Xyl'Myrr
Blackguard
The faint wheeze of the airlock doors was a mere whisper against the uproar that awaited beyond. The wily patrons of the lone port were well-used to their revelry. A den it was to every manner of smuggler, scoundrel, scavenger, runaway and well-mannered pirate as was allowed by the newly appointed Voidhound after Darmas Pollaran's unexpected passing. The Azalus-class Hutt Dreadnaughr spaceport drifted just far enough out of any factions jurisdiction that it made itself a self-serving haven for gambling, entertainment and a foothold for smuggling routes running through uncharted space. The vibrancy of lights, a multitude of many faceted colors, reflected in full brilliance upon the slick surface of the captain's cybernetic eyes. The scent of liquor was fresh in the air, spiced and warm a fragrance that well-matched the usual throng of company that offered hearty greetings out to a regular. And a regular Xyl was, or rather so, she was well-known by those in the smuggling trade in that part of the galaxy.
She seated herself upon a lounge with a ceremonious flick of her jacket, resting with a wince her cybernetic legs upon the plush couch. Another movement of her wrist and a draft of Corellian spiced rum was placed upon her awaiting hand.
Or so her memory relapses recalled of what had existed many years ago....
Now, silence fell upon the husk of what has a hub of activity in this sector, now broken down and drifting haplessly through space as a result of a reactor malfunction. Her brain whirred with activity, caught in a fog of nostalgia that caused a sigh of sorrow to overcome her. The good captain held decent enough memories of the joint, and now she was just their to scrounge around for old loot she had cached there. She was unsure now of what pirates now lodged themselves deep into the lower levels or what else she might encounter there in the abandoned spaceport.
She seated herself upon a lounge with a ceremonious flick of her jacket, resting with a wince her cybernetic legs upon the plush couch. Another movement of her wrist and a draft of Corellian spiced rum was placed upon her awaiting hand.
Or so her memory relapses recalled of what had existed many years ago....
Now, silence fell upon the husk of what has a hub of activity in this sector, now broken down and drifting haplessly through space as a result of a reactor malfunction. Her brain whirred with activity, caught in a fog of nostalgia that caused a sigh of sorrow to overcome her. The good captain held decent enough memories of the joint, and now she was just their to scrounge around for old loot she had cached there. She was unsure now of what pirates now lodged themselves deep into the lower levels or what else she might encounter there in the abandoned spaceport.