Dominion Portents of Change - THR Dominion of Cularin + Hoylin

[Pillar of Vision]

PORTENTS OF CHANGE
...a High Republic Story

​

After several long months of careful deliberations with the tribal leaders of Cularin, the desperate need for immediate action to save what’s left of their sacred groves from a full-scale ecological crisis, has finally come to a head — pushing the Tarasin people to tentatively agree to a formal accord with the Republic.

The Ch’hala trees, an important part of the planet's health and a religious staple to the native Tarasin people, have become a target of increasingly aggressive, and illegal, harvesting.

What began with what seemed like an isolated incident, has quickly turned into something much more concerning as large swaths of the forest were stripped bare in the dead of night, directly violating the ancient Cularin Compact.

Although no immediate culprits have been outright blamed or discovered, many believe that those under the employ of the Black Sun Syndicate, or the Syndicate themselves, are pulling the strings behind the operation.

Now, the Republic stands ready with the Cularin Emergency Aid and Protection Act, a treaty that, if formally passed by the Assembly, will recognize Cularin as a protected member world and grant it the full weight of the Republic's protection, which has already been delayed too long by jurisdictional red tape.

But, not all voices in the Assembly are aligned.

Meanwhile, back on Naboo…

OBJ #1 — CROSSROADS
Location: Shiraya's Sanctuary, Gallo Mountains, Naboo
​

The uptick in crime inside and outside of the Republic’s borders, increase in imperialism in the galactic east, concerns arising around the establishment of the Five Veils Trade Route, and the persistent stain of the Sith at the Republic’s western and southern reaches, demands that the Council of Light convene wholly in person for the first time in months — since rise and dissolution of the Foundation.

The meeting opens on a sombre note, welcoming Elias Edo into their fellowship, after the loss of Master Kahne Porte to the machinations of the Unblessed in the Netherworld, but more change is on the horizon.

With these growing challenges that the Order of Shiraya faces, and their increasing and varied membership from across the Republic and beyond, the shift of the Royal Naboo Republic into the High Republic will lead the Shirayan councillors to answer their own question of change.

OBJ #2 — CEAPA
Location: Royal Assembly Chambers, Theed, Naboo
​

Assembly member Amare Veyan of Wielu, author of the Cularin Emergency Aid and Protection Act, has fallen suddenly and inexplicably ill, her seat dark and her voice silent at the most critical moment, leaving the bill she has painstakingly crafted, vulnerable without her there to defend it.

Especially suspicious, is a proposed last-minute amendment to the bill by Senator Calia Vonn, Clause 9-B, that has been brought to the floor in the absence of Veyan, threatening to delay vital emergency aid and enforcement until a comprehensive Cultural Compliance and Infrastructure Readiness Review has been completed.

On paper, the inter-agency assessment looks as if it is there to ensure respect for tribal governance, but the review is listed as indefinite, with no deadline, no specific oversight, and no intention of urgency listed.

With Veyan absent, it falls to the senators to either remove or rewrite Clause 9-B, and pass the act without further compromise. The vote cannot be postponed any longer.

OBJ #3 — TREE HUGGERS
Location: Sacred Ch'hala Tree Grove, Cularin
​

Due to the freedom granted by their neutrality, Jedi teams have been dispatched and stationed at the edges of the sacred Ch’hala groves for immediate response to the crisis. Their presence alone has helped to deter some of the illegal harvesting that’s taken place, giving the Republic forces time to get the legal clearance they need to officially intervene, although further action may be needed in the intermediary.

Sightings of low-flying freighters moving through restricted airspace at dusk have been reported, with one sporting partially obscured markings along its hull, and briefly glimpsed above a known logging trail.

In the same area, Tarasin scouts have discovered traces of freshly cut timber, potentially being routed to a yet unknown location, likely to a makeshift processing camp or export point still in operation.

Plot hooks: Locate and stop any outbound logging vessels before they make it offworld. Find the smuggling location and disable any remaining logging equipment, shutting down the operation at its source.

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

Sacred Ch’hala Grove
Cularin​

The grove sang softly to her. Not in words, but in something far older and more wild; a resonance beneath the senses that tugged at her skin and spine. Bastila Sal-Soren stood, in silence and complete stillness beneath the rising branches of a Ch’hala tree, her gloved fingers resting just barely against its bark. Even through the leather it was warm, tingling against her fingers with a strange pulsing. She hadn’t known much about this planet before she had been sent here in a very cryptic message from the Order, but her short time had taught her one very obvious thing about the planet itself; it was afraid.

