The heart of a jewel gives reason to the shimmer, the affection and infatuation. A sense of lust floods from the center, providing the jewel its very reason. Without the heart, all being’s radiance fades, a long with its life. Therefore the Heart of the Bright Jewel, Ord Mantell, held a liveliness unfound within, and beyond it’s system. Underneath the tinted pink fluffs was a flock of diverse beings. Since the day the Corellian colonist took the venture to the Mid Rim system, there was not a single dull aspect to the jewel mistaken for a planet.
People of all species pushed across the streets, swerving through the mix of gawking tourist, officials and other obstacles. Trandoshans could be seen spitting in vile disgust as the Sullustian passing by. A crowd of Cathar, Bothans and Whipids packed around their swoop bikes, prepared at any point to ride off into the distance. Hordes of such diverse groups were the mass the sidewalks, the activity ranging from loudest of pitch to absolute silence. Distinctive structures riddled the land, in pleasant contrast to the light cherry sky and varied people.
A flush of culture cultivated along Worlport. Yet there was a seedy side. Underneath the fluorescent elegance there lay odium, filth and scum. Beings layered themselves with fear, hatred, and skills to profess their feelings. A wild array of weaponry was heavily concealed amid the beauty. Ready at anytime to leave a stark contrast of crimson bloodied bodies to mirror the pink sky above. It was not a rare occasion that people were flung to their unexpected last breaths. Albeit not Hutt Space, it still held a terror and danger unknown in many sectors.
Within the distinct compound of splendor and peril sat a single man engulf in patience. A top the Hotel Grand, he awaited the scheduled arrival. It had been a prolonged lingers, but he was certain that the awaited appearance would make-up for it all. Despite it all, he felt obligated for protection. A Codru-Ji and Besalisk stood at the entrance, leaning heavily on the rails. Although whoever came a top the roof would have only a good stride up the steps to evade any defense, it was strongly guarded.
Turning about in his chair, the man stood to reveal himself. Dropping from his helm were four tendrils. A grace painted the four tails of purple, symmetrical strips. Yet the beauty was not only sown in the lekku, but the being’s contrast of red skin. Alike most Togruta he was a beauty, but also tall and athletic. A face not so easily forgotten, even if he wished it so—he was Jaarn Tii.
“Aye, go get one of those Twi’lek girls down stairs to give me a massage while I wait, okay?” He said. The slyness of his voice impaired the usual accent. Instead he spoke with a soothing voice, reminiscent of a Corellian Spacer, but touched with a twinge of an everyday Lady Killer. It was only to be expected though…all athletes were that way.
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