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| - Fountain Square - Plaxton City: Caspar The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.'Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the early dawn sky above is filled with puffy white clouds as snow falls quickly coating the area and forming drifts where it can collect. The freezing wind blows through the naked branches of the trees, causing an eerie song. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintenance. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area.There is a higher than normal CDC presence here.-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Gimel Obvious exits: leads to Plaxton Grand Hotel -- Plaxton City: Caspar. ndbar leads to The Sandbar: Caspar. South leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City: Caspar. ast leads to Government Plaza - Plaxton City: Caspar. orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City: Caspar. est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City: Caspar. The door to the Sandbar opened up, and out came Danik Kreldin, wearing sunglasses and a black trenchcoat over his Navy uniform. He didn't much like walking around with it on, but he was in a hurry and didn't have time to get into more casual gear. He came down to meet up with Grymm and to get a drink, and now he was going back to his ship to start the exercises. His head moved from side to side every now and then, taking in his surroundings and the people in the square. He left the Square and began a walk down the street, and as he passed the alleyway he looked down it and saw two individuals. One with a lightsaber in his right hand. Immediately it aroused his curiosity. He had dealt with the Jedi many times in his Imperial career, and each time it left him feeling sour. He had to be careful. Danik leaned against a wall next to the entrance to the alleyway and leaned his head over, taking a long good look into the alleyway and the two beings that occupied it. He looked at the man with the lightsaber, and his mind flashed to the wanted poster. That was him alright. He was barely armed and by himself; no match for a Jedi and whoever the Rodian was. Well, he found them, now it was time to report it to the proper authorities...He picked up his comlink and walked forward a bit. He contacted the Conqueror and told them his interesting find. Danik He is of average height for his sex; standing with great posture at six feet. He is of average weight, around one hundred eighty, and he appears to be in his mid-fifties. His hair, cut to a number three length, is a dark brown color that has begun to gray, though it is mostly covered by the olive-gray cap with a silver pip directly in the center which he wears on top of his head. He wears an olive-gray Imperial naval officer's uniform, kept neat without a single trace of a wrinkle. His rank bars are worn at the upper left-hand corner of the uniform, his cylinders in place in their respective pockets on either side of the uniform. A utility belt wraps itself around his waist, a holster hanging from the belt on the right side, containing a blaster pistol. On the left side of the belt is the black pair of gloves naval personnel usually wear, though it is considered optional, so he tucks the gloves in between the belt and his waist. His black boots are worn, each boot well polished without a single trace of dirt on them. His brown eyes scan the surrounding area and the people passing by him, the eyes even sometimes following another person as he thought they were a suspicious character or a beautiful woman. His hands are usually found resting behind his back as he steps onward, though sometimes one hand may be found resting on the holster located at his right hip. An aroma surrounds the man, as he is wearing cologne from the man's home planet of Corellia. He is clean-shaven. He is easily distinguished as a Corellian: His accent as he speaks clearly denotes him as Corellian, as does the cologne. His rank bars and cylinder(s) appear as the following: __ __ __ I |__|__|__| I |__|__|__| Curse the powdery white which falls from the sky. It was best observed from indoors. After four years of walking through the chilled substance, Ambassador Delgard could still prefer to do without. A thick, white parka shields her fragile self and precious cargo from the ill weather as she waits patiently outside the tavern. Her marine escort doesn't seem as phased by the snow as she, and merely scans the street for their hailed transport. Ambrosia blinks a flake from her lashes and gives her feet a light, waddled stomp to return feeling to her legs. "You could at least pretend to suffer alongside." She mutters to the NR marine. Peeling the gray-clad back from the wall by virtue of a push from the visible right hand, the Rodian goes from leaning to balanced in an instant, but not abruptly. "I know. I was there." The free hand casually brushes suckered fingers over the freshly-severed earlobe and scab behind. Stepping forward the Rodian is about to say something else when the movement of a man in black at the mouth of the alleyway draws the full attention of the oversized eyes. Hissing a warning, the Rodian stops in a braced position, concealed left hand shifting toward the individual who seems to be holding a comlink. "You may have no choice." The comment is soft, perhaps for the ears of the man who has just turned away, perhaps for the Rodian's alone. As the Rodian hisses