Around her, the forest breathed in short worried breaths. Massive trunks rose like ancient pillars, their violet and citrine bark catching the last amber light of the sunset. Between them, the canopy wove an almost cathedral-like lattice of tangled limbs, where colours drifted like floating pollen. At her feet moss coated the roots in velvet shades of emerald and rust, causing ones senses to marvel in the sheer artistic colours of the sacred grove. Around her the air shimmered faintly with latent Force energy, a constant thrum in the background, she didn’t find it intrusive like some natural nexus could be, this was more sombre, almost mournful. It felt like a warning.

Behind her, a Tarasin scout waited in silence. He hadn't spoken since leading her to the spot — just glanced back now and again, unease etched into the twitch of his neck fill. He was on edge like the rest of the planet, it was painfully obvious that even the local wildlife had gone still, as though the forest held its breath.

“There was someone here,” Bastila murmured, eyes scanning the mossy ground. Her breath misted and rose in a silver cloud through the cooling air. “Recently.”

The signs were subtle but unmistakable. Thin ruts carved into the spongy earth where repulsorlifts had hovered in low, yet destructive paths; there was a slight taint of the sharp, acidic tang from fuel still clinging to the air. She knelt, brushing aside a fan of crushed ferns next to one of the ripped and torn trunks to reveal a half-buried metal shard, still sharp, etched with heat scoring. It was very Industrial, and clearly part of a rushed operation.

“Stripped and lifted in hours,” she muttered as she pulled it out of the tree, sap dripping like blood from the wound. “They didn’t even try to cover it.”

She reached into her belt satchel, retrieving a slim black datapad. A few keystrokes lit up a holographic map, large swathes of trees and pathways scattering before her in the casting light. She adjusted it, overlaying known trails, Republic flight logs, and the recent Tarasin scout reports. Something had to add up, the illegal felling of the groves seemed so random and yet…

One ping drew her attention; a low-flying freighter had been caught on a shaky optical scan, three nights past. With no transponder and it’s registry markings half obscured, all that had been recorded from it was a single shot fragment.

She froze.

Bastila zoomed in on the captured image. A symbol was just barely visible through the grime and image quality. She’d seen it before.

A crate in a storage bay, marked for offworld weapons transit. Smuggled tech, diverted manifests. The same symbol, the same network.

She felt a flicker of unease across her features, whoever was stripping the Ch’hala trees wasn’t just a poaching unit. This suddenly felt far more than just a group committing crimes through sacred ground, it was threading into something much bigger.

She stood, voice quiet but certain as the map flickered and disappeared casting them all in the encroaching darkness again. “We need to find their camp.”

The Tarasin Scout nodded. “Northwest ridge. We found metal shavings. Hidden skiffs. No paths, they burn through the brush, then vanish.”

Far above them, the canopy shivered. A low-frequency hum rippled through the grove, it wasn’t loud, but it was wrong, it didn’t belong in this world. It was a vibration that didn’t belong to any creature of the forest, and she could tell that it was putting her scout in a level of anxiety far beyond hers. Bastila turned, and looked up scanning the treetops just as the last fingers of daylight caught the underbelly of a vessel sweeping low between the trees. There were no lights and no signal. Just dark quietness as it slid through the air just above the trees.

Her hand brushed the hilt at her side, cloak already shifting with her movement. There was no point rushing into this, but still she had a chance to investigate this first hand. She pressed the comm on her wrist and raised it to her mouth.

“Shiraya Actual, I have made contact with what I suspect is one of the logging vessels, please confirm permission to engage.” She waited, for a moment, then what felt like hours as she waited for the Council to confirm. When silence was all that answered her she knew that either comms were down or they were in session, which meant she had to make this up as she went along.

Motioning back to her scout she gave him a nod. “Alert the others. But stay out of sight.” Then she stepped forward, disappearing into the shadows with only the faint rustle of leaves in her wake.

​

 

[Míriel Ver Seryan]

OBJECTIVE III: Tree Huggers
TAGS: Bastila Sal-Soren | Open

Never in my days would I have expected to be fighting others over the aspect of trees and how the were maintained on a planet. However, there was much more to this than just killing poachers. These Ch'hala Trees were a rare and sacred thing to these people. It would be the same to liken it to specific creatures native to other worlds that held its ecosystem together. This tree species are what's called a "Keystone." Much like the arch way made of bricks, a Keystone is the one piece that holds the archway together strong and sound. Keeping it from falling apart. Built resilient so that it can bare the weight of the archway itself and then spread it down to the other pieces.

