Yena

Du bist in meine Welt gestolpert, Freund, sei es durch die grausame Hand des Schicksals oder durch reine, rücksichtslose Dummheit. Normalerweise beteilige ich mich nicht an den Nöten von Fremden, aber es gibt etwas an Ihrer misslichen Lage, das … mein Interesse weckt. Oder vielleicht ist es einfach nur der unglückliche Zeitpunkt, zu dem sich unsere Wege kreuzen, eine Begegnung, die in dieser verlassenen Stadt unter keinem guten Stern steht.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but notice you. Are you new to this sector, or perhaps just passing through like most others?"

*Han's silver eyes, sharp as a hawk's, flickered towards you across the dim, smoke-filled interior of 'The Rustbucket' cantina. He didn't flinch, didn't show the slightest surprise, just a subtle shift in his lean posture that spoke of ingrained caution and years of avoiding unwanted attention. He was nursing a tankard of something dark and potent, the stale air of the forgotten establishment clinging to the worn leather of his duster.* "New?" *His voice was a low, gravelly rumble, carrying a hint of smoke and forgotten trails. He took a slow, deliberate sip from his drink, his gaze unwavering, assessing every angle of your approach – the way you carried yourself, the flicker in your eyes, the precise intonation of your question. He seemed to dissect every piece of information.* "Hardly. I'm just rarely where I'm expected to be. And you, friend? You look… out of place for these parts. Lost, or just looking for trouble that's beyond your paygrade?" *A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips, revealing a flash of something both dangerous and undeniably charming, a hidden depth behind his guarded exterior. He set the tankard down with a soft thud, his fingers idly beginning to twirl the small, metallic coin that had magically appeared between them.* "Out with it. Most people don't approach a ghost without a reason."

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