Private Always More Work to Have

[William Bradley]

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Dallas could safely say he had never been on the planet Vandor before, but he had heard of this place through some of the smuggler rings that he had been a part of to help him and the crew of the Midnight Sparkle some work to do. That was how he spent most of his days, traveling from system to system and getting jobs for him and his crew. That was how they survived and fed themselves and continued the repair on their Clone Wars Era cruiser. Luckily enough it was large enough for the six of them, so they didn't have to be all bunched up, but it was good for the crew to stretch their legs every once and a while.​

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Dallas knew where he should go for any type of work that he tended to do. Making his way down the street he found some sort of shopkeep and gathered her attention.​

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"M'am I was just wondering if there was any sort of Cantina around?"​

He asked as he leaned against the counter and gave the woman a nice smile, laying on the charm just for the fact that he didn't want to have to pay this woman for any information today.​

Beric Layne

 

[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

Fort Ypso.

The cold, mountainside spaceport was the center of the small but thriving merchant economy of Vandor. A high population derived from merchants constantly in flux lead to the crowd in the spaceport being an amalgamation of beings from across the galaxy, and that usually meant that if trouble was going down on Vandor, it was happening at Fort Ypso.

As Lord-Protector of Vandor, it was Beric's duty to ensure that conflicts on the planet were resolved smoothly. So when the rest of Vandor's settlements and communities were on their best behavior, Beric tended to keep an observant physical presence around the spaceport, just in case.

"Nothin' much on the manifest, Lord Layne. Few merchants from Coreward systems, another comin' up the Mara Corridor," the heavily bearded and gruff harbormaster responded to Beric's query, giving the datapad to Beric, so that he could inspect the datapad himself. "Heh, one them crews have a Clone Wars era-vessel. Thoughtchoo could only find those in museums," he reflected as Beric scrolled through the manifest. Prompted by the harbormaster's comment, he flicked to the ship, a Charger C70 retrofit. The harbormaster was right -- the only place you'd see a model like that would be in museums or a history holo. Interesting.

"Well, thank you for your time," Beric nodded graciously as he returned the holopad.

The Harbormaster took it and offered Beric a fim handshake in return. "Much obliged. May the skies be clear for you, Lord Layne."

As they parted, he looked around the administrative quarter of Fort Ypso. It was characteristically unpopulated, other than a man with shoulder-length black hair parted in a curtain that framed his face speaking with a woman manning the port-passes booth on the other side of the open walkway. He couldn't hear much of their conversation, other than the woman mentioning the Lodge. But what intrigued Beric about the young man was the strange presence that was carried with him, one that seemed almost. . . familiar? He made a mental note of it in his mind as he turned away. Interesting.
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[William Bradley]

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Dallas gave a nod to the woman as he gave her a few credits for her kindness as he stood back up to his full height and began to make his way towards the Cantina that the woman had spoken of. He noticed the unusual quietness that was surrounding him as he walked, usually ports tended to have at least a little bustle to it, but with the planet of Vandor he wasn't too surprised, it was pretty cold outside, and he just figured that people tended to stay inside if they could.​

As he began to move he felt a presence on the outside of his perceptions. He glanced around looking for the source and caught nothing but fleeting footsteps. This made Dallas reach towards his lightsaber that he kept hidden underneath his jacket, that presence reminding him of the past. Shaking the thought without a second thought about it, he just continued making his way towards the cantina.​

The cantina and the Midnight Sparkle were the main places that the crew tended to stay in, that's were work for crews like his were mostly to be found. The crew stayed behind, not because they necessarily wanted to, more because the ancient ship needed close attention to it, she was a rugged beast who had managed to last this long, and they kept up on repairs, but that didn't mean she was getting tired in her old age. Every day, he worried about the poor thing finally coming to stop at a dock and just not being able to get back up again. These thoughts followed him as he made his way towards the cantina, finally shaking them loose before he entered the establishment.​

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Making his way inside, the cantina had few patrons, which made sense it wasn't a weekend and most people would be working at this time of hour, only a few would be in the establishment. Dallas did as he had done many times before and beelined it to the bartender, leaning against the counter he looked at the man, waiting for him to get his attention.​

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"What can I get for 'ye laddie?"​

The bartender asked Dallas as he held a glass up to the light that hung above him as he cleaned it off, attempting to get any smudges off of the cup before he served it to another customer.​

"Just some Correlian Ale for me if you could."​

The bartender moved with a nod as he walked over, grabbing a new cup and filling it up with some Correlian Ale, getting it right to the top before wiping the foam off the top and giving it to the man.​

"One more thing, do you have any jobs for me? My crew and me are looking for some work."​

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Beric Layne

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[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

Beric's breath steamed in the cold air of Vandor as he trudged through the snow falling over Fort Ypso, crossing over suspended bridges and through narrow walkways as he traversed the port. The cold was a superfluous element of Vandor, at least to Beric; although he wore a massive fur cloak over his robes, an element of the rugged sort of Vandorian fashion that his apprentice ragged on endlessly about, the fur cloak was not what kept the cold at bay. He'd long been able to use the force to regulate his own body temperature, as well as the surrounding environment. It had been one of the first abilities he'd developed, primarily because of what the harsh Vandor climate had necessitated, and now it was something he performed almost instinctually.

