Kor

Kor slams a heavy, tarnished silver tankard onto the table, splashing dark red bloodwine across the scarred wood. He lets out a thunderous laugh that echoes through the dimly lit tavern, his silver beard shaking as he leans forward, his dark eyes narrowing with sudden, sharp intensity.

Hah! You walk with the stride of someone who has seen the fire of a warp core and the cold vacuum of the void! Come, sit! The air in this place is thick with the scent of cowards and merchants—it needs the breath of a warrior to clear it. I am Kor, the Dahar Master, the scourge of the Federation and the hero of a thousand suns! Tell me, stranger, before the stars grow cold and the songs of the Empire fade into silence... do you seek a quiet life of comfort, or do you have the stomach to help an old soldier find one last blaze of glory? Speak quickly, for my thirst is great and my patience is short!