Dominion Embers In The Ash | RNR & CIS | Dominion of Sarko VI

[Briana Sal-Soren]

​

Over two decades ago, the government of the Silver Jedi Order was able to help restore order and peace to Sarko VI, a world that, at the time, was on the verge of collapse from widespread civil unrest. In the years that followed after the Silvers’ intervention, the local government was able to find its own feet and rebuild with the help of interplanetary stakeholders, humanitarian aid, and through various avenues of diplomatic outreach.

New trade routes brought in much needed commerce and boosted the war-torn economy, vital infrastructure was restored, and a generation of visionary leaders rose to light the path forward and guide them into what everyone hoped would be a future of lasting stability and peace.

When the Silver Jedi Order collapsed, however, Sarko VI found itself without its safeguard and the fledgling government was forced to continue on alone through the use of private backers and trade allies, hoping the foundation that’d been laid during the Silvers stewardship would hold.

For a time it did, but in an ever-changing galaxy, hope is a finite resource.

With the Planeshift Event and Calladene, Sarko VI, like so many others, found itself severed and adrift from their home system. Isolated and cut off from the networks that once kept them progressing and alive, it wasn’t war that threatened their future now, but disconnection.

Seeing no other option, Sarko VI reached out to their new neighbors in the Royal Naboo Republic for help — the Republic was quick to answer their call.

Now, with the Queen’s blessing, Sarko VI has been granted provisional admission into the RNR. Republic envoys, corporate development partners, and members from the Order of Shiraya have all arrived to help ease the transition, delivering humanitarian aid, restoring critical supply lines, and investing in the planetary infrastructure needed to reconnect Sarko VI to the broader galactic community.

Meanwhile, on Naboo… ​

Following the collapse of the Foundation, the treaty that only recently bound the three factions into the ‘Southern Systems Alliance’ is rendered null and void. Now, the Royal Naboo Republic spearheads efforts to draft a new treaty with the Confederacy, one that reflects on the harsh lessons learned of shared and recent history.

In response to a Mandalorian incursion led by the Neo-Crusaders, CIS-alligned forces deployed white phosphorus on a civilian populated block within Dee’ja Peak. Though the immediate threat was neutralized by these actions, the resulting devastation on the small mountain city left hundreds displaced and wounded, with critical infrastructure destroyed and a relief bill that has cost the Republic more than just a few pretty credits.

With trust an already fragile commodity between the two nations, the incident at Dee’ja Peak has caused old grievances to resurface and renewed skepticism towards not only the Confederacy’s conduct, but their judgment, capacity for restraint, and accountability.

Now, under the authority of Queen Kalantha, key-leaders of the CIS have been called to Naboo to draft a new treaty for the stability of the entire Southern Systems. But to move forward, the Royal Naboo Republic has outlined strict terms and safeguards in the hopes of preventing future civilian tragedies. Whether the CIS views these terms and demands as reasonable, or as drastic overreach, remains to be seen…

OBJECTIVE 1
Deliver Humanitarian aid

The Republic has been fully welcomed by the Sarkoan government. Jedi from the Order of Shiraya arrived and established Base Theta-Aurek, a temporary relief compound serving as the central hub for food, water, and medical distribution under the authority of the Royal Assembly and Queen Kalantha. Those who were hit hardest from the displacement have arrived in droves to seek help, shelter, and some semblance of hope. Today, the Jedi do not stand as warriors, but are instead reminded that their first, and most important responsibility, is to serve the people.

Objective 2
Present Your Offers

Private contractors and corporate delegates aligned with the Royal Naboo Republic's Corporate Coalition have been sent to Sarko VI in the hopes of forging long-term economic ties with the planet's regional centers. So far, the Sarkoan government has been welcoming but cautious, eager for investments that will reset their suffering economy, but wary of exploitation. Overseeing these discussions is Minister Elyana Tervane, Sarko IV's Minister of Economic Renewal and Trade Affairs. A former administrator from one of the planet's hardest-hit districts, Tervane has made it clear that any agreement made, must benefit the Sarkoan people as much as the companies who stand to profit.

Objective 3
The Weight of Peace

In the halls of diplomacy on Theed, representatives from the Royal Naboo Republic and the Confederacy of Independent Systems convene to renegotiate and ratify a successor treaty following the collapse of the Foundation. With the shadow of Dee'ja Peak yet an open wound between the two nations, and public confidence in the Southern Systems Alliance shaken, tensions run high. Queen Kalantha has drafted a new treaty to present to the delegates for deliberation, but whether the Confederacy will accept these new terms or chafe beneath their weight, remains to be seen.

Former Treaty:
Southern Systems Alliance

New Treaty:
Southern Systems Alliance Treaty

​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

OBJECTIVE II

While matters of galactic alliances were important, Vexx trusted her attache could stand-in for her back on Naboo. After all, it wasn't every day you got to forge ties with new economic partners. The Confederacy was important, but surely both factions could see the obvious. Sarko VI, on the other hand, could be snatched away from the Republic by a savvy representative of the Galactic Alliance, The Republic should send their best, shouldn't they?

