Populate Shadows of Power | THR Populate of Bothawui & Masterra

[Pillar of Reflection]

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Populate - Shadows of Power (Bothawui & Masterra)​

In an era of expansion and idealism, the High Republic surges into the Mid Rim, its banners raised high with promises of peace, prosperity, and progress. Trade routes open, diplomatic ties strengthen, and innovation flourishes under the watchful eyes of the Jedi and the Senate.

But not all are content to watch from the sidelines.

In the wake of the Mara conflict, whispers of Black Sun Syndicate undercurrents ripple through Republic space. Now, a bold delegation from Bothuwai arrives in Theed with a dangerous offer: classified intelligence gathered by the famed Bothan Spynet, evidence of an imminent strike tied to criminal networks in exchange for expedited High Republic membership and a defense pact.
As tensions spiral and allegiances fray, the Senate must decide: trust Bothuwai and gain a cunning ally, or drown in protocol and indecision as shadows rise to smother the light.

The fate of countless systems may rest on a single, fragile vote.

Objective One - The Bothuwai Gambit
Location: High Assembly Hall - Theed, Naboo
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With unrest simmering across the Mid Rim and the scars of Mara still visible in the minds of many, the Republic teeters at the edge of something far greater than politics. Whispers of a hidden offensive, tied to the criminal empire of the Black Sun, ripple through senatorial corridors.

The Bothuwai delegation now stands before the High Assembly with a daring proposal. The famed Bothan Spynet has uncovered troubling evidence: a planned syndicate strike that could destabilize vital Republic systems. In return for their intelligence, Bothuwai demands swift accession into the Republic and the protection that comes with it.

Now, the senators of the High Republic must weigh paranoia against prudence. Can Bothuwai be trusted, or are they playing a deeper game of political leverage? Will the Republic act decisively, or let opportunity dissolve into endless debate, right as the enemy makes its move?

Objective Two - Codex Competition: Anchors of the Republic​

The High Republic spreads ever outward, eager to secure peace, but peace is rarely unchallenged.

As expansion accelerates, so too does resistance. While the Sith stir in the shadows and the Black Sun Syndicate sharpens its knives, new worlds flood into the Republic's fold. The Mid Rim has become the newest frontier, not just for diplomacy and trade, but for survival.

Your mission: In pairs, develop a codex submission for a key location that strengthens the Republic’s presence. This can be a Jedi Enclave hidden among the cliffs of a remote moon, a high-tech military bastion orbiting a strategic trade corridor, or a bustling new capital on a planet long overlooked.

Build a location that offers a foundation for roleplay and future conflict. Then, bring it to life, write with your partner for a minimum of five posts at this new site. Staff will evaluate submissions based on effort of the submission and story.

Rewards:

• 1st Place - 100,000 UCs
• 2nd Place - 50,000 UCs
• 3rd Place - 25,000 UCs

 

[Kel Se'Taav]

Kel knew his retirement was temporary from the moment he declared it. If he was being truthful about its nature, he was only trying to distance himself from the Core. The writing had been on the wall for years, but the Senator of Abregado-rae was blinded by his work and duty to the people. He couldn’t see the proverbial forest for the trees, but when Crimson Dawn razed the Fondor Canton and killed his colleagues before his eyes, Kel couldn’t hide anymore.

The Alliance he swore to serve was no longer the same government he was working for.

It was corrupt, self-serving, and weak. It was losing ground to the Sith in an unnecessary holy war while leaving the liberation of the Core to rebels like the Foundation. It was ignoring the Calladene Crisis and instead using emergency powers to enact wanton expansionist policies. It failed to send more than a single squad of Senate Commandos when Kel’s friends and colleagues were being slain, brutalized, and abducted by the Underworld.

