Imagine a planet far more primitive than Naboo, one upon which dozens of countries have formed on a single, small continent. War rages across their borders. Invaders from the east threaten, even as supposed allies to the north and west double cross each other, all for the pleasure of being the most powerful. You are the ruler of one such land, a small country, poor, but strategically placed. Your people bear the brunt of the invasion, even as the nations who hide behind your army seek a means to absorb your meager wealth as their own. At first, you fight. You do what you believe is best for your people. But as the years wear on, you grow weary, and even those few you believe you can trust seem to betray you, even your own God. You forsake everything, for your pride, for vengeance. You become the undead. In your thirst for revenge, you abandon your family, your people, and your faith. What then is left but for you to serve as the anvil upon which the strength of mortal men and women is either broken or forged?