Dac (Mon Calamari)
The massive, curved, white walls of the central dome of the floating city jutted upward into the sky as if in imitation of the breach of the massive Whaladons that navigated the oceans below, though the dome dwarfed the sentient mammalians exponentially. The cities streets, for lack of better terms, struck outward three hundred and sixty degreets from the dome in intricate designs, reminiscent of snowflakes resting on the serene waters of the planet Dac. All around the patterned arms of the city, more domes and spires struck skyward - all in the same non-uniform style that was typical of Mon Cal construction. There was a beauty in the chaos of the asymmetrical structures, as if each part of the city refused to conform to its neighboring parts. The construction of Wildwater City was not, in itself, unique in comparison to the many other floating cities across the planet. That didn't mean the city wasn't unique at all, however. As a newly established city - the term used sparingly, as it was several centuries old - it boasted a less refined, more liberated culture than its sisters scattered across the great seas. As such, it was only logical that its citizenry was rich in artisans, eccentrics, and your average cultural dissidents. This in response naturally correlated to increased tourism.
The city, not small by the standards of Dac, but also not large, boasted a population of seventeen million. The make-up of the city was fifty percent Mon Calamari, with a minority twenty-nine percent of Quarrens, and various and a sundry other races to round out the other twenty-one percent. As the Quarren and the Mon Calamari rarely got along, and the city was already home to a quirky population, the city itself was a powder keg. It was perfect.
Xaedrin walked down a crowded street, watching the denizens bustle about as they visited the various shops and stands. It had an almost quaint feel to it, save for the ubiquitous, sterile durasteel. He wasn't certain if he were the only Sith in the city or not, though he knew that if he were, he wouldn't be for long. Soon there would be a number of them here, all for the same purpose. The united effort they would put forth would be glorious. Xaedrin reached over to a street vendor's cart and took a piece of fruit. A firm, spiky red ball, about four inches across, floating in a trough of water with a great many identical pieces. Removing a small knife from his pocket, he cut the fruit in half and bit into the middle. The flesh of the fruit was sweet, in contrast with the juice that retained the saltiness of the oceans where it was farmed. The Mon Calamari shop keeper protested, his bulbous eyes honing in on the thief with no lack of malice. Xaedrin smiled at the creature.
"A gift," he said melodically. "One you're happy to give." He imbued his words with the Force, and watched, gratified, as he shop keeper quieted and bowed in respect.
"Please, enjoy my bounty, stranger," he said, his voice filled with awe.
"You're too kind," Xaedrin said, biting into the fruit again. Soon, it would begin.