First Reply Echoes past time abandoned

[Itzhal Volkihar]

The trade world of Celanon was a constant hive of activity, born of the influx of transports and passengers that travelled through its many connecting hyperlanes, all in search of opportunity and prosperity that only a rare few would ever be fortunate enough to grasp. Lost in the shroud of heavy traffic, a single vessel, little more than a gunship, was easily ignored by most as it passed through the many checkpoints on its way to the surface below, where a single officer arrived to confirm the Captain's records and then passed on in a confrontation that was utterly unremarkable. Just as intended, the owner of the ship had little intention of creating a ruckus so close to Mandalorian space.

Not when his target was valuable enough, some di'kut might stumble across the information and get the idea of causing trouble. His people could be honourable on occasion, but Itzhal wasn't entirely unaware of their faults. In the end, Mandalorians were just people, the same as everyone else. A couple of thousand credits wouldn't be much to celebrate, but he'd seen people kill for less, and if the cache remained intact after all this time, then there was more than just a monetary value to the find.

All that was assuming there was something still left to find as he geared up for the mission, adjusting the straps of his beskar chest plate and the solid weight of blasters on his hips before he strutted out of the gunship, a quick scan of the area already assaulting him with information as commercials blared from a thousand different neon signs. Over a thousand years, Celanon City hadn't changed a bit, not even its name.

He wondered then if the other cities had ever been annoyed with the single city that considered itself so important to name itself after the planet. Maybe if they'd been a little more popular, their opinion might have even mattered.

Tag: Open!​

 

[Kinsey Starchaser]

The Starchaser was usually good to cover her tracks. The bounties on her head were usually old. That didn't mean they'd be easily given up, though. She didn't like to stop in crowded worlds. All those folk around and activity? Made her nervous and kept her head more on a swivel. While she knew Sage Bane was dead, it didn't keep her from looking over her shoulder.

Her Uncle, Coren Starchaser, had pissed a lot of sith off. Kriff, a lot of jedi. And sometimes folk weren't above using family to get to others.

Light strands of hair peeked through the cowl that was flung over her head. Bright blue Starchaser eyes shifted between the coordinates on her comm and the multitude of neon signs of the zoo of shops she passed. That busted converter drive was ready for pick up. She'd just been a bit miffed she hadn't been able to fix it herself. Once she got that, she and Pibs could get off this world. Turning to the right, she wound her way up a narrow staircase and ducked into Bilbo's Repair shop.

 

[Itzhal Volkihar]

The streets of Celanon City buzzed with frantic energy, a pulsating blend of hurried footsteps, vibrant market calls, and the blur of countless pedestrians that wove through the endless throng in their wild mixture of expressions that ranged from determined and focused to the indifferent few that travelled without a care in the world. Among them strode Itzhal, who, even prepared for the storm, found himself absorbed by the sheer chaos surrounding him, the urban flood of bodies and city life forcing his steps into movement. His left arm was raised to shield himself from the jostling bodies that surged past him, each another fragment of the disjointed wave that pressed against him, while his other hand rested close to his hip, fingers brushing against the reassuring weight of the blast pistol holstered there.

In the crowd, it was easy enough to lose himself, just another traveller swept away by the shifting waves until the tide carried him like debris to wherever it deemed fit. Yet, Itzhal had never been one for the easy way out, for better or worse. With a grunt as another weight slammed into his side, he stepped forward, the sound of his boots muffled by the hustle and bustle around him. He shoved a hooded figure aside, their startled yelp a distant echo by the time they'd realised he had intentionally pushed past them; the gap between them closed before they became anything more than a fleeting obstruction.

As he pressed onward through the jostling mess, the chaotic din of the spaceport and its vibrant surroundings started to recede into the background. In its place emerged the deep, grumbling echoes of pipes and battered air-con that stretched through twisted sidestreets and shadowed alleyways, dimly lit by the muted glow of neon advertisements, the halcyon lights within worn and tired as they flickered from one smiling figure to another with their lines of lies detailed beneath, each a promise of something better.

It was here that both the best and the worst of Celanon City lingered, the difference between a hidden gem and a knife in the back, often a few steps away. Over a thousand years hadn't changed that. Nor had it changed the entrance to his former cache as he looked over the street, his gaze passing over the mixture of civilians and lowlives that ventured through the alley before he continued past and into the front door of Bilbo's Repair Shop.

He hadn't quite decided how to explain his passage, but he'd get there in a moment.

Tag: Kinsey Starchaser​