Dec 20, 2016 5:13 pm
As Lissewa enters the cantina, the rest of you hear a relaxed and soft music coming from within, which cuts off as soon as the door closes. The Kraspen night becomes still and quiet for a moment, broken by high-pitched screams off in the distance. They continue for several seconds, growing ever more desperate, before suddenly stopping mid-shriek.
Moving along, you continue down the alley, finally coming to a stop where the neon sign says 'OPEN'. Barely illuminated by the neon glow, you see a sign on the door that says 'Shank's Pre-Owned", below which you read 'Make the other guy's stuff Yours... Legally!' Eager to get out of the stench, Krosus pushes the keypad next to the door and it opens, stale light from within penetrating the darkness of the alley. You enter.
As the door closes behind you, you survey the shop. It's small, gloomy, and dingy looking, perhaps 15 by 15 meters, full of shelves stocked with various odds and ends along with items hanging on wall displays. Krosus breathes deeply, trying to push away the nausea that was slowly permeating his stomach. A pair of struggling old air filters in the ceiling make the occasional ticking noise as they struggle against Kraspen itself, along with a smell cultivated by what must be the ever present smoke of death sticks.
"Welcome to Shank's Pre-Owned," a monotonous voice drones in basic, "where you can make the other guy's stuff yours." A pause, followed by an exhaled word dripping with boredom, punctuating the sales pitch. "Legally." Your attention is almost immediately drawn to the right, where you see an older looking obese sullustan behind a counter, smoke drifting through face-high ventilation holes in the plastiglass protective barrier separating him from the threat of robbery and the rest of the room.
Behind him, a menagerie of weapons hang from the wall, promising victory with an advertisement showing a smiling human, holding a large blaster pistol, accompanied by the slogan 'Kill the Other Guy First'. The sullustan doesn't bother to acknowledge you, his attention clearly captivated by the small holo-vid projection of very scantily clad twi'leks doing erotic dances on the counter inside his plastiglass space, accompanied by likewise erotic music. A sawn-off scattergun is easily within his reach, prominently displayed next to the holo-vid projector as a warning.
The obese sullustan takes a long drag from his death stick, shifts in his swivel stool chair, then absent mindedly rubs/scratches his nose, exhaling through his mouth and nose moments later. A barrage of coughs is followed by a snort, then a gurgly hacking sound as he spits toward the floor and the doorway behind the plastiglass. For a moment he is captivated by the dancing Twi'leks, and then he shifts again, ignoring your presence.
Moving along, you continue down the alley, finally coming to a stop where the neon sign says 'OPEN'. Barely illuminated by the neon glow, you see a sign on the door that says 'Shank's Pre-Owned", below which you read 'Make the other guy's stuff Yours... Legally!' Eager to get out of the stench, Krosus pushes the keypad next to the door and it opens, stale light from within penetrating the darkness of the alley. You enter.
As the door closes behind you, you survey the shop. It's small, gloomy, and dingy looking, perhaps 15 by 15 meters, full of shelves stocked with various odds and ends along with items hanging on wall displays. Krosus breathes deeply, trying to push away the nausea that was slowly permeating his stomach. A pair of struggling old air filters in the ceiling make the occasional ticking noise as they struggle against Kraspen itself, along with a smell cultivated by what must be the ever present smoke of death sticks.
"Welcome to Shank's Pre-Owned," a monotonous voice drones in basic, "where you can make the other guy's stuff yours." A pause, followed by an exhaled word dripping with boredom, punctuating the sales pitch. "Legally." Your attention is almost immediately drawn to the right, where you see an older looking obese sullustan behind a counter, smoke drifting through face-high ventilation holes in the plastiglass protective barrier separating him from the threat of robbery and the rest of the room.
Behind him, a menagerie of weapons hang from the wall, promising victory with an advertisement showing a smiling human, holding a large blaster pistol, accompanied by the slogan 'Kill the Other Guy First'. The sullustan doesn't bother to acknowledge you, his attention clearly captivated by the small holo-vid projection of very scantily clad twi'leks doing erotic dances on the counter inside his plastiglass space, accompanied by likewise erotic music. A sawn-off scattergun is easily within his reach, prominently displayed next to the holo-vid projector as a warning.
The obese sullustan takes a long drag from his death stick, shifts in his swivel stool chair, then absent mindedly rubs/scratches his nose, exhaling through his mouth and nose moments later. A barrage of coughs is followed by a snort, then a gurgly hacking sound as he spits toward the floor and the doorway behind the plastiglass. For a moment he is captivated by the dancing Twi'leks, and then he shifts again, ignoring your presence.