its warning, Ezkhil pauses, gaze finding the retreating figure in black with his hand to his mouth. Brow creasing, the Izin steps out into the snow, moving quickly to follow Danik. It looks a bit like the young man may overtake the other, but instead steps rudely in front of him, expression critical and searching. Danik Kreldin placed his comlink away, then fixed his trenchcoat. He always loved spygames and special operations. Much more exciting then space combat, for some reason. Coughing, the aging Imperial commander just walked about aimlessly; almost like a drunkard. Then he saw something interesting; Ambrosia, and her NR Marines. Well, interesting, yes, but if his face was still on the NR most wanted list...might stir things up a bit. Hopefully they removed it after his "death," but who knows, maybe the NR didn't even pick up on that... In the mean time, however, he had some more serious things to worry about. He wasn't as good of a spy as he thought he was, and the Izin was now coming at him. Frowning, Kreldin stood his ground and crossed his arms across his chest. "Evening. Nice day, isn't it? I never see much snow," Danik said as the Izin stopped in front of him. "How may I, uh, help you?" The marine escort only grins in reply. "Glad to see your humor had returned, Ambassador." He mutters softly and takes a small step forward as the form of their hired speeder buzzes in from the south. "What if I were being serious?" Ambrosia retorts, following his every move as closely as she can. A hurried pace is next to impossible given her state and that of the slick ground. "Then I owe you an apology." The marine grunts knowingly and lifts his hand to hail the transport. "Get in." Moving sideways silently in the snow and watching the mouth of the alleyway, the Rodian steps to the wall of the building opposite the direction Ezkhil had taken, keeping the black-coated figure in sight, or is it sights, as continuously as possible. The dark muzzle of a heavy blaster pistol emerges no more than three millimeters from beneath the front of the battered gray overgarment as the antennae'd being sets up for a potential shot. Seeing Ezkhil approach the target, the Rodian pauses and waits. Ezkhil doesn't look too fooled, and his eyes turn a little squinty at the man. His gaze takes in the tailored coat, and the glimpse he has of the uniform below, though there is no blazing recognition in his eyes. "Who were you just speaking with?" he asks, his accent unfamiliar. Clearly, the Izin is not concerned about being courteous to strangers on this planet. From his vantage point in front of Danik, Ezkhil has a line of sight with Gimel back at the alley, though no look is cast to the Rodian there. The speeder slows to a halt before the diplomatic duo and a door opens to grant Ambrosia access. She mumbles a word of thanks and awkwardly shifts her bloated frame inside. She felt like a voluminous snowball. After much adjustment in the seat, she creates room for the marine to follow her in. Once all are situated, the craft hums to life and zips towards the north. Danik waved his right hand across Ezkhil's face, as his thoughts flashed back to that Jedi on Coruscant. "That is of no concern to you, sir," he said, a grin on his face. He placed his arm across his chest again, and took a step away to the right of the Izin. He then began to circle around the Izin. "Now, if you'd be so kind...I'd like to be in peace and enjoy this snow while I still can." Danik's eye caught the glimpse of the Rodian, and he knew he stood no chance against the two. He probably should fall back and regroup... Watching the street as well as the black-clad man, the Rodian keeps one shoulder touching the wall so nothing can move behind. Seeing the target's hand wave, one suckered finger caresses the firing stud, but no bolt is forthcoming...yet. Let Ezkhil have him, perhaps that will cool the man's jets a bit. The Izin lets the man's hand pass across his face, expression not shifting. As Danik moves around him, an empty hand darts out, tattooed in exotic script, and grabs the well-dressed arm closest to him. Leaning a bit, he murmurs, "I hope, for your sake, it wasn't. I need someone to blame for my dysfunctionalism." He releases the arm as quick as he grabbed it. The pain surged through Danik's arm. It was terrible. He went back, hitting the wall, clutching his arm. "Bastard..." He slumped down against the wall, his breathing getting heavier. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled, as he tried to relax himself. "Hahaha...I didn't expect that," he said in between breaths. With his good arm, he slowly got up and looked into the Izin's eyes. "You'll pay for that, Jedi..." he said, taking a few steps back, trying to put space between him and the Izin. His right arm was useless right now, and unfortunately, that was his shooting arm. He picked a fight with the wrong Jedi. Snout lifted in surprise, Gimel nonetheless keeps a bead on the black-clad man as he staggers. Only the twitching of antennae reveal any emotion, and that only to another Rodian or one intimately familiar with the race. Risking a glance around the street and noticing that any who remained watching wer4e keeping their distance and their peace, for now at least, Gimel trades some o the protection of the alleyway for the clearer shooting path of the street, back still very near the building that has nobly served as cover so far. The gray garment is twitched down in front to