The injury he suffered at the hands of a bounty hunter made Kel’s choice for him; it was time to leave the Alliance behind in search of a better way. For a time, that way led him to Lothal, where the Wild Space Republic eked out a life post-Planeshift in the galactic southeast. Kel supported the nascent Senate there, offering wisdom and guidance to the Chancellor. But his time there was limited, much to his chagrin. A strange message from his daughter arrived, spelling out a dire situation transpiring on the home front.

Kel’s daughter, Rae Se’Taav of the notorious Bothan Spynet, had uncovered something big. Crimson Dawn was a veritable minnow compared to the opee sea killer that threatened the galaxy now: Black Sun. Rae begged her father to return, pleaded for him to help Bothawui’s infamously callous delegation earn the trust of the westerly High Republic.

Kel agreed.

One lengthy hyperspace jump from Lothal to Naboo later, and a jet-lagged Kel Se’Taav was walking through the corridors of the High Assembly Hall with a stack of datapads under his arm and a pair of Bothan agents at his flank. He paused for a beat outside the chamber, brushing a speck of lint from his suit jacket, then stepped inside. The Bothan delegation was shown to their senatorial pod, and after a brief moment to arrange their data, they were ready.

Kel’s voice sounded through the chamber as his pod slid forward. He was well versed after years of asserting his presence into the raucous Alliance Senate. “Thank you all, senators, for your willingness to entertain this session today. I am Kel Se’Taav, former Alliance Senator of Abregado-rae. I come before you this afternoon as a representative of my homeworld, Bothawui, and as an advocate for our people.”

“It is my assumption that you have reviewed the intelligence shared between the Bothan Spynet and Republic Intelligence Service, but for those who have not yet had the opportunity, I shall share with you now what your colleagues have been shared thus far: the Republic is in danger of an imminent attack from the Underworld.”

Kel’s face was grim, despite his typically warm demeanor. For those who knew the man, they would feel a pang of fear and dread; Kel was not bluffing, and he would never spearhead such a political motion as he was about to make without an unfettered trust in the action.

“The Spynet is willing to divulge information regarding this threat to the High Republic, but that willingness is conditional. Bothawui has stood on its own as a neutral world amidst a very hostile environment. We find ourselves now, post-Planeshift, floating precariously between your nation and the growing shadow of the criminal underworld.”

So what, then, was the condition? Kel cleared his throat away from his mic, then turned back to the Senate before him. “Bothawui requests hastened admittance to the Republic, in exchange for unmitigated cooperation from our intelligence apparatus.”

Tags: Open​

 

[Mishel]

"The dead are never silent here. They wait for someone to listen."​

☾ Mishel Kryze ☽

"The last time I walked through fire, I didn't come back whole. Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're not meant to. But if there's a soul left in that place, even a single one left saving, I'll find it. Even if it means burning again."

- Jedi Master Mishel Kryze, approaching Ord Masterra
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A HIGH REPUBLIC STORY
- ANCHORS OF THE REPUBLIC -

The veil thins. The flame falters. The forgotten Order calls.

Jedi Masters Coren Starchaser and Mishel Kryze descend into the Veilcarved Expanse of Ord Masterra, drawn by ghostfire, memory, and the last cry of a long-dead cryptkeeper.

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When a cryptic map marked with Force signatures and ancient Jedi funeral script appears in the hands of Jedi Master Coren Starchaser, it's traced back to someone long thought dead, Charlyra Araano, a former Sith-turned-ghost of the Order of the Veilbound Pyre.

The map leads to Ord Masterra, a forgotten and haunted world where Jedi once tended to the dead, protected the living from corrupted Force echoes, and performed sacred rites of passage. The Veilcarved Expanse, an arid stretch of land scarred by ancient battles and rituals, has begun to stir with dark presence. The flame the Veilbound once guarded is now flickering, and Charlyra, its last guardian, cannot leave.

Coren, unable to ignore the weight of the message, reaches out to his padawan and fellow Jedi Master, Mishel Kryze, a woman shaped by fire and loss. Together, they return to the past, to a forgotten Order, a haunted world, and perhaps a chance to mend what time and war unraveled between them.

