[right][b]Haven[/b]
[sup][b]MIDDAY[/b][/sup][/right]

Tavick approached the edge of the city. He had never seen a city, but from stories he doubted many of them were like this one. It looked as if it had been dropped already pre-built into the middle of the desert. The sands forming banks as they blew against the outer limits of the city. He placed a firm, yet gentle, hand on the neck of his mount - beast known as a Yamen, he knew it was Windwalker. A ship passed overhead and he concentrated on the power of the Ashla to help calm her, she was unused to the flying contraptions that inhabited the 'civilised' parts of the Galaxy. Like most beasts belonging to the Sijin she had been raised far off into the desert through the storms that protected their land. He wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to calm himself, or Windwalker. It had been so long since he had interacted with anyone besides the Sijin, but the fact that he had had interactions in the past was the reason he was chosen. 

Tavick merely looked like an outcast and a wanderer, having never being raised from birth as a Sijin the elders had reservations about him wearing their traditional garb, he could blend in with the other miscreants that they knew to inhabit the planet. To go out and search why the Ashla and Bogan were in such conflict, with the Bogan threatening to over power everything. The fragile balance of their world was in the balance. As they entered the city limits the city felt as if it was on edge. Men patrolled in plastoid white uniforms, people spoke in hushed tones as they approached. There was a genuine sense of fear flowing through the city. Hearing the inmistakable sounds of a tavern, the smells and the telltale signs of drunk patrons Tavick tied Windwalker to a nearby post. Stroking her head slightly before walking in.

The smell of filth immediately assaulted his senses, the dust, stickly smell of vomit and the unmistakable stench of cigarra smoke assaulted him within the dim lit confines of the tavern. Behind the bar stood a large being with four arms, a large bulging stomach. He was pouring four drinks simultaneously, a seasoned veteran at his trade. Tavick walked up to the bar and placed a credchit on the bar. Waiting for the bartender to finish, once he had he moved back over and eyed the chit suspiciously. "A Republic credit?"

The being shrugged before placing it to a pouch hanging below his stomach. "What'll it be friend?"

"I'll have whatever beer you serve, and access to a holonet terminal if you've got one?" One of the beings hands worked beneath the counter, pulling a bottle out of an unseen fridge before opening it with an opener he procured in his other hand, placing it on the counter.

"I don't have no-terminal. Though if you want information, you've come to the right place. What do you need to know?"

Tavick took off his hat and placed it on the stool next to him. "Who won the war?"

The bartender starting laughing a jolly, heavy laugh. Slowing down as he noticed the serious look on the strangers face. "You're kidding aren't you friend? That was five years ago." He shrugged. "I guess in some way, the Empire won."

"The Empire?"

The bartenders hands worked below the counter, this time taking out two small glasses and filling them both with a liquid bronze. Sliding one towards Tavick, the barman took the first shot.

Tavick nodded his thanks before pouring his down his throat, it burned it's way down to the pit of his stomach and he had to fight the reflex to not shake his head in disgust. As Tavick moved his hand to his pocket to withdraw a credit the bartender merely shook his head. 

"that ones on the house friend, it's going to be a long story."