OBJECTIVE: Rally the low lifes
The pale light from dozens of candles bathed the port bar in an eerie glow like that of a hundred flickering small suns. Shadows clung to the corners and the deep recesses of the bar booths, hiding all manners of monsters and filth within. The floor and stools were made of some sort of dilapidated metal. Corroded in places and rusting all over. This area had lost power to all non essential systems long ago and now the beings within sat quietly in darkness as someone played a stringed instrument.
Singing a melancholy shanty, something about the depths of space claiming their heart and lover. Andre, adorned in his power armor stared out at the rabble as his drink rested in one hand. The alien next to him reached for his pockets and Andre caught his hand. He gave it a powerful squeeze and crushed it. There was a crunch and squeal as the pick pocket recoiled. He really hated this place...
He was expecting a few mercenaries to turn up. Men and women who were tougher than leather and hardened as steel. He had put out messages to multiple strong arms through the grapevine. The underworld sent whispers abound and hundreds heard the call. He had a proposition to make that would make them all rich.
His fingers idly drummed upon his cup then he lifted it to his lips and began to drink thoughtfully. Should his plan to steal a super star destroyer work he would receive all the notoriety he needed to become a wealthy mercenary. He looked to the one eyed bartender and motioned for another drink. It was bitter stuff that tasted of watered down piss. He really hated this place...
Torrack Torrackstur
