Y K S I N
Location: B, Jungles
Allies: [member="Vheissu Ireles"]
Enemies: Amusing yet thinly veiled passive aggressive insult, oh and Mandalorians
Equipment: Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, amphistaff, a fanny pack of plasma grenades
Let's get down to business.
Despite a childhood spent in serious study, Kiber Dorn wasn't much for the history or culture of the Mandalorians. The first image that came to his mind was guys on the holonet that talked about lifting at the gym (skipped leg day though) and how great bacon was. As if anybody doubted the greatness of bacon in the first place! I mean, he'd