One of Thousands
Join Date: Aug 2005
Location: Kirkwall/The Free Marches
Current Game: Dragon Age II
Aztlan had always felt like home to the young and lovely Andorra Evenstar. Prosperous, tranquil, safe--until this seemingly never-ending war between the Third Galactic Republic, the Third Galactic Empire, and the Rashikians began. Being a mere student herself and no warrior, Andorra feared for the lives of her friends and loved ones, some of whom were going off to fight under the command of one faction or another. To the girl, it seemed that war was like the painful pimples that would break out on her pale face from time to time--full of fluid, pus, and infectious bacteria, waiting silently to surface. Sometimes there would be no blemishes, just like there would be no war, for the moment. Now, however, war had broken out like Andorra's forehead had!
"Mother?" Andorra meekly asked her female adoptive parent, the Governor of Avalon. "Why must there be war?" She slowly sat down across from her foster mother at the common-room table, lavishly carved out of some exotic wood that had been imported from who knew where in the galaxy. "I know some wars are caused by greed--for money, territory, and most of all, power--but other wars are simply caused by great misunderstandings. Right?"
Andorra's foster mother nodded. "Cultures misunderstand each other most of the time, if not all, in this turbulent galaxy of ours. However, at times, the beings of those different cultures would rather come to blows and fight to the death rather than empathize with one another--walk a mile in their sandals, so to speak. Hatred also causes wars, whether it be racial, economic, religious, or based upon some other factor." She smiled. "I'm proud of you for asking such a question, Andorra. It shows you're growing wise."
Andorra smiled back, but then raised an eyebrow. "And this one? What is its cause, its root cause?" When her foster mother shook her head sadly, with an expression that said I wish I knew, Andorra sighed and sunk her head into her hands. She let her foster mother place a hand upon her weary shoulder, though she had been rather reticent in the past to engage in such displays of affection, even the familial kind. It was unfashionable at school.
"I won't lose you, Mother," she said. "Not in this war, not in any war. Not--like I lost my birth parents in that speeder crash when I was three. You're a governor, I know, and politicians are sometimes dragged into wars that they neither started nor have the power to end, but please try to stay neutral!"
Her foster mother closed her eyes. Andorra knows far more than her years typically permit her to, she thought, and in this case, it is not a good thing. Neither I nor Andorra wish to get involved in this war, but as a servant and guardian of the people, we may find we have no choice...