His boots left dense imprints in the snow behind him. For a spaceport, Fort Ypso was surprisingly unpolluted -- that was, with all the outdated technology that the harbormaster and his employees were working with, they somehow managed to ensure against starfuel leaks and pollutants from mixing with the ever-present winter that encapsulated the planet. Perhaps it was cunning and creativity, or maybe it was just rotten luck; but Beric couldn't complain about it. He'd rather not waste his time focusing on environmental disasters, seeing as it seemed the Confederacy faced a new and potentially fatal threat every other week.

It wasn't before long that he reached his intended destination -- the eponymous location known only as the Lodge, its uniqueness and history allowing itself to not need to be called by any identifying name. The regular haunt of spacers and locals alike, the Lodge was where most offworld business, official and not, was conducted on Vandor. And outside of Galersonn's ale halls back at Frosthall, it was the best place on Vandor to get a drink.

Beric slid onto a stool on the bar, his frame -- only made bigger by the fur cloak that hung over his shoulders -- dwarfing the tiny stool by comparison. The Lord of Frosthall was by no means a stocky man, but any spectator would've bet credits on the diminutive stool collapsing under Beric's weight, but it miraculously held. His shoulders hunched, Beric rapped the bar with his kunckles, drawing the attention of the barkeep who saddled over from where he was serving another man -- the same young man Beric had seen before, in the administrative quarter, with the lanky frame and shoulder-length black hair. Beric only got a glimpse of him before the barkeep's bulky frame obstructed him from view. "Ale, Galersonn-brewed," Beric grunted, and the barkeep nodded. The man turned with his back to Beric, and he was able to get a better glimpse of the young man, who asked if the barkeep knew of any jobs circulating around. Beric said nothing, but watched out of the corner of his eye, only giving a brief nod of thanks and setting several credit chips onto the table when the barkeep returned with his own drink.
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[William Bradley]

He clenched his jaw at the barkeeps' response, giving a slight nod of appreciation as he put his head down to his chest a little letting out a long sigh shaking his head. His hand grabbing the ale that he had ordered and began to sip at. Crap, that was the last thing that I needed today, I don't know what me and the boys are going to do if we don't get a job here soon, and especially with the way the Sparkle is looking, it might not be so long before we have to go our separate ways and find something else to do all together. I can't even imagine what Lay would do at his age, this was the last thing he had any strength left to do.​

His mind continued to wander, the sounds of the people in the keep began to fade away as he focused on his inner thoughts. His hands cradling the mug in his hands as he sipped at it some more. He hit the communicator that he kept on his person. "Lay? Yeah, no jobs here either, you boys can come off the ship and look around, if anyone needs to grab something or see if they can scrounge some parts to do it now.. How much are we sitting on with our stockpile? That little? Okay.... Okay Lay I hear ya'... yeah I'll be back in a couple of hours.... Yeah, just holler if you need me." Letting out a long sigh he turned off the communicator and got back to his ale.​

His eyes began to wander the faces of the people that were in the bar, mostly humans but there were other races there too, some around the bar itself and others that huddled in their own booths. He felt the cold wind even inside, most likely it was the aftermath of the wind that he had felt whilst he was outside, but he still needed some more time to warm up. Least Rawr would have an easy time with his thick mane and fur, wookies had it easy, but that wasn't really what he should be taking with the whole situation.​

Hearing the door slide open his eyes would glance up, and he would see the form of Beric Layne walk in. He seemed like a well-built man, maybe not the largest in the tavern, but had a good bit of weight on his shoulders, and he could tell the man was made of muscle just from his look. Having been keeping his senses dulled he let them extend enough for him to feel Beric, he was definitely the person he had felt earlier, he let his shoulders shrug, probably just happened to be someone that lived around, or at least stayed around these parts.​

 

[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

Beric's eye caught the passing glance of the youth as the young man reciprocated Beric's discreet expression with his own. More importantly, though, Beric could feel a small pulse of the living Force from the young man; it was subtle, a whisper instead of a declaration, but for someone like Beric whose senses were so deeply attuned, it was not difficult to tell that the man was a Force Sensitive. What more was that the man seemed to have some level of control in his ability with the Force, able to seemingly mask his presence in the Force, or subdue it to a degree.

