Derriphan
Failure
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PScEjzeRytU
Nar Shaddaa - Headache Bar
Faint smoke filled the stale air of Derriphan's favorite bar. Not that it meant much, it was literally the first bar he ever went to as an customer and he never bothered to find another one. The frail twilight framed the glowing green eyes peaking out between the slits of his ski mask, as they quietly scanned the room. As a regular he had certain advantages tailored for him, which meant that no one, including the staff made an effort to talk to him. They simply walked by, brought him his standard drink, and collected the credits.
Maybe that was another reason why he never looked for another place to spend his time. He enjoyed the anonymity it offered, hiding him amidst the scum and filth that shared drinks here as well. As always his table was set in the outer corner of the room, and his trusty shotgun rested on it in such a way that he had to do little more then pull the trigger should anybody try anything.
Once he was satisfied with reading the room for any potential intruders, he reached into his bag and pulled out the scrap of paper he had been following all these months. After staring at it for a few minutes, an almost silent sigh emerged from his mouth as he placed it back where it came from. He hadn't made any progress in forever, and his resources were fading away. Jobs had been few and far between, as even in the brutal world of crime many considered his methods to loud and intrusive to serve any purpose besides direct war, which the families of the smuggler moon meant to avoid most of the time.
Taking another sip of his drink, a liquid that in theory should be clear but was served in the Headache as a murky sludge that taste liked it looked, he raised his head again and continued to watch out for newcomers.
[member="Darth Duellant"]
Nar Shaddaa - Headache Bar
Faint smoke filled the stale air of Derriphan's favorite bar. Not that it meant much, it was literally the first bar he ever went to as an customer and he never bothered to find another one. The frail twilight framed the glowing green eyes peaking out between the slits of his ski mask, as they quietly scanned the room. As a regular he had certain advantages tailored for him, which meant that no one, including the staff made an effort to talk to him. They simply walked by, brought him his standard drink, and collected the credits.
Maybe that was another reason why he never looked for another place to spend his time. He enjoyed the anonymity it offered, hiding him amidst the scum and filth that shared drinks here as well. As always his table was set in the outer corner of the room, and his trusty shotgun rested on it in such a way that he had to do little more then pull the trigger should anybody try anything.
Once he was satisfied with reading the room for any potential intruders, he reached into his bag and pulled out the scrap of paper he had been following all these months. After staring at it for a few minutes, an almost silent sigh emerged from his mouth as he placed it back where it came from. He hadn't made any progress in forever, and his resources were fading away. Jobs had been few and far between, as even in the brutal world of crime many considered his methods to loud and intrusive to serve any purpose besides direct war, which the families of the smuggler moon meant to avoid most of the time.
Taking another sip of his drink, a liquid that in theory should be clear but was served in the Headache as a murky sludge that taste liked it looked, he raised his head again and continued to watch out for newcomers.
[member="Darth Duellant"]