Eternal Father
Gyndine, in the Expansion Region
The city center was a hive of activity. Hundreds of workers, traders, and even members of the political class were milling about in the streets. They had come here to gather to hear the pronouncement of a new era, or so the pamphlets that had been precipitously distributed throughout the city had proclaimed. It was primarily the disaffected who came in large numbers, those that had seen the prosperity promised by governments like the Alliance, but found such promises wanting. Welfare such as that had yet to reach Gyndine, even though the lesser strata of society suffered under the heel of unbalanced labor laws, tight-fisted overseers, and apathetic bureaucrats.
So when words promising an end to injustice and inequality were plastered across the city, the working people were more prone to wanting to hear about what could be done. The local procuratorate had little success in rooting out the source of these pamphlets, for they seemed to disappear like fog before they could be apprehended. But now, dozens and dozens of plainclothes officers were among the hundreds waiting in the city center. It was the greatest mobilization of the civilian police in Gyndine's history, all concentrated in one area.
The rabble of the crowd fell to a hush as all eyes turned towards a raised platform beneath a statue commemorating Gyndine's storied past. A figure had emerged, draped in a vibrant crimson fineweave zeyd cloak. They walked with the aid of a staff, a gnarled rod of wood etched with runic symbols. Their back was hunched, with odd growths pushing up against the fabric near their left shoulder. A loudhailer had been assembled on a stand at the edge of the platform, and the cloaked figure now stood before it. Feedback ringed out across the plaza before the man began to speak.
"Brother and sisters of the Force." The voice was gravely, almost hoarse, as though every word was an effort. "Long have I born witness to the disparity of this world, the inequity inflicted upon you by those that benefit of a corrupt galaxy. Corrupt minds have been allowed to poison the wellspring of our collective psyche, dragging us down with immorality and degeneracy. The Galactic Alliance preaches that all life is to be held as sacred, and that all voices are to be heard as one. But they lie, they obfuscate their true purpose. The Alliance props up a system that exploits its own foundations, that of the toilers who build their cities, manage their power infrastructure, labor in their mines, work in their factories, build commodities that you will never afford to use."
The figure paused a moment, before pulling back the cloak around his head. For the most part, he looked normal, save for the lack of a nose where a weapon had cleaved it from their face. What was most shocking was what was protruding from their shoulder. It was another face, and a pair of short, stubble, useless arms with withered hands. "For so very long," the man continued, "My brother and I were subjected to such inequities that it would boil your blood to hear repeated. We were cast aside, discarded, viewed as lesser, only because of the circumstances of our birth. But we never despaired, we never surrendered to their torment. We found solace in that which connects us all, makes us a part of a greater whole. The Force, my brothers and sisters, unites us all."
He raised a hand, "It is through the Force that we all are made one, not by the empty promises of an apathetic alliance. Nor does this Force belong to the Jedi, lapdogs of the enfranchised and the wealthy. It belongs to all of us, and we carry inside of us the same spark. Alone, we cannot hope to tap the power within, but we have been shown the way. The key to unlocking that which resides in us all. Through the power of our Lord, Daeva the Bestower, He has given us the power. Through His power, we can unlock the Force buried deep inside."
Some among the crowd cheered, and that cheer grew as more and more were drawn into the revelry. The officers among the crowd were nervous, they were fearful of what could happen. This firebrand's words had touched a nerve among the world's working class, and it was infectious. They didn't do anything yet, but they were ready for violence.
"Join us," spoke the man, and the head protruding out from his shoulder repeated the phrase in a higher voice. (Join us!) "And be granted strength beyond strength!" (Strength beyond form, power in the infinite!)
Some moved to ascend the platform, but many more remained unsure and stood their ground.
All while another moved amongst the crowd, a Jedi from the Core Worlds.
Their Sword.
