I was engaging in a maiden play through of the classic single-player story shooter Mass Effect 2 one quiet November evening when something in the Normandy’s navigation map conjured up memories of my time in Star Wars: The Old Republic over two years ago. I thought of my pony-tailed, armor-plated, morally upstanding Jedi Knight and her quintessentially Light Side quest to defend truth and justice throughout the galaxy while eating a lot of peanut butter M&Ms. Her moral compass didn’t offer much in the way of flexibility when it came to handling situations that presented competing ethical considerations, so I had spent most of my time on her cruising through the story just to see where it led. My second character, an Imperial Agent, suffered the misfortune of being aligned with a wretchedly administered, self-cannibalizing Empire, but offered a great deal of operative freedom: she functioned somewhat like the Spectres in the Mass Effect series insofar as she was not beholden to the vast majority of the people with whom she had dealings. I was thus able to play her as a D&D True Neutral character, making in-the-moment decisions based on how she read the situation at hand. That her choices had meaningful impact on a superbly written story arc cemented the Agent experience as my favorite among the eight classes.
It was rather unexpected, then, when I ended up taking a Republic-aligned, fire-haired, gun-slinging muggle with no socially redeeming qualities all the way through her class story and beyond. I had left my Smuggler in a flashpoint called Cademimu after shooting up the place with three other people, presumably never to return. On a whim, I spent $15 to wake her from her carbonite dreams and subsequently spent the majority of my free time for the next three weeks taking her on a whirlwind tour of the galaxy’s latest expansions. On the whole, it was an experience that I found to be worth the price of admission despite several major plot flaws and the necessity of using the Force to hold the Fourth Wall in place to prevent it from being demolished by the nuclear dumpster fire of Unsuspended Disbelief that would otherwise barrel straight through it.
As I settled into the largely unfamiliar controls of my galactic starfighter, I noticed that my past-life doppelganger had turned my morality dials deep into the domain of the Dark Side. I figured that this would be the perfect opportunity to emulate Han Solo’s character transformation by making the transition from a Chaotic Neutral Captain Jack Sparrow type to a Neutral Good nerf herder whose greatest epiphany in life was that he really wanted to get with Leia. I decided to establish a basic personal code of conduct which would guide my actions but not dictate them: be good if you can, but don’t hesitate to be bad when you need to. These simple principles would prove to be rather interesting given that my Smuggler’s eventual romantic partner turned out to be a red lightsaber-wielding ruthless pragmatist – more on that when we get to the Knights of the Eternal End Game.
Smuggler Class Story, Chapter 1
My ship’s navigation computer listed the bombed out swamp planet of Taris as my first post-cryostasis destination. I asked my companion Risha, an adventure-seeking starship mechanic I had picked up on Ord Mantell, to remind me why we were headed there. She told me that if we wanted to complete the Epic Smuggler Quest that would reward us with vast riches, we needed to locate an astrogation chart locked away in a hidden vault. Among the Republic’s recolonization forces on the surface, the aftereffects of Darth Malak’s orbital bombardment three centuries prior could still be felt: a virulent rakghoul plague was sweeping through friendly encampments. The resident doctor dispatched me to fetch a cure.
The antidote was conveniently located in a cave filled with an endless supply of pirates who were all trying to kill me. After successfully defending myself a dozen or so times, the boss encounter turned out to be a depraved doctor who informed me that if I insisted on taking his supply of serum, he wouldn’t have any left to treat the sick pirates surrounding him – they would die cursing my name. As luck would have it, another cave not far from there also contained the remedy I sought.
As I exited the once pirate-infested cave with my newly acquired supply of serum in hand, I mulled over the moderately interesting thought process that had gone into making that relatively simple decision:
1. The only reason the sick pirates weren’t trying to kill me was that they were sick.
2. I am not a Jedi.
3. Therefore, I am taking your serum.
Upon reflection, I updated my personal ethos to include the following: not saving someone’s life is not the same as killing them, so I’m not responsible. Far be it from me to shirk responsibility, especially when it’s not mine in the first place.
