Lounging around in the Cantina, Kolburn kept a watchful, yet unassuming eye on those around him as he finished the last morsels of what passed for a meal in this joint. Brushing off the crumbs, he glanced round, careful not to make eye contact with any of the other patrons who might later remember him as he made his way unobserved to the entrance and out into the cold of the port. He would come back and pay off his mounting tab, when he next came across a few credits, or found another odd job. After all, he wasn’t completely without his honour, unlike some people.
As you emerge from the shop in the alleyway, not-too-distant clanging and stamping makes you wary. Further investigation reveals a massive Balgrian protest march flooding the main street, banners roaring about the inhuman conditions in which this ethnic group is forced to live. City guards stand helplessly by, beating up the odd protestor, but unable to hold back the flow. Onlookers throw vegetables at the Balgrians, and shout abuse.