OOC Note: This thread is open to diplomat-types or politicians of any factions except for 5 Syndicates. Unless they have a really good reason for being there!
In the aftermath of the attack on Mon Calamari, Jal Widase had been demoted several ranks. The devastation of the planet had cost him much more than he had ever expected. At most, he thought he would personally become the target of some sort of reprisal. He never thought the Syndicates would go through such destructive, illogical lengths to retaliate against a single bill. Now, his brother was dead. His wife remained in a hospital, having consumed too much toxic seawater. Hundreds of thousands of corpses lay strewn at his feet. And he alone bore responsibility. Save that demon, Gareth Gin, and his compatriots.
But Widase had invited it. None had explicitly said it to him, but he read it in their faces in the aftermath. He accepted his demotion wordlessly. The world had fallen to chaos in the aftermath. Colonel Jaggus had regained control of the military, but the chain of command was shattered. Further, the attack had stoked the ethnic tensions between Quarren and Mon Calamari. Some of the rather creative Mon Calamari accused the Quarren of the attack, saying that the 'Gareth Gin' persona was a carefully designed ruse for them to seize control. Inversely, many Quarren saw this as another block stumbling from Mon Calamari since their King went comatose. Many feared another civil war was on the horizon. All the while, the organized criminals greedily seized the instability as an opportunity to grow. The most wicked saw Gareth Gin's attack as a divine intervention, an opportunity for them to unleash a brand new hell upon the downtrodden of Mon Calamari. Drug sales, violent crime, racketeering, and all sorts of vices usually saved for the seediest ports in the sea were now commonplace.
That is, where people were alive. Crews still could not fully excavate the deep waters of Mon Cala, home to the bulk of the planet's population and capital. The industrial solvent had eaten away at the foundation of the underwater cities themselves - those Mon Calamari and Quarren who weren't suffering from direct consumption of the poison instead had seascraper towers collapse upon their heads, ancient homes of their ancestors get destroyed beneath their feet. Those who could fled - and fled to anywhere. Sith, ISC, and Free Worlds alike saw. Mon Cala naval vessels, once the pride of the galaxy, were full of orphaned children, sickly adults, and the most destitute of beggars as they arrived en masse to the galaxy's various ports.
Those who remained were shattered. Empty, dead looks were left in the eyes of daughters who jealously clung to the bloated, rotting corpses of their fathers. Soldiers acted with impunity as Colonel Jaggus tried to centralize the military, and many former military posts became little more than well-armed gang hideouts. Blaster fire was traded throughout the days and nights, devastating the surface cities that had been able to withstand the initial attack. Massive craters were left where the many dazzling city-ships of Mon Cala make had taken off, filled with impromptu mass graves of the victims of this devastating attack.
Widase had become another number of those left stuck on the world as it continued to descend into chaos. The blaster at his hip sung to him when he was alone, calling him to the sweet sound of an eternal slumber. He had one last task before he completely resigned himself to his depression, though. Through his work, the former Commander Widase had made personal contact with quite a few of the galaxy's factions. The ISC, the Sith, member planets of the Free Worlds Alliance, and even the Jedi. Each had wanted something from Mon Cala. Widase had thought he could bring them all together, string their interests in his world to build an eternal peace that transcended ideology and religion. That dream came crashing down with the cities of the sea.
Now, these same parties offered aid to Mon Cala in its time of greatest need. As another grunt in the cleanup effort, Widase had penned letters of invitation to these various parties of the galaxy, asking for basic aid and a final visit to the world. No longer a Free Worlds member. No longer a civilization. No, society had died, and left this charred corpse of a world in its wake.
Widase sat at the spaceport of Dac City, the horrific origin of this dismal state, and waited for various parties to arrive. Ironically, this spaceport was one of the last sites of normalcy left. Jaggus's military had turned it into a stronghold, from which the Navy in the skies above could reinforce and visit the planet. The images of death and destruction that the Zaa Fenn's champion had sown here burned in his mind as he waited. He sat in a chair where he had found a blaster-riddled corpse holding a love letter and a bouquet of the world's flowers. He remembered the way the Quarren's eyes bulged out of their sockets, like he had seen beyond God.