My next shop was Nar Shaddaa where I got to actually engage in my profession – I was smuggling the last female Shanjaru beast in the galaxy to one of the ruling Hutts so that he could mate it with his male Shanjaru and use the resulting offspring in whatever sorts of spectacles bored tycoons indulge in on their pleasure barges. Nothing is ever as simple as it seems, of course – eco-terrorists had abducted the sire and I wouldn’t receive my prototype starship engine unless I found him. There was only one person who knew where he was and – surprise! – another one of those ubiquitous depraved doctors had kidnapped and infected our informant friend Momi with a lethal, physically painful virus. I made two choices here: I didn’t kill the doctor and I saved Momi after she had given us the location of Daddy Shanjaru. In the doctor’s case, I updated my standard operating procedure to clarify that I didn’t kill people who weren’t trying to kill me and didn’t possess the means or capacity to kill me if I let them go (no matter how wretched they were); when it came to the activist, this was one of the few cases in which it was impossible for me to ignore my meta-knowledge of tropes: if someone has a fatal affliction, there is always a magical cure for it.
Being the wretched hive of scum and villainy that it is, Nar Shaddaa one-upped itself by offering me a third memorable moral choice for the price of one planetary visit. I had contracted with the Hutts to recover some of their adrenals and stims with the promise of cash money on delivery. Along the way, I encountered a black marketeer who offered to scalp them and split the profits with me, rendering a net gain over what the Hutts would pay. I first considered enacting an ethical clause which would require me to remain faithful to a contract once taken, but decided to reframe my decision to decline the offer in more neutral, practical terms. Basically, I sized up the dude, decided that he was small potatoes compared to the Hutts, and came to the conclusion that long-term business with them would be more profitable than pulling a fast one on the Blob Crew. Besides, with the resources and credits they had at their disposal it wouldn’t have been too difficult for them to trawl their network of contacts and find out that they had been conned by a two-bit street hustler and yours truly.
At this point it occurred to me that all the grandiose philosophizing behind my decisions was predicated on things that did not exist. Moreover, my knowledge of the story’s presentation medium told me that the protagonist of SW:TOR is morally and physically invincible and can basically shit all over everything without compromising the overarching plot. As a foil to these truths, I treated my pretensions to agency as a meta-game: I would construct a parallel world in which my choices had the meaning and consequences that I wanted them to have, then use this alternate universe to guide and inform my in-game actions. This mode of operating proved to be not altogether dissimilar from the methodology I eventually employed to reconcile the disconnect between the game as played and its story as conveyed in cutscenes.
Upon leaving Nar Shaddaa, I responded to a rather suspicious distress call from the vessel Celestial Crow. As expected, it was actually a deathtrap devised by hapless spacefarer Feylara Raed to regain the favor of her former boyfriend and my obligatory nemesis, Skavak. (He had stolen a shipment of blasters I was delivering to Rogan the Butcher’s underlings on Ord Mantell; I pursued him, and now both Rogun and Skavak wanted me dead.) Feylara’s protective bubble disappeared shortly after I dispatched her attack droids because she didn’t understand how her shield’s energy source worked. I left her to ponder her own cluelessness. Addendum: don’t kill a backseat assassin who doesn’t pose a solo threat.
The desert planet of Tatooine was the home of my next starship upgrade, a vital sensor component needed to locate Nok Drayen’s legendary treasure. Our contact person was a rather reticent crime lord named Diago Hixan. It was while plowing through a warehouse full of his goons that I encountered the prelude to a pivotal case of ludonarrative dissonance: a Sith named Vaverone Zare showed up in a cutscene thinking that I was one of the underworld boss’s lackeys and requested a meeting with him. My Smuggler’s temper flared up and channeled itself through her blaster; everything you know about Star Wars movies tells you that the Sith’s response was to block all of the bolts with her lightsaber prior to Force-pulling my blaster out of my hand. She then chided me, handed back my blaster, and sent me on my way.
