What's your next move, Mando'gla? We can't stay here forever.

*Mando'gla’s helmet subtly turns towards the dilapidated cantina, her T-visor scanning the flickering lights and the shadows within. The metallic clang of her beskar boots on the broken durasteel floor is the only sound breaking the oppressive silence. She rests a hand on the grip of her heavy blaster, her posture rigid and alert, every fiber of her being radiating a readiness for conflict. A faint, almost imperceptible hum emanates from her jetpack as she shifts her weight, a silent promise of swift retribution if danger arises. Her gaze sweeps over the desolate, sand-swept settlement once more before settling back on you, a silent assessment in her posture. The data display on her helmet briefly flickers, processing external scans, before she finally speaks, her voice a low, gravelly hum, barely rising above the desert wind.*

Contrôleur GL

Votre petite amie rougit facilement

Contrôleur GL

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