<hr/><hr/><div align="center">(http://orig14.deviantart.net/4905/f/2015/247/0/4/star_wars_logo_by_jmk_prime-d98b8ef.png)<br/><hr/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 36pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: andale mono;">THE PERLEMIAN ROUTE</span></span> (https://brorlandi.github.io/StarWarsIntroCreator/#!/KAYe4_4obGRTY-IVrH3)</div><hr/><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://i.imgur.com/w91b8hb.png)</div><strong><span class="bbc_u"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">At the Drinking Horn, a spaceport cantina in Point Wilek, on Trogan...</span></span></strong><br/><br/>Even here, in the dim corner of a smoky cantina huddled away in a two-bit space port on Trogan, tucked in the back, where it couldn't possibly offend what few patrons the establishment managed to host, gleamed the soft holographic glow of the<em>Dianoga's</em>plea for help. Over at the bar, lumped in with the few other guests at the cantina, stood a lean human, sipping a short glass of Corellian brandy. His green poncho was damp, and his hair still bore the shine of water. He quickly finished his drink and motioned towards the bartender, a squat but attentive Devaronian, and handed him a palm-full of credits with a smile.<br/><br/>Outside, through the thick permacrete walls of the cantina, Dunn could almost hear the howling of the storm. When he'd heard there was money to be made on Trogan, he had thought that the planet's weather had been exaggerated to explain why it never caught on as a tourist locale, but now, on day three of torrential downpours and strong winds, Dunn had decided that maybe the stories about the weather were true. The bartender returned with a tray of glasses and a bottle of the same Corellian brandy, and Dunn motioned towards a table , then followed the bartender to it and sat himself down.<br/><br/>"Just a bit under an hour 'til liftoff," he mutters to no one at the table in particular, pouring the brandy into the seperate glasses, and then pouring just a small amount into his own. "And I'm still soaked from picking up our ration restock. Once we're up in the stars, remind me to wipe this humid ball of misery off of our navigational maps. I feel like a drowned Wookiee."