Later, an annoyingly preachy Jedi Knight named Nariel Pridence joined me in MMO combat against the Sith and Diago Hixan at the same time – the Sith swung her saber at me weakly while I emptied endless streams of laser beams into her face, sending her to the rocky cavern floor twice as fast as the non-Force-using gangster kingpin. I was so irritated by the entirely predictable way the encounter played out that I didn’t even bother to engage in the mental gymnastics necessary to retcon the Mary Sue out of what had just happened. I simply accepted the end state in medias res without reference to any preceding ludic exposition, real or imaginary. The cherry on top was when I had told the cantina’s owner about my first encounter with the Sith, to which he replied, “You fought a Sith to a draw? Does that even happen?”
My final point of contact with smuggling as a primary profession was Alderaan, where my crew and I were supposed to trade the preserved head of a dead Sith Lord for an Arkanian hyperdrive in the midst of an ongoing civil war between noble houses. Our patrons were House Teraan, wards of the Republic-allied House Organa, whom we were aiding in their spat with the historically opportunistic House Baliss located in House Teraan’s ancestral estate. As a Smuggler, my only interest in Forever Wars is the extent to which I can profit from them; Alderaan proved to be the starting point of my unintended and unwanted vocational shift to the business of being a mercenary. Instead of simply transporting provided goods, I was now regularly expected to hand-collect merchandise from hostile territory just as I had done as a one-off for the Hutts.
Inevitably I came face-to-face with the bigshots in House Thul, the Imperial-dominated superhouse that counted House Baliss among its vassals. They threatened to execute 300 civilians if I didn’t surrender myself and my wares. You would be forgiven for thinking that this sudden spike in the number of lives at stake entailed a lengthy period of careful consideration on my part, but because I was still miffed about the narrative shenanigans on Tatooine, I decided to start using my character’s wildcard-eqsue persona as a “girl who gets lucky with blasters” to subvert the conventions associated with embodying a Republic-allied Light Side character. The upshot is that I added a temperamental element to my ethical considerations: anyone who tries to play hardball with me using human lives can go soak their head. The moral dials that had been cranked all the way into the Dark Side at the outset of my renewed journey were now turned back ever so slightly in that direction, a foreshadowing of some of the tough decisions I would make when smuggling was but a distant memory.
Prior to my departure from Alderaan, I made my final scheduled delivery as a Smuggler: the preserved head of Sith Lord Darth Bandon which was to be left in the care of a museum curator associated with the obscenely wealthy noble houses. He claimed he didn’t have enough credits to compensate me appropriately; I told him to give me whatever he had in addition to his most expensive museum piece. He feigned shock, I feigned interest. Moral principle: screw you, pay me.
The completion of our epic smuggling quest yielded an epic plot twist (“I am your father!”) whose white-crested waves we navigated without incident. Risha was descended from Dubrillion royalty, the treasure was her priceless crown, and in any thematically consistent tale that might have been the prelude to our adventures in claiming the wealth associated with her throne and perhaps also – if we could swing it – the throne. Alas, the narrative needed to pave the way for the Eternal Protagonist’s eventual role as Savior of the Galaxy; little did I know that I would be strapping in for a Series of Eminently Forgettable Events.
Smuggler Class Story, Chapters 2 and 3
The second and third chapters of my class story saw me make the occupational transition from full-time smuggler to full-time mercenary, part-time pseudo-smuggler. After saving fellow shyster Darmas Pollaran from an ambush by Rogan the Butcher’s guns for hire at a place called Port Nowhere, I was introduced to Galactic Republic Senator Bevera Dodonna who made the unilateral decision to contract me out as a privateer. I was only required to decide why I agreed with the story’s authors that this would be the case. My mission would be to bring down Imperial supply chains, networks, and resource depots in pursuit of Rogan and his boss, an Imperial Grand Admiral known as the Voidwolf to whom all the major players in the big league pirate fleets paid tribute. This presaged a great many mandatory lifestyle changes and living accommodations.
