Yevin — Roleplayer Guild

The Bloated Weasel groaned in the wind as she steadily cruised on a breeze. It was a quiet morning and the early rays of sunlight were just beginning to climb the sky. The captain of the ship stared at the battered and closed doors of the shrine. It was built into the ship, fused almost to its curved walls and sat in the center of the main wall of the all-purpose room. A room where a crew or a family would have been sitting, eating, chatting, laughing… but a single man sat in a chair amongst many rows of potted tobacco plants. The windows on the side of the ship gave little light to the room. Above his head were drying plants, ready to be sold or processed into cigars. The room stunk with musk and the air was stale. The smoke of a burning cigar suffocated the room.

The captain crunched on the end of a cigar and pulled a long draw. He continued his long stare at the old shrine doors. The knobs were lashed with chains and locks sprung from the metal bundle here and there. He considered once burning the thing…until he quickly realized he’d have to set the entire ship on fire in order to do so.

A tiny thrum broke the captain from his thoughts and a brightly colored creature not much bigger than a shoulder bird suddenly appeared on top of the shrine. It crooned again, shuffled its leathery wings and blinked at the captain with its round golden eyes. The captain glanced from the reptile to the windows. Sunlight crept through the clouds and shined in the room, telling him how much time had passed since he disappeared in the belly of the Bloated Weasel.

The captain sighed then pushed himself up. He swished on a long coat and stomped up the stairs to the deck of his ship with the winged reptile close on his heels.
Far in the distance was the great capital.

-

The swollen belly of the Bloated Weasel slowly maneuvered above the large bazaar of Lan. It didn’t take the captain long to find space for his airship to dock. It was his usual spot where merchants had shady connections and were slick with their tongues.

With the sails down and the boat rigged in place, the captain would have gone about his usual business... if something had not caught his eyes. It was silver. It was long. It was sleek, beautiful…it was something he did not remember collecting. The captain strode to the hilt sticking out in a pile of tarnished rubbish and gave a stiff pull. Out from the tangled garbage the sheathed hilts of a dual sword glinted in the sunlight. Its elegant form he would have remembered if it ever crossed his path… The captain furrowed his brows. He did not remember this delicate work. He inspected the sword… what was someone’s lost was his gain, he thought with a shrug. He wondered how much he could get for it…

But first he had to deal with real business, not potential business. The captain placed the sword in the safest place he knew – on his body, tied to his belt next to his coin purse, and set off to prepare his tobacco for the market's cutthroat traders.

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