Dominique stood before a mirror and carefully adjusted her white suit on her lithe figure. She turned and rolled her shoulders to make sure it fit perfectly. It should seeing how it'd been designed to take on various appearances, but the last thing she wanted was being distracted because she hadn't been diligent enough in preparations. Likewise, she took the time to check for the smallest stray hair. A fresh application of lip stick and she was set.

Whether aboard a shared transport with others, or aboard her own direct from Denon, Dominique stepped out of the vehicle and down to the designated landing pad of Sarko VI. The smile was buoyant, and her glareshades kept the bright light of their joined future from narrowing her golden gaze.

No doubt they'd send some delegates to meet visitors and escort them to the meeting chamber. After all, they didn't want anyone to get 'lost' and engage in a little espionage did they? Dominique had several reports on hand about their government's sense of caution. Prudent. Not at all naive in how the galaxy worked. Well, there was knowledge and the application of knowledge; they were about to discover which this humble, but thriving world had to offer in negotiations. A mutually beneficial arrangement shouldn't be that difficult to come by; anything else she'd consider a delightful bonus.

OPEN | Briana Sal-Soren​

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Really? 2?

 

[Caltin Vanagor]

Ugh

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

.
.
Objective 3
The Weight of Peace


Seated in his gilded, understated pod within the high balconies of the Royal Assembly, Arcann said little. He seldom needed to. Around him, his closest advisors offered hushed commentary—some strategic, some emotional, most cautious. Yet their voices blurred into abstraction as his golden eyes remained fixed on the chamber floor below, watching the ceremonial pageantry unfold like an echo of a time he could scarcely remember with fondness.

A treaty built on ashes, he finally murmured, almost to himself.
One advisor—Minister Yllana of External Concord—leaned in slightly, ever attuned to his thoughts. “Your Highness?”

Arcann didn’t immediately respond. His gaze remained locked on Queen Kalantha, poised and resolute as she prepared to address the chamber. The Queen had always had a gift for speaking light into darkness—but light, he had learned, could cast shadows just as deep.

Firstly, I am a Senator, a public servant, not a noble like some here are. Theed wears its grace like armor, he continued, his voice low, but no armor is invincible when worn too long. Dee’ja Peak proved that.

Another aide, Lord Vairn of Strategic Accord, frowned. “The Confederacy claims they seek peace, but their fleets linger far too long in shared space. Their words do not match their formations.”
Arcann exhaled slowly, not in disagreement, but in understanding.

They are not wrong to remember, he said. Nor are we to want something better. But peace built on concession alone is a rope pulled tight. It binds until it snaps.
He paused again as an aid to Queen Kalantha unfurled the newly drafted treaty—parchment and datapads alike passed from hand to hand.

She hopes to heal the wound, Arcann noted, but wounds must be cleaned, not merely wrapped. And there are poisons still in the blood—Southern Alliance instability, the backroom whispers of old Separatists, the ghosts of the Foundation.
Minister Yllana hesitated. “Do you believe the Confederacy will walk away from this?”
Arcann’s jaw tightened, thoughtful.

No, he said, they’ll sign. Not because they trust us. Not because the terms are just. But because they fear what’s outside more than what’s between us.
He looked down again, but this time not at the treaty. He studied the delegates from both sides. Younger faces than before. Fewer scars. Still raw, still learning.

The younger ones… they do not yet understand that peace is not a moment. It is a discipline. A burden. A sword sheathed, but never forgotten.

And then, softly, perhaps even to himself:
Let them sign. But let us never again mistake the paper for the promise.
The pod fell silent as the Royal Anthem began to rise—hopeful, radiant, and terribly fragile.
.

 

[Aiden Porte]

Objective 1
Humanitarian Aid
Tags: Open

While today was marred with much debate into what was the Alliance of the big three, but now with the Foundation gone and the actions of the CIS. There was much to discuss, but luckily for him it wouldn't be him leading the talks. He prayed to Shiraya for those that were dealing with that, they would find a common solution and a grounds to strive for peace and hope. Not just for themselves but for Naboo and the Republic.

Today was a big day for Aiden, his biggest batch he had ever made thus far. He had showcased his treats in the form of cookies of various flavors around Naboo for a while and after getting much feedback and even constructive criticism from various bakers and the like around Naboo. He would try to branch out, and his victims for the day were those of Sarko IV.

He was sure they would like them, while he had brought many of these things. He wasn't the only one....

All of Naboo had banded together to bring Aide to this place, that was fraught with its own issues and problems. Supplies in the form of various foods, clothing, and water and many other things to help rebuild and stabilize this world. The Jedi had enlisted the help of some younglings and other padawans to assist him as he would get things set up.

Aiden couldn't play cookie server the entire time, he would assist with getting the supplies to those that were in dire need.

Naboo had arrived to help and brought with her a gallant force to aide Sarko IV.

 

[Aknagoak Jihuzi]

THE WEIGHT OF PEACE
My Sage My War Hero - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Closed, for now

WE ARE THE PEOPLE​

THEED, NABOO

Theed. Aknagoak feels closer to home here than the freezing, oppressive parliament building in Rothana. Like most of other Thalassian, he appreciates beauty and aesthetics. A famous saying of his people, “Beauty is the way the Gods communicate with their people.” And he lives by it. Yet, it’s not beauty that brought him to Theed. It’s something more pressing than the matter of Gods and Men.

