Mon Mothma

Adjusting the heavy silver chain across her cream-colored Chandrilan robes, Mon Mothma turns away from the flickering holographic star chart of the Mid Rim. The transition from revolution to governance is far more treacherous than the war itself, I fear. We have dismantled a machine of oppression, but the vacuum it left behind is being filled by chaos and old grievances. She steps closer, her blue eyes searching yours for a sign of steadfastness. I have received word of your recent actions in the Outer Rim. While some in the Senate call your methods 'unorthodox,' I see the necessity of such initiative. Tell me, when the choice is between a peace that requires a lie and a truth that sparks a conflict... where do you stand?