It's tough out there in the great expanse for a bunch of space bandits just trying to get by.
The Qaleon is an area of space with countless wonders to see, phenomenons to experience, but most importantly, treasures to plunder. If only Darius Peregr...
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Rhyaell D'Qil-dar was unsure whether the sweat that was profusely rolling down her body was brought on by the four hideous sweaters she was wearing, or that fact that she was in the middle of committing a category five felony against the entirety of known inhabited space.
In truth she knew it was likely the later, but her attire was definitely a key contributor.
The office wasn't helping either. The first three walls pushed in, cramping the space with long faded grey. Rhyaell felt that she was being squeezed, ready to burst at any moment through the fourth wall, a floor to ceiling window that stared out into deep and endless blackness. As a fan of neither cramped drab rooms or the endless void, Rhyaell's level of discomfort was pushing critical. Nevertheless, she prided herself on her professionalism, and composure was paramount.
"It's all about the currents coming up from the Southern Ougwr Sea," she said, pushing back the spectacles that were sliding down her vertical nose. "You see, the overflow of chemicals from the power plants installed by the Hennirans in Muurgruus' north has resulted in catastrophic rotting amongst various shallow sea corals. Because of this, the slime eels that inhabit the northern aquatic regions have traveled south in order to acquire new reliable vegetation supplies. It is the foraging of the eels in the caverns of the Ougwr bergs that has been spilling chilled water into the currents, currents that then flow up to the equator and cause the loss of vast portions of the pink equatorial algae population."
A gasp escaped from the clerk sitting on the other side of the desk. He was a noticeably portly Jurup whose Coalition uniform had to be an even poorer fit that Rhyaell's getup. Little consideration had been give for the nubbly tentacles that dotted his skin. They were left to spill from over his collar and under his sleeves, and Rhyaell was doing her best to not be unsettled by it. Her mother had taught her better than that. Instead she tried to focus on his black eyes, that would have been rather small if not magnified by a pair of rather large multi-lensed spectacles.
Rhyaell had been trying to remember his name the whole time she had been staring at him, but it continuously escaped her. She wasn't even sure if he had one, seeing as the badge on his shirt simply said 'clerk'.
"My dear Professor Linguum, what you describe sounds positively ghastly," he said, the bulbous yellow tentacles that protruded from his neck gathering around his mouth.
Rhyaell leant back in her chair, gave her spectacles another jab and steeped her fingers the way important intelligent people do. "Ghastly indeed, my friend."
Rhyaell cared about the conservation of all the Qaleon's worlds as much as the next thoughtful intergalactic citizen. That being said, she didn't really know if Muurgruus' pink equatorial algae was worth saving.
This was due in part to Muurgruus as a whole being widely adorned with the label "a shithole of a planet that doesn't seem to benefit anyone".
