Mato Kejak
Service and Sacrifice.
There were few places in the galaxy that could prove as tranquil as an isolated rural village. Disconnected from the goings-on between the stars, safe but for the rare instances of upheaval that shook every world suspended in the vacuum, those who called it home could live their lives at peace. Simple, and wholesome. Delighting in the clean air with thoughts of war and suffering kept far beyond reach of their pastoral home. For the rare few travellers who could appreciate such a place for what it was, it could make an advantageous retreat.
Allow one to clear the mind, and reconnect.
Conversely, such places were among the most susceptible to seeing their delicated peace shattered in an instant, a wound that might never fully heal, despite the efforts of those who would defend them. Ibanji was one such place; once home to an Imperial motivational camp just after the Clone Wars, the planet had passed the following centuries in relative silence and obscurity. Colonists called it home, and took up farming or fishing, even harvesting krill to brew spotchka, while their rifles were used for little more than to defend themselves from roving packs of varns. Bandits rarely even came out this far; indeed, even when the Sith Empire had stretched its reach over the planet, Ibanji was left rather well enough alone.
But time brought with it change, and when the Sith Empire fractured, the faction led by Irveric Tavlar and Rurik Fel eventually brought the planet under its wing, one of many taken in a series of invasions. A governor was appointed over the planet, but other than its location on the border giving it some minor strategic importance, it was lost to records and bureaucracy. A bureaucracy which fed power into the hands of the appointed governor; a power which corrupted.
"Peace, mayor," the tall, ashen-skinned warrior counseled, holding up a hand at the pacing Sullustan before him. "Do not acquiesce to their demands. They wish to intimidate you, fill you with fear, so that you will be easier to control and extort. You musn't allow them the opportunity." The mayor's worry, however, was well-founded; in recent years, the planetary governor had been raising taxes almost quarterly. Climbing to ever greater heights, for reasons unknown, until it reached a point that the villagers simply had no capability to pay.
A deadline had been issued, shortly after Mato first arrived; not long after, the first squads of the planetary militia were sent to enforce compliance. When they failed, stormtroopers were sent instead. Now it had been a week since the deadline expired, and those of the militia and the troopers who hadn't been killed in Mato's defense of the villagers had instead been sent to report back to their superiors, tails between their legs. The villagers had powerful aid. A Jedi, perhaps, or a Sith, they might claim; either would be anathema to the iconoclastic, misotheist dogma of the recently-renamed Empire. But to simply raze the village would arouse too much suspicion, or it might be declared a gross breach of conduct, a misuse of resources.
For such a possible threat, the Wardens of the Empire would be sent in; and with the recent reforms enacted by the Imperial Heir, even if the Empire itself was still a hostile place for a wandering Jedi, he might have some luck fostering a change for the better. Calling attention to the governor's abuses. If not, at least he could buy time for the villagers to escape, after he'd already helped them draw plans together to hire a transport that would soon be waiting for them in a nearby clearing in the forest. Just a few more days, at maximum, was all the time he needed to earn them to at least run, if he couldn't truly secure their homes.
"Are we in danger?" came the mayor's agitated reply, dew flaps shaking as he spat out the words. Mato cocked his head off to one side, listening carefully to the surrounding forest.
"No more than you have been," Mato said slowly, setting down the glass of spotchka he'd been given, reaching out instead for his swords. "Trust in the Light, mayor, and hide your people. I will stand watch in the center of the town, and confront any who come to enforce this governor's will. Do not let the bravery that led you to rebuff them in the first place falter now." In one smooth motion, he rose, towering over the one he was speaking with; in quick, practiced movements, he thrust both blades through the sash at his belt, tying off the longer to keep it secured.
Wordlessly, he departed the mayor's abode, making his way to stand in the rough center of the village, near the signpost where the initial notice of the tax deadline was posted. Standing like a statue, a stony guardian for those who could do little to save themselves.
Aoki-Barran Mira
