Life was considerably simpler on the outskirts of civilization on Onderon. Stepping into the Hog's Hock was like stepping back in time, and the tavern's proprietors prided themselves on that peculiarity. The smell of strong ale and roasted hog hit you in waves as soon as you walked through the front door.
The tavern was dark, lit only by candlelight and the fire pit at the center of the room, where a suckling pig on a spit steadily churned over the open flame. Cassian sat alone at the far end of the wooden bar, blue eyes bouncing between the euphonious songstress on stage picking away at a hallikset and the front door, waiting for his contact to arrive.
He had not frequented the Hog's Hock for years, not since his days in the royal guard, but it was unchanged. A fixed establishment in the sleepy, wayside town outside of Iziz. Just the sort of place to blend in and go unnoticed, so long as you didn't cause trouble or pick a fight. Something the Zeltron was not inclined to do tonight.
Tonight he was not Cassian Graves, Consul of Onderon, but just another nameless face in a bar. He wore a dark overcoat and, as an added precautionary measure, a disguise, to ensure that we could not be recognized. No one needed to know his identity. Not even his contact. All she needed to know was that he had credits, and if she lived up to her reputation— that was all she would want to know. @Cybrexian