Another figure walks in wearing a dark cloak. He is nearly the same stature of the guards at the front. One of them narrows his eyes as he spies the faint Khanid insignia on the newcomer's sleeve.

Hm. Kaimeras. He mused. This one is a little more observant than the other. That's curious. He also appears to have an older generation clone implant; best not to incite him unduly. those can be a bit... destabilizing.

He pulls down his cowl, revealing neatly groomed jet black hair, greyed at the temples, and dark eyes. The well-worn collar of an Imperial Guard field officer's uniform just barely peeks out. "Do not be alarmed, guardsman. I am not your enemy."

The guard relaxes as the man offers his sidearm to be secured. "Be careful with that. It is not easily replaced." The Kaimera pauses momentarily to admire the craftsmanship of the obviously old but well made burnished gold and red weapon before he places it in the holding area.

"I am here simply to rest this weary body in familiar and friendly surroundings. I have also heard that some refreshments not readily available outside of our home sectors may be found here." Walking inside, he asks the receptionist if he might have a drink, and sits down with a faint sigh and rubbing of his eyes and bridge of his nose.

Spying the staff cleaning up the broken glass, he looks up just in time to watch Templar Yassavi walk into an unmarked room, and chuckles silently. Some poor soul is about to regret choosing to walk into this place.

"Thank you." He says, as the receptionist brings him a glass and a small tray of food. "No, it is alright. The Classiarii appear to be otherwise engaged, no need to disturb them on my account. Your hospitality is all I require at the moment."

"A pleasure, young Templar. I had heard of the opening of this embassy and wished to pay a social visit to my brothers here in PCLAS."

He tells a brief tale of how his roles within both the Khanid military aristocacy and Imperial Guard proper affect his dealings with the True Amarr and the Classiari in particular. "I cannot reveal any more than that, but suffice it to say that these things are... complicated, at least in an official sense."

He takes a last sip of his drink, and leans back, a wearied look on his face.

"Unofficially I enjoy the company of the Classiarii greatly, and this sector can sometimes be inhospitable to both True and Dark Amarr alike. ." He sighs, gazing at the classical Amarr decor, a stark contrast to the drab world outside the front door. "Our latest offensive has been well fought but taxing to the body and soul as well. This place is a welcome respite."

"But enough about me", he says with a wry grin. "I am but a ronin, a simple vagabond soldier taking a break from his travels. Tell me of your career with the Classiarii. I trust they have not been too hard on you?"

Crownrule walks up to the entrance wearing an advanced amarr assault A/1 series dropsuit,just recently cleaned. Turns to the guards.
"May I seek the council here? I have an urgent matter id like to speak to them about."

Crownrule exchanges a quick bow and stands tall and proud before the man
"I have come to discuss my concerns with the council about my deployment to the Gheinok I Tower." Crownrule says feverishly. Then he reconizes the suit the man is wearing. "My apologies sir, i didnt know you were the great Thal Vadam" Crownrule stays in place waiting for a response, all the while he feels little beads of sweat roll down his face.

Crownrule feels Thals everlasting gaze and shakes it off, he pits a smirk on his face.
"Well sir, i have heard you are the best swordsman in new eden," Crownrule says relaxing in the chair "unless the stories I have heard are false."

"Ah you must forgive me, in my haste I was not thinking, I wish to seek council with....perhaps you can handle it though... I would just like to clear it all up before i am deployed......you see i cannot go to the tower, i have urgent matters that must be attended to in the khanid kingdom, my late mother is ill and has asked to see me, my father died while I was at an early age and all she has left is me," Crownrule explains, when all of a sudden his neocom starts to light up "oh uhhh excuse me for a moment" He walks to a empty corner and opens the neocm and finds a message from his mother, it reads-
My son.... I am feeling better and am expected to recover in a few days im sorry about the false alarm and did not wish to alarm you.....I love you and be safe you may be immortal but it doesnt mean you cant die. Crownrule returns back to thal, "it appears the matter has fixed itself.....im sorry for wasting your time sir but since I have brought it up I ask of you to teach me the ways of the sword, I would like to expand myself in the knowledge of the sword so that I may not only able to kill my enemies afar but from upclose as well.....if you will take me as your pupil" Crownrule swallows and it gets stuck in his throat, he tries not to cough and forces the saliva down, he looks at thal hoping he doesnt get berated by him.