It was a feeling Widase was starting to understand. Around him were troopers - those equally horrified by the state of the world, but who bore no personal responsibility for its state. Jal received notice that visitors were soon to arrive. Good, he thought, Work can clear my mind.
But Widase had invited it. None had explicitly said it to him, but he read it in their faces in the aftermath. He accepted his demotion wordlessly. The world had fallen to chaos in the aftermath. Colonel Jaggus had regained control of the military, but the chain of command was shattered. Further, the attack had stoked the ethnic tensions between Quarren and Mon Calamari. Some of the rather creative Mon Calamari accused the Quarren of the attack, saying that the 'Gareth Gin' persona was a carefully designed ruse for them to seize control. Inversely, many Quarren saw this as another block stumbling from Mon Calamari since their King went comatose. Many feared another civil war was on the horizon. All the while, the organized criminals greedily seized the instability as an opportunity to grow. The most wicked saw Gareth Gin's attack as a divine intervention, an opportunity for them to unleash a brand new hell upon the downtrodden of Mon Calamari. Drug sales, violent crime, racketeering, and all sorts of vices usually saved for the seediest ports in the sea were now commonplace.
That is, where people were alive. Crews still could not fully excavate the deep waters of Mon Cala, home to the bulk of the planet's population and capital. The industrial solvent had eaten away at the foundation of the underwater cities themselves - those Mon Calamari and Quarren who weren't suffering from direct consumption of the poison instead had seascraper towers collapse upon their heads, ancient homes of their ancestors get destroyed beneath their feet. Those who could fled - and fled to anywhere. Sith, ISC, and Free Worlds alike saw. Mon Cala naval vessels, once the pride of the galaxy, were full of orphaned children, sickly adults, and the most destitute of beggars as they arrived en masse to the galaxy's various ports.
Those who remained were shattered. Empty, dead looks were left in the eyes of daughters who jealously clung to the bloated, rotting corpses of their fathers. Soldiers acted with impunity as Colonel Jaggus tried to centralize the military, and many former military posts became little more than well-armed gang hideouts. Blaster fire was traded throughout the days and nights, devastating the surface cities that had been able to withstand the initial attack. Massive craters were left where the many dazzling city-ships of Mon Cala make had taken off, filled with impromptu mass graves of the victims of this devastating attack.
Widase had become another number of those left stuck on the world as it continued to descend into chaos. The blaster at his hip sung to him when he was alone, calling him to the sweet sound of an eternal slumber. He had one last task before he completely resigned himself to his depression, though. Through his work, the former Commander Widase had made personal contact with quite a few of the galaxy's factions. The ISC, the Sith, member planets of the Free Worlds Alliance, and even the Jedi. Each had wanted something from Mon Cala. Widase had thought he could bring them all together, string their interests in his world to build an eternal peace that transcended ideology and religion. That dream came crashing down with the cities of the sea.
Now, these same parties offered aid to Mon Cala in its time of greatest need. As another grunt in the cleanup effort, Widase had penned letters of invitation to these various parties of the galaxy, asking for basic aid and a final visit to the world. No longer a Free Worlds member. No longer a civilization. No, society had died, and left this charred corpse of a world in its wake.
Widase sat at the spaceport of Dac City, the horrific origin of this dismal state, and waited for various parties to arrive. Ironically, this spaceport was one of the last sites of normalcy left. Jaggus's military had turned it into a stronghold, from which the Navy in the skies above could reinforce and visit the planet. The images of death and destruction that the Zaa Fenn's champion had sown here burned in his mind as he waited. He sat in a chair where he had found a blaster-riddled corpse holding a love letter and a bouquet of the world's flowers. He remembered the way the Quarren's eyes bulged out of their sockets, like he had seen beyond God.
It was a feeling Widase was starting to understand. Around him were troopers - those equally horrified by the state of the world, but who bore no personal responsibility for its state. Jal received notice that visitors were soon to arrive. Good, he thought, Work can clear my mind.