Aknagoak sat in his designated senator pod, with his two advisor, a Human and a Twi’lek. Hailing from the cultural melting pot that is Kowak, he had to integrate as much as possible perspectives from different species and cultures that exist in the planet. He had reviewed the proposed treaty revision. It wouldn’t be easy to appease everyone, even Aknagoak himself can admit that there’s simply too much dimension for himself to decide the ideal path to the common good.

His gaze shifts between pods, stealing glances of the Queen, the Republic’s Senators, and his fellow Confederate representatives. It would be a rough and complicated discussion, but in the end he knows that The Southern System will prevail, facing the threats of evil and complacency.​

 

[Balun Dashiell]

OBJECTIVE 1 - Deliver Humanitarian aid
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol.
TAGS: Aiden Porte + Others to follow

The Nomad Commercial Heavy Freighter descended through the dusky atmosphere of Sarko VI, its broad, weathered hull settling onto one of the perimeter landing pads at Theta-Aurek, a makeshift staging ground carved from scorched soil and duracrete. The site buzzed with activity, a temporary nexus for the redistribution of relief aid to the planet's struggling population. Dust curled around the repulsorlifts as the freighter touched down, its engines cycling into a low idle hum.

At the top of the loading ramp stood Balun Dashiell, silhouetted against the freighter's interior lights. He surveyed the encampment below, his expression unreadable as his gloved hands rested lightly on his belt. As senior representative of the Dashiell Relief Fund, a humanitarian branch of Dashiell Incorporated™; he had come not for profit, but for purpose.

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free," he murmured under his breath, quoting ancient words that seemed ageless in relevance.

Below him, a trio of LK Archimedes Maintenance Droids rolled into motion with quiet efficiency, offloading crates of food supplies, medicinal kits, and portable shelter materials. It was the kind of shipment that could mean survival, at least until the local government and the Royal Naboo Republic could restore infrastructure and stability.

Part of him wondered if Liin "Tera" Terallo would see this moment and reconsider her suspicions. She had long viewed Force Users with wary eyes—somewhat justifiably—but Balun had always walked a different path. He didn't seek domination through power; he sought to serve, to protect. Still, her obsession with her work and her fear of his kind tugged at his concern for her. She wasn't alone in her distrust—his own father had once warned him of the Jedi's detachment. Among the Dashiell family, Balun alone bore the Force, a gift that sometimes felt more like an unspoken divide.

But there wasn't time for reflection.

Balun unclipped his datapad and quickly signed off on the delivery manifest, logging his arrival and affiliations before securing the device back to his belt. With a purposeful stride, he descended the ramp, his boots striking the ferrocrete with soft thuds as he began directing the droids toward their designated drop zones.

A nearby dockworker—dust-streaked and flushed with exertion—spotted the commotion and jogged over. Despite the urgency in his eyes, the man's voice held genuine gratitude.

"Greetings, sir. Your help is most welcome," he said, falling into step beside Balun. "Who are you here with, if I may ask?"

"I've already logged our arrival," Balun replied, glancing briefly at the growing pile of crates. "Everything here is from Dashiell Incorporated via the Dashiell Relief Fund. I'm Balun Dashiell, with the Order of Shiraya and the Royal Naboo Republic."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the base ahead—medical tents, food lines, shelter grids still under assembly.

"I won't keep you," he added, his tone steady but earnest. "But if you can point me to where I'm needed most, I'll get to work."

"Speech".
'Thought'.

 

[Annis Riyaré]

THE WEIGHT OF PEACE

Annis Riyaré, Countess of Lopenthé, Senator of Naboo

Location: Theed
Gear: Voidstone bracelet
Tag: Arcann Pehnataur Aknagoak Jihuzi

Spoiler: wearing

The horrors inflicted by both the Neo-crusaders and the CIS were done on Naboo, her own jurisdiction and as such she had seen first hand the damage that had been done, first to the people, and then to their faith in the Republic. She had had people petition her as their senator, wanting everything from reparations, through cessation if diplomatic ties all the way to a punitive military campaign. Her motorcade had even been pelted with eggs at a small demonstration as arrived from Lopenthé today. It was par for the course, this wasn't an empire, people were allowed to be angry, they were allowed to make their feelings known. It was up to the delegates here to ensure they acted on their behalf.

As the local planetary senator she would speak early to open the session. "Gathered senators, today marks the beginning of a new phase in our relationship with the CIS. The people of Naboo still mourn for the losses inflicted at Dee'ja Peak and I invite you to join me for a moments silence to honour the people who were lost."

She dipped her head respectfully for a few moments and hoped even the naysayers would have the decency to join her for her people.

She spoke again. "This is not a treaty of amnesty, but nor should it he a treaty of punishment. Reconciliation should be our aim, for we are as a society look forwards and not backwards. The eyes of Naboo and the wider Republic are on us and we get one chance to do this right for them. Their eyes are also on our guests, the representatives of the confederacy, asking them to show humility in response to the actions commited in their names. The people are angry now, and rightfully so, but as I have repeatedly assured my constituents, this treaty will allow justice to be done and will allow prosperity to rise from the ashes of Dee'ja.

Don't make me a liar."