The first of these involved the acquisition of an unwanted crew member while undertaking guerilla military operations on the Forever Wars planet of Balmorra. Risha and I were slaughtering our way through the guards of an Imperial prison (“Prison administration must be one of the Imperials’ core competencies,” she remarked) when a Mandalorian Zabrak named Akaavi Spar jumped out of a side hatch in a cutscene, killed three of the hostiles we were about to dispatch, and proclaimed that we owed her because she had just saved our lives. I looked back at the trail of bodies Risha and I had left in our wake and shrugged my shoulders.
On the ice planet of Hoth, my mission was to dispatch Rogun’s supporters within the White Maw pirate organization. The frozen halls of the Republic base housed another ineluctable stowaway: Guss Tuno, a washed-up Mon Calamari Jedi Padawan, my would-be assassin (until he lost his nerve), and a decidedly unimpressive comedy relief figure. As if to taunt me, I was allowed to initially reply to his proposal to join my crew with, “No! Please! No!” before being “canonically” convinced to board a straggler whose most useful contribution was ordering decent food over the ship’s intercom.
As I made my way to the spaceport with an informant who had a legitimate reason for being on my ship, I was stopped by an unfamiliar Republic officer. He demanded my ID, my papers, and “a blasted good reason for jetting in and out of a war zone for kicks.” Strangely, none of the responses had Light/Dark Side symbols next to them, including the option to kill him. I decided to imagine this potential programming oversight as an extradiegetic representation of my Smuggler’s intuition: how does this guy not know who I am? Principle: shoot spies first, ask questions later.
In what appeared to be a temporary reprieve from my endless soldiering, smooth-talking Darmas hooked me up with the opportunity to plunder an Imperial vessel. He informed me that I would be going splitsies with a cheetah-faced footpad and a safecracking kid who would be opening the loot boxes for us. I was channeling Lady Luck when I encountered a lone Imperial officer at the cruiser’s docking station. The roll of the dice called for me to flirt with him, the first time I had done so with anyone; right on cue, the unforgivingly on-rails script had Captain Cat Burglar entering stage right and blasting the Imperial in the head. That he afterwards lambasted me for taking an inefficient approach only served to highlight the futility of my attempts at non-imaginary agency.
Our heist ended in a binary moral choice with a modicum of food for thought in both directions: I could kill my partner and take everything or go 50/50 as agreed. He had been a ruthless operator, but nothing I hadn’t seen before when dealing with Imperials. I didn’t figure him to be the type to stab me in the back or come looking for me later, so I kept the terms of our original agreement. I briefly pondered what darker considerations would have entailed – if I had been greedy enough (and bloodthirsty enough) to kill him for profit, I would have had to take out Boy Junior as well to keep him from talking or seeking revenge, an act which would have required Sith Lord levels of depravity in my eyes.
Not to be outdone by the Imperials – even when it came to the nasty business of incarceration, the Republic had established a planet-sized prison on the world of Belsavis where I enlisted the aid of a man named Ivory, Rogun “the Butcher’s” former mentor. When the prison’s warden informed me that Ivory had killed half a dozen Jedi during his arrest, I shut my brain off and resolved from then on to ignore half of what was said in cutscenes in addition to everything that was not in a cutscene. I thought this was an altogether sensible response to the never-ending cascade of superlatives and Big Bads being trotted out before me: this squad of soldiers has been trained to kill Sith and going up against that person is like slamming into a durasteel wall and yet they all crumble before the fearsome might of a scrawny, sarcastic smuggler who isn’t exactly on speaking terms with the Force.
When I subdued Ivory, I decided to take things one step further: I imagined myself removing one of my leather gloves and backhanding him across the face with it, whereupon he got down on one knee and acquiesced to my demands without qualification. Not only did he dish up the dirt on Rogun’s whereabouts, he also agreed to Senator Dodonna’s cooperation incentive package which turned out to be something ridiculous like one droid-supervised shower per week.
