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The Ithorian Conclave
Eda Mountains, Tython
To start. And, let me be very clear here. There are no bars on Tython.
Okay. Yes. This is the usual beginning to a very long and very boring political discussion about the many 'undesirable' things on a whole planet run by the Jedi church. So the term, undesirable, generally refers to anything the stern orthodoxy conceive as being distasteful to their religion's image. Things. Such as: modern fashions, fast cars, automatic weapons, and, (of course,) cheerfully emboldened social drinking. So. Yeah. Good luck getting an alcohol license from the local clergyman administration of Tython. No. It's not going to happen. And do you know why? Because there are no bars on Tython.
Now. Did the Ithorain Conclave just so happen to have something very, very similar to a bar sitting deep inside it's shady unbelly of mossy ferns and perfectly manicured garden foilage? Yes. Yes it did. Located high up in the eastern Eda mountains and dug deep into it's white stone'y tunnels, this bastion of rufugees and clerical gardeners had the welcome habit of enforcing the good rules; and ignoring the dumb ones pertaining to beverage consumption. A gleeful side effect of being allowed to police their own territory. Even if they, technically, conformed to the same government everybody else on Tython did too. And... Just maybe? If somebody like Ringo Bel'Amon just so happened to set up a good old fashioned Ithorian beer-serving bar inside the old dwarven tunnels of the Conclave's proper? Well then.
More power to em'.
.....
"Oh! ...Erm. No thank you. I don't drink on duty. Some other time perhaps."
Jessica Cloud raised her hands in protest as the short Ithorian male protested. His garbled speech was confusing to all who had never before heard the gutteral hymn of the Ithorian language. Thankfully, Jedi Knight Cloud knew exactly how to reply,
"I said no. And no means no. Now... Here. You don't want to offer me free drinks. You want to go home and rethink your life."
She said with a tell-all wave of her thin magical wrist. Suggesting to the alien mind that her sudden idea of a quick withdrawl from Jedi company was the only proper decision left to choose. So the drunk creature departed from his stool and offered the empty seating to another.
Jess sat down and offered the next chair to her newest Jedi companion,
"Well. This should be interesting? You don't suppose that Ringo will actually be trying to sell us anything legal this time, do you?"
The brunette's eyebrows wavered. As if to say: An honest smuggler on Tython. Ha. I doubt it.
This is the unusual beginning to a very long and very interesting adventure about one of the many 'undesirable' things on a whole planet run by Jedi. Undesirable generally referring to anything the deviant Jessica Cloud perceives as being distasteful to their religion's image. Things. Such as: a lack of modern fashion sense, an overabundance of slow timid vehicles, a drought of giant energy weapons, and, (of course,) no beer. So. Yeah. Good luck getting a straight answer from the local bartender and scoundrel, Ringo Bel'amon. And do you know why?
Because there are no bartenders on Tython. *wink*
.....
@Babster
Eda Mountains, Tython
To start. And, let me be very clear here. There are no bars on Tython.
Okay. Yes. This is the usual beginning to a very long and very boring political discussion about the many 'undesirable' things on a whole planet run by the Jedi church. So the term, undesirable, generally refers to anything the stern orthodoxy conceive as being distasteful to their religion's image. Things. Such as: modern fashions, fast cars, automatic weapons, and, (of course,) cheerfully emboldened social drinking. So. Yeah. Good luck getting an alcohol license from the local clergyman administration of Tython. No. It's not going to happen. And do you know why? Because there are no bars on Tython.
Now. Did the Ithorain Conclave just so happen to have something very, very similar to a bar sitting deep inside it's shady unbelly of mossy ferns and perfectly manicured garden foilage? Yes. Yes it did. Located high up in the eastern Eda mountains and dug deep into it's white stone'y tunnels, this bastion of rufugees and clerical gardeners had the welcome habit of enforcing the good rules; and ignoring the dumb ones pertaining to beverage consumption. A gleeful side effect of being allowed to police their own territory. Even if they, technically, conformed to the same government everybody else on Tython did too. And... Just maybe? If somebody like Ringo Bel'Amon just so happened to set up a good old fashioned Ithorian beer-serving bar inside the old dwarven tunnels of the Conclave's proper? Well then.
More power to em'.
.....
"Oh! ...Erm. No thank you. I don't drink on duty. Some other time perhaps."
Jessica Cloud raised her hands in protest as the short Ithorian male protested. His garbled speech was confusing to all who had never before heard the gutteral hymn of the Ithorian language. Thankfully, Jedi Knight Cloud knew exactly how to reply,
"I said no. And no means no. Now... Here. You don't want to offer me free drinks. You want to go home and rethink your life."
She said with a tell-all wave of her thin magical wrist. Suggesting to the alien mind that her sudden idea of a quick withdrawl from Jedi company was the only proper decision left to choose. So the drunk creature departed from his stool and offered the empty seating to another.
Jess sat down and offered the next chair to her newest Jedi companion,
"Well. This should be interesting? You don't suppose that Ringo will actually be trying to sell us anything legal this time, do you?"
The brunette's eyebrows wavered. As if to say: An honest smuggler on Tython. Ha. I doubt it.
This is the unusual beginning to a very long and very interesting adventure about one of the many 'undesirable' things on a whole planet run by Jedi. Undesirable generally referring to anything the deviant Jessica Cloud perceives as being distasteful to their religion's image. Things. Such as: a lack of modern fashion sense, an overabundance of slow timid vehicles, a drought of giant energy weapons, and, (of course,) no beer. So. Yeah. Good luck getting a straight answer from the local bartender and scoundrel, Ringo Bel'amon. And do you know why?
Because there are no bartenders on Tython. *wink*
.....
@Babster