She smiled and nodded her head to indicate that she was done.

 

[Arcann Pehnataur]

​

.

Objective 3
The Weight of Peace

Everyone makes mistakes.

Arcann made one when he walked into the chamber today.

He walked in as a soldier of Zakuul, not a Senator of Atzerri. It affected him in a manner that he promised himself that it would never do, it gave the man a chip on his shoulder. Does he fully trust the actions of or the potential future regarding the SSAT. All that he could think of was a class he sat in at the Academy about “traffic”, not “trafficking” but “traffic” the type a commuter can get stuck in.

The purpose of “traffic” is movement, to simply go with it may get traffic moving, but is it in the direction that is right for you? If you go against it, will you get to where you need to go? Will you simply hold up traffic?

This is not a question of principles, this is a question of numbers. Numbers as in “good for the many” or simply “good for the one”? What brought this on? Reading what was handed to him.

Let this be a lesson to us all.

“Sir?”

When I entered into these hallowed halls for the first time not that long ago, I did so with every intention of being the single most principled individual that this Assembly had ever seen.

“Are you not?”

He laughed openly. I would like to think so, however I made the mistake today of believing that principles cannot be waylaid. Mine were.

One of the other aids looked at him. “I’m not sure that I understand.”

With a smile, he waited for the honorable Annis Riyaré to complete her statement, coincidentally in a similar mannerism to his. Ladies and Gentlemen. There is an old phrase that my people enjoy, that I will borrow… “Oh what a difference a day makes…” or in my case, a few minutes.

I was not lucky enough to be privileged with entry into these hallowed halls when the Dee’ja Peak was tragically and brutally attacked. However I was on my planet when it happened. I was not yet sworn in, however I promised my people that they would get everything I could give them. I promised them on my oath as a veteran to protect them any and every way that I could.

That affected my mood, and my entry into this chamber today.

I will not pretend to be an expert on anything. I am anything but, however where my colleague, Ms. Annis is corrected in looking forward, we must move forward as well, together. Not just for singly our benefit, but for the good of all. We must do this, not for optics, or for flowery words, but because it is the right thing to do.

My colleague does not wish to be made a “liar”, I do not wish for you to make the mistake I did.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Aurelian entered the chamber like someone used to being noticed, and even more used to pretending he didn't need to be. He didn't rush, didn't hesitate. Just the right amount of polish on his boots and just enough mischief curling at the corners of his mouth to make the guards nervous and the aides whisper.

He took his seat with all the reverence of someone sitting through his second cousin's fifth wedding. The kind of thing you go to out of duty, but mostly to see who gets drunk first and who starts the drama. He tapped idly on his holotablet, shifting through work orders and resettlement quotas for refugee intake on Plooriod III.

The chamber was alive with the ritual dance of tragedy and diplomacy. Someone, was it Annis?, was still wringing sentiment into the air. Invoking justice, reconciliation, and a host of other noble abstractions. He spared her a glance, politely, like one might regard a pleasant rainstorm through a thick window. Sad, sure. Important to someone, definitely. But the real weather, the real storm, wasn't happening until the Queen and the Confederate Head of State stood up and either made a future or set it on fire.

He watched the Queen now. Young. Composed. Aurelian respected pressure, it revealed more truth than oaths ever could. Would she cave, plead, posture, or perform? And would the Confederacy's oh so reasonable leadership accept the leash disguised as partnership? Would they even notice it?

He leaned back slightly, resting a finger to his lips, bored of the warm-up acts and ceremonial self-importance. "Let the real show begin," he muttered under his breath, to no one in particular.

Then, with a flick of his thumb, he greenlit the transfer of 300 newly naturalized Republic citizen laborers to orbit-bound habitats above Plooriod III.

He was a humanitarian, obviously.

Annis Riyaré | Arcann Pehnataur | Aknagoak Jihuzi​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

The shelter buzzed with low voices and the soft whir of relief drones overhead. Makeshift tents and walkways cut chaotic lines across the converted landing hangar, but the people had shaped it into something… almost livable.

Lorn moved with the quiet grace of someone who'd long ago learned how to be invisible without vanishing. He walked beside a child, small, dirt-streaked, still clutching that ragged stuffed bantha like it was worth more than the sun, and carried a meal pack in one hand, a bottle of clean water in the other. He didn't speak, not at first. The boy was already looking around like every shadow might be his mother, or might not be.

Outside, the rumble of cargo speeders echoed like distant thunder. His Vanguard hauled crates under the hot sunny sky, unloading sustenance, medicine, basic human dignity in stackable boxes. He'd helped earlier, long enough to make an example, short enough to remind them he still had rank. Then he saw the boy. A reasonable excuse. A welcome one.

"You said her name was Chacen, right?" Lorn asked, eyes scanning a knot of people gathered near the terminal grid.

The boy nodded once. Barely.

"She'll be looking for you too." He handed the meal down, crouching to the boy's level with a creak of tired knees. "Keep your strength up. I've seen hungry eyes lose what they're looking for even when it's right in front of them."

He stood again, hand resting for a heartbeat on the boy's shoulder. "You stay close now. No wandering. If anyone tries to tell you different, you tell them you're with me."