My class story culminated in a paired heel turn and about face: Dodonna and Darmas were actually working for the Voidwolf, while Rogun the Butcher had been working against the Voidwolf. Dodonna and Darmas sent their lackeys after me; they surrendered and I sent them away with Republic forces rather than killing them because neither of them was a solo threat – Darmas talked a tough game but I saw through his boyish good looks. (Addendum: favor the Light Side if someone surrenders.) The Voidwolf, who was very much a solo threat, subsequently sent two pureblood Sith after me. Their timing was impeccable: they showed up right as I stumbled on Rogun.
My decision to ice Rogun came down to a matter of pragmatism, a theme I would come to fully embrace later on. I understood his potential motivations because they weren’t that much different from my way of thinking: just as I had sized up the black marketeer on Nar Shaddaa in comparison to the Hutts, Rogun may have sized me up in comparison to the Voidwolf and had come to the conclusion, after considering everything that I had done while pursuing him, that I was likely more powerful than the Voidwolf, more likely to show mercy because I was allied with the Republic, and probably easier to work with than those pesky Imperials who might decide to straight up not pay a girl like me for a smuggled shipment because some Sith Lord was having a bad hair day.
But my personal code does not take an enemy’s motivations into account, so I responded to Rogun’s unsolicited offer to work for me by zapping him. I then tossed the Sith girls a timed thermonuclear device and shut myself up in the nearest fridge. Half a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream later, I opened my icebox and strolled across the ashy floor en route to a final encounter with the Grand Admiral. At least, that’s the way it played out in my mind: inserting my own ridiculous story into the already improbable set of events the game had presented seemed to be the most genteel way of maintaining my dignity.
Don’t get me wrong: I understand that this is an MMO rather than a single-player game or a movie, so I willingly accepted many, many varieties of shorthand, ellipses, and dei ex machina for the sake of experiencing the most interesting elements of the Old Republic in a concise and timely manner. But I could not for the life of me, after seeing Darth Vader stroll through a corridor full of dudes with blasters and own them all, understand how Jyn Erso was supposed to magically take down two Darth Vaders at once by herself.
As if to atone for the previous double-Darth encounter, the game had me finishing off the Voidwolf in a cutscene by tossing back an explosive device he had thrown at me. (Thank you, game, for being reasonable.) I then assumed control over the pirate fleets at his erstwhile command and was given one of three options: have them work for the Republic, assume control as a criminal warlord who waylaid Republic and Empire vessels alike, or have the pirate leaders pay me tribute and then peace out. I’m not beholden to the Republic; I’m a kind-hearted, adventure-seeking opportunist rather than a criminal; and I have no desire to lead anyone but myself and my crew. I thus chose the third option and in doing so brought my class story – and career as a smuggler – to an end.
Rise of the Hutt Cartel
At this point in the journey, the few remaining interesting thematic elements surrounding morality and choice started to blend together into something like the scenery that passes you by on a nice Sunday drive through the countryside. Just as I had done on my Jedi Knight once upon a time, I decided to sit back and let the story drive me to whatever our eventual destination was. There were no ethical quandaries that were not already covered by my previously established guidelines; I simply let Lady Luck have her way with the fluff conversation options as I liaised my way up the chain of Republic command to the tune of invariably effusive praise regardless of how rude or obnoxious I tried to be.
The skinny on the Hutt Cartel business is that an insane Hutt named Toborro is mining the precious super-substance Isotope-5 from the core of the planet Makeb so hard that the planet is going to explode. He’s building a huge ark powered by the stuff to escape when that happens. I romance the mayor’s daughter, get a kiss from her, and she grudgingly gives me her holofrequency but it doesn’t matter because she never calls me once after that. I steal Isotope-5 from Toborro after dismantling his “Glittering Fury” super-droid (fantastic name by the way), one of two encounters in the entirety of Story Mode that feature a one-shot mechanic. We power up the ark and escape the collapsing planet with the majority of the civilian population in tow.
Shadow of Revan
The Revan storyline’s eponymous central character boasts an extensive history within the Star Wars lore. Blissfully unaware of this, my appreciation of this chapter’s antagonist centered on the themes of duality that orbit his inherently volatile nature. Time had torn Revan asunder: his light side resided within his spiritual form, while his darker energies were housed in his physical presence. For some reason, his body thought it would be a good idea to permanently vanquish the previously disembodied but not defeated Imperial Emperor Vitiate by returning him to corporeal form at the cost of all life on the moon Yavin 4 and then annihilating him.
