Factions, Families, Clans, and Empires
Varrer Zinradi stands roughly at roughly 6'5" and is of mediocre weight. His physical build is muscled but not to the point of overburden. He can often be found commonly garbed in a leather trenchcoat which spans the length of his body and a hood more than often is found covering his face and head. With the hood removed, his features are distinctly lizard like as his skin is covered in a layer of scales and his head lay smooth and hairless.
Varrer is calm and collective, often one to weight a situation heavily before acting. Despite this he may at times be caught in more jovial moods especially after victories at the arena or on the battlefield. As a mercenary, Varrer finds nothing more enjoyable than the thrill of the fight.
Varrer Zinradi steps lazily into the bar, his usual stoic demeanour offset by a recent hard won victory at the Wing City Arena. Grinning, his hood pulled down revealing all too reptilian aspects of his face as he glances at the patrons before his eyes fall on the dragon, whistling he walks on. "Careful around here; some people pay top credit for dragon bones... and other bits."
Varrer Zinradi continues past the patrons to the bar, positioning his rear on a bar stool as he looks down the length of the worktop for the bartender in whatever rendition he or she may appear, idly wondering if he could purchase his favourite drink.
Varrer Zinradi finding no Bartender about, considering its before the bar opens truly, he idly spins on his stool and listens to the chatter of the other patrons, catching snippets of conversations he idly waves his hand in amusement at the Time Lord. "Dead races aren't that technologically advanced last time I heard."
Varrer Zinradi "Pft, I've fought in countless wars with civilizations each as 'indestructible' as the last.", waving his hand dismissively, he continues. "Countless races, all as blithely ignorant and full of themselves as one another."
Varrer Zinradi paused for a moment before shrugging, his next words carrying his native and sibilant hiss heavily as it often did when he focused. "However such technology no where near accounts for dimensional warping."
Varrer Zinradi "And?" he speaks bluntly, "Hardly unique nor difficult abilities to deal with considering much of that requires physical contact.", pondering past encounters, he idly skims his memories like a catalogued museum of content.
Varrer Zinradi shrugs once again, not impressed much by the claims. "I'm not that powerfully inclined, but I've seen Azra wipe out solar systems with a single wave of their hands and I've seen a single man wipe out planets with a crack of his fingers."
Varrer Zinradi "Perhaps, I know the Azra are magically inclined and their religion offers reason to believe they descended from divinity. The man on the other hand is a freak of science and is safely locked away in Deep Space confinement."
Varrer Zinradi turns to the speaker before shrugging, "My race is a mercenary one. We fight because its our life, there is no further glory nor honour than that in combat. However needless combat is not our sport and I would 'suggest'" he emphasised, "To refrain from making comments about my people."
Varrer Zinradi peers over at the commotion in the bar before sighing, hopping from his stool he idly reaches into his trench coat and with draws two battle hatchets, each about two feet long in haft and the blade arcing from the top. Breathing sharply he throws both simultaneously, each embedding themselves half an inch from Neceron's foot and Domineek's foot. Speaking loudly and sibilantly, "THERE SHALL NOT BE FIGHTING WITHIN THE BAR."
((incorrect, I didnt declare they hit anything except the floor.))
Varrer Zinradi Speaking loudly and promptly, to abate his anger through other methods, "People question where the bar staff is, why the place seems so shoddy all the time. Every night there is some kind of fight in here which tears the place apart, divines know where Gambit gets the money to keep this place afloat."
Varrer Zinradi sighs audibly as he moves across the room, yanking one hatchet from the floor before retrieving the other. Promptly after doing so he moves back towards the bar counter, stowing the hatchets back in his coat. As he did so, a jingle of metal could be heard and one would have to guess just how many weapons might be in there.
Varrer Zinradi shakes his head as he peers at Ichor amusedly. "I'll have to pass, anger ruins my appetite for a good drink."
Varrer Zinradi pulls out a small PDA like device from one of the many pockets of his coat before sighing, noticing something of gravity in regards to his schedule of the day before turning towards the exit and walking out without a word.
Varrer Zinradi enters the bar from the Main Street with a casual, sauntering gait as he nods his uncovered head idly at the Master and the other occupants of the Bar before calling loudly, "Hello everyone, just like the Bar I would like to inform those interested that the Wing City Arena has recently opened its doors once again to those who seek battle and other forms of entertainment!"
Varrer Zinradi pauses, "I wonder what the staff think of all these people sneaking into the store room."