Lysle of the Hydian Way
Silent and Violent
The Red Ronto was not the type of cantina you wanted to be stuck in if you didn't have your own ship. Unfortunately for Lysle, right now, he was truly up the creek without a paddle. The green miasma of smoke in the room was suffocating, and the former crime lord swore he could taste something sour. Instead of the usual Bith band playing upbeat jatz, they were blasting the room with ancient smazzo. It already reminded him of Frida's Spaceport Cantina back on Nar Shaddaa.
The Red Ronto could be found squatted inside Brink Station, which orbits the Chiloon Rift. Perhaps the single most dangerous flying-turf in the galaxy. Only the most daring, stupid or ingenious freighters flew through there and hoped to come out alive, and usually when they did come out alive, they came out far richer than anyone else in the nearest ten sectors. There were the few ones that ended up in the Bubble of the Lost and didn't re-appear for centuries later. Usually when someone found them, they had gone mad or died.
He took a seat at a barstool nearest the bartender, wearing a grey gunner's jacket over a loose white t-shirt. His jeans were dirty from what appeared to be freighter fuel, with some thrown in grease. His boots were surprisingly fashionable, for his otherwise smuggler-down-on-his-luck appearance. He flicked his wrist over and brought up his datapad, small enough it fit into his palm. He got a ping from another device that his own device recognised. He was genuinely surprised to say the least; Isaac Ideus was near.
{ [member="Isaac Ideus"] }
The Red Ronto could be found squatted inside Brink Station, which orbits the Chiloon Rift. Perhaps the single most dangerous flying-turf in the galaxy. Only the most daring, stupid or ingenious freighters flew through there and hoped to come out alive, and usually when they did come out alive, they came out far richer than anyone else in the nearest ten sectors. There were the few ones that ended up in the Bubble of the Lost and didn't re-appear for centuries later. Usually when someone found them, they had gone mad or died.
He took a seat at a barstool nearest the bartender, wearing a grey gunner's jacket over a loose white t-shirt. His jeans were dirty from what appeared to be freighter fuel, with some thrown in grease. His boots were surprisingly fashionable, for his otherwise smuggler-down-on-his-luck appearance. He flicked his wrist over and brought up his datapad, small enough it fit into his palm. He got a ping from another device that his own device recognised. He was genuinely surprised to say the least; Isaac Ideus was near.
{ [member="Isaac Ideus"] }