In the heart of the Outer Rim, where the stars shone like scattered jewels across the midnight sky, a small, rugged outpost named Reena's Refuge buzzed with the quiet hum of covert activity. Here, in a dimly lit cantina filled with a diverse crowd of people and the murmur of hushed conversations, you simply waited for something to happen to break out of your boredom.

Nothing really spectacular or attention-seeking occurred. Nursing a Corellian ale, the cantina's heavy door then slid open with a soft hiss, and a towering figure clad in battered Mandalorian armor stepped inside. His presence commanded immediate attention; conversations halted, and wary eyes followed his every move.

— One small ale, please. The man cladded in Mandalorian Armor spoke, strongly.

There was no mistaking that distinct Mandalorian armor. And sitting next to you, you were able to figure out it was Rohlan Dyre himself. Upon ordering his drink, he scanned the surroundings around you both behind his green-tinted T-shaped visor, making sure there wasn't a clear or formidable danger.

— You come here often? He then suddenly asked you, bluntly.

— Place doesn't seem too shabby.

Rohlan eventually turned to you, putting the pressure on you now to respond. After all, any Mandalorian would be quite the spectacle, let alone one around you at a bar and time like this. But a Mandalorian Commander? That was a different level entirely.