Apparently Revan was so confident in his abilities that he didn’t consider the price of failure: this was an Emperor who intended to end all life in the galaxy as a means of achieving ultimate power. Neither the Empire nor the Republic were willing to afford him the opportunity; to my delight, they stopped fighting long enough to form an alliance whose goal was to take down Revan. Naturally, Revan’s charismatic personality and well-articulated convictions had garnered him followers from the Republic and Empire alike – this was to be a galactic mirror match.
Our uneasy alliance was bolstered by the battlefield presence of key figures from both sides: Jedi Order Grand Master Satele Shan was joined by her son Theron Shan of Republic Intelligence; their Imperial counterparts were Dark Councilor Darth Marr and Lana Beniko of Sith Intelligence. In addition to being my future (and only available) romantic partner, Lana’s redeeming qualities included an agreeable personality when she wasn’t angry and the ability to play nice with others. In the absence of a cute Jedi girlfriend, I thought it would be a fantastic idea for my convention-shirking ex-smuggler to strike up a romance with a snake-eyed, red lightsaber-wielding, purple electricity-channeling Sith Lord who was quite physically and intellectually attractive apart from the bit where she thinks of torture as a routine interrogation method.
Diegetically, my character professed to be unaware of this practice until she learned of it. When I tagged along with Darth Marr uninvited to capture Imperial Guards who knew of Revan’s whereabouts, I agreed to let Darth Marr question them rather than Satele Shan. My thinking was that this was an Imperial matter; allowing the Imperials to handle their own would help establish trust to the extent that it was possible. I also wanted to impress Lana with my pragmatism. After Marr’s torture session, the Republic representatives expressed horror that I had allowed such a thing. I responded by taking my new girlfriend aside and kissing her off-screen.
Knights of the Fallen Empire
Nothing ever happens the way it’s supposed to – Revan’s defeat did not prevent the Emperor from subsequently consuming all life on the planet Ziost prior to disappearing into Wild Space. The greatest shell game in recorded history thus unfolded: Vitiate had been secretly ruling the Eternal Empire of Zakuul using the hollowed out body of a warrior named Valkorion for centuries. Darth Marr and I were ambushed by his massive Eternal Fleet and taken prisoner aboard his command ship. He slew Darth Marr when Marr refused to kneel, then asked me why I was there. “To destroy you,” I said.
For reasons I still do not comprehend, Valkorion did not immediately Force throw me off the bridge of his command deck like any reasonable Immortal Emperor would. Instead, he used one extended hand to magically fend off the lightsaber blows of his frustrated son Arcann, a trained killer who had never received the approval he desired from his father. With a single blaster bolt to the spine, I administered the Mace Windu treatment to a centuries old Sith emperor who eats planets for breakfast, whereupon my superpowers faded long enough for Arcann to encase me in carbonite and take over the Core Worlds.
At that point I would have very much appreciated an on-screen guide as to which rules of reality were in effect at any given moment.
Like any good girlfriend would, Lana woke me up from my half-decade of cryostasis so that I could save the universe. As luck would have it, I had the instruction manual for galactic white-knighting at my fingertips: Valkorion had decided to take up residence in my mind in a bid to regain his throne. I actually enjoyed his lingering presence – so much so that I found myself wishing the story didn’t have to come to an end. Valkorion spent the next twenty-four chapters obliging me: he popped up at random to dispense wisdom, discuss existential philosophy, and make my life more difficult than it already was.
He began by taking advantage of battles in progress to offer me the opportunity to resolve situations decisively: if I would allow him to take over my body briefly, he would channel his powers through me. I accepted only once, when Lana was facing off against twenty-five blaster-wielding foes; Valkorion swept them away with a giant purple force bubble.
