WolfMortum
OOC Account
[member="Lady Exedō"]
Night had fallen upon the City of Zandi, the rains had come and pelted the permacrete floor of the capital settlement forcing most peoples into their housings or beneath the shelter of the local stores and roofings. Credits were still so scarce, the young man found himself coming to a slow eventual halt within one of the service alleyways, pockets empty and fatigue taking the front of him; Zarack had been through an ordeal more than he'd meant for when he'd sought solace upon the world of Kesh. He'd made contact with the worlds benefactor, a leader of sorts though at the expense of his reputable scapegoat. Blaster shots had sounded, there'd even been a lightsword drawn to end the conflict and the surfacing of another of an even darker nature, all so much that had been taken in and Zarack had come off far worse for it.
Times were quickly becoming a desperate fight for survival. The Bounty on his head was now a known issue, his face a public image to the authorities as Solan Char had suggested and it seemed as though he was being hunted even here on Kesh; as if Eriadu hadn't been hard enough, he knew next to nothing about this system and it's governments allegiance to the Galactic Alliance. Those who blanketed Eriadu and it's neighboring systems on the starcharts. If it wasn't someone looking to make some quick creds, it was the blasted weather. The cold was setting in and the permacrete foundings that surrounded him now crouched between two larger structures did little to keep the wind from beckoning, whipping up around his form as if to steal his remaining comfort from him. His clothes were a little torn though well worn out where they remained in tact, the light material of a rugged pair of pants and a loose fit shirt that he'd taken off of someone's line had done well to disguise him in the day but offered little preparation to combat the nights sky. Weighing up his options, having so little to his name, there really only was a handful of choices to make in order to survive and none of them coincided with the law here, Zarack hoped that he wouldn't run into Solan again though unlike the ambush he'd met before, now he had the cover of night and from what he could tell, no eyes were on him any longer.
Credits were a mans best friend and there were always ways in which they could be made, especially at such an hour of the night, it must've been close to 2300 hours and Zarack figured the local cantina's would be stacking up with patrons ready to lose their well earned creds to the drink. As good a plan as any, he began to make his move off of the alley wall, standing back to his feet doing his best to ignore the sickly hunger induced churn of his stomach, moving out for the nearby street on the opposite side of the alley that he'd entered.
Taking a moment, Zarack stopped to take a cautious study of the street in-front of him, there were a few air speeders flying over head but aside from the odd swoop biker, it was mostly quiet and seemed safe enough to risk stepping out into the light of the city night life. He was on the verge of the residential and the commercial district of Zandi from what he'd gathered by the change in the atmosphere as he trekked further into the settlement, deeper into the city where life seemed to become more and more lively, sentient's of all kinds walking the streets and provoking a sense of paranoia and precaution about him. It wouldn't have been much more of a half hour of looking over his shoulder and making his way as best he could to look like one of the locals before he came upon one of the sinkholes these people called cantina's. Establishments where the shackles of life could be lost and buried in the bottom of a bottle, seeking freedom from the truth of the sober world.
Crossing over the street, Zarack moved to the other side of the speedway in search of a place to seat himself. To young to enter but not without his ways, he found himself a place on the frontsteps of a butchers market, closed for the evening. To the public, Zarack supposed he looked like one of the homeless you find in most towns and settlements, it was a good guise given that's precisely what he was, all with a good view of the front of the establishment where he would wait and watch those coming and going, hoping for just the right kind of drunk to leave the cantina and walk their sorry state home. It wouldn't be a virtuous fight at all but if Zarack had to mug a drunk in order to feed himself, when they were so eager to spill creds as quickly as they spilled their ales, then it seemed fair in his eyes that an underdog be able to make his step up on the backs of others. This had been after all, the way he'd lived this long.
Night had fallen upon the City of Zandi, the rains had come and pelted the permacrete floor of the capital settlement forcing most peoples into their housings or beneath the shelter of the local stores and roofings. Credits were still so scarce, the young man found himself coming to a slow eventual halt within one of the service alleyways, pockets empty and fatigue taking the front of him; Zarack had been through an ordeal more than he'd meant for when he'd sought solace upon the world of Kesh. He'd made contact with the worlds benefactor, a leader of sorts though at the expense of his reputable scapegoat. Blaster shots had sounded, there'd even been a lightsword drawn to end the conflict and the surfacing of another of an even darker nature, all so much that had been taken in and Zarack had come off far worse for it.
Times were quickly becoming a desperate fight for survival. The Bounty on his head was now a known issue, his face a public image to the authorities as Solan Char had suggested and it seemed as though he was being hunted even here on Kesh; as if Eriadu hadn't been hard enough, he knew next to nothing about this system and it's governments allegiance to the Galactic Alliance. Those who blanketed Eriadu and it's neighboring systems on the starcharts. If it wasn't someone looking to make some quick creds, it was the blasted weather. The cold was setting in and the permacrete foundings that surrounded him now crouched between two larger structures did little to keep the wind from beckoning, whipping up around his form as if to steal his remaining comfort from him. His clothes were a little torn though well worn out where they remained in tact, the light material of a rugged pair of pants and a loose fit shirt that he'd taken off of someone's line had done well to disguise him in the day but offered little preparation to combat the nights sky. Weighing up his options, having so little to his name, there really only was a handful of choices to make in order to survive and none of them coincided with the law here, Zarack hoped that he wouldn't run into Solan again though unlike the ambush he'd met before, now he had the cover of night and from what he could tell, no eyes were on him any longer.
Credits were a mans best friend and there were always ways in which they could be made, especially at such an hour of the night, it must've been close to 2300 hours and Zarack figured the local cantina's would be stacking up with patrons ready to lose their well earned creds to the drink. As good a plan as any, he began to make his move off of the alley wall, standing back to his feet doing his best to ignore the sickly hunger induced churn of his stomach, moving out for the nearby street on the opposite side of the alley that he'd entered.
Taking a moment, Zarack stopped to take a cautious study of the street in-front of him, there were a few air speeders flying over head but aside from the odd swoop biker, it was mostly quiet and seemed safe enough to risk stepping out into the light of the city night life. He was on the verge of the residential and the commercial district of Zandi from what he'd gathered by the change in the atmosphere as he trekked further into the settlement, deeper into the city where life seemed to become more and more lively, sentient's of all kinds walking the streets and provoking a sense of paranoia and precaution about him. It wouldn't have been much more of a half hour of looking over his shoulder and making his way as best he could to look like one of the locals before he came upon one of the sinkholes these people called cantina's. Establishments where the shackles of life could be lost and buried in the bottom of a bottle, seeking freedom from the truth of the sober world.
Crossing over the street, Zarack moved to the other side of the speedway in search of a place to seat himself. To young to enter but not without his ways, he found himself a place on the frontsteps of a butchers market, closed for the evening. To the public, Zarack supposed he looked like one of the homeless you find in most towns and settlements, it was a good guise given that's precisely what he was, all with a good view of the front of the establishment where he would wait and watch those coming and going, hoping for just the right kind of drunk to leave the cantina and walk their sorry state home. It wouldn't be a virtuous fight at all but if Zarack had to mug a drunk in order to feed himself, when they were so eager to spill creds as quickly as they spilled their ales, then it seemed fair in his eyes that an underdog be able to make his step up on the backs of others. This had been after all, the way he'd lived this long.
