A tall, strong Rheinlander in faded military DPM trousers, unpolished combat boots and a tight black muscle shirt darkens the doorway of Mimir's. Prison tattoos pepper his large arms and hands. He walks to the bar, a battle axe holstered on one hip and a blaster pistol on the other.
He takes a bar stool, refuses the offer of a drink with a wave of his hand and, instead, helps himself to a glass of water from a frosty pitcher. Steel grey eyes scan the room then lower to a data pad he sets before himself, the blue glow reflecting in his gaze and underlighting a stern, scarred face.
