Sisk_Renelo
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NAR SHADDAA
CALRISSIAN HALL
HIGH ROLLERS FLOOR
2342 HOURS
Marcus hated it here. He longed for the jungles of Mandallia, for the open plains that he had trained the ge'verde on, for the forge situated at the heart of Clan Renelo's base where he had spent many an hour forging weapons and fixing armor. But now... Now all of that was gone. Obliterated by the Empire, who had held out the olive branch in one hand while preparing to strike with the other. Kriffing hut'uun. Unwilling to even stand in a fair fight. From the bottom of his heart Marcus hated them, hated their cowardly ways, their avarice, hated every part of the ancient religion that they clung to so wholeheartedly like it was their one escape from the pit of anger and despair that was their life. Now and forever, Marcus was a Mandalorian, and that put the sovereign belief in his heart that he would prevail over all enemies, that when the galaxy burned, the Mandalorians would be able to pull themselves from the rubble and begin anew. After all, if just one Mandalorian survived, the culture would as well.
He had forgone his armor tonight, as it would have done nothing but made him a target here, and had pulled a stylishly cut suit from the stores on board the Darasuum Cabur. Mandalorians often operated behind enemy lines, and that required a full range of the latest fashions from across the galaxy, allowing the deadly warriors to move unnoticed wherever they went. The suit was a deep black, and matched well with his red shirt and black tie, but even in the civilian clothing, he still held himself like a warrior, back straight, shoulders back, head held high. And, like a warrior, he moved with an unerring purpose towards his objective. Jack Tamblyn.
The Sabacc table the Hutt Champion sat at was alight with the neon built into the table, the overhead lighting projecting a ruddy glow onto the table and players, but tuned finely enough that a player could lean back slightly and have his or her face bathed in darkness. Besides Tamblyn, 5 other players sat at the table, two human males, a Rodian female, a Devaronian male, and an Anzaat. Marcus recoiled slightly at the soul drinker, but kept his pace steady, his face calm and neutral. As he approached, Tamblyn won a hand, raking a large pile of credits towards himself, and the Rodian chuffed in disgust and stood to leave, uttering a curse in her native language.
Marcus slid smoothly into her vacant seat, pulling a credit chit out of his pocket and sliding it across to the dealer. The Kiughfid dealer picked it up, inserted it smoothly into the slot at his side, handed Marcus a pile of chips, and announced in a pleasant baritone; "New player, 50,000. Rules this hand are Corellian Gambit." With his dextrous fingers, the dealer slid each player two cards, which as Marcus picked them up phased into being as the Ace of Coins and the Queen of Light and Darkness, worth 15 and -2 respectively. Combined with the face card on the table, the 9 of Sabres, he held 21 in his hand.
He slid a chip into the center of table. As the new player, it was tradition for him to make the opening bet. "5,000." As play moved, he turned his head slightly, and nodded at Tamblyn.