again conceal the physical form of the blaster muzzle, but the stance, attitude and attention of the rodian coupled with the shape of the draped cloth would fool none who had sense and could observe. This doen't bother the Hunter at all. Ezkhil apparently feels that the best response to the display and threats is to look dispassionately unimpressed. He slides a foot back in the sludge, as though readying for a quick draw, but when the injured Imperial fails to produce a weapon, the Izin merely watches him stagger off. Danik now saw the Rodian more clearly. Things were definitely not good for him. He was up against a different kind of Jedi. Never before had this happened to him when encountering a Jedi. Best to let the cannon fodder deal with him. He saw the Jedi get into that stance, ready for a fight. But Danik had nothing to bring. His right arm was in too much pain. With his left hand he tipped his cap off to the Jedi and walked backwards towards the Fountain Square. "We'll meet again, I promise." He pointed his left hand at the Jedi, formed a gun with his fingers, and "shot." With that he turned around, clutched his right arm, and ran off into the Square, hoping to hide himself amongst the crowd. But he knew if the Jedi wanted to catch him he could. He just had to hope he could escape before then. The Rodian tracks Danik's exit, but he isn't worth the waste of power. As the man retreats, Gimel moves toward Ezkhil, still cautiously, but with purpose. As the Imperial disappears in the crowds, Ezkhil goes from impassive to thoughtful, frowning. The damage was done before he hurt the man, really; they were watching, now they knew. Giving one man a scare didn't change that. The young man squints up at the sky, perhaps remembering the last time, before he drops his chin and looks a tad to the side, in the direction of Gimel's approach. "And what did you think you were going to do back there?" he asks irritably. "Shoot him, and give evidence of a need to get both governments after you? Probably us?" He turns fully to eye the Rodian. The overgarment is no longer distended, but both green-blue hands re tucked beneath it. "I can't do that. I use what I have." There is no apology to the statement. "Forgive me for watching your back." "My back is watched by a far greater Force than you," Ezkhil assures, not unkindly but still dismissively. "And his Empire. But..." He trails the thought off, wary, perhaps, of thinking aloud. "They won't hold back anything after that, he'll make sure of it, whoever he was." Gimel is nodding. "We should go." Faceted eyes survey the street again. From SW1ki, a Wikia wiki.
- Fountain Square - Plaxton City: Caspar The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. Water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.'Newly planted, lush trees now dominate the square, shading the area from the early dawn sky above is filled with puffy white clouds as snow falls quickly coating the area and forming drifts where it can collect. The freezing wind blows through the naked branches of the trees, causing an eerie song. Patches of well maintained grass surround the base of the trees, allowing space for visitors to relax or picnic. The central, most famous area of Plaxton City, seems to become more and more park-like with the frequent additions and maintenance. A pair of Marines quietly watch over the area.There is a higher than normal CDC presence here.-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Gimel Obvious exits: leads to Plaxton Grand Hotel -- Plaxton City: Caspar. ndbar leads to The Sandbar: Caspar. South leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City: Caspar. ast leads to Government Plaza - Plaxton City: Caspar. orth leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City: Caspar. est leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City: Caspar. The door to the Sandbar opened up, and out came Danik Kreldin, wearing sunglasses and a black trenchcoat over his Navy uniform. He didn't much like walking around with it on, but he was in a hurry and didn't have time to get into more casual gear. He came down to meet up with Grymm and to get a drink, and now he was going back to his ship to start the exercises. His head moved from side to side every now and then, taking in his surroundings and the people in the square. He left the Square and began a walk down the street, and as he passed the alleyway he looked down it and saw two individuals. One with a lightsaber in his right hand. Immediately it aroused his curiosity. He had dealt with the Jedi many times in his Imperial career, and each time it left him feeling sour. He had to be careful. Danik leaned against a wall next to the entrance to the alleyway and leaned his head over, taking a long good look into the alleyway and the two beings that occupied it. He looked at the man with the lightsaber, and his mind flashed to the wanted poster. That was him alright. He was barely armed and by himself; no match for a Jedi and whoever the Rodian was. Well, he found them, now it was time to report it to the proper authorities...He picked up his comlink and walked forward a bit. He contacted the Conqueror and told them his interesting find. Danik He is of average height for his sex; standing with great posture at six feet. He is of average weight, around one hundred eighty, and he appears to be in his mid-fifties. His hair, cut to a number three length, is a dark brown color that has begun to