Rusty
Purveyor of Fine Weaponry
If you knew where to look in Breehara, you could find all sorts of interesting shops. Located on a major hyperspace route, Dressel was a busy hub of interplanetary trade, and its capitol, Breehara, was a teeming mix of hundreds of different species and cultures all colliding against one another. It wasn't as rough and wild as many planets further towards the Rim, but the city was definitely lively.
Tucked away in a relatively quiet corner was a squat single story ferrocrete building. From the outside, it wasn't anything special to look at. Not terribly pretty, but not wholly ugly either, on account of a few graceful lines that drew the eye away from the start, utilitarian nature of the building.
The walls were painted a dull reddish-brown that neither stood out from nor blended in with the rest of the neighborhood. There were no windows on the outside, and the door was best described as excessively sturdy. The place had the look of a bunker to it, and that was actually pretty close to its intended function. Anyone familiar with such architecture would recognize that it wasn't designed to protect someone inside from attackers. Instead, it was meant to protect the surrounding neighborhood if something were to go wrong.
Step past the heavy blast doors up front and you'll find yourself in something more akin to a jewelry store than anything. Glass cases showcased a variety of exotic, strange, or downright dangerous looking weaponry of nearly every shape and size. There were a couple of droids bustling around, but the main figure of interest was the thing sitting behind the counter at the back of the room. He looked like a cross between the Grim Reaper and Rambo, but as he absentmindedly fiddled with the internals of the blaster on the counter in front of him, it was clear he knew what he was doing.
Over the counter there was a sign. In plain lettering, it said "Rusty's Custom Firearms and Cutlery."
Tucked away in a relatively quiet corner was a squat single story ferrocrete building. From the outside, it wasn't anything special to look at. Not terribly pretty, but not wholly ugly either, on account of a few graceful lines that drew the eye away from the start, utilitarian nature of the building.
The walls were painted a dull reddish-brown that neither stood out from nor blended in with the rest of the neighborhood. There were no windows on the outside, and the door was best described as excessively sturdy. The place had the look of a bunker to it, and that was actually pretty close to its intended function. Anyone familiar with such architecture would recognize that it wasn't designed to protect someone inside from attackers. Instead, it was meant to protect the surrounding neighborhood if something were to go wrong.
Step past the heavy blast doors up front and you'll find yourself in something more akin to a jewelry store than anything. Glass cases showcased a variety of exotic, strange, or downright dangerous looking weaponry of nearly every shape and size. There were a couple of droids bustling around, but the main figure of interest was the thing sitting behind the counter at the back of the room. He looked like a cross between the Grim Reaper and Rambo, but as he absentmindedly fiddled with the internals of the blaster on the counter in front of him, it was clear he knew what he was doing.
Over the counter there was a sign. In plain lettering, it said "Rusty's Custom Firearms and Cutlery."
