Skorn Draclau
The Dragon
Beneath the twin suns of Tattooine. Under the final shade of a tree long in dying. An old tree that had lasted a a good ten thousand years. In that barely cool shade sat a silent figure draped in a red cloak of rough homespun cloth. With his pale fingers he shuffled a deck of cards. They shimmered in the light of the twin suns. The cards were crafted from desert wraid skullbones, cut into shape and shaved to the correct dimensions through painstaking craftsmanship.
This was no ordinary deck. No pazzak or sabbac deck. Instead of numbers here were images, pictures from forgotten eras of the galaxy. Sith lords and Jedi Lords standing brave in front of broken towers, while smuggler maidens stood ready to rescue them. Imagery that had been commonplace centuries ago.
And all the imagery was hand painted.
The jawas that surrounded him, confident of the trade they would pick up on any stragglers who visited the man, talked constantly about him. To them he was the man in the red cape. The man with eerie prediction capabilities. In the few blessed moments that they could enjoy alone, away from their tribes, they wondered if the man in the red cloak could truly could tell the future or if he was simply telling another con, as was their specialty.
Yet here he sat. A man, pale in countenance, with his red cloak.
Just as you are about to walk out of Anchorage, you will spot that tree. An old dying behemoth that is way past it's prime. In it's sharp shadow he sits, ready to tell your future.
For a price.
This was no ordinary deck. No pazzak or sabbac deck. Instead of numbers here were images, pictures from forgotten eras of the galaxy. Sith lords and Jedi Lords standing brave in front of broken towers, while smuggler maidens stood ready to rescue them. Imagery that had been commonplace centuries ago.
And all the imagery was hand painted.
The jawas that surrounded him, confident of the trade they would pick up on any stragglers who visited the man, talked constantly about him. To them he was the man in the red cape. The man with eerie prediction capabilities. In the few blessed moments that they could enjoy alone, away from their tribes, they wondered if the man in the red cloak could truly could tell the future or if he was simply telling another con, as was their specialty.
Yet here he sat. A man, pale in countenance, with his red cloak.
Just as you are about to walk out of Anchorage, you will spot that tree. An old dying behemoth that is way past it's prime. In it's sharp shadow he sits, ready to tell your future.
For a price.