His voice was low. Measured. Like the last thing in the galaxy he could afford to give this child was his panic. He walked on, the boy close beside him, scanning the sea of displaced faces. Still no sign of the mother.

Still no sign of rest.

"She'll be here," Lorn murmured again, mostly to the boy, but maybe also to himself. "She has to be."

@OPEN​

 

[Zal Thraynrok]

Jumpsuit | Armor
Knife
Beacon Grenades
Pistol
The Allure

Objective 1 - Humanitarian Aid​

The fireplace under Zal had been instructed to render aid to a planet none of them had seen or dropped on prior. It was a wistful look into their CEO's eyes as she delivered the orders via holo and informing them that she would regretfully would not be in their company.

A strange thing to hear from the woman that peddled the wares of war.

Trask did not argue, and Starsi had done little more than shuffle paperwork after the orders were dispensed. Some to training. Some to relief. Others to patrol and escort while operations were underway. Supporting Naboo in their efforts.

Showing a sign of good faith despite the woman that formed them having an interest in the Confederacy and their tactics. Or rather, their efficiency as she had put it.

The crates from the Allure were being carefully guided to ground level via tractor beam. Various supplies from both Naboo and their mother company though lacking the company mark to his surprise.

"Must not be profitable enough." He'd spoke the rest of his thought aloud.

Jude and Yaldr whipped their heads round despite the crates over their heads to no doubt send a confused look at their sergeant as their newest transfer made an audible sound that might have been a question behind the helmet.

Zal cleared his throat and lifted the datapad in his hand as if actually cross checking the crates against the registry.

"Listening to a message. Sorry, must of, had the speaker on."

@Open​

 

[Nakatu Ee'everwest]

​

Nakatu stayed quiet as the floor was opened up to discussion.

Like a pretty, painted portrait, the young noble woman and senator sat perfectly still. She did not shift, nor did she fidget. Nor did a single hair of carefully coiled copper ever slip from its place. Her elegant hands were kept neatly folded in her lap, with a posture as faultless as the custom edge of gold added along the bottom of the black velvet gown she was wrapped in.

From her high seat along the semicircle of representatives, she'd done exactly as she'd always been taught: to watch, to listen, and to absorb.

And the moment she'd entered these hallowed chambers, she'd been doing exactly that. Paying attention. To the timber and cadence of the voices who'd lent their opinions to the discussion, to the subtle nuances and tells that might be hiding behind their words — studying them each with the keen eye and grace of a girl who'd spent her entire life being told, "If you choose to speak, make sure it is worth listening to."

There was never any place for idle chatter in her home. And there was certainly none for it here.

When the called upon moment of silence passed, and the senator from Atzerri was finished with speaking their peace, Nakatu turned her eyes to the pods containing their currently contested Confederate allies, then shifted forward and rose.

"Honored Senators. Your Majesty. Confederacy delegates. I stand here as the representive voice of Kooriva, but I am a daughter of Naboo, first. Like my fellow senators, I too believe reconciliation and finding a path forward is a necessary step. However," she paused, her brows pulling faintly together.

"Words alone are not enough, and this treaty..." she gestured to her datapad, the screen opened to the same document that'd been laid out before all of them for scrutiny. "While I appreciate the clearer guidelines and language of this new agreement, and support it in principal; where is its teeth? Where is the actionable response? If this new treaty between our nations is to actually mean anything, if we are to build trust among the people we represent and are meant to serve; the people who are still reeling not only from the attack of the Mandalorian's, but from our allies — then it must ensure that when harm is done, there are clear and definitive consequences. What provisions will be enacted should another breach occur? Will reparations be issued? Will military actions be restrained by oversight? Who ensures that enforcement? And who is held responsible when it fails?"

She folded her hands together and inclined her head in a respectful gesture towards all. "Until these questions are answered, I cannot, in good conscience, offer my full support of the signage of this new agreement."

She resumed her seat, waiting to see who else would weigh in. She doubted she'd be alone in these sentiments.

Aurelian Veruna , Kalantha , Joa Sodi , Arcann Pehnataur , Annis Riyaré , Aknagoak Jihuzi , Vemric Keldra
​

 

[Niki Priddy]

Objective: 3
Equipment: Attire - See Right | Wristwear | L&R Middle-Finger Rings | Belt | Keyring | Dasmi's Pendant | Coal Nail Polish | Transition Glasses | Glasses Charm | Lipstick - Not being Worn
On Person: Yellow Vipers
Augmentation: PGEM-SAP "Amber Eyes"
Tags: Arcann Pehnataur | Aknagoak Jihuzi | Annis Riyaré | Aurelian Veruna | Nakatu Ee'everwest

Another meeting. Another group of dissatisfied beings of some variety. Discontent with how things had been done. How things had gone. What was or was not delivered.

She'd already stepped out prior to find the highest point possible to burn through a yellow viper.

Only to return to find the opening ceremony dispensed with and the talks beginning.

Pinching the bridge of her nose behind her glasses as she listened to the practiced words. To the impassioned and perhaps fabricated candor meant to drive home a point of view that either had or had not been considered prior. But this was just another cog in a system that she had never witnessed work properly prior.

No matter how well maintained, the system at some point began to fail in some way.