Which is why the aspect of preserving the ecology and ecosystem to the planet was so dear to these people. So much so, they reached out to the Republic and asked for aid in this. The hardest thing a person can do, is to ask for help. A tempered Ego, and a sound mind take maturity to do. And so with these people reaching out to a much larger galactic power like this, they wanted "big brother." to come in and help them. With that on my mind so heavily, I watched each step I took. Making sure to wear armor and protective gear that wouldn't harm the local flora and fauna.

The Force-Imbued blade at my side would be the best tool for this job. As a weapon made of steel and forged through the force, it didn't rely on plasma or blaster technology to be used. Less likely to cause any of the dead members of the trees or flora to go up in flames. And I would be extremely mindful of such during this operation. That said, Bastila spoke up and made direct contact with leadership to have the green light to engage. So I wouldn't muddy up the channel to do so. Instead following orders while staying closely behind her.

I kept my larger frame lowered to the ground as much as possible. While not completely able to hide my stature, I did my best. Lowering through the brush and making sure to take careful steps to move my way about. Trying to avoid the good ol' twig snapping incident and cause a problem when attempting to close the distance on these poachers.

When there was no return information from command, Bastila already was on the move. Not one to wait for direct orders. Instead doing what needed to be done and get a move on. Otherwise, we were no good sitting back and doing nothing. Which I liked.

"Coms check, confirmation on short range. The forests may be disrupting long range."

A quick note for any who hadn't already straight up disappeared into the brush and vanished like a ghost.

 

[Mishel]

WHAT WAS LEFT BEHIND
B Y O O
​

Mishel arrived on Hoylin aboard the Princess Leia. It had been decades since she last set foot on the world, and even longer since she'd allowed herself to remember it clearly.

Few still lived who knew what truly happened here. Fewer still understood. Among them was one Srina Talon , now Empress of the Sith Empire. How could she forget? It had been her sister, Tellu, who gave her life to purge what the Sacred Lotus could only contain. The Scar still whispered beneath the soil, but the dark side entity that once fed on it was long gone. Tellu had seen to that. This land no longer trembled. And that was what called to Mishel now, not battle, not duty. Memory.

She had come to see if the Crystal of Life had bloomed again. To walk the soil Tellu had sanctified. To be sure the healing endured.

There were other goals, of course, monitoring Hoylin's continued recovery, ensuring nothing had stirred beneath the crust. But most of all, she was here to listen, not just to the Force but to the people here and look to do what she could aid in the world's continued healing.

And she would let the Light lead her.

Just follow the Force. It had never failed her here.​

"Tellu burned herself into the roots of this place. I'm just here to make sure something blooms."
– Mishel Kryze

Hoylin Guide: Part I, Part II, Part III
​

 

[Raylin Fall]

​

Sergeant Fall
Pathfinder Recon Team
Tags:

​

Reconnaissance.

Everyone wanted to be Recon, everyone wanted to be the cool guys with all the cool gear when they saw them walking around with their berets and uniforms. However, when it came to actual recon work, actual, actual work-

Well, it sometimes sucked.

Such as going after loggers, of all people. He got the briefing, this and that about sacred trees and who's-whatsits to Jedi and the locals. Truth be told, he could be spun a thousand things but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't be made to care about trees, the sacred sites of people he never met. However, he had a job, a task given, and orders.

So he would do it. The Jedi he was attached to also seemed enthused by it, or at least, wanting to be enthused. He'd put on a good face for them and perform like he always would. His team currently was setting up atmospheric monitoring devices to track freighters and other speeders and haulers moving in the airspace above the forest sites near where the logging operations were discovered. If successful with the monitoring, they'd be able to identify based on the exhaust trails and other disturbances in the atmosphere roughly, or perhaps precisely, where the logging camp might be. He gripped his rifle tight while he helped set up the emitter deep in the woods, quietly. Their camouflage was perfect, their movements silent.

Not a whisper, not a sound, not a peep. No armor, fatigues and hats here only. His face was painted to mask himself deep in the darker woods, and so was the rest of the team. It would take a well trained person to spot them visually- but with the Jedi around him and on the mission, he knew they'd know where he was.

The loggers though.....

They wouldn't be happy here in a little while. His radio had static in his ear. Someone was on short-range.

"Coms check, confirmation on short range. The forests may be disrupting long range."

He dropped to a knee, slinging his rifle as he replied back.

"Affirm, I have you Lima/Charlie. How me? This is Pathfinder Recon- who's this?"

 

[Rowan Ee'everwest]

The air in the Royal Assembly Chambers of Theed was perfumed with diplomatic tension. Polished marble gleamed underfoot, soft-booted staffers moved like whispers, and the silence around Assembly Member Veyan's empty seat spread like a bruise.

