq turned around and the device quickly floated onto his hands, breaking open. A light blue gust of wind rushed into him, with the following words spoken into his mind.
"It took Precursor ambitions to take such simple concepts and turn them into artifacts capable of threatening two civilizations. Bravo Us."
Misaq fell backwards, this time cracking his ribs upon impact with the cold floor, causing him to scream in pain. A part of the roof suddenly gave way and fell on him.
'No, not like this!" Misaq in desperation pushed his hands upwards. The slate stopped moving. Much to his bewilderment, Misaq began standing up, feeling his bones his feel ever so slightly. He raised his arms upwards and felt the weight of the slate. It was not so heavy. Misaq willed it and tried to push the slate back into place. He pushed it upwards, launching it and sticking it into the roof.
"Huh." Said Qasim to no one at all. Then he felt awe. And then he felt something else.
"I feel quite hungry," The camera rejuvenated itself, displaying another recording.
"Nice, you've learned the Force Push. Pretty sure anyone can do that. So the next one is the force redirect. It's just an extension of the force push. Just get someone to throw something at you and throw it back. I realize that sounds really stupid so look at my next recording to find out how it's done."
The image vanished and a new one took its place. Misaq turned to stare at it. He could scarcely believe his eyes. It was a map of the region in blue, with a red dot acting as an indicator of where to go. But Misaq saw the map for what it was and realized it must have been made in the past for the red dot was directly about the grey sands, where the Royal Palace stands.
"Well, shit."