35,382 light years from Udhar Norfodl, on a planet known as Dughren, a border world between the Nuclear and Aldebaran Empires, a small township sat on the far outskirts of a larger town called Gors-Velen. The Greater Taurus Expanse, a border region surrounding the Aldebaran Empire, wherein the aforementioned planet lay, was known for its simple townships. Amalgamations of wooden huts interspersed with slightly larger adobe-borne buildings sparsely dotted the vast deserts of Dughren and other planets like it. Far from the fantastical and magnificent structures of the galactic core, these settlements had arisen by the hands of simple folk, flocking to what little life-giving resources there were. Mushroom-rich caves, small oases or even the occasional river. On a rare occasion, villages like this one were founded by prospectors who, through the grace of Baranian gods, had stumbled upon a deposit of a rich ore or valuable mineral. So, too, had this village been constructed upon a system of caves whose walls were once lined with an ore valuable to the Empire. This geological structure was known by Baranian scholars as a prughlogh, a term from high Baranian Luger translating roughly into hole of riches. The village had adopted this term for itself.
For many decades, a small force of men and women had resided in Prughlogh, mining the precious materials for profit and sustaining a simple but comfortable life among the dunes. It was in those days when a prospecting supervisor had fallen ill with cave fever and through his tiresome recovery had lost all passion for his profession. Driven by his far from unique experience, he had concluded that every worker needed a place to rest his bones and shovel at the end of a productive day, so that his productivity may return by morning. Using the moderate wealth he had collected during his decades of hard work, this man, whose name had been Frengo, had procured a plot of land near the center of town and risen a building from the sand which was henceforth known as Frengo’s tavern. A place meant to nurture friendship, still thirst and recoup energy. And for decades, that’s what his tavern had been. The tavern had withstood the many hardships of the town and even as the ore deposits within the caves had dwindled, the tavern had remained. After the depletion of the ore, when any other town might have died and become a ghost of its former self, it had been the tavern which had kept it alive. Professions shifted. Prospectors became local lawmen, miners became guns for hire and Prughlogh became a location known in the area as the place to conduct business peacefully and undisturbed by authorities - in a building called Frengo’s tavern.

Frengo had died several generations ago, back when Gors-Velen was a suggestion, rather than a city. The bar was now tended by a young woman, employed by owners that preferred to stay anonymous. Her name tag read Kirah. But Lex, who sat on a stool opposite her, didn’t need to read it. Instead, she ordered a fungal ale. Kirah smiled as she decanted it.
“Anything exciting in your life, my friend?” she asked. Lex nodded as she received the ale.
“Apparently, there is someone here who wants to make use of my unique skill set,” she said.
“Another would-be john?”
“For his sake, I hope not,” she took a gulp of the ale. Unpleasant, but sufficient. “Anyone ask for me?”