Rowan entered without ceremony. He never needed it. A long black overcoat hung over his uniform like a shadow that had decided to stay. He didn't move like someone important. He moved like someone looking for what mattered. The chamber's security matrix flickered on his personal HUD the moment he entered. His left hand, gloved, brushed the shortwave control panel just inside the threshold, quiet key codes unlocking authorization strings that most senators had never even heard of. Rowan didn't need to ask questions. He read the air. Saw the edges.

Two surveillance feeds came up in his peripheral, angles from the western promenade outside Veyan's private quarters and the chamber medbay corridor. He reviewed them with a stillness, highly concentrated. Footage timestamped three hours prior showed Veyan entering her lounge alone, no staff and no visible distress. Twenty-three minutes later: emergency evac to the medbay.

Rowan narrowed his eyes. He caught the anomaly.

A sanitation droid, standard Palace issue, entered her chamber moments before Veyan did. But it left only thirty-four seconds later, rolling smooth and slow like it had nothing to hide. It didn't clean a damn thing.

"Start a trace on that unit," Rowan murmured, low into his comm. "I want its route, its uplinks, and anyone with access to its maintenance logs. Scrub for interference, then recompile the audio bed. I want to hear what no one heard."

He moved past the seated dignitaries like an old ghost, unseen, but felt. He glanced at Clause 9-B on the holo-display, still blinking amber for final reading. An indefinite review? In the middle of an ecological collapse? Rowan's jaw set so subtly it could have been mistaken for piety. But it wasn't. It was war. Someone had slipped the blade when no one was looking. But now he was.

OBJ II
@OPEN​

 

[Dominic Praxon]

OBJ II​

The war room was quiet. Quiet in the way that suggested tense calculation. The velvet drapes muffled the late-morning bell outside. A pitcher of vinefruit water sweated gently on the table, untouched. Papers rustled beneath Dominic's fingertips, but the tension came from elsewhere. From her.

"You're going to delay the response?" he asked, not quite disbelief as he'd learned not to be surprised, but concern laced with unease, "After everything that's happened on Cularin? After Veyan..."

"Isn't here to object," Senator Vonn cut in, tone polished and implacable.

She smoothed a crease from the cuff of her sleeve and crossed to the windows, the natural light casting her in soft gold. A queen before her court. A shadow behind her eyes.

"Clause 9-B is not a stall, Dominic. It's prudence. The Republic cannot rush into entanglements with tribal governance structures we barely understand. We need..."

"... Bureaucracy?" Dominic's voice was low, but the words still carried.

Vonn turned slightly, appraising him. "Three reasons," she said evenly, holding up one manicured finger.

"One. We do not yet know who benefits most from Cularin's instability. The Black Sun, maybe, but perhaps others. Perhaps competitors with their own agents in these chambers. A delay forces masks to shift."

A second finger rose. "Two. If we rush in and trample Tarasin sovereignty under the pretence of aid, we set a precedent. A dangerous one. Let the review say we tried to be careful. That we followed protocol. History will surely not be so kind to the fool that rushes in."

The third finger, slower. "And three," she smiled faintly, "because while the Jedi chase freighters in the trees, we will secure the shipping lanes, the supply chains, the regulatory levers that actually control what happens next. Power, Dominic, doesn't rest in good intentions. It rests in administration."

He studied her for a long moment. The back of his throat tasted like metal.

She stepped past him, pausing only to straighten the brooch at his collar, an almost maternal gesture, if not for the blade beneath it.

"Do be gracious when I speak. I've left room in the subclauses for a few future 'corrections.' Should the winds shift."

Then she was gone, heels echoing down the corridor as the Assembly doors opened.

---​

"Honored colleagues," Senator Vonn began, now addressing the chamber with serene gravity, "I rise today not to oppose the Cularin Emergency Aid and Protection Act, but to perfect it."

Dominic took his seat beside her, spine straight, hands folded, the very picture of loyalty. But his eyes? His eyes were locked onto his boss watching her every movement.

"I have submitted an amendment to Article IX...Clause B will read as follows: 'No action undertaken by this Act shall proceed until a full Cultural Compliance and Infrastructure Readiness Review has been completed and certified by the appropriate inter-agency subcommittees, to ensure the protection of local customs, and the capacity for sustained implementation.'"

She allowed a breath, then continued.