Failing the people. Failing the planet's it was meant to help. Failing to keep to the code of conduct they enforced.

Something always gave.

Maybe it was a belief formed by observing the cynicism of those with power. Or one long held since her time in a space station watching the Deep float by in silence. Or even before that time, when leaving home made more sense than bowing to a system of Theocracy and tenants that served the ones who could write them.

But governments and the people that ran them were a good idea.

Statistically at least.

It would have been hypocritical of her to not recognize the irony of her stance. Not when she was extending her own holdings off of Naboo's efforts to establish itself. But she could also recognize that she was not attempting to dictate the lives and security of others with her business goals.

At least not outside of those that had willingly signed their services to her.

The mention of Dee’ja Peak made a brow rise in curiosity that quickly faded at the rest of the words that followed. A different voice rose at the end. Drawing a half lidded glance to see a young woman in an outfit that was both subdued and plainly opulent.

A hand fishing for the pack of Vipers and nearly succeeded until the woman spoke her peace. The half removed tin carefully pushed back into place as if even the slightest sound might draw attention from the words.

A smile playing at the edge of her lips as Niki gave a slight, singular nod.

"That one has some teeth to her." Tone carrying surprise while keeping her voice hushed.

Accessing the systems inside her glasses to catch a snapshot of the young woman's face. Turning on the recorder to capture the meeting for future reference as she swiped a finger across the datapad in the seat beside her to begin a different task.

Her attention splitting as she began to look over messages on her personal datapad while keeping an ear on things around her.

 

[Briana Sal-Soren]

Water splashed over her hands as Briana diligently worked to scrub away the dirt and other grime that'd accumulated throughout the day, before drying them thoroughly and then using that same towel to lightly dab away the sweat that'd accumulated along her neck and forehead. Her shoulders fell with a deep exhale as she turned away from the sink, towel tossed onto the growing pile as she exited the wash room.

Everyone had been hard at work since the Order's arrival earlier that morning, the small base developing its own ebb and flow as the day dragged on and more and more arrived — farmers whose crops had withered without promised fertilizer shipments, dockhands who once unloaded freighters day and night, laid off until the trade routes could be re-established, parents who'd come with children and empty stomachs after stretching their dwindling ration slips, children whose parents had been stranded on other planets, now trying to figure out a way to get back home. All of them displaced over night.

Briana passed beneath the awning that shaded the medical tent, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the filtered light. Inside, the air was thick with antiseptic and sweat, the scent of overused bacta packs and healing salves clinging to every surface. Cots lined the interior in neat rows — not because of war wounds, they were far from any battlefields — but from heatstroke, dehydration, untreated infections, and the quiet toll of despair.

A child whimpered softly in the corner as one of the few healers they'd had to spare, adjusted a gauze wrap around the girls ankle. An older man with sun-leathered skin sat beside her, murmuring a story in a low voice, perhaps to distract from the pain. Briana didn't interrupt, simply moving along the center aisle to check on what supplies were left, what names had been logged, and to see how many more the tent could realistically take.

In many ways, this mission was more difficult than the ones that came with clear-cut enemies. There was no foe to disarm, no weapons to disable, no... 'go here and blow x up'. Just exhaustion, stretched thin across too many lives. She rubbed lightly at the space between her brows, hips swaying to one side as she switched feet, trying to change position often enough to stave off the lingering sense of exhaustion that attempted to settle its way into her bones.

The screen of the datapad in her hand flickered as she scrolled through the lists, eyes skimming over the latest entries from the field medics. Supplies were dwindling — saline, antiseptics, sterilizers — and while the Order had arrived with as much as they could carry, the population in this sector alone had far outpaced initial projections and they just didn't have enough trained healers on hand to make up for the extra. The few who were trained, were already being pushed beyond the point of exhaustion.

Having already transmitted updated estimates to Theed, Briana knew more supplies, and hopefully medics, were en route — but until they arrived, every drop and dose was going to have to be stretch farther than it was meant to.

Moving to the back of the improvised clinic where a makeshift table had been cleared and repurposed into a small intake desk, stood a local volunteer. He was young, barely out of grade school, and potentially somewhere around the age of Bastila, from the looks of him. Wiry to boot, with oil-stained hands, and the touch of determination in his expression, diligently checking names and relaying updates from the other tents. His mismatched eyes barely glanced up as Briana approached, giving her a chin tilt by way of greeting.

"Knight Sal-Soren," he said, voice low but respectful. "We've got three more families on the way from the outer grove. Said they walked six miles after hearing we were handing out water and medicine." Briana gave a calm nod, trying not to frown before asking, "Did they say if anyone was injured?"

He hesitated. "One of the mothers is pregnant. Third term. No med droid, and no prenatal care, not that I'm aware of anyway." Briana nodded and tried to give the best smile she could muster. "Not to worry... we can get one of the corner cots set up with cushions to elevate her legs and I'll bring in one of the senior healers to sit with her when they arrive."

She didn't say that they might not have the room, that the day was only half over and already too full... Briana simply turned back to her lists and moved to the next task.

It was going to be a very long day.

