A bartender with a patch over one eye. No way...
"
Arlo leans back a bit, caught off guard by the news. “If he
had a good squad of fighters and was kicking FTG booty, why the sudden hatred
for the two? Did he skim the profits or something?”
Cyclops looks inside the mug, sticks a thick, scummy finger down to
the bottom and wiggles it around. When he draws it out there’s a squirming
goobie fighting to get away. One Eye pops the hapless creature in his maw, back
end first. The goobie’s eyes pop out even further as he disappears bit by bit
into the drooling mouth. A final ‘scrunch’ and he’s gone. Cyclops sticks his
thick black mucus covered tongue out, pieces of goobie parts still attached and
then draws it back in slowly, sheer pleasure on his face. Then he frowns.
“Worse. He was weak. His orders was to just damage the
convoy ships, not blast ‘em to pieces. He just wanted to kick the FTG in the
balls. They wasn’t even supposed to take slaves. G’radian is a wuss and he
showed it, over and over again.” Cyclops spits a few eyeballs on the floor and
curses. At least I think it's a curse, hard to say. “All those FTG maggots
just sittin’ there, ripe for the pickings. G’radian just let them go. It’s
stupid and it has finally caught up to him.”
"
Our heroes have finally hit pay dirt! This cutthroat's bar has a Grochna barkeep with a taste for goobies and a grudge against G'radian.
We finally learn where our target has gone and why. But it seems there is more, and less, to G'radian and his son, Bolton, than FTG intel thinks.
Things are starting to go sideways. AGAIN!
Now what do they do???
Time is running out fast...
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