gray, though it is mostly covered by the olive-gray cap with a silver pip directly in the center which he wears on top of his head. He wears an olive-gray Imperial naval officer's uniform, kept neat without a single trace of a wrinkle. His rank bars are worn at the upper left-hand corner of the uniform, his cylinders in place in their respective pockets on either side of the uniform. A utility belt wraps itself around his waist, a holster hanging from the belt on the right side, containing a blaster pistol. On the left side of the belt is the black pair of gloves naval personnel usually wear, though it is considered optional, so he tucks the gloves in between the belt and his waist. His black boots are worn, each boot well polished without a single trace of dirt on them. His brown eyes scan the surrounding area and the people passing by him, the eyes even sometimes following another person as he thought they were a suspicious character or a beautiful woman. His hands are usually found resting behind his back as he steps onward, though sometimes one hand may be found resting on the holster located at his right hip. An aroma surrounds the man, as he is wearing cologne from the man's home planet of Corellia. He is clean-shaven. He is easily distinguished as a Corellian: His accent as he speaks clearly denotes him as Corellian, as does the cologne. His rank bars and cylinder(s) appear as the following: __ __ __ I |__|__|__| I |__|__|__| Curse the powdery white which falls from the sky. It was best observed from indoors. After four years of walking through the chilled substance, Ambassador Delgard could still prefer to do without. A thick, white parka shields her fragile self and precious cargo from the ill weather as she waits patiently outside the tavern. Her marine escort doesn't seem as phased by the snow as she, and merely scans the street for their hailed transport. Ambrosia blinks a flake from her lashes and gives her feet a light, waddled stomp to return feeling to her legs. "You could at least pretend to suffer alongside." She mutters to the NR marine. Peeling the gray-clad back from the wall by virtue of a push from the visible right hand, the Rodian goes from leaning to balanced in an instant, but not abruptly. "I know. I was there." The free hand casually brushes suckered fingers over the freshly-severed earlobe and scab behind. Stepping forward the Rodian is about to say something else when the movement of a man in black at the mouth of the alleyway draws the full attention of the oversized eyes. Hissing a warning, the Rodian stops in a braced position, concealed left hand shifting toward the individual who seems to be holding a comlink. "You may have no choice." The comment is soft, perhaps for the ears of the man who has just turned away, perhaps for the Rodian's alone. As the Rodian hisses its warning, Ezkhil pauses, gaze finding the retreating figure in black with his hand to his mouth. Brow creasing, the Izin steps out into the snow, moving quickly to follow Danik. It looks a bit like the young man may overtake the other, but instead steps rudely in front of him, expression critical and searching. Danik Kreldin placed his comlink away, then fixed his trenchcoat. He always loved spygames and special operations. Much more exciting then space combat, for some reason. Coughing, the aging Imperial commander just walked about aimlessly; almost like a drunkard. Then he saw something interesting; Ambrosia, and her NR Marines. Well, interesting, yes, but if his face was still on the NR most wanted list...might stir things up a bit. Hopefully they removed it after his "death," but who knows, maybe the NR didn't even pick up on that... In the mean time, however, he had some more serious things to worry about. He wasn't as good of a spy as he thought he was, and the Izin was now coming at him. Frowning, Kreldin stood his ground and crossed his arms across his chest. "Evening. Nice day, isn't it? I never see much snow," Danik said as the Izin stopped in front of him. "How may I, uh, help you?" The marine escort only grins in reply. "Glad to see your humor had returned, Ambassador." He mutters softly and takes a small step forward as the form of their hired speeder buzzes in from the south. "What if I were being serious?" Ambrosia retorts, following his every move as closely as she can. A hurried pace is next to impossible given her state and that of the slick ground. "Then I owe you an apology." The marine grunts knowingly and lifts his hand to hail the transport. "Get in." Moving sideways silently in the snow and watching the mouth of the alleyway, the Rodian steps to the wall of the building opposite the direction Ezkhil had taken, keeping the black-coated figure in sight, or is it sights, as continuously as possible. The dark muzzle of a heavy blaster pistol emerges no more than three millimeters from beneath the front of the battered gray overgarment as the antennae'd being sets up for a potential shot. Seeing Ezkhil approach the target, the Rodian pauses and waits. Ezkhil doesn't look too fooled, and his eyes turn a little squinty at the man. His gaze takes in the tailored coat, and the glimpse he has of the uniform below, though there is no blazing recognition in his eyes. "Who were you just speaking with?" he asks, his accent unfamiliar. Clearly, the Izin is not concerned about being courteous to strangers on this planet. From his vantage point in front of Danik, Ezkhil has a line of sight with