Angels have fallen
Gold Supporting Member
- Jul 28, 2015
- Reaction score
A small blue green world orbits a G-2 star at the edge of the spiral arm somewhere prior to the unfathomable gulf that separates the galaxies both of which bear the name of Threshold. It was a fitting name for a planet and sun that perched on the edge of the Milky Way galaxy where the endless black void between the galaxies commenced. Legend has it that the star system has been ruled by a local baron even prior to it's discovery by the Terran Protectorate. It's gentle sweeping turquoise oceans, blue skies, and green landmasses, offered a variety of climates and conditions ideally suited for a variety of life forms. Three moons circle the planet and brighten the dark skies for the inhabitants of this world that seemed ready to fall off into the black chasm.
On a lonely mountainside overlooking a beautiful forested valley there stands a homey bar and grill called the Last Call, Chance & Hope. No one knows exactly why the bar is named that but it seemed appropriate considering its location considering it was over a weeks walk to the spaceport and few lived in the rugged mountains where the bar was located. Though one would think that few would stop here, much less know the place existed, many travelers from across the known galaxy would stop since the bar is well known for its ability to cater to many species and peculiarities.
Made of rough hand carved stone with a slate roof and a cornerstone that has a date on that no one could decipher. The bars furnishings are simple with a large hardwood counter running along the far wall from the entrance. The man that runs the bar is a fair haired human of average height with swarthy skin and sea blue eyes and his family has run the bar for generations. He joked that the large silver coin embedded in the stones above the hearth dated to the same year the bar came into business and that the short sword and the heavy caliber pistol hanging in their sheath and holster below the coin belonged to the King-Emperor himself, but that couldn't possibly be true.
In his simple coarse wove shirt and pants with soft leather boots Greg radiates the air of a simple barkeep who is always there with a ready smile or a word of wisdom. Rumor has it that his family built the bar and has been in business since the foundation of the Terran Protectorate and that his family is directly related to that of the local baron. But we all know how rumors are. However it is here in this simple quiet provincial setting where the people of many species and star systems meet, some to conduct business, others to drink, and yet others to swap stories.
I'm not done yet will post THE END when I am.
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