Crownrule starts walking toward the exit, once he's outside he opens his neocom and places an order for a pair of training swords. He closes his neocon once he's finished he decides to go back to his quarters. He walks in and heads toward his bed where he slumps down on it and passes out. The next morning Crownrule gets up and grabs his Imperial CRW-04 scrambler rifle off of his table and inspects it.
"Hmmm....I just cleaned you yesterday *sigh* guess i have to do it again," Crownrule says before getting his cleaning kit, he sits there for about an hour cleaning it, not missing an inch of the gun. "There, now your clean......now if only you could stay that way." Crownrule places his gun back on the table and heads toward his bed again where he will sleep for another three hours. Crownrule wakes up and looks at the time. "Still have twelve hours before i have to go to the IGS......what can i do to kill some time?" Crownrule looks around and finds nothing, he looks at the swords he just purchased and and thinks. "Perhaps I should go early and try to practice so I dont embarrass myself" He picks the swords up from the wall and heads out his door and toward the IGS Gymnasium. Once he is inside he pulls out the sword and makes slicing motions, then he tries to twirl them and drops one on the ground. He heads over to pick the sword back up when he notices someone is standing behind him.

Vyzion runs his hands over the etchings at the entrance to the PCT PR offices. His eyes drift towards the plaque on the right... and his stomach grumbled. Stifling a grin, he walks inside.

The heady smell of the furniture assaulted Vyzion's enhanced nostrils. Of all the modifications he subscribed to, the olfactory adjustments were by far the most intriguing. He could discern distinct differences in the wood used to craft the sumptuous chair he walked towards to that of the small table next to it, as clearly as he could tell the number of forge gunners aiming at his dropship with the same nose. The former, it had to be said, was definitely much less repulsive than sweaty clone arms hefting forge guns.

He returns the receptionist's bow with a tilt of his head and relaxed into the chair. The light pilot suit he was wearing, a prototype fresh from a joint project between the researchers at Roden Shipyards and the scientists at CreoDron, adjusted itself to maximise Vyzion's comfort.

Feels great, except one well-aimed shot from these Scrambler Pistol-totting shiny folk will have me surfacing from goo before I can say "Long Live the Empress".

As for how this capsuleer acquired equipment at the cutting edge of dropship technology, well, that's a story for another time. For now, suffice it to say that the model is more of a prototype than the standard clone dropsuits in that it is relatively unstable.

A fact that Vyzion was just beginning to realise as he attempted to stretch a leg... and found that he couldn't.

Tried to raise his arms. Couldn't.
Turn his head. Couldn't.
Scratch that itch that only now decides to torment his nose... Couldn't.

His suit had spontaneously become harder than a Templar's faith to crack, and sitting in the PR offices of these very Templars, Vyzion decided to attempt to salvage whatever remained of his dignity and closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, and hoped that to all the world it appeared he was just looking to bathe in the warmth of the glimmering gold around him.

Just what I wanted. Just what I bloody wanted.

Vyzion kept his eyes closed and breathing measured. And then:

"I'm.. fine, ah, sir. Just appreciating the delightful upholstery, yes, yes..."

An idea sparked in the depths of his head.

"... Actually, that was a lie. I'm actually eavesdropping." A pause for effect. "You see, the way you guys trade greetings, with some kind of 'a shell tasty whatsit', before you engage in the actual conversation? Yeah, it's quite intriguing. I'd be indebted if you could explain some of that."

All the while, he spoke with his body tensed, trying with all his might to break the diamond shell of his dropsuit and eyes clenched shut.

I probably look exactly like that time when that Jita hawker sold me blended shiksi disguised as rockjaw mash. The ruckus I made in that toilet still has me labelled the "dropshit pilot".

Vyzion's arm raised an inch. All pretense was thrown out the window and he started wildly bucking in the chair.

"Then why... didn't... you... show me... common courtesy!"

And with his last word the dropsuit's material relaxed into its original state and Vyzion went flying right into the astonished Templar's arms.

"Well, this is awkward," muttered the pilot. "I'd ask you to paint me like one of those Gallentean girls but it would be hardly appropriate in these circumstances and our current... abode."

Vyzion helped himself out of the Templar's arms. As soon as his feet were back on the ground, Vyzion turned and extended a hand.

"Ashaltiasten Templar Thal. My intentions I'd prefer to keep to myself but eavesdropping on the language definitely was not far from the truth. I enjoy knowing, and a friend of a friend told me I could find out more about Carthum's initial designs for Amarrian dropships and small vehicular turrets. Could you confirm or disprove these whispers for me?"