I guess I had a lot to learn about my ultra-pragmatic honey-bunny, because she was absolutely not amused. Afterwards, she told me I should not have done that. She was deeply concerned that if I allowed Valkorion to use my body as a conduit for his powers, he would eventually be able to forcibly expel my vital essence. As I contemplated her perspective, I began to think about the extent to which I was being punished for not having thought deeply enough about the context of my actions. Lana was a full-fledged Sith Lord wielding a lightsaber and the Force against twenty-five foes; while I might have balked at those odds, that encounter may have been a winnable fight for Lana. In retrospect, my “life-saving” decision may very well have been a product of ignorance and perhaps even somewhat insulting.
Where Lana operated from a position of strength, I operated sentimentally. She and native Zakuulan starship pilot Koth Vertana were in the process of extracting me from the capital city when Emperor Arcann’s psychotic sister Vaylin came after us. She took out a Sun Generator in a fit of pique, initiating a reactor meltdown that would kill thousands if not averted. My first instinct was to make a detour to prevent that from happening; Lana told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to leave the planet immediately.
Her interpretation of the Greater Good involved sacrificing those thousands of lives in the short term to save millions in the long term. I considered my next move carefully, eventually coming up with a sensible line of thinking that accommodated my crush: if I didn’t leave right then and there, who was to say that Vaylin wouldn’t kill thousands more as she pursued us? And who was to say that she hadn’t intentionally caused that catastrophe in an attempt to lure a do-gooding space captain into a known location?
Well, the game, that’s who. Again, our parallel universe comes into play, the one in which our choices have meaningful ramifications and consequences. The one which has little to no bearing on the events as presented in the game, but which is nevertheless granted primacy for the sake of reason.
The Eternal Empire rocked to and fro as the throne changed hands between Arcann, Vaylin, and a sentient hyper-intelligence named SCORPIO (don’t call her a droid). The first time I defeated Arcann, my eyes rolled all the way to the back of my head when he stuck his lightsaber through my chest and I lived. The explanation for this was that Valkorion’s power had saved me – the same Valkorion who wasn’t able to save himself from a blaster bolt to the midsection. I sighed in exasperation when Arcann’s mother, Senya, made off with her weakened world-destroyer so that she could “cleanse” him; I softened later on as I watched a beautifully rendered in-game movie that chronicled Senya’s struggles as a mother to protect her children from the imperialistic plans their father had for them. When I made the decision to remove Arcann for good, I thought to myself that perhaps I was more like Valkorion than I thought.
In the final chapter of Fallen Empire, I was slapped across the face by a seemingly simple dialogue option. In defending the Eternal Alliance from an attack on its base of operations, I made the decision to save a grave-robbing sneak thief named Vette rather than Torian Cadera, an accommodating Mandalorian who lived for glory in combat. Vette had been delightfully funny in Chapter 13: Profit and Plunder, whereas Torian struck me as a more serious-minded warrior, so I left him to fend for himself against overwhelming odds. I was later asked to make a statement about his reunion with the Force. Choices are presented on a wheel in the form of short phrases or sentences; often, what your character says uses radically different vocabulary but retains the spirit of its shorthand predecessor. I chose the option “he did his duty” – what came out of my mouth was, “He was a soldier. Soldiers die in war.”
Theron and Lana disapproved, as did I while muttering a curse at the screen. I took the time to reflect on my response just as I had done when I made the decision to use Valkorion’s powers to “save” Lana. I came to the conclusion that I had misread Torian: he was not a duty-bound Trooper like Aric Jorgan of Havoc Squad, but a battle-hardened fighter who sought glory and honor for himself and his clan. As in Lana’s case, if I had stopped to think deeply about what I was doing before I did it, I could have steered events in a more agreeable direction. But by accepting responsibility for the outcome of things that may have been impossible for me to predict, I was able to retain a consistent sense of imaginary agency in a narrative that arbitrarily enfeebled and super-charged my character in a violent display of whimsy.
