Character
| Location | Edge of Mandalorian Space
Once upon a time, Kerua-Seven had been a military station for the Galactic Republic before being converted into a civilian transportation hub, shortly after the conclusion of the New Sith Wars. He still remembered the old style, polished modern architecture glossed over the ageing fortress-like infrastructure, somewhat like a poorly disguised paint job. It hadn't remained that way. Some time after the end of the Clone Wars, although the exact date was rather uncertain—he hadn't been around, and honestly, had little interest in asking anyone who had—the space station had been repurposed once again as a high-security prison for the local sector. That, too, had changed, though, admittedly not by much.
Nowadays, Kerua-Seven served as a transfer point—a hybrid between civilian transportation and an official government facility—though, in the latter case, that was as much due to how frequently the site had changed hands. The result was a strange blend of over a dozen styles, with open archways and golden gilding, which could lead to a corridor inlaid with obsidian and bristling with exposed turret hardpoints covering thick blast doors that could just as easily lead to an elevated security position as to an overgrown garden. The worst of them were the places half-finished, where the work of one faction had begun to replace another, only to be ceased in the inevitable uprooting that seemed to curse the station's inhabitants.
In that regard, Itzhal could admit, he wasn't particularly happy to find himself in the position of 'current occupant', even if he didn't consider himself the most superstitious of individuals. One didn't need to believe in real curses to spot a pattern or two, after all. The problem was, by all regards, it was only appropriate that when it came time for the prisoner exchange, he happened to be the highest-ranked member of the Protectorate in the area.
Which was all a rather long-winded excuse for explaining why he found himself standing in the centre of the still docking bay, the air thick with the mingled scents of oil and unidentifiable chemicals. In the distance, loading mechanisms hissed with a sharp screech that drowned out the subtle sound of his breathing beneath the Buy'ce, his eyes staring out into space, through the pulsing light of the rayshields.
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