Gilamar Skirata
The most important step is always the next one
Fondor
The Mand'alor had been busy as of late, with rising tensions between his people and the Republic and the recent, questionable skirmish above Aeten II, he had little time for the little things. Or at least, the things he considered little. As his modest freighter, the Lazy Strill entered Fondorian airspace, he was hailed by the com towers of the massive orbital shipyard that made its way 'round the planet. "State your business please."
Taking a swig of his drink from the beskar flask he sighed and leaned forward, the drink still stinging his throat, he pressed the com button. "This is Mandalore Skirata of the Clans, I've a meeting with Lord Protector [member="Ayden"] Carter."
A brief pause.
"Proceed along the established route. You'll be checked for illegal parcels and weapons when you land." The old man chuckled. Weapons? They would be surprised...The Lazy Strill was a floating armory, and no one was taking his Ripper. Period.
The Lazy Strill broke atmosphere with a shudder and screamed towards the starport. Easing off the forward thrust the old Mandalorian slowly landed in his designated spot. Looking out of the viewport he grunted at the sign. 'Diplomat' That word was used quite loosely he guessed. He was the last person he would call a diplomat, but whatever floated their boat was fine with him as long as it didn't kill him. Walking down to the boarding ramp he was greeted by Protectorate security who swept his ship and brought him to the Lord Protector's office. There he waited in his tan trousers and faded, green plaid button up, un-tucked.
The Mand'alor had been busy as of late, with rising tensions between his people and the Republic and the recent, questionable skirmish above Aeten II, he had little time for the little things. Or at least, the things he considered little. As his modest freighter, the Lazy Strill entered Fondorian airspace, he was hailed by the com towers of the massive orbital shipyard that made its way 'round the planet. "State your business please."
Taking a swig of his drink from the beskar flask he sighed and leaned forward, the drink still stinging his throat, he pressed the com button. "This is Mandalore Skirata of the Clans, I've a meeting with Lord Protector [member="Ayden"] Carter."
A brief pause.
"Proceed along the established route. You'll be checked for illegal parcels and weapons when you land." The old man chuckled. Weapons? They would be surprised...The Lazy Strill was a floating armory, and no one was taking his Ripper. Period.
The Lazy Strill broke atmosphere with a shudder and screamed towards the starport. Easing off the forward thrust the old Mandalorian slowly landed in his designated spot. Looking out of the viewport he grunted at the sign. 'Diplomat' That word was used quite loosely he guessed. He was the last person he would call a diplomat, but whatever floated their boat was fine with him as long as it didn't kill him. Walking down to the boarding ramp he was greeted by Protectorate security who swept his ship and brought him to the Lord Protector's office. There he waited in his tan trousers and faded, green plaid button up, un-tucked.