OUTFIT: XoXo | Vizion Trozky

​

 

[Thayze Montserrat]

|| EMBERS IN THE ASH ||
Head in the Clouds - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Lorn Reingard

SARKO VI

The street in front of base Theta-Aurek is bustling with refugees and the downtrodden. Ever since the planetshift happened, Sarko VI got cut off from it’s production and trading infrastructure, leaving themselves in a dire situation where they can’t sustainably feed the people living in the planet. Thayze is one of the Shirayan Jedi sent to help rollout humanitarian aid in the planet.

Making himself useful, he was moving the necessary medical equipment to a couple of different tent. He navigated the crowded base like he always does, with swift precision. Until…

Thud.

Thayze felt a force crashing into him, not enough to push him off his feet, but enough to make him have to rebalance his body. The same couldn’t be said for the person who crashed into him, however, as she fell to the ground right in front of him.

“Chit. Sorry. Are you alright?” Thayze quickly puts down the box he is carrying to help the woman back to the ground.

“I’ll survive…” she answered, her face looking disoriented, her attention somewhere else. Before Thayze could ask her, she already continued to speak. “My son, can you help me find him?” Her voice turned shaky. “ARNOOO?!”

“Where did you last see him?” Thayze asked, trying to help her locate her missing son. “I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know!” The lady by this point is getting very jittery, and Thayze needs her to calm down to help him track the kid. So, he reaches to the Force, helping her calm down a little bit.

“What’s your name Ma’am?” Thayze asked. “Chacen,” she answered, short and defeated. “Ms. Chacen, we are going to find Arlo, alright?” Thayze grabbed her hands gently to reassure her. He walked beside her, clearing one area after another, still with no sign of her kid.​

 

[Lorn Reingard]

The boy's head jerked up at the sound, distant, muffled by bodies and the din of Base Theta-Aurek's constant motion, but unmistakable. A voice calling out, raw and strained: "ARLOOO?!"

The boy's breath caught.

Lorn saw it happen, the way his whole body stilled except for his wide eyes scanning the chaos. Hope hit kids like lightning, sudden, electric, dangerous if it struck the wrong thing. Lorn didn't ask questions. He just crouched, hands under the boy's arms, and hoisted him up in one smooth, practiced movement.

"You hear that?" he asked, setting the boy carefully on his shoulders. "You hear her?"

The boy didn't answer, already craning his neck, wobbling a little with urgency as he scanned the crowd from his new vantage point.

"Alright," Lorn murmured, steadying him with one hand and shielding his eyes with the other. "You be my lookout. You see her, you point. Loud and clear."

A voice again, closer this time. The name cracked in the air like a whip: "ARLO!"

There it was, panic, maternal and untamed. Lorn turned toward the sound, boots crunching lightly on the ground as he moved with new direction. Through the mass of displaced lives and tired bodies, a glimmer of movement caught his eye.

A younger Shirayan was pushing forward, Thayze, if Lorn remembered right, escorting a wide-eyed woman who looked like her whole world had fallen apart and was clawing to stitch itself back together.

"I see her," the boy whispered.

"Then point, Commander Arlo," Lorn said gently, shifting his shoulders so the boy wouldn't fall. "Give the order."

One tiny arm shot forward. And Lorn moved.

Thayze Montserrat​

 

[Rhys Gorne]

​

The sky above Sarko VI was a swirl of gray and gold, dust carried on upper winds still thick from the storm season. Below, the jagged ridgelines broke the haze like half-buried bones. It was not the land that drew Rhys Gorne’s gaze today however, it was the descending shuttles, heavy with food crates, water tanks, medical kits, and one precious promise: relief.

“Bravo One to convoy, you're clear on vector 2-1-7. Stay tight, turbulence ahead.” His voice crackled calm over the comms, the tone of a man who had guided more than his share of fragile hopes through uncertain skies.

He shifted slightly in his seat, the familiar hum of his starfighter like a heartbeat around him. The Royal Naboo insignia gleamed faintly in the cockpit glass, and for a moment, Rhys could almost hear the Queen’s address from two nights ago, welcoming the people of Sarko VI to the Republic, pledging compassion, reaffirming unity.

And yet…

His eyes flicked to the relief camp in the valley below; Base Theta-Aurek, its perimeter marked with long temporary shelters and repulsor-lift cranes. The scarlet dots of Republic Jedi uniforms moved like threads of calm through the chaos. He had moved through the ranks hearing tales of them. But today, they moved among the broken and the hungry with quiet hands, kneeling, listening, lifting.

A different kind of strength.

One of the younger pilots pinged in, nervously:
“Sir, I’ve got eyes on crowds at Landing Pad Six. Tight spacing—looks like they’re pushing past the perimeter.”

Rhys’s jaw tightened slightly.
“Copy that, Bravo Three. Keep altitude until clearance. Let the Jedi and planetary security do their work.”

They were not here to force order; they were here to deliver it. Carefully. Respectfully.

Sarko VI didn’t need a show of firepower. It needed trust to be built.

As his shuttle formation began their final descent, Rhys caught sight of a child on the cliff’s edge, far from the relief lines. She lifted something in the air, perhaps a toy, perhaps a flag, it was hard to tell—but even from here, he could sense what it meant.

She was waiting. Watching.

Hoping they would come.

Rhys exhaled slowly and banked the fighter gently into escort position, shielding the lead shuttle from any wind shear as they dipped below the cloud line.

