STAR WARS- For the Credits: Introduction & Character Creation
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The tavern is allegedly closed, but familiar figures still frequent the bar. They aren't friends of the owner, not even close, but they have a standing agreement. Keep the tavern free of idiots and violence and they get free drinks until the time doesn't matter. Tonight is one of those nights. Curfew has been imposed in light of current events, and it seems to be raining heavier than usual.
But tonight, the routine is shattered. Tonight, someone decides to knock on the door when the tavern is closed. There is even a 'Closed - Leave or Die!' sign very clearly nailed to the door. Whoever is knocking, therefore, must have a very good reason for knocking or is an idiot.
Tarvis groans and puts out his cigar before abdicating his seat at the bar with the rest of you. Striding across the floor with notable agitation, he reaches out and quickly unbolts the wooden door before letting it swing open.
"Hey, can't you read?" he asks, gesturing to the 'Closed - Leave or Die!' sign. With a flick of his wrist, two foot-long glimmering knives extend from his knuckles. "We're closed. Piss off."
The cloaked figure ignores his blatant threats, stepping through the threshold without paying Tarvis any mind.
"Do you have a death wish? I said we're..."
This time, the cloaked figure acknowledges Tarvis. Silently, the figure raises a gnarled hand and clenches it very firmly into a fist. Before Tarvis can say more, he is gasping for breath, his other hand going to his throat.
"Does anyone else object to my presence?" the figure asks. His voice is deep and bored, but there is an unmistakeable underlying malignance in his words.
The response is an overwhelming "Objection!" without words. In a matter of seconds, every figure at the bar has slid off their stool and drawn a surprisingly wide and colorful variety of weapons, most of them completely illegal. All sights are set on the cloaked figure and the weapons set to kill.
The figure lowers his hand. Tarvis gasps for air as the figure releases the invisible grip at his throat. No longer preoccupied with subduing the man who threatened him, the cloaked figure reaches up and lowers his hood. Despite the elderly appearance of the lines in his face and the frosted shade of his hair, his eyes smoulder with an inner hatred as he glares across all those leveling their weapons toward him.
"I am Count Dooku. I come with a proposition for you all."
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