A government-sponsored holo-ad starts playing, the scene opening with a Neimoidian sitting on a barstool in a dilapidated cantina, sipping what is obviously a cheap brand of ale, while a despondent tune plays in the background. The dejection in his posture embodies the crestfallen state of his surroundings. Suddenly, an obviously carefully selected and aesthetically pleasing Nautolan woman steps into the scene on the left, her olive green complexion contrasting nicely with the sleeveless white dress that she’s wearing. She approaches the Neimoidian despite the man being completely oblivious to her presence on screen, while the woman wears a dazzling smile on her lips and keeps her hands clasped in front of her stomach.
“Isn’t he a sad sight?” she begins in a chipper, pleasant tone. “Just look at him and how he heaves beneath the crushing weight of a nameless existence. Doesn’t he remind you of someone when you stare a little too long in the mirror?”
The moment the Nautolan finishes speaking, the Neimoidian lets out a heavy sigh.
“But fear not, you poor unfortunate soul! Because now you too can have the opportunity to give your life meaning, and distinguish yourself from the grey, shapeless masses!”
Upon the woman’s words, the cantina suddenly lights up as the Neimoidian looks up in wonder. The scene of the obscure cantina shifts with excessively overdone CGI into a new setting, that of a richly appointed high-end lounge while the man remains seated on his barstool, suddenly surrounded by giggling and cooing Twi’lek women of all skin colours. The fabric of his previously worn and torn clothing suddenly shifts to expensive shimmersilk, while a cape with golden ornaments embroidered into it rolls from his back. Above the Neimoidian’s head, the word “Magnate” bobs up and down in a golden font.
“That’s right! Now you too can be a Magnate of the Confederacy through the simple application of wealth like this fortunate fellow over here,” the Nautolan says while gesturing with a broad smile at the Neimoidian, who is visibly drunk on the attention and adoration he is receiving from his promiscuously dressed Twi’lek admirers. Then the camera pans back to the Nautolan as the scene shifts. Now, she’s walking through rows and rows of desks at which visibly overworked bureaucrats are frantically looking through holopads and documents.
“Our most scholarly experts have skimmed through countless legal texts and documents to find the one loophole in state law that will turn your life around like the uncontrolled spin of a defective podracer!” the woman says, as the wail of an R2 series astromech sounds in the background thereafter.
Then, an illegible legal text is projected to her right. “Our experts have discovered that according to archaic state law that somehow remains in effect to this day, any sentient being who owns even only a one metre by one metre plot of land on one of the celestial bodies controlled by the CIS has the legal right to style themselves a Magnate of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, a noble title of honour and esteem highly coveted in both past and present,” she says, upon which the playful laughter of the Twi’lek women and the Neimoidian is heard in the distance. “And highly desired in a potential short or long term mate,” the Nautolan adds with a conspiratorial grin.
The woman continues walking, as the scene shifts and camera angle changes, showing her with a crystal clear blue sky behind her. “Enter the opportunity of a lifetime for you with a brand new policy enacted by the Confederate government,” she begins as her smile broadens. “For only a small commission of 150,000,000 credits, now you too can own a small plot of land upon one of the wondrously lush planets of the Confederacy!”
Upon her words, the camera zooms out drastically, showing the Nautolan as a tiny green and white dot standing in the middle of a desert wasteland devoid of any greenery or moisture, the soil cracked and sun-baked. “Uhm, guys? Wrong scenery…” the Nautolan says, her voice echoing across the barren wastes.
Suddenly, the setting changes with garish cinematics into a beautiful and verdant landscape reminiscent of the idyllic plains of Naboo and Alderaan, as the music in the background shifts to a majestic choral tune.
As the camera zooms back in on the Nautolan, she’s walking beneath a green canopy of eye-catching trees and shrubbery, with gizkas merrily frolicking around her while thrantas fly overhead majestically. “Any plot of land regardless of the size entitles the owner to rights and privileges bestowed upon all land owners of the Confederate state, and entry into the vaunted House of Records as a landed Magnate!” she says while extending her hand, a meticulously scripted bird landing deftly upon her outstretched palm, chirping cutely.
“And any and all proceeds go directly into a fund specially created by the Confederate government for the protection and preservation of our state’s glorious environments,” she says, as suddenly the camera zooms in on her face. Her smile broadens, bordering on the uncanny. “Because where else would the proceeds go to? Kutol’s pockets?”
The camera lingers a little too long on the woman’s smiling face, the scene taking on an unseemly air. Mercifully, the scene then shifts to the high-end lounge in which the viewer last saw the Neimoidian and his company for the night.
“So, grab onto this opportunity like onto the steering wheel of an airspeeder in free fall, just like Ruuko here,” the Nautolan says as she’s seen walking over to the Neimoidian, who is sprawled on a broad sofa in a blissful haze while the Twi’lek women snuggle up to him with soft giggles. “And turn from a nobody into a somebody, by becoming a Magnate of the Confederacy today! Purchase your first one by one metre plot of land right now, and you get an additional one for half the price! Because why not gift this wondrous occasion to your beloved brother, for example!” She says, as suddenly a second identical Neimoidian poofs into existence next to the first one. The Twi’lek women scream in renewed enthusiasm as the newcomer is visibly overwhelmed by the unprecedented attention he is receiving.
The camera then zooms in on the Nautolans face, as a toothy smile rests on her lips. “Don’t let this opportunity pass you by, and call the Ministry of Interior today to magnify yourself into a Magnate right now!”
The Nautolan remains standing in front of the camera, her toothy grin broadening as her big black eyes stare directly at the viewer, while the mechanical voice of a Battle Droid sounds in the background at a highly increased speed.
“The assignment of your purchased plot of land is entirely randomised and irrevocable. The Confederacy of Independent Systems will not be held liable for dissatisfaction with the allotted plot of land, regardless of its accessibility to you. Volcanic terrain, deep sea terrain, or any other volatile or potentially lethal terrain cannot be used as grounds for purchase cancellation or reimbursement. Visit your plot of land at your own risk.”
THIS IS A PAID ADVERTISEMENT OF THE CONFEDERACY OF INDEPENDENT SYSTEMS. PLEASE CONTACT AN ADMINISTRATOR IF YOU WISH TO INVEST