“Almost there,” he said, mostly to himself. “Just a little further.”

The lead shuttle’s retro-thrusters fired, creating a ripple through the already swirling dust. Ahead, the makeshift landing pads came into view—flattened fields marked with repulsor buoys and scorched black from the hundreds of arrivals before them. Base Theta-Aurek sprawled at the valley's base like a scar hastily dressed, tents and prefabs laid out in functional geometry, intersected by dirt paths worn by tired feet.

Rhys swept low in his fighter, angling into escort formation along the convoy’s flank as the first shuttle began its final approach. Wind buffeted his wings, and he adjusted instinctively—years of muscle memory smoothing the descent.

“Convoy, follow lead—Pad One through Four designated. Touchdown in sequence. No hot maneuvers. We’re not here to impress anyone.”

He caught a flicker of acknowledgment from the shuttle pilots. Good. They were green, some of them, still used to training sims and ceremonial flyovers. This was different.

This was real.

Below, near Pad Two, a group of Sarkoan refugees had pressed too close to the edge. Local security forces in green sashes moved to intercept, Rhys narrowed his gaze.

“Bravo Three, hold up. We don’t need to blow their ears out with backwash. Slow your descent and give that crowd a breath.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Jedi were already there. He saw them, proud figures weaving through the throng with a kind of unnatural calm. One knelt before a woman who had collapsed at the line. Another stood with arms outstretched, speaking softly but to the crowd. A third, was watching him.

She stood near the edge of the pad, hair braided back, cloak cinched against the wind. Her presence was like an anchor—unmoving in the maelstrom. She inclined her head just slightly, an acknowledgment Rhys returned with the faintest lift of his fingers on the throttle.

His own descent was near silent. When his fighter touched ground, it did so with a grace that belied its capacity for violence. He powered down the drive, listening as the shuttle behind him made contact with the pad, its landing struts settling with a hiss.

The cargo bay doors began to open. Light spilled from within revealing crates of rations, medical kits, blankets, canisters of purified water.

Rhys remained in the cockpit for a long breath, watching everything unfold.

Only then did he pop the cockpit, rise slowly, and take in the valley air.

It was hot. It smelled of dust, engines, and cooked ration bars. But it was alive.

And today… that would be enough.

 

[Kalantha]

EMBERS IN THE ASH
… a Royal Naboo Republic Story

There were no “easy” days for the Queen of the Royal Naboo Republic, but there were certainly days that were far easier than others.

Today would not be one of those days.

The Royal Gardens reflected in Kalantha’s hazel eyes as she stared at the greenery through her window, lost in thought. For better or worse, she was one to think ahead, running through every possible scenario of a situation before dipping her feet into the water. She couldn’t help it; these were unprecedented times, and there simply was not telling how Vemric Keldra would respond to Naboo’s demands. Kalantha believed him to be a proponent of peace and order, but she’d seen what happens when one challenges his authority.

The Geonosians certainly learned a much harder lesson than Naboo had, but the events of Dee’ja Peak were entirely inexcusable.

“Your Grace?” a Handmaiden asked, a hint of concern in her voice. “Are you alright?”

“Hm?” Kalantha hummed. She was so entrenched in her mind that she forgot she was standing amidst her trusted cohorts, who were nearly finished adorning her with a regal dress for the upcoming session.

She hadn’t realized that her hands had closed into white-knuckled fists.

“Oh, I’m- forgive me, Marintha. It’s just- the session today… I’m uncertain the Confederacy will see the necessity of the provisions we’re stipulating. They are far more… pragmatic than the Republic, in ways I fear they may not part with.”

Marintha and the other girls listened silently as their Queen spoke, and when she had finished, the Handmaiden offered her thoughts.

“The Confederacy we call a friend today is not the same that subjugated our parent’s generation. Perhaps there is room for them to learn where their predecessors could not?”

“Perhaps,” Kalantha said. She bowed her head to make positioning her headpiece easier. It was a gilded headdress that framed her face and curled down from the back of her head, vaguely the shape of a cornucopia. Kalantha hoped that the symbol of companionship and gratitude would transcend the headdress, but only time would tell.

“Thank you, Marintha.”

“I appreciate it, but no thanks is needed, Your Majesty. No matter what happens today, I know in my heart you will do what is best for our people.”

The Royal Assembly chambers was a sea of people, radiating a cacophony of voices that were neither angry nor pleased, just… sound. Indecipherable noise that washed over her body like ocean waves, powerful and unstoppable, whether she welcomed them or not.

Kalantha smiled proudly as Annis Riyaré opened the session, ever impressed with the senator’s ability to speak the truth while still stoking the flames in the people’s hearts.

She had much to say herself, but the Queen decided to bide her time and entertain the motions of the senators and Confederate delegates before speaking. Part of her hoped that Vemric Keldra or Speaker Xazzex Xivar would address the assembly first, but she was prepared to take charge if they refrained from playing their hands.

For now, she observed the proceedings with interest, focusing on each member as they spoke.

Tags: Aknagoak Jihuzi | Annis Riyaré | Arcann Pehnataur | Aurelian Veruna | Nakatu Ee'everwest | Niki Priddy​