RPlog:A Bad Start with Ozzle

Fountain Square - Plaxton City

The huge buildings in the background threaten to take over this small patch of green that is the center of Plaxton City. A stone fountain -still in place from another time- sits in the center of the square. It depicts a young woman looking into the sky. water flares around her and bursts into a star pattern ten feet above her head. The inscription at the base of the fountain is written in the aging language of a more romantic time. 'Farewell, for all journeyers that leave this place shall always return to call it home.' Wandering the square throughout the day are Caspar Marines; some off- duty and enjoying their downtime while on-duty commandos in full armor and uniform keep watch over the area. Despite the commandos' aggresive appearance, they are viewed with admiration and respect from most of the citizens, some of them even joking and talking with families. The night sky above is full of clouds with light rain coming down.

-=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Ozzle => Tequa => Stalh => Nubb => IGNews Terminal - Caspar => Mail Terminal: Caspar -=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=- SAndbar leads to The Sandbar. S>outh leads to South Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. East leads to East Blake St. - Plaxton City. North leads to North Mergansar Ave. - Plaxton City. West leads to West Blake St. - Plaxton City.

Joir enters Plaxton square walking in his normal brisk manner, head held high in a confident manner which borders on outright arrogance. Conspicuous at his side are two large black uniformed men, despite being large they both appear intelligent with cold eyes and nervous expressions. Obviously the recent events have caused the Empire to reconsider its security on Caspar.

Without even pausing for any of the other rumors, Stalh heads south, obviously in a bit of a hurry. A flash of pain runs up Ozzle's leg, and the darkly-clad Sarian winces in pain for the briefest of moments. His eyes subconsciously move toward the southern end of the square... -Damn the suns...-

Stalh walks to the south. Stalh has left.

Tequa swivles around at the slight murmmer added to the mess of rumors, her gaze alighting on the conspicuous trio. She nods her head in a basic greeting.

Scanning the throng intently Joir picks out the dark form of Ozzle near the fountain. Intriguided by the Dark Jedi whom he has observed on two occasions now he moves towards him, nodding slightly to the men who flank him - indicating that they should stand at the ready. As he reaches the fountain he stops before the Sarian, with face set in an impassive mask (an obvious byproduct of intensive military training) he acknowledges Ozzle with a curt nod.

Ozzle A tall, thin Sarian. His skin is a pale white, and his eyes glint red as if burning with an inner fire. His Sar spots, large and elipsical, mimic the red of his eyes, and span the sides of his face to his cheeks and all around his neck. His face is long and gaunt, his eyes slightly sunken and his nose hawklike. He wears a meticulously fashioned suit made of elegant materials. A pure white tunic is tucked into a pair of fine black pants. Over the tunic is draped a long, black cloak, lined with a deep blue fur. His black boots shine with reflected light, polished to near perfection. -=-=-=-=-=-=<>=-=-=-=-=-=- => Kylan-3 Heavy Blaster Pistol

Joir meets the fiery gaze of the Sarian with equal intensity, although his grey eyes remain cold - internal passion harnessed by strict emotional control. If he is affected in any way by Ozzle's curt, almost rude manner of speaking he hides it well behind an impassive mask. His reply is chilled and low, flavoured only by an odd mix of entrained arrogance, and authority - a voice used to command "Mr Olumpari, I hear we share a common /friend/" - the words formed as a statement, not a question "One who is now in grave danger"

Tequa has at some point seated herself down at a bench, and is exchanging rumors about the events of earlier. The denizens of the bench occasionally cast glances past the fountain towards the others, but each seems quite wrapped up in the increasingly distorted retellings.

Ozzle rests his spotted chin in the palm of his hand, his cheek against his index finger. "I hear many things as well. Most of them turn out to be the idle chatter of fools. That I am willing to share the other requires a tone much less impudent than your own." This man might have been trained to command, by no fault of his own... regardless, despite his current state, the Sarian is not about to be spat at.

Resniz leaves the SandBar. Resniz has arrived.

Webb enters the square from the west. Webb has arrived.

Resniz walks out from the SandBar and looks around the rainy square, hs jacket held close around him.

Ozzle sits at a bench by the fountain, Joir and his entourage standing in front of him.

Despite himself Joir lets a grim smile slip to his face, it is obvious that he deals with the 'idle chatter of fools' far too often - however his ammused state does not last long, his face falling back into its cold mask. His grey eyes remain chilled but are coloured slightly by curiousity - very few people dare to speak to him in such a manner, that this Sarian does suggests that he is either foolish, or powerful - and from the reports he has heard he suspects it is the latter. When he speaks again he does not raise his voice, keeping it low and commanding - although this time devoid of its earlier arrogance "Impudent? - I am sorry if you think me so, perhaps my mind is occupied"

A military utility vehicle moves through the traffic of the square at a crawling pace, bearing Webb, among other Marines. The vehicle winds its way along the roads that encircle the square, turning off to the south and accellerating, headed to the military base.

Webb walks to the south. Webb has left.

Dramatic gestures illustrate the conversation on another bench on the far side of the fountain... Though perhaps storytelling would be a more accurate description than anything. Amidst it all, Tequa listens intently, trying to peice together what's actually true.

Resniz stands in front of the SandBar watching the square.

Ozzle raises an eyebrow callously, his features exibiting no other change. "Indeed? Perhaps you should have cleared it before speaking to me, as to present yourself in a better light. Now, if you have business with me, make it clear." The no-nonsense, businesslike tone of his voice is not at all disguised by the weariness ecompassing it.

A slight tinge of anger colors the grey of Joir's eyes before it is caught and hidden by cooling power of harsh training. However his face does not betray anger, instead his lips curl into a slight smile - voice also showing a slight hint of ammusement - clearly Ozzle's arrogance has both angered and ammused him - in a way the Sarians self-confidence is preferable to wimpering fear, it poses a challenge. His answer is equally curt "Ambassador Morganna once spoke of you as a useful ally, now that she is lying injured I wondered if her ally knew of anything which may help bring the guilty parties to justice"

Ozzle's expression darkens, and for a moment, his eyes flash, their instenisty increasing tenfold, as he stares at this man. "Ambassador Tazecks has been injured? I wasn't aware... How has this come about?"

Joir raises his eyebrows slightly, obviously he thought that Ozzle was already aware of the incident - this explains his failure to understand his earlier implications of a mutual in friend in trouble. When he speaks his voice is flat and factual "A gunman shot the Amassador and a Sarian child earlier today, - we suspect that the gunman is one whom Imperial security has recorded as already threatening the Ambassador" - it is an obvious sign of respect that Joir has offered information rather than rumors, it is obvious that he knows that knowledge is power.