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Post 1/5​

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Ord Masterra, just "Masterra" on most astrogation charts, wasn't exempt from the Planeshift, but it had come through differently than most. Unlike other worlds torn apart, restructured, or swallowed by cosmic rebalancing, Masterra's bones had held. The land hadn't needed remapping; it remembered what it was.

Mishel's ship had landed in one of the deep desert pockets—stable enough, if not comfortable. The air was thick with electromagnetic interference, strongest over the Veilcarved Expanse, and worse near the Canyon of the Nameless, where Charlyra Araano was still holding vigil.

Charlyra. The contact. The last known guardian of an obscure, mostly-forgotten sect:

The Order of the Veilbound Pyre.

Not many even remembered they existed, let alone why they'd mattered.

Mishel descended the ship's ramp, leading down a pair of Orbraks—stocky, muscular beasts bred for the arid highlands of Monastery. She didn't speak to them; didn't need to. They were used to silence. So was she.

She waited briefly, letting her eyes sweep the horizon for Coren Starchaser, her master, her mentor. Whether he'd already landed, was about to land, or was just feeling his way through the Force, Mishel didn't worry. He'd show.

They were in a place where the Force felt fractured, where the air carried the weight of the dead. The veil between the living and the gone hung thin—fragile as skin stretched over bone.


The Veilbound Pyre weren't Jedi in the traditional sense. Maybe they never were.

They were something else, Jedi who had faced death and refused to die.
Dark Jedi who had tried to claw their way back.
Those who stood at the threshold and said "Not yet."
Those who had vengeance in their hearts but still listened when the Light whispered.
Those whose last breath came with regret, or clarity.

They were the dying.
The nearly dead.
The not-quite-finished.

Mishel saddled up on one of the Orbraks, the wind already pushing coarse dust across the dunes. She raised a Force barrier with an easy flick of her wrist, shielding herself and the animals. It wasn't about protection. It was about respect, for this place, for what it held, for what might wake up beneath their boots.

The Veilbound didn't take in initiates. They took in flickering candles, burnt-out coals, and people who didn't think they had anything left to offer. But when the Force whispered to them—

"You are not done."

...they listened.

And now, so would she...

The Veilbound were the ones who spoke with the dying. Not just out of duty, but because someone had to listen. They heard final truths, pulled names from failing lips, caught memories before they slipped into the ether. Some extracted regret. Others? Forgiveness.

That pain, raw, and unflinching wasn't cast aside. It was poured into their sabers, bound into their kyber crystals like soul-etched scars. At least, that's what Charlyra had written in her report.

Mishel had read it twice.
Then a third time.
Each word had felt heavier than the last.

When a Veilbound faced Sith or Jedi who had rotted from within, their blade flared brighter. Not from anger. From remorse. From everything they carried that the other refused to carry.

A kind of karmic balance, some might say. Mishel agreed. Quietly.

The Orbrak trudged forward, hooves crunching through the dust like it had walked this trail a hundred times before. The second one, still riderless, huffed softly and took the lead. Mishel didn't fight it. Maybe it knew something she didn't.

Maybe it had heard the call too.

Charlyra had called them Emberborn, those who walked the threshold between life and death and chose to turn back, not for themselves, but for someone else. Most were physically dying. Others were already hollowed out spiritually. All of them stood on that edge... and stepped into the fire not to survive, but to redeem.

It wasn't an order that took in idealists or martyrs. It took in those already burning.

Their purpose was clear, if not easy.

Burning rites to cleanse temples long swallowed by shadow.

Psychopomp duties, guiding the dying to peace. Sometimes through comfort. Sometimes through the saber.

Relic containment, those cursed pieces of the past, stained by Sith hands or bled dry by darkness.

Execution, when needed, of those who refused to die as nature intended. Especially, Force users who had found a way to cheat death.

But they mourned too.

They kept vigil over the fallen. Guarded their bodies. Prepared them.
Lit the pyres.
Let the Force take them home.