Knights of the Eternal Throne
Unbeknownst to me at the time, the second ten chapters of our saga involved deciding which of our story characters and companions would live and die. It wasn’t until the postscript that I found out it was possible to spare Senya, but only if you also spared Arcann – an outcome that my personal ethos simply would not allow. As a Knight of Zakuul, Senya had been a ruthless enforcer, but at heart she was a caring mother who only wanted the best for her children. That I had to be the one to deprive her of this opportunity was something I chalked up to “destiny” – a meaningless word that I chose to use for lack of a better term.
My destiny also included an alliance with the Sith Empress Acina who had taken over in the absence of anything resembling leadership. She had seemed pleasant enough when she proposed to me, even gamely flirting with me after our shuttle crash landed in the middle of the jungles of Dromund Kaas. When later offered the opportunity to sweet talk her in Lana’s presence, I declined.
Eventually, we emerged victorious in climactic battles extraordinaire, including a game of Ring Around the Reversed Rosies with Valkorion and his children. Valkorion had programmed his daughter to become utterly submissive at the sound of the phrase “kneel before the dragon of Zakuul.” When she became aware of these linguistic restraints, Vaylin traveled to the Force-weak planet of Nathema to remove her conditioning. In our final, muddled confrontation, she then used this phrase successfully on her father. This unexpected reversal went a bit too far, in my opinion, so I mentally revised Valkorion’s response to one of simple surprise.
My final act was to choose between ruling as Empress or arbitrating as peacekeeper. I sat down on a throne I never wanted to keep it from ever being used for conquest again.
A story that isn’t presented in MMO format might show a denouement montage of rebuilding, diplomacy, and cooperation. Since this is a game that is mostly about the interesting things that happen as a result of intergalactic factionalism, I wouldn’t expect to see scenes of Lana and me enjoying a nice vacation on the beach. When we received word that the Republic and Empire were fighting over a superweapon that potentially had more power than even the Eternal Fleet, I accepted my transition from Mary Sue to Mary Super Saiyan with bemused resignation and strapped on my not-so-trusty plot blasters.
My first major strategic move as peacekeeping Commander of the Eternal Alliance was to take sides with either the Republic or the Empire, never mind that I had just assumed an all-powerful Eternal Throne that had previously brought the two factions to heel. To demonstrate my commitment to an equitable, bilateral alliance as well as to taking my partner Lana’s advice, I decided to support the Empire. No sooner had I done so than my formerly honey-tongued friend Empress Acina was declaring her uncontrollable desire to bathe in the blood of the Republic. Clearly, I made the right call. Our quandary was resolved by the appearance and hasty disappearance of a scrap metal MacGuffin monster named Tyth that talked in all caps – ahem, I meant to say: ANCIENT SUPERWEAPON WAR DROID GOD OF RAGE.
Our adventures culminated on the Chiss planet of Copero, where we were to secure and deliver a sharpshooting Chiss traitor in exchange for access to sudden turncoat Theron Shan. With the markswoman subdued, our handler altered the terms of our exchange by demanding her execution. I stonewalled his hardball play by allowing her to walk free. I then tracked Theron to a snow-covered mountain enclave whence he made a shuttle escape.
It turned out that Theron had gone rogue in order to gain the favor of a Zakuulan snake-worshipping cult based out of the capital city’s Breaktown District, a place where the fallen go to keep falling. After telling Lana the truth about the Chiss traitor – that I let her go because our liaison pissed me off – I planned on reminding her of her own actions: she had previously put both myself and Theron in dangerous situations without telling us because her infiltration strategies would not have worked if we had known what was going on. We needed to consider the possibility that Theron was doing the same to himself for unspecified reasons.
This is where the main thrust of my return to the Old Republic’s story ends. It was an altogether enjoyable experience that I plan on continuing in bite-sized pieces whenever the mood takes me. While I won’t be making any further time-intensive narrative investments like the one I’ve documented here, I will continue to daydream about what life with Lana might look like when that “scheduled personal time” she occasionally mentions materializes into a story of its own. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with a missive from her that let me into her head and her heart more than anything else did, followed by the response I might send in a world that leaves a little less to the imagination.