Gimel back at the alley, though no look is cast to the Rodian there. The speeder slows to a halt before the diplomatic duo and a door opens to grant Ambrosia access. She mumbles a word of thanks and awkwardly shifts her bloated frame inside. She felt like a voluminous snowball. After much adjustment in the seat, she creates room for the marine to follow her in. Once all are situated, the craft hums to life and zips towards the north. Danik waved his right hand across Ezkhil's face, as his thoughts flashed back to that Jedi on Coruscant. "That is of no concern to you, sir," he said, a grin on his face. He placed his arm across his chest again, and took a step away to the right of the Izin. He then began to circle around the Izin. "Now, if you'd be so kind...I'd like to be in peace and enjoy this snow while I still can." Danik's eye caught the glimpse of the Rodian, and he knew he stood no chance against the two. He probably should fall back and regroup... Watching the street as well as the black-clad man, the Rodian keeps one shoulder touching the wall so nothing can move behind. Seeing the target's hand wave, one suckered finger caresses the firing stud, but no bolt is forthcoming...yet. Let Ezkhil have him, perhaps that will cool the man's jets a bit. The Izin lets the man's hand pass across his face, expression not shifting. As Danik moves around him, an empty hand darts out, tattooed in exotic script, and grabs the well-dressed arm closest to him. Leaning a bit, he murmurs, "I hope, for your sake, it wasn't. I need someone to blame for my dysfunctionalism." He releases the arm as quick as he grabbed it. The pain surged through Danik's arm. It was terrible. He went back, hitting the wall, clutching his arm. "Bastard..." He slumped down against the wall, his breathing getting heavier. He closed his eyes, inhaled and exhaled, as he tried to relax himself. "Hahaha...I didn't expect that," he said in between breaths. With his good arm, he slowly got up and looked into the Izin's eyes. "You'll pay for that, Jedi..." he said, taking a few steps back, trying to put space between him and the Izin. His right arm was useless right now, and unfortunately, that was his shooting arm. He picked a fight with the wrong Jedi. Snout lifted in surprise, Gimel nonetheless keeps a bead on the black-clad man as he staggers. Only the twitching of antennae reveal any emotion, and that only to another Rodian or one intimately familiar with the race. Risking a glance around the street and noticing that any who remained watching wer4e keeping their distance and their peace, for now at least, Gimel trades some o the protection of the alleyway for the clearer shooting path of the street, back still very near the building that has nobly served as cover so far. The gray garment is twitched down in front to again conceal the physical form of the blaster muzzle, but the stance, attitude and attention of the rodian coupled with the shape of the draped cloth would fool none who had sense and could observe. This doen't bother the Hunter at all. Ezkhil apparently feels that the best response to the display and threats is to look dispassionately unimpressed. He slides a foot back in the sludge, as though readying for a quick draw, but when the injured Imperial fails to produce a weapon, the Izin merely watches him stagger off. Danik now saw the Rodian more clearly. Things were definitely not good for him. He was up against a different kind of Jedi. Never before had this happened to him when encountering a Jedi. Best to let the cannon fodder deal with him. He saw the Jedi get into that stance, ready for a fight. But Danik had nothing to bring. His right arm was in too much pain. With his left hand he tipped his cap off to the Jedi and walked backwards towards the Fountain Square. "We'll meet again, I promise." He pointed his left hand at the Jedi, formed a gun with his fingers, and "shot." With that he turned around, clutched his right arm, and ran off into the Square, hoping to hide himself amongst the crowd. But he knew if the Jedi wanted to catch him he could. He just had to hope he could escape before then. The Rodian tracks Danik's exit, but he isn't worth the waste of power. As the man retreats, Gimel moves toward Ezkhil, still cautiously, but with purpose. As the Imperial disappears in the crowds, Ezkhil goes from impassive to thoughtful, frowning. The damage was done before he hurt the man, really; they were watching, now they knew. Giving one man a scare didn't change that. The young man squints up at the sky, perhaps remembering the last time, before he drops his chin and looks a tad to the side, in the direction of Gimel's approach. "And what did you think you were going to do back there?" he asks irritably. "Shoot him, and give evidence of a need to get both governments after you? Probably us?" He turns fully to eye the Rodian. The overgarment is no longer distended, but both green-blue hands re tucked beneath it. "I can't do that. I use what I have." There is no apology to the statement. "Forgive me for watching your back." "My back is watched by a far greater Force than you," Ezkhil assures, not unkindly but still dismissively. "And his Empire. But..." He trails the thought off, wary, perhaps, of thinking aloud. "They won't hold back anything after that, he'll make sure of it, whoever he was." Gimel is nodding. "We should go." Faceted eyes survey the street again.
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