So why Ord Masterra?

What made this dust-choked world so important?

It had been left behind like so many others after the Old Republic collapsed. But centuries later, the mourners came. Jedi who didn't want to build temples or train Padawans. They came because they felt the Veil was thinner here. The Force pulsed through this world like a scar that hadn't healed.

Here, the dead did not rest easily.

Mishel looked up as the light dimmed. The sky above her was sealed in thick clouds, the kind that never broke, heavy, incense-dark. They didn't roll or flash with storm. They just hung there, like the breath of something ancient.

The land was dust.
Sand layered with ashes, old, wind-worn, bone-colored.

And now, as the sun slipped behind the jagged horizon, the cold crept in. It wasn't the kind that bit skin. It reached further. Deeper. Into bone.

Far in the distance, a cinderstorm twisted skyward, a cyclone of grey and ember. It shimmered against the fading light, pulsing like a dying star. Mishel could almost hear the wails caught in its winds, whispers in the Force too faint for words.

Around her, time had collapsed.

The ruins of the Old Republic were half-swallowed by sand.
Collapsed spaceports.
Shattered comm spires.
Cracked pylons leaning at angles, their metals twisted like grief.
And still standing, barely, were the charred Jedi reliquaries, long abandoned, blackened with soot and regret.

This world hadn't forgotten.
And neither had the dead.

 

[Sentapoth Findos]

Kel Se'Taav

​

Sentapoth was not at all satisfied with the results of the Chancellorship election, having convinced himself that his rival Kalantha 's responses were subpar compared to his own. However, the voters chose to support a proven leader who had endured and triumphed over an invasion by the Mandalorians, the galaxy's most formidable warriors, not just once but twice.

Yet, a more pressing thought struck him: perhaps his responses had been too limited in scope, leaving little to the imagination regarding what his Chancellorship could entail. Numerous thoughts raced through his mind, none of which were particularly alleviated by the fact that the Trade Monarch was imprisoned by the rogue Vicelord Moy Haako, whose intention, as he had discovered, was to confront the Galactic Empire should they attempt to invade the Neimoidian Purse-Worlds.

The voice of former Alliance Senator Kel Se'Taav broke through his worrisome mind which allowed him to focus on the task at hand, to include Bothawui into the High Republic based on intelligence that the Black Sun Syndicate was preparing to launch an incursion.

"Senators and Junior Representatives" The Neimoidian started to explain having honed his political speechcraft by speaking with Senator Monaray Dod and learning from the mistakes of the Chancellorship debate.

"While I appreciate the friendly gesture from our associates in Bothan Space, we must recognize that the reputation of the Bothan Spynet raises significant concerns. History has shown that no intelligence service is completely infallible. Their methods are cloaked in secrecy, lacking the transparency necessary for us to independently verify the truth of their claims. We must ask a straightforward question: has this intelligence been thoroughly validated by our own Republic Intelligence Services?" Sentapoth pressed on, eager to determine whether the information regarding the Black Sun had been independently corroborated by the High Republic's intelligence agencies, and if it had not, then it could very well be false.

"Furthermore, we are also worried that the Spynet's closeness to criminal sectors makes it susceptible to disinformation, bribery, and blackmail. If the Black Sun is indeed mobilizing as this intelligence indicates, what measures are in place to ensure that your intelligence has not been compromised?" The Neimoidian remarked, gesturing openly towards the other assembly members. Surely, the influence of the Black Sun extended even to the Bothan Spynet, and if this concern holds any truth, then the entire situation could be easily undermined and exposed to extensive disinformation campaigns.

"Finally, the timing of your intelligence leak is closely linked to Bothawui's urgent request for immediate entry into our Republic. This raises the possibility of coercive diplomacy. We must inquire whether this initiative from Bothan Space is genuinely aimed at safeguarding our government and our citizens, or if it is a strategic move to secure Republic membership by instilling fear of the unknown amid unverified information." He concluded with a resolute expression.

