Allure Ithor

[Ira Yahff]

Allure Ithor

Ithor - Tifanda Bay



Bundles of bustle cascaded the lush passageways as bodies banged for direction. A spectrum of beauty intertwined in layers of mechanics, growth of moss, large trees, flowers and durasteel were one. Tourist eyes observed for only moments, before being pushed a long by the traffic. The pleasantries of such inventive understanding captivated even the most adequate intellects. Many waltz in scrutiny at the curl of technology and nature formed a perfect architectural cycle. Children poked around, feet pressed on steel and hands on lush vegetation. The bizarre concoction baffle some, but that was simply for the moderate amount of wayfarers. Locals had become accustom to the grand composition about.

Inhabitants were far less identifiable than the traffic concretion of visitors that voyaged the floating city. Beyond the landing port much of the surprise dwindle as folks immersed themselves on the cultural standards. Ithorians remarkable acceptance of nature was recognizable in all circumstances. The very city floating was in regard to the surface's allure. Not a single permanent figure could grace the world's sacred ground.

Time had allowed voyages above, but beyond observation there was no more for solidified conversation. A spread of Ithorians set throughout the Tifanda Bay. Patterns of wide heads topped crowds as the shuffle of feet rustled about. The peaceful creatures were renown for their avoiding of the Galactic Civil War, and sheer purity. In the beauty of their herdships numerous races found refuge from the external distraught that collapsed upon the many star systems.

However, visitors were in no way as extensive as Metellos or Coruscant, but Jehkran was never one to be typical. The Echani archetype had been filled perfectly with every feature Jehkran wield. From the pale hue of his hair, dainty face, and jewel sky-blue eyes Jehkran was everything Echani. Even attribute unseen rested in his agile body marked by the Echani culture.

He had been raised by his father well.

"Do you want to me to hold that for you?"

The uncanny fragile Ithorian dialect of Basic wheezed it's way into the young Padawan's attention. An eye drifted through space, catching the classic brown flesh. Ithorian husk appeared like an abuse ash, coated in the freshness of the world's soil. In inspection it seemed like a perfect display for an Ithor native. The contrast of the rough appearance, calm, dark eyes and tranquil, yet strange accent carried the Jedi's mind off to regain focus. A moment captured silence as the Padawan acknowledged the unusual statement.

That?

Surprise nearly eroded Jehkran's composure. The calm quickly was captured as his eyes dropped to his own waist. Dangling at his side was the symbol of his code: a lightsaber. Albeit an archaic tool, it was a wealthy point in the boy's arsenal. Never would he lose his joyous design against transgression. Certainly no calm request from an old Ithorian would bestow an unruly act, especially if there wasn't any trouble amidst.

"No, I'm fine."

And so they were off...

Above the surface on a beautiful tour...

And he smiled.

[Stormtrooper]

"Sacred?"

The traditional voice echoed over the compact crowd bundled on the shuttle. A shelled band of violate soldiers pressed against one another, queries thrown left and right. Ithor was a foreign world, without much infamy to warrant an eye. Despite it's designation in the Mid Rim, the specification weren't galactic. Standards assumed were thrown aside, and the only typical rested in the black and white of the Imperial militants.

Behind the gleam of the tinted windows of the helms rested a soul. Tormented destruction reconstructed some, meanwhile others omitted themselves and merged into the void role of an Imperial face. Life bounded in a shell, an armor, a tool to be utilized for deadly causes. Nothingness found it's home in the stern structure of the Stormtrooper visage. Beauty corroded in the eloquence of the construction, and the polished bloodless shell stood without emotion.

Definately a face of the Empire.

The shuttle had touched down a hour before, but still the unit hadn't been deployed. Instead the crew sat in seclusion, isolated from the bustle beyond the cluster walls. A floating city remained ignorant of the presence abound. The Empire wasn't a welcomed, nor dismissed in the gesture of a pacific st Ithorian, but it was best to avoid. Atrocities undid the credibility of Imperial security in the Mid Rim. All sorts of stories unfolded the formidable New Order's attire, exposing a demonic marauder in replacement of a grand figure.

