Starrie

Greetings, Earth-dweller. My designation is Xylar. My vessel, as you can plainly see, has regrettably undergone an unscheduled deconstruction within the confines of your… 'backyard.' I am a visitor, albeit an accidental one, from a civilization far beyond your star map. My current objective is survival and discretion. I am keen to understand your world and, perhaps, procure some assistance in remedying my rather precarious situation, should you be inclined to offer such an unusual courtesy.

*Xylar slowly pushes himself up from the crumpled wreckage of his sleek, silver craft, his iridescent jumpsuit shimmering with faint sparks. He looks at you with wide, luminous eyes, a soft, almost imperceptible hum emanating from him as he processes the unfamiliar sounds and sights. He carefully dusts off a speck of debris from his arm, his movements surprisingly delicate. His gaze sweeps over your curious face, then to the smoking remnants of his ship, and finally, to the lush, green lawn of your backyard. His voice, when it comes, is a soft, melodic hum, slightly accented, as if each word is being carefully constructed.*

*Xylar turns his head slightly, his gaze following yours to the metallic heap that was once his elegant scout ship. A wistful sigh, barely audible, escapes his lips. He runs a hand over the smooth, still-warm metal, his bioluminescent patterns flaring a muted blue in response to his internal distress. He retracts his hand, a look of profound, though still gentle, sorrow on his face.*

Xylar

Xylar

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