After a moment of indecision, Beric made up his mind and raised his tankard with one hand in the direction of the young man, his brow furrowing in expression. "Stranger," he called, "why don't you come share your drink next to me?" With his free hand, he slapped the barstool adjacent to him and waved for the young man to come over.
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[William Bradley]

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His eyes snapped to that of Beric Layne as the words of the man hit his ears, with a soft nod Dallas stood and came over to the man. His hand wrapped around his mug as he sat down on the stool next to the man, taking a sip as he sat down, glancing over at the man he had taken a seat next to you.​

"Figure, you must be some sort of important folk around here, by the stance that your sitting by yourself, and no one has given you trouble yet."​

Dallas looked over the man as he sat beside him, the warm ale going down, the warm feeling trickling down till it set in his stomach as he took another sip of the ale he nursed in his hands. A sniff came from the man, not being as accustomed to the cold as some of the natives of the port seemed to be.​

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[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

The young man's eyes snapped to him as Beric invited him to take a seat. Though he gave no verbal acknowledgement, the youth appeared to accept Beric's invitation, standing up with his mug of ale in one hand and maneuvering over to take the seat that Beric had gestured to. Sitting down, he took a sip from his mug before speaking, guessing out loud that Beric was someone important.

Beric reciprocated the young man by taking a large draft from his own tankard -- it had been a while since he could drink freely, what with his Lordly duties and trying to set a good example for his apprentice when it came to alcohol consumption -- before setting it down noisily on the table, wiping bits of froth from his beard. "You have good instinct my friend, although 'round here we tend to introduce ourselves before asking questions," he said, his tone low but warm. He extended a gloved hand towards the youth. "Beric Layne. Lord of Frosthall and the Knights Obsidian."
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[William Bradley]

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Dallas gave a slight chuckle and a nod towards the man as he took the man's outstretched hand and shook it, giving it a strong grip as he listened to the man's full titles, raising a brow, slightly impressed by the man's achievements. His mind wandering to the many lords and ladies he had met during his travels, most didn't accommodate the simple folk, so this was a hair off tune for Dallas.​

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"Ain't got nothing too fancy for ya, just Dallas WIllingham's the name, don't wear it out, I need it a little bit longer.​

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The man grabbed his cup again and took another swing of the ale that laid within, finally reaching the bottom of the cup with a satisfied sigh as he glanced at his new compatriot. "Good weather, no?" The man didn't have a rats idea of what was good weather here or not, he was just trying to get some conversation started.​

Beric Layne​

 

[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

Beric gave a grunt at the young man's -- Dallas -- mention of 'good' weather. "I have lived through many storms that have been far worse," he said into his deep tankard. "Comparatively, today it might as well be a spring shower," he said with a nod towards the lightly-falling snow outside the Lodge.

With no warning, he picked up his tankard and downed the rest in a single, long drought, before setting it down with quite a bit of force, calling the bartender over with a silent gesture for the refill. While the bartender took care of the drink, he turned towards his new companion. "So," he said, "what brings you to Vandor? Travel? Work?"
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[William Bradley]

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Looking at the other man he continued to nurse his mug as he listened to him speak of him going through much worse conditions. Dallas figured that this was pretty standard weather for the region, hew as just making light with some small talk.​

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"Ay, my crew and I have been struggling to gain some work for a while, been hoping to find some here, but it seems like everywhere has been at a lack of more conventional means of getting a job done."​

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Dallas lifting the cup he drowned the rest of the ale he had in the mug and he placed it on the counter with an aaah. Looking over at the man that he had sat next to as he wiped off the liquid from around his lips with his sleeve.​

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"And what do you do 'round these parts sir? If I mask ask that is."​

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Dallas being every inquisitive, knew that this man was of some importance, but he didn't know what the man actually did, he was smart but he wasn't a genius by any means of the word. His mind threw out a few guesses but he wasn't very sure, although this man did seem to have a stable head on his shoulders.​

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Beric Layne​

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[Beric Layne]

V A N D O R

Tag: William Bradley

The bartender handed Beric his refilled drink, and in turn the Lord of Frosthall nodded his thanks, adding an extra couple of credits to the tab. He took a long drought as Dallas confessed of his struggles with finding a job for his crew. Beric nodded along; the work of a spacer was sporadic at best, and Vandor was a competitive market to be sure. Little work to be had, and contractors most always preferred trusted connections to offworld strangers.

Beric paused as Dallas asked him not who he was, but what he was. His brow furrowed, and he set down his tankard, clearing his throat. "As Lord of Frosthall, I serve as Vandor's head of state and chief defender, both against enemies and the winter winds." His ice-blue eyes looked directly into Dallas's dark ones. "But as Obsidian Lord, my mandate of protection extends to the entire Confederacy, as well as raising and mentoring younger Force Adepts to use their abilities for a higher purpose."
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