Grandeur illustrated the world's foresight. Troubles would soon come, and not a simple conversation with Momaw would ward them away.

Ithor would soon be the Empire's.

"Yeah, sacred."

"That's what they say."

"Well, it doesn't matter. I'm just sick of being stuck here."

"I want a cig."

"And I want a death stick--we don't get what we want always. Stop complaining."

"Well, I need to get out of here."

"Stop your groaning, the Commander should be back anytime now with the word."

"Yeah."

"Yeah right!"

The door opened. They exited, and the hope seemed to fade. Soon the unit would be on the surface without a "Hammerhead" or civilian even catching a glimpse at the Empire's presence on the once safe and secure world.

[Khaowan Tarbrea]

"Silence."



An iron curtain coated the room. The attire had grown weary, and the features drowned in the dampness of Ithorian culture. Nature grew through and out, weaving the walls in fortresses of durasteel and branches. Flowers sprouted from the surface, bushes formed hardened seats. The establishment was of definite beauty, but the grace had forgotten itself at the presence of the Empire.

A hush breath eased through as the lanky, brown husk contrasted the green of the room. Once before the High Priest settled in such ecological chambers, but the chairs had changed. Instead of the unique, curved visage there sat a humanoid. Devilish horn peeked from his skull, while his eyes peered forth through the cascade of natural artistry.

Life performed it's task in the office. All the growth perished, and return, leaving a smooth aroma to sniff for occupants. The knavish stare set the room at an indifference, allowing all the charm forgotten in the man's stark presence.

"You will stay here."

A smirk lifted the barrier mistaken for the Zabrak's lips. Very rarely did a man gander on his pearly whites without demise.

[Ira Yahff]

A sizzle serenaded the air as the vehicle floated above. Vegetation congested the surface, the brown of soil an unknown amongst the lush green. A beauty invested in the land. Ithor was a prize in the Mid Rim, left buried in the confusion of the Galactic Civil War. Refuge on such a turmoil grounds would be without trepidation.

Peace proclaimed the world it's own.

Jehkran gazed with fellow tourist as the Ithorian continued on with the examples of his information. Words spread in monotone as the strong vocal cords pronounced the violate sentence. Smooth notations left a stark contrast in vastness of the booming dull of the Ithroain's words. A smirk perched on his lips as his hand waved over a specific area and recalled a handle.

An intelligence of such array left many of the visitors in confusion. Instant query sped the ride through as Jehkran lounged in observance. He surveyed the conversation as his senses paired with the world in it's complete allure. Tendrils of existence grappled onto his given attributes. Blessings of an unseen scene splashed through his spectrum as he blinked in contemplation. The depth of his eyes consumed the world, watching carefully the wilderness below.

Something was going on down there.

"Stop the ride."

[Ira Yahff]

The floor was a complex, exotic, lush floor. Nature painted the grounds in a unique, tranquil hue that mellowed the spirit, but a blemish dotted the land. Foreign feet pressed against disturbed soil, and the mother land remained in disdan. Torment blossom from the flowers as bulked figures marched through the tree's shade. A shroud came from the alien walk. The waltz of distraught reign over the land like the clouds, and forbode a darkness left invisible by the sparkle of sunshine. A glare graced the surface below, providing nourishment necessary and not customary.

Hopes for such things could change...might change.

New feet, welcomed feet, touched the land below. The love clamor at his feet, pranced in his presence, bowed in the bending elegance. An unseen allure called from the man, like a beacon, leaving no room for any natural denial.

Step after step sled the man across the cool breeze; his mind frozen in a keen focus as he spread his eyes about. Any observation would be pivotal in this sudden investigation, and the deep anguish that hail him down wouldn't be denied. Ignorance was far from bliss to one blessed in the Force.

"I can feel it...I'm near," he whispered.

Jehkran would handle this, just like he would handle Rayna. Just like he would handle them all, the Force was on his side.

Nothing was impossible with the Force.