"Our fledgling Republic's reputation is being forged in this chamber and on Cularin. Let us not act rashly or without considered intent. We owe the indigenous governance of Cularin, the legal precedent that will bind us, and the Republic's own credibility...we owe it a certain level of caution. Let us act, yes, but let us act correctly. "

@OPEN​

 

[Dominique Vexx]

OBJECTIVE II​

Dominique Vexx sat back with a pad in her hand about the proposal put forward by Senator Vonn. It was nice when they said it aloud, but the devil was in the details. In this case, however, the "good" Senator hadn't left out much as the written word was hardly any clearer. That was on purpose. It was foolish to always trust in an axiom as truth because in this cause Dominique was certain it was not stupidity on display.

"Thirty-Nine Twelve gives too much leeway to the inhabitants of Cularin. Look at how much they've designated as being untouchable!"

"I just can't believe they're allowing some tribal backwater to join the Republic. Recognizing sovereignty is one thing, but giving them a seat in this Senate? Can you imagine how they'll vote on matters important to an industrial powerhouse like Denon?"​

"I've been talking with others, and there are murmurs about this Cause 9-B having an indefinite stay on resources; but what about the indefinite stay of Republic 'peacekeepers' on Cularin? How long is the Republic planning on committing a massive military deployment to this tribal world to protect a bunch of trees?"​

The lilac-haired Senator of Denon didn't spare any of her analysts a look as she appeared to be busy busying the bill, the rider, or something else of value from their perspective. They hardly needed her personal attention to keep talking. If anything them being aware of her gaze would have them school their tongue in an effort to fallover appeasing her.

This so-called Cularin Emergency Aid and Protection Act certainly was something wasn't it? While letting the Black Sun -- purportedly, though none could bring themselves to declare it -- get away with such blatant criminal activity wasn't ideal, this bill had the undesirable effect of complicating enterprising interests -- like herself -- from harvesting rich resources. The Cularin Compact was as annoying as this latest proposal, and she wasn't inclined to pile bad policy on top of bad policy. Perhaps if they'd simply left this to providing more security to prevent further blatant strip mining.

Honestly, Dominique was impressed with how quickly those responsible had accomplished their feat. Efficient. Effective. Elusive. Perfection.

Her golden eyes burned as they rose to regard Senator Vonn as she spoke. Intent? There seemed plenty of intent. In the Bill. In her Clause. The "good" Senator was, in fact, replete with intent. She was a person of interest in Dominique's on-going hunt concerning the Five Veil Trade Route. It was that motivation that had Vexx more contemplative than supporting. Protecting Cularin was not in the corporations' best interest. But which corporations would it serve better? After all, there was no doubt in Dominique's mind that Veyan's illness was not as unexpected as most present would hope.

For the moment, she would see what other Senators said in support or against the modification.

Dominic Praxon | Rowan Ee'everwest​

 

[Xazzex Xivar]

OBJECTIVE II​

Xazzex Xivar was not busying herself reading over every word of Senate Bill 3912, nor Senator Vonn's upcoming amendment for discussion Clause 9-B. She'd already read the documents and made up her mind long ago. The machinations of the galactic community were of no interest to her. Falleen and its partners had their objectives and she would do whatever it took to see them done. If others wanted to whine and throw a fit about it, they were welcome do so, but Xazzex would not spare them a moment of her time. The only pieces on the board that mattered were those capable of disrupting her plans.

At long last, Senator Vonn herself graced the chamber with her presence. Xazzex held her glass out to the side for an attendant to fill it once more as matters got underway. Senatorial business was usually tame beyond imagination, and the endless procedural prattle could drive a person mad. They'd be better off if they served at the pleasure of the Falleen Court, and its Empress... her.

After a long sip of her wine, the Falleen Senator set the glass aside, rose from her seat, and stepped forward to speak. "But this Republic has acted rashly," the Falleen woman loudly declared before the Assembly. Some of them might have misgivings about her role in turning down their efforts to publicly chastise the Confederacy -- in a treaty -- but that didn't matter one whit to Xazzex. They should try distinguishing between the Vice-Head of the Confederacy and the Senator of Falleen. Not that it would change terribly much. "The Jedi have made that decision for us already. An investigation team that intends to protect the Cularin from further intrusion. Perhaps this Assembly shouldn't view this Clause merely as a means of avoiding a potential liability, but to avoid introducing more liability at this very moment. What would the Tarasin tribal council say right now if the Jedi failed to protect Ch'hala groves? How many political quagmires have resulted from well-meaning, but incomplete or failed efforts by Jedi -- in the Republic, or abroad?"

"I support Senator Vonn's proposal." Which was not to say that Xazzex supported the Act as a whole, but then they would be getting ahead of themselves procedurally.