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[Dominique Vexx]

OBJECTIVE I | NABOO | HIGH ASSEMBLY HALL

Dominique stood with a pad in her left hand, her golden eyes seemingly directed at its screen from behind her glareshades. The Senator and Director of Denon did not move an inch while Kel Se'Taav spoke. It only wilted when Sentapoth Findos prodded the Bothan representative, as her attention turned toward the man as he spoke.

"Let's not get mired in endless debate," Dominique interjected. "If Republic Intelligence had already had such actionable information, the Bothan Spynet wouldn't have anything to bargain with. And if the Spynet were compromised," she tossed the datapad to an attendant without a glance, "far better they be within our clutches when we find out. Easier to blockade a hostile party that lets your fleet into their system willingly." There were times when keeping your enemies close was the right strategic move.

"I do have to agree, however, that exchanging what could be vital information for membership into this Republic sets a bad precedent. Next thing we know everyone will think they might threaten or cajole us into their bidding. On the other hand," Dominique paused to smile over at Kel, "were Bothawui to offer up collateral should it turn out their vaulted information was either specious or deliberately intended to mislead this Republic, then it might dissuade such antics. Something... significant. Something meaningful. After all, if we are to put our lives in your hands, shouldn't you be willing to do the same?"

The potential for attack should not be ignored, but they couldn't completely ignore not just the timing but the method in which they would acquire pertinent information about it. Extortion was a perfectly accepted practice on Denon, but this was not Denon. The people here wouldn't understand the gamesmanship. Which was fine, Dominique could appreciate it for them and extend the man a lifeline. Whether he offered them a deal they couldn't refuse if his intelligence was found wanting, remain to be seen. If he did, they there was no way for them to lose. And if he was telling the truth then they'd only gain a well-known spynet -- a resource Denon could appreciate the value of as well.

Pillar of Reflection | Kel Se'Taav | Sentapoth Findos​

 

[Coren Starchaser]

There were only a few people that Coren Starchaser would return from his vigil for - Celeste and any of the Starchasers, the Merrill and Sedaire families, his student Mishel , or cryptic maps leading to someone long thought dead. With map in hand, he immediately docked up the Tachyon Rising into one of the Stars of Hope Pathfinder-frigates and started to make the jumps required to Ord Masterra. The time they had spent at Xelec was making it even easier to make these jumps.

Coren was doing the navigating, if not the piloting. He was a bit more retired than he really let on, and didn’t mind the light duty. He knew that he had to get his gear together, and after the frigate was in lightspeed, he made his way to his freighter, and an old footlocker. It contained his ExCon suit, an old Levantine armor set that was better for this work than his old Alliance gear, and his lightsaber. One oceanic blue-green, the other yellow.

His freighter touched down not far from where Mishel had landed, and the Jedi Master stepped from the ship, noticing, and sensing, his padawan. Well, former Padawan, now a Master in her own right. And one person he knew he could entrust the galaxy with. As he looked towards her, he could feel the unease, the… disjointed state that the Force was in here.

This was a place where life and death were so very close, closer than most Light Siders dared care to get. When they knew the Force was ready to welcome them home. Or when they had to send someone to the Force. Coren was not ready for either of those chapters in his life, regardless of his age, and the lives he lived.

As Mishel approached, so did he. He could feel the resolve in her, but there was an unease… Or was that in him? This world was about as receptive to him as Moraband.

 

[Decarii Tithe]

High Assembly Convocation Hall
Theed, Naboo

Kel Se'Taav | Sentapoth Findos | Dominique Vexx

“Yeah alright, everything seems to be in order.”

The Judicial Committee secretariat room was abuzz with activity. Dozens of the High Assembly’s best and brightest legal experts had worked through the night to make sure that the required paperwork was in order should Bothawui become the newest member of the High Republic. Countless hours of work to meet the legislative necessities for admission, for a document that would be filed away and never seen again the moment it was signed. Worse still, should the vote fail, the document would need to be deleted from existence, all the legal drafters' work undone. While some may view it as a waste of time, the Chancellor’s office expected to be ready for all eventualities.

