<div class="floatleft">(https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTRyEXuXMJgi-XCzouqS6y76mCOQylKoyi335SlK_K7HyrCqL8ZvA)</div><strong>Character:</strong>Deshco Corran<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The brig<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>open<br/><hr/><br/>At least he was safe. For the time being at least. It was disappointing the other Haas-Filoth on board didn't do more to help him prove his credibility, but the thought that the other man hadn't been raised by his tribesmen had not occurred to him. As it stood, he was a prisoner until they hit the open sea, then it would remain up to him to prove himself. Once left to his own, he settled and relaxed, a deceptive posture for one such as he. He may have been stripped of his weapons, but that did not leave him defenseless. He stretched and warmed his muscles slightly, before lounging on the available furnishings, which were too short for his long frame.<br/><br/>Deshco muttered tunelessly in his native tongue, a song with a slight marching tone to it, common of nomadic people. He was eager to be on his way and far from this town, even if he was in the ship's brig. It was a start, and it was better than being killed for being a "thief". He personally abhorred stealing when he could win his money honestly. Perhaps he shouldn't bet anymore. It seemed to be the bulk of his problems, and accounted for at least a quarter of his scars, each one from disgruntled card-players.