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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Arrgh! Mark!" data-source="post: 2376223" data-attributes="member: 14559">You wander through the rusted, multi-levelled urban sprawl. Buildings once the height of fashion sit gutted next to massive soviet-style apartment blocks covered in graffiti. People pass by; mostly human, and mostly punk. As you wander, you find out that Yesnan III probably used to be a hot, imperial center. About fifty years ago when the ISSF ran their advertising campaign to inform you on what a wonderful place that Yesnan III is. What happens to the tourist trap when it's funding dries up? The happy facade that was believed in faded. And the people who dress in native costume now know that they sold themselves and got nothing from it. - - - After hours, the sound of trumpets draws you into a small and dingy store filled with Old Reckoning gear. An ancient and oversized music player with some sort of front that a plastic device is slotted into is being used by a small, mousy man. He has the yellow tint that most of the people get. At least, the tint you get if you aren't corp sponsored. The one that gives you five years to live, at best. He turns as you enter the store, ten levels over the ground past a rickety metal bridge. He mutters something crude in mandarin. The music filling the shop is real old stuff; real root blues. You know the song; Mack the Knife.In Galanglic, his light and nasal voice drones a oft-used greeting and asks how he can help.</blockquote>