Decarii Tithe finished her final review of the legal paperwork and handed the datapad to an aide. Years overseeing megacorporation mergers at Blackwell, Pa’gat & Tithe had made her a veteran of these processes. Combining two galaxy-spanning companies was no different to forming an alliance between planets. Arguably more complicated when one takes into account fiducial compliance, swap stocks and the egos of CEOs.

“I’ll heading up the chamber,” she explained. “If anything breaks, you comm me alright. Don't leave me out to dry up there or I'll have your karkin' job, you hear me?”

The Aargauun lawyer left the secretarial office and headed toward the adviser's box. She wasn’t an elected Senator, and did not hold the power of voice and vote that came with such a role. Her position, however, as the legal adviser to the Judicial Committee was not without prestige. Decarii was the first port of call for any legislative questions from Senators or their aides. While she couldn’t speak on the Assembly floor unless invited, she had unvetted access to the offices of decision-makers. Her power was exercised behind the scenes.

She paused just outside the Assembly Chamber, quickly thumbing a small capsule into her mouth. It had been a long night.

Decarii took her seat, a pile of datapads on her lap holding dozens of legislative instruments for her expert view. Various Senators were on their feet, dissecting the merits of welcoming the Bothan homeworld into the High Republic. He powered up the first datapad and began reviewing its contents, keeping her commlink open should a Senator message her for a legal opinion.

 

[Mishel]

"The dead are never silent here. They wait for someone to listen."​

☾ Mishel Kryze ☽

"The last time I walked through fire, I didn't come back whole. Maybe that's the point. Maybe we're not meant to. But if there's a soul left in that place, even a single one left saving, I'll find it. Even if it means burning again."

- Jedi Master Mishel Kryze, approaching Ord Masterra
​

A HIGH REPUBLIC STORY
- ANCHORS OF THE REPUBLIC -

The veil thins. The flame falters. The forgotten Order calls.

Jedi Masters Coren Starchaser and Mishel Kryze descend into the Veilcarved Expanse of Ord Masterra, drawn by ghostfire, memory, and the last cry of a long-dead cryptkeeper.

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When a cryptic map marked with Force signatures and ancient Jedi funeral script appears in the hands of Jedi Master Coren Starchaser, it's traced back to someone long thought dead, Charlyra Araano, a former Sith-turned-ghost of the Order of the Veilbound Pyre.

The map leads to Ord Masterra, a forgotten and haunted world where Jedi once tended to the dead, protected the living from corrupted Force echoes, and performed sacred rites of passage. The Veilcarved Expanse, an arid stretch of land scarred by ancient battles and rituals, has begun to stir with dark presence. The flame the Veilbound once guarded is now flickering, and Charlyra, its last guardian, cannot leave.

Coren, unable to ignore the weight of the message, reaches out to his padawan and fellow Jedi Master, Mishel Kryze, a woman shaped by fire and loss. Together, they return to the past, to a forgotten Order, a haunted world, and perhaps a chance to mend what time and war unraveled between them.

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Post 2/5​

Mishel glanced over at Coren, a half-smile tugging at her mouth.
"Nice to see you," she said, voice dry but warm. "Been a while, old man."

She gave the reins a slack tug and looked past him, toward the horizon where the light bled out behind layers of red-gold haze and ash-thick wind.

"Our mutual contact sent me this map," she continued, pulling a weathered parchment from a pocket inside her cloak. It was stiff with grit and time, the corners fraying. "Problem is, the Canyon of the Nameless? Not actually on it." Which was less than helpful, but she supposed cryptic messages and less than helpful clues from strange people sending her on a random quest, should be expected.

She handed the map off to Coren with a flick of her fingers, letting the dust-smeared fabric flutter in the low wind.

"Araano said the canyon lies somewhere at the edges," she added. "Didn't exactly clarify which edge."