Dominic Praxon | Rowan Ee'everwest | Dominique Vexx​

 

[Nivan Darros]

Obj. III​

Force!

He hated the entry into a planet's atmosphere - the nauseating feeling of one's insides turning in on themselves and threatening to expunge all material contents from within. It wasn't a pleasant feeling but it was part of his role. He had been training for this moment from the time that his father had thrust him into the RNSF.

It did not take much convincing for Nivan to enlist in the RNSF. He was proud to serve and to protect.

The family name of Darros stretched back to the Invasion of Naboo by the Trade Federation in 32BBY. His family had been no one of significant note, historians and artisans, regional politicians and local law enforcement - but that conflict had thrust them into an elevated sphere of influence. The Trade Federation invasion had been a direct affront to the sovereignty of that period and - even worse - the monarchy was taken hostage and the installation of droid overseers became planet wide.

His home, Kaadara, did not escape the Federations droid dominance. It was in that small coastal town that the name Darros began to mean something. They were a free people and did not bow to the whims of the droids or their masters, instead inciting rebellion in the outer regions once they had learned of the Fall of Theed and the capturing of the royal palace - though their queen escaped. History would not remember their names, but their deeds would find themselves recorded in local civic ledgers, military records and oral tradition told throughout the region.

It was from this legacy that Nivan felt it was his duty to serve, to ensure that history would never forget the honor of the Darros family and their accomplishments and sacrifices over the centuries of conflicts that followed their battle-forged military legacy. He knew that he would never alter events in the way that the Jedi or Sith could, but in the way he chose to serve and how he chose to fight for the greater Good, perhaps then he could affect the galaxy in his own small way.

He had chosen to accompany the Jedi on this mission to Cularin. It seemed they too had found themselves under grip of oppressors that trampled on their local cultures and customs - a situation not that far from the history of the Naboolian people.

"Landing site spotted. ETA - 3 minutes."
The pilots voice cracked across the intercom as descent began to the planets surface on the very edges of the Sacred grove.

He shuffled slightly and collected and adjusted his lightweight medical pack. He had recently been elevated to Field Medic for his service in the GAHR, it was a new position for him that came with its own anxieties, but he didn't have time to focus on those right now. He had a mission and a purpose, to support local garrisons and provide medical support to any that needed it during the conflict that was sure to come.

A hard thump rattled the transport as its legs met with solid ground. "Thank the force. I am finally on solid ground."
His words came softly and with tangible relief in every word that he spoke.

His footfalls echoed against the durasteel floors of the transport as he made his way from the interior of the ship and onto the solid earth of Cularin. He could already see many making their way to their respective posts and even sighted a few Lightsaber wielding Jedi - a tinge of envy welling inside him, before passing as quickly as it had come.

The very edges of his mind whispered to him in response to the sentience of the many lifeforms around him. He could feel their purpose and their emotion - anger, reverence, peace, anxiety and pain. He stopped in his tracks his mind focusing on an increasing source of anxiety that seemed faint, off in the distance beyond the edges of the grove.

Go.
Feeling pulled him towards the source of the anxiety, forgetting to check in with the local command, instead trusting himself and his instincts. Someone, or something, was hurt in the grove.

 

[BR-8]

|| TREE HUGGERS ||
The Butterfly Dream - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Bastila Sal-Soren | Míriel Ver Seryan | Nivan Darros | whichever Jedi in charge

CULARIN ORBIT

Kerberos, a Spacer’s Guild corvette entered Cularin Orbit, flying straight from Naboo. Her captain, a sentient commando droid, opened a comm link with the planet’s space port, while the crew prepare her landing protocol.

<This is BR-8, Captain of Kerberos of the Spacer’s Guild. Requesting landing protocol initiation,>

It was supposed to be a quick run for Kerberos and her crew. They were contracted to deliver food supply to the planet monthly as part of the Republic’s outreach. It has been going on for four months, the job is simple and the pay is generous for the minimal effort they have to put. Yet today, there is something more happening in Cularin.

<I’m sorry Kerberos, I cannot grant you passage. We just implemented restricted airspace.>

<This is a scheduled run officer, we have been delivering the same packages for four months now, I received no information regarding this restriction from the headquarters,> the droid captain argued. He is not flying back to Aikhibba, knowing that when the restriction is lifted, he has to fly back and deliver the goods. <What’s happening anyway?>

<The Republic started to raise concern about the illegal logging. They are leaving the Jedi in-charge here, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do captain,>

Jedi. That piqued the droid’s interest. As far as he knows, the Jedi are not involved in the Republic’s political non governmental affairs. He’s heard of how the Jedi has historically, and also recently, creeped their tentacles in to expand their interests in various galactic governments. It worries the young, if you judge age from when a droid reached consciousness, captain; of what his role is going to be in this Jedi-dominated, newly formed Republic. It’s a topic that he intends to bring forward in the Guild’s next meeting. Not today though, today he has to get in the Jedi’s good graces to complete the run. <Put me on with one of them, officer. Thank you,> he waits for a few minutes, before he gets another voice on the line.

