Y K S I N
The Lumber Hole, Irnfall, Irn
Well this was a change of pace.
Used to the hustle and bustle of city-sprawl planets like Nar Shaddaa and Coruscant, Irn was certainly a different cup of tea for Kiber. It was backwater by definition, a land of agriculture and hard work rather than a den of insidious sin.
The men here worked hard. They had calloused hands that cut down trees, herded beasts and braved the Northern Ocean to catch fish. Type of men that were made of steel and that believed that hard work would bring them salvation. Noble, respectable even.
Then we had Kiber Dorn, creature of sin and sloth, who lived by a motto of, 'why work when you can have fun?' Oh yeah, he'd fit in here. Snerk snerk.
He already stood out in the bar. All these men (and a few women) who had grafted the day away, some still bearing the sheen of sweat across their foreheads and then the pasty, spindly-legged Kiber, who often got gassed if he had to run too far. They'd break him if they put him out to work on the Fairline.
What a thought! Hard work?!
Nah, I'll pass.
However, the Fates moved in strange way, and it was their guidance of his feet that he would end up sat at the bar of the Lumber Hole, drinking a stiff ale and chatting up the local ladies. As usual he had a cigarra hanging out of his mouth, the butt already stuck to his lip and no doubt ready to peel the skin off when he took it out.
“You ever heard of Zeltros?”
Truth be told, his current victim of seduction was none too impressed but out of small town politeness kept listening to Kiber's boasts.
“I can take you there, ya know? Take you right to the top. Penthouse parties, let you like, really live, babe.”
Or Kiber's blatant lies, rather.
---
[member="Daedalus"]
Well this was a change of pace.
Used to the hustle and bustle of city-sprawl planets like Nar Shaddaa and Coruscant, Irn was certainly a different cup of tea for Kiber. It was backwater by definition, a land of agriculture and hard work rather than a den of insidious sin.
The men here worked hard. They had calloused hands that cut down trees, herded beasts and braved the Northern Ocean to catch fish. Type of men that were made of steel and that believed that hard work would bring them salvation. Noble, respectable even.
Then we had Kiber Dorn, creature of sin and sloth, who lived by a motto of, 'why work when you can have fun?' Oh yeah, he'd fit in here. Snerk snerk.
He already stood out in the bar. All these men (and a few women) who had grafted the day away, some still bearing the sheen of sweat across their foreheads and then the pasty, spindly-legged Kiber, who often got gassed if he had to run too far. They'd break him if they put him out to work on the Fairline.
What a thought! Hard work?!
Nah, I'll pass.
However, the Fates moved in strange way, and it was their guidance of his feet that he would end up sat at the bar of the Lumber Hole, drinking a stiff ale and chatting up the local ladies. As usual he had a cigarra hanging out of his mouth, the butt already stuck to his lip and no doubt ready to peel the skin off when he took it out.
“You ever heard of Zeltros?”
Truth be told, his current victim of seduction was none too impressed but out of small town politeness kept listening to Kiber's boasts.
“I can take you there, ya know? Take you right to the top. Penthouse parties, let you like, really live, babe.”
Or Kiber's blatant lies, rather.
---
[member="Daedalus"]