The Orbrak beside her snorted, hooves grinding into the sand, sand that looked more like bone-dust than earth, dull and pale underfoot, cursed with memory. The animal turned its head as if it could sense the tension rising in the air.

"They also forgot to mention the best path down into it," Mishel said, squinting into the distance where the atmosphere shimmered like heat, but the temperature had already begun to fall. "I imagine we cut straight through to the Windsear Chasm."

Even saying the name made something in her tighten.

The air shifted.

Cold crawled up her spine like a hand she didn't invite.

She straightened in the saddle and muttered, "Yeah, okay. That doesn't happen often."

A shudder worked its way through her before she could suppress it, a quiet betrayal of nerves she hadn't felt in years. The Force felt wrong here, offbeat and fractured, like a melody lost mid-note. Maybe it was simply the nature of the place.

Still, it didn't feel... broken.

Just... unhealed.

It reminded her of herself, of who she'd been before the Light found her again.

Of all the cracks she thought had long since closed.

Right.

"No time like the present." Mishel tipped her head toward the horizon, dry humor threading through her tone. "And away we go."

The Orbrak lurched into motion beneath her, heavy hooves crunching into the chalky sand. It didn't rush—it trudged, like it knew better than to move quickly through a place that felt half-dead and half-awake.

They moved toward the heart of the Veilcarved Expanse, where the land stretched into a jagged sprawl of broken stone and ancient silence. The wind had shifted again—hot and heavy, like it was dragging the sun down with it. Sand scratched at her cheeks, and ash spiraled through the air in slow, deliberate swirls.

To the far left and right, the sky pulsed red where cinderstorms gathered, looming like thunderheads made of coal. Within them, Mishel could see sparks of fire—embers dancing just beneath the surface, like something alive was breathing in the storm.

She pulled her hood tighter and squinted into the distance.

"Remind me to make notes of this place," she muttered to Coren, lips curled slightly with wry understatement. "You know… for the Academy Networks. Let the kids know exactly what kind of hell to avoid."

And yet, she wasn't turning around.

Hell or not, she was already in it.

And maybe that was the point.

 

[Annasari]

OBJECTIVE I
Senator of Tatooine
High Assembly Convocation Hall
Kel Se'Taav | Dominique Vexx | Sentapoth Findos | Decarii Tithe

Despite the move across the galaxy, Annasari did not find herself nervous. Revenue growth had been rampant with @Aerarii Tithe’s backing, and his specially assembled board of advisors and reps had ensured a seamless transition from Jakku to Tatooine. An aura of arrogance had settled about the senator. She was new to the Republic, not the game. It was just another day in the Senate.

The intelligence posed by the Spynet was more of an issue. Transition to Rimward had put them in prime position to tend the less savory areas of their business along side the rest. An escalation in conflict between the Black Sun and the Republic had significant implications for trade as a whole, but any association with smuggling especially.

“Have we sank so low to stain this body with the same tactics of crime lords and banks? Shall the senate guard act as our brutes, collecting on those dues?”

Senator Vahl’s pod surged forth as she challenged Denon’s suggestion. Cloaked in black, she stood tall, unshrinking from the eyes upon her. It was a bold thing to speak so strongly in her first session, she knew, and to a corporate ally at that. Incerpection of the Syndicate before total war drove her ferocity. Perhaps they could take the necessary precautions to preserve their borders and turn back the tides.

“The Bothan Spynet already lay before us the greatest offering - reputation. This is not a backroom info brokering. It is a proposal before an intergalactic government. Should their intelligence prove wrong, they would be pariahs amongst their own craft. It would be their own undoing.”

Annasari cocked her head, considering Senator Findos thoughts on membership, and the speech of Se’Taav. There was once a time she had made similar pleas to the Alliance.

“Whilst I agree we should not barter membership like a fish at market, I would urge delegation to consider it a gift in goodwill. As such, we should as senators should remember this gesture and consider admission seriously.”