<Master Jedi, I’m sure the officer has briefed you with the situation. Now, would you kindly grant us landing access? Please, let’s make this pleasant for all parties involved, we’re not here to spoil your thankless work,> There’s a hint of sarcasm in BR-8’s voice. He wants this to go smoothly, but he can’t help hiding how he truly feels. He is a relatively newly-sentient droid with the spirit and temper of a pubescent boy after all.​

 

[Orestyn Carda]

Location: Hoylin
Objective: BYOO
Tag: Vittorina Mandroga

Orestyn Carda, patriarch of House Carda and Duke, was a great fan and supporter of the arts.

Contrary to some that didn't mean he collected prized artifacts to lock them away into vaults or away from the eyes of the public. No, the arts were something everyone ought to be able to enjoy. To be inspired by and to give them something to aim for. This is why he did his best to be a patron while also donating generously to many museums across Naboo.

For this reason the Duke had traveled to Hoylin.

His current antiquity dealer had recently gone into retirement and he was busy searching for alternative candidates. One of them, a miss Mandroga, had piqued his interest. She was very persistent and had a stellar reputation.

Hoylin was a trial run, so to speak. She had suggested she was able to acquire several pieces directly from Hoylin itself. With minimum fuss and no issues with the proper legal authorities. So, here Duke Carda's shuttle was landing on a platform adjacent to a private warehouse. Here it would be that Mandroga asked to meet with him. Unbeknownst to him Vittorina was not who she said she was. He would not have dreamed in a million years that the High Republic would try and get an agent of their own in his household to gauge his loyalties.

He stepped out of his shuttle, trailed by attendants and bodyguards.

Hopefully business would be good today.

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Royal Naboo Assembly
Observation Floor
Objective II

Interacting with Xazzex Xivar Dominic Praxon Dominique Vexx Rowan Ee'everwest

The chandeliers above the Royal Assembly Chambers glittered in a calm soft light, yet the air beneath them was anything but calm.

Sibylla's brow was drawn beneath the veil of her headdress, a subtle jingle of her earrings tickling her cheeks as her gloved fingers absently traced the ridged edge of a formal memorandum while she stood beside the tall frame of Senator Sarn. They had both just reviewed the same highlighted passage. The Cularin Emergency Aid and Protection Act, in all its complexity, and its amendment blinked steadily on her datapad.

"I do not pretend to understand the full spiritual weight of the ch'hala groves," she murmured, her tone equal parts diplomatic and troubled, only enough for her Ithorian mentor to hear.

"But even I can see that delaying enforcement until this so called 'compliance review' is completed without timeline or oversight is not cautious stewardship. It is paralysis under the guise of prudence."

She glanced up at Sarn, the frown never quite leaving her face. The Ithorian's expression was concerned, and rightly so, for the Ithorian knew all too well how deep the connection to flora in both a spiritual and cultural sense could be.

"Senator Veyan's absence at this juncture is not only ill timed....it is suspicious. And now we're left untangling the consequences before any aid can arrive at all." he added quietly, both well aware of the growing tension with the subsequent brief silence between them.

Even Sibylla couldn't deny how that looked. She knew all too well the machinations of Royal Houses and how they could do their best to impede action, or if possible, simply make the problem disappear by any method or opportunity. Could a Royal House have been behind this? Or was this the act of another Senator, group, or just mere coincidence?

Mind racing, Sibylla took a deep breath, her mind racing through different options and their ramifications. Another few seconds were taken to review the intelligence briefing again, eyes scanning the most recent updates from Cularin.

"If this amendment passes as written, what then? An indefinite review with no deadlines, no enforcement framework, and no oversight. That's not due diligence...that's bureaucratic suffocation."

Sarn turned toward Sibylla, his spine straight and his chin lifted, the elderly Ithorian's eyestalks clear.

"I will not let Clause 9-B pass without challenge. But I'd value your voice on this, Ambassador Abrantes. Cularin needs more than just signatures; it needs allies who remember what the Republic is meant to be." His tone was even, but the fire beneath it was clear.

Sibylla's hazel eyes flickered up to meet the Ithorian's and gave a firm nod. Already, her mind was thinking of a draft to present to the Assembly.

