He walked lithely. He was tall and thin... some would call him gait, but he appeared not to be thanks to the unique way he walked. Not unique so to say... but unusual for most bipeds. The Cree'Ar were reverse jointed in their legs, thus most normal human beings found the way they carried themselves to be odd. The Cree'Ar no longer noticed... they could not remember a time when they had walked any other way.
Of course, the man on the bridge of the massive Cree'Ar warship didn't really find the way they walked perticularily odd either. When the Cree'Ar had first arrived, he was aware of them and came to them. It was easier, always, to be the forthright party. He knew if he came to them, he could help them and they in turn could help him. Now it was his turn to gaze upon a world and speak of it's beauty.
"Ithor."
The older Cree'Ar stood to his full height, towering over his companion, and observed the world.
"Se'p'ta tar'r'ara'dool?"
The human questioned for a second, wondering what the Cree'Ar had said.
"He said... What is it that makes this world special? How is it unlike every other world?"
The man turned, looking back at who had spoken. He looked very much like a Cree'Ar, but his crowned head was much shorter... his face was slightly flatter, and the most glaring difficulty was that his skin was blue instead of the green hue on the Cree'Ar. He was about to ask...
"I am a Skey'g'aar. If you want to know why I know your language, I was one of the advanced Cree'Ar scouts that surveyed this galaxy in the name of Borleas Quayver. I learned your language and customs and studied your society."
He nodded. It made sense, actually, that they would send scouts of a different... likely lesser... species before risking themself. The scout he met must have been one of the later group. He had seemed to forget his train of thought...
"Ithor," the Skey'g'aar answered.
"How did you know?"
"I am an acolyte of the Sith."
"Ah. Well, Ithor was nuetralized by our people during our war with the New Republic. Since then, there has been an effort to refirtalize it. It hasn't worked entirely, so many parties avoid the world fearing residual aftereffects of the poison. Since you will be using the world for technological purposes only, this should not serve as a problem for you. As well, it is a world close to both the core and the swing side of the outer rim, giving you an ideal tactical advantage whichever way you choose to move forth your occupation."
He smiled at the Skey'g'aar, and the Cree'Ar turned to him and looked expectantly.
"Ta'a'sara'dor yet's'oon'g'yat'a'l."
The Cree'Ar looked to him, a look on his face of concentration.
"Ta'a yat'a'leg'a'lora?"
The man was confused, and he looked to the Skey'g'aar for translation.
"He asks... you are an enemy of the people? A Yuuzhan Vong?"
The man swallowed deeply, feeling that things had gone from uncertain to deadly certain. He knew what he would say now would either save his life, or cost him his life.
He never had a chance to make that gamble.
"Yes, he is."
The woman stepped forward, walking in front of the man and placing herself deadly close to both aliens. She nodded to the Skey'g'aar.
"Zeratul."
The alien was taken aback.
"We have met?"
She smiled, obviously proud of the fact that she could suprise him so.
"Yes, we have. I am upset you do not remember me." She turned then to the larger and more impressive alien. "You must be the Chief Judicator of the Cree'Ar, Kal Shora. I am honored to meet you holy lord. T'a'rrat'a me'a'rad'on'a'a."
The Cree'Ar as well appeared taken aback, but his face would have shown a smile, had he any mouth to smile with.
"Eptar'a'kar'a, Lady Hapan."
Zeratul's eyes showed a recognition. Of course. It was the Lady Montague, the only person it could be when he thought about it. He stepped forward.
"L'a'raona'rar'a, a'sara'dor g'yat'a'l et'c'a he't'por'a'tara'dora, Chang, de ta's's'adora."
Montague smiled when she heard the word ta's's'adora, the Cree'Ar word for traitor. Of course, Zeratul was the traitor, and he had laid blame on Tassadar and his companion, Xylon.
The elder Kal Shora looked at each member of the treacherous threesome, and then nodded and turned to face the planet. Zeratul turned to Montague and Montague to Zeratul.
"Ithor it is, Lady Hapan."
Of course, the man on the bridge of the massive Cree'Ar warship didn't really find the way they walked perticularily odd either. When the Cree'Ar had first arrived, he was aware of them and came to them. It was easier, always, to be the forthright party. He knew if he came to them, he could help them and they in turn could help him. Now it was his turn to gaze upon a world and speak of it's beauty.
"Ithor."
The older Cree'Ar stood to his full height, towering over his companion, and observed the world.
"Se'p'ta tar'r'ara'dool?"
The human questioned for a second, wondering what the Cree'Ar had said.
"He said... What is it that makes this world special? How is it unlike every other world?"
The man turned, looking back at who had spoken. He looked very much like a Cree'Ar, but his crowned head was much shorter... his face was slightly flatter, and the most glaring difficulty was that his skin was blue instead of the green hue on the Cree'Ar. He was about to ask...
"I am a Skey'g'aar. If you want to know why I know your language, I was one of the advanced Cree'Ar scouts that surveyed this galaxy in the name of Borleas Quayver. I learned your language and customs and studied your society."
He nodded. It made sense, actually, that they would send scouts of a different... likely lesser... species before risking themself. The scout he met must have been one of the later group. He had seemed to forget his train of thought...
"Ithor," the Skey'g'aar answered.
"How did you know?"
"I am an acolyte of the Sith."
"Ah. Well, Ithor was nuetralized by our people during our war with the New Republic. Since then, there has been an effort to refirtalize it. It hasn't worked entirely, so many parties avoid the world fearing residual aftereffects of the poison. Since you will be using the world for technological purposes only, this should not serve as a problem for you. As well, it is a world close to both the core and the swing side of the outer rim, giving you an ideal tactical advantage whichever way you choose to move forth your occupation."
He smiled at the Skey'g'aar, and the Cree'Ar turned to him and looked expectantly.
"Ta'a'sara'dor yet's'oon'g'yat'a'l."
The Cree'Ar looked to him, a look on his face of concentration.
"Ta'a yat'a'leg'a'lora?"
The man was confused, and he looked to the Skey'g'aar for translation.
"He asks... you are an enemy of the people? A Yuuzhan Vong?"
The man swallowed deeply, feeling that things had gone from uncertain to deadly certain. He knew what he would say now would either save his life, or cost him his life.
He never had a chance to make that gamble.
"Yes, he is."
The woman stepped forward, walking in front of the man and placing herself deadly close to both aliens. She nodded to the Skey'g'aar.
"Zeratul."
The alien was taken aback.
"We have met?"
She smiled, obviously proud of the fact that she could suprise him so.
"Yes, we have. I am upset you do not remember me." She turned then to the larger and more impressive alien. "You must be the Chief Judicator of the Cree'Ar, Kal Shora. I am honored to meet you holy lord. T'a'rrat'a me'a'rad'on'a'a."
The Cree'Ar as well appeared taken aback, but his face would have shown a smile, had he any mouth to smile with.
"Eptar'a'kar'a, Lady Hapan."
Zeratul's eyes showed a recognition. Of course. It was the Lady Montague, the only person it could be when he thought about it. He stepped forward.
"L'a'raona'rar'a, a'sara'dor g'yat'a'l et'c'a he't'por'a'tara'dora, Chang, de ta's's'adora."
Montague smiled when she heard the word ta's's'adora, the Cree'Ar word for traitor. Of course, Zeratul was the traitor, and he had laid blame on Tassadar and his companion, Xylon.
The elder Kal Shora looked at each member of the treacherous threesome, and then nodded and turned to face the planet. Zeratul turned to Montague and Montague to Zeratul.
"Ithor it is, Lady Hapan."