Aristomache Mothma
Embrace the Force, and then kark with it.
Hanna City, Chandrila
With the dissolution of the One Sith came some brief respite for the citizens of Chandrila, who'd long been accustomed with life as a border world on the fringes of the Galactic Alliance's territories. For the time being, the ensuing power vacuum that spanned the reach of most of the galactic core would be celebrated in Hanna City with merrymaking, toasting and roasting to the triumph of liberty and democracy. Historically, Chandrila had always been a stronghold of these qualities - a bastion of egalitarianism where each gave and received in accordance with ability and need. It was a warm, gracious planet, whose part in the galaxy's story in centuries past had always been critical; almost pivotal.
For some however, this liberty had always been present - one only had to perceive and make austerities in order to eternally gain it.
Mach Mothma, wearing nothing but her trusty old rough-fabric cloak, brandishing her walking stick and her knapsack slung by her side, walked the streets of Hanna. Thanks to an earlier career as a performer and a socialite celebrity, however brief, people still recognized her under her unkempt hair, the muck on her skin - a scummy mixture of sweat and dirt that had been collected from perhaps two or three days of going without a shower, and her ascetic aesthetic. By all means she'd become a humble little icon for Hanna City, but for entirely different reasons by now. She was a young rebel, a new breed of radical ascetic, some even said monastic, that roamed the galaxy with nothing but the rags on their persons, preaching complete independence, self-sufficiency, personal autonomy and resignation to the Force, teaching it to be the way of the universe - an all-permeating, impersonal wisdom that governed the ebbing and flowing of all things.
That, and Mach was unmistakably beautiful, despite her shaggy appearance. The tender young radical would walk the streets of the city in the daytime, badgering citizens a little too stuck-up with their own wealth and delusions of grandeur, or openly preaching at plazas. Some would come, the more inclined to philosophy would engage, but most would ignore - dismissing it all as the ramblings of a washed-up artist who'd since been reduced to a homeless mad woman. At night, she often meditated, away from the eyes of the public who'd long since gone to sleep, seeking perfection, self-discovery, self-discipline, and enlightenment in her practice of Hassat-durr, the traditional path of the Kel Dor Baran Do monks. A Force-Sensitive individual herself, she could often predict weather, telekinetically move objects with her mind, or generate heat in otherwise cold environments. For these things, farmers in the countryside adored her company, and the less-'educated' citizenry would flock to the young human female whenever she'd roll into one of the outlying towns.
Some presumed that that was exactly her appeal - she was free. Mach lived a simple life, owning virtually nothing but her faculties of discernment, judgement and reason, and supplemented an attractive physique she made nothing of with something more ethereal, more noble. Neither Jedi or Sith could threaten her, since there was nothing to be taken. Verbal threats to kill her were usually dismissed with sardonic wit or sarcasm.
"Wonder who I'll run into today?", she mumbled to herself as she smiled, walking slowly against the crowd. Some smiled, most repulsed. "Poor souls. May the Force consume them!"
With the dissolution of the One Sith came some brief respite for the citizens of Chandrila, who'd long been accustomed with life as a border world on the fringes of the Galactic Alliance's territories. For the time being, the ensuing power vacuum that spanned the reach of most of the galactic core would be celebrated in Hanna City with merrymaking, toasting and roasting to the triumph of liberty and democracy. Historically, Chandrila had always been a stronghold of these qualities - a bastion of egalitarianism where each gave and received in accordance with ability and need. It was a warm, gracious planet, whose part in the galaxy's story in centuries past had always been critical; almost pivotal.
For some however, this liberty had always been present - one only had to perceive and make austerities in order to eternally gain it.
Mach Mothma, wearing nothing but her trusty old rough-fabric cloak, brandishing her walking stick and her knapsack slung by her side, walked the streets of Hanna. Thanks to an earlier career as a performer and a socialite celebrity, however brief, people still recognized her under her unkempt hair, the muck on her skin - a scummy mixture of sweat and dirt that had been collected from perhaps two or three days of going without a shower, and her ascetic aesthetic. By all means she'd become a humble little icon for Hanna City, but for entirely different reasons by now. She was a young rebel, a new breed of radical ascetic, some even said monastic, that roamed the galaxy with nothing but the rags on their persons, preaching complete independence, self-sufficiency, personal autonomy and resignation to the Force, teaching it to be the way of the universe - an all-permeating, impersonal wisdom that governed the ebbing and flowing of all things.
That, and Mach was unmistakably beautiful, despite her shaggy appearance. The tender young radical would walk the streets of the city in the daytime, badgering citizens a little too stuck-up with their own wealth and delusions of grandeur, or openly preaching at plazas. Some would come, the more inclined to philosophy would engage, but most would ignore - dismissing it all as the ramblings of a washed-up artist who'd since been reduced to a homeless mad woman. At night, she often meditated, away from the eyes of the public who'd long since gone to sleep, seeking perfection, self-discovery, self-discipline, and enlightenment in her practice of Hassat-durr, the traditional path of the Kel Dor Baran Do monks. A Force-Sensitive individual herself, she could often predict weather, telekinetically move objects with her mind, or generate heat in otherwise cold environments. For these things, farmers in the countryside adored her company, and the less-'educated' citizenry would flock to the young human female whenever she'd roll into one of the outlying towns.
Some presumed that that was exactly her appeal - she was free. Mach lived a simple life, owning virtually nothing but her faculties of discernment, judgement and reason, and supplemented an attractive physique she made nothing of with something more ethereal, more noble. Neither Jedi or Sith could threaten her, since there was nothing to be taken. Verbal threats to kill her were usually dismissed with sardonic wit or sarcasm.
"Wonder who I'll run into today?", she mumbled to herself as she smiled, walking slowly against the crowd. Some smiled, most repulsed. "Poor souls. May the Force consume them!"