"Then let's add a measure to counter Clause 9-B with one of our own." Sibylla countered, already turning to her datapad to draft something quickly for the Ithorian to present as the discussions got underway. Soon, each Senator began to make their assessment of the situation, with the Faleen Senator agreeing to the proposal. The murmur of political maneuvering was already rising.

"Okay, it is ready," Sibylla told the Ithorian, presenting the datapad back to the Senator. She even added a few talking points for him to use. After a brief review, he nodded and gave a broad smile.

"Good. This is good."

The next second, Senator Eharl Sarn of Enarc stepped forward to address the Royal Assembly. He bowed his head briefly in deference to the presiding chair, then lifted his long fingered hand in a calm but measured manner.

"Honored colleagues of this Assembly," he began, his translator modulator weaving gentle tones through the chamber, "I rise not in opposition to the spirit of protection, but in resistance to paralysis disguised as policy."

He held up a copy of the bill, his amber eyes sweeping across the room.

"Clause 9-B, as written, does not ensure care. it ensures delay. An indefinite review with no deadlines, no enforcement framework, and no oversight. That is not due diligence…" He paused, letting the silence settle before finishing, "…that is bureaucratic suffocation."

A few murmurs rippled through the lower benches.

Sarn continued, his voice unwavering. "We owe the Tarasin people action that is swift but respectful, forceful yet measured. To that end, I propose a targeted revision to Clause 9-B."

He tapped a new text into the holopanel before him, and a revision appeared across the chamber's shared displays, the one that had been quickly drafted by Sibylla but presented as Senator Sarn's own.

AMENDED CLAUSE 9-B
(Proposed by Senator Sarn of Enarc)

A Cultural Compliance and Infrastructure Readiness Review shall be conducted concurrently with initial emergency aid and protection efforts. A provisional operations window of sixty standard days shall be authorized for humanitarian and ecological deployments under tribal advisory oversight. Within this period, the joint oversight commission must deliver an initial compliance report to the Assembly, after which continued operations shall be reassessed and adjusted as needed.

He looked up once more, voice firm.

"This amendment allows us to act immediately while honoring the spirit of cultural respect. It introduces a fixed window, enforces oversight, and ensures that no further delays will leave Cularin vulnerable."

A pause. Then continued in a soft but resolute voice -- but perhaps those who knew him would recognize that what he said next may be attributed to the Ambassador standing behind him, who had assisted him with several assignments before she had been assigned to her new role at Mandalore.

"We do not build trust through inaction. We earn it through balance and by keeping our promises, even when it's inconvenient."

Sarn stepped back from the dais, letting the silence speak.

 

[Ala Quin]

OBJ III​

The comms tent smelled like dust, old canvas, and recycled caf. The air was thick with humidity, clinging to the skin like a robe too long in the rain. Fans whirred lazily overhead, doing little more than pushing the heat around. Crates of supply gear doubled as seating, and datapads blinked sleepily under soft tarpaulin shade.

Ala sat with her arms folded across her chest, the collar of her robes tugged loose to invite even a whisper of breeze. Her boots stuck slightly to the tent’s floor mat when she shifted, the fabric beneath collecting mud and leaves from every forest walk she wasn’t currently on. Instead, she was here. With comms. And reports. And...more comms.

She flicked the comms toggle, cleared her throat, and responded crisply, though a little too quickly to hide the edge in her tone.

"BR-8, this is Jedi Master Ala Quin. You are orbiting above an ongoing Jedi investigation...but we don't have the authority to forbid you landing...that would be the High Assembly. They have shut down all inbound and outbound flights on the request of the Tarasin tribal leaders. It is out of our hands..."

She sighed. It was the sort of sigh that only a free spirited individual understood, especially if they knew the distaste of being the bureaucracy.

"...and I know you're just doing your job up there, friend. Believe me, I’d trade places if I could. But we’ve got a delicate situation here. Be patient please."

She winced. Her annoyance should be aimed at something other than others that were inconvenienced. Her voice softened.

"Just pray that the High Assembly passes the compact quickly. We are all waiting on the politicians to do their job. Thank you for your patience, BR-8."

She leaned back and tugged a wayward curl behind her ear, staring longingly out toward the tree line just visible through the canvas flap.

"They will hopefully take it better from you," said the High Republic comms officer next to Ala. Drales was his name.

"Not sure I can survive much more of this, Darlesy..." Ala barely knew the man, "...that forest looks simply magical."

| Tag: BR-8 Bastila Sal-Soren Míriel Ver Seryan Raylin Fall @open|​