Chapter Text
60 ATC.
The Iron Haven had grown to be a respected establishment in this small town.
However, on this particular day, an incident occurred. A small gang made a move, almost invading the small town with the objective of making it their new base of operations.
Before they did that, though, they needed a drink.
They asked around and learned about the Haven, and they barged in, loudly and laughing.
The bar was modest. There was, obviously, the bar, in the middle of the wide space, with a rounded square layout for the bartender – a hulking, yellow-eyed Cathar with a scar over his right eye and slicked back orange mane and short beard, both showing signs of greying – to move freely and serve all sitting there. He looked up sternly, throwing a towel onto his shoulder as he cut his conversation with a patron.
“May I help you?” the man said. His voice was eloquent, with the old Imperial accent and a hint of age. It didn’t bother the gang, though. Their leader, an equally as strong human, leaned against the bar as his cronies talked among themselves.
“Yeah. Get me and my boys the strongest drink you got,” he said bluntly. His voice was gravelly, deep. The Cathar took a breath and nodded, counting the number of men before setting out only one glass. The gang leader frowned. “You deaf? I said me and my boys.”
“I heard you the first time,” the Cathar said in a monotone voice. “I recognize your ilk. You’re either a band of hunters, or, worse, a gang. Why you came here is beyond me.”
“Isn’t it obvious? Territory. We could easily expand from some backwater like this.”
“Then you really didn’t scout this place out.”
The rest of the gang had gone silent. The leader remained silent, before laughing with the gang. “You- you hear this guy? ‘Didn’t scout this place out’? Ha-ha!” he laughed, before leaning against the bar again. “Just pour the drinks, bartender, before we leave this place with one less employee.”
The Cathar, to their surprise, was unfazed. “Do you know how many men like you I killed in my prime?” he asked calmly, pouring a bronze drink into the glass. The gang was immediately put at unease.
“Uh…” the leader stumbled, before putting on a confident facade. “Heh. Lemme guess, one?”
“I lost count after 1,500.”
The leader laughed nervously. “You’re bluffing.”
“Whose establishment do you think you’re standing in?”
The gang glanced around. Every single patron, both at the bar and at the tables, were staring, most frowning. Some were even ready to draw their pistols.
“I’ll only tell you this once. Leave. Before someone gets hurt.”
The leader drew his blaster pistol and aimed it at the Cathar’s forehead, which prompted every other patron with a weapon to point theirs at the rest of the gang.
“I wouldn’t do that,” the Cathar said.
“What are you gonna do?” the leader said with a faux-confidence that would put Tyresius Lokai to shame. “I pull this trigger, you die.”
The leader watched with surprise as his pistol suddenly short-circuited, small electric sparks flying into the drink on the bar. “What-?”
The Cathar then punched him square in the jaw, sending him careening to the ground.
“Leave,” the bartender said firmly. The gang panicked and dashed out of the building, leaving only the man on the ground.
“Who…?!”
The Cathar, who had moved out from behind the bar, grabbed him by the neck. “The former Commander of the Eternal Alliance.” He glanced around the bar, before sighing. “In my youth, I would have killed you for such aggression. But I am not that man anymore. Leave, and never return.” He carried the man to the door and tossed him out with ease, who promptly scampered to his feet.
“You’ll regret this!” he shouted, before boarding his speeder and flying away from the town. The bartender sighed, walking back to the bar. The patrons cheered.
“Nice one, Sirix,” one man said.
The bartender – Sirix Nhol, formerly Wrath of the Empire, Commander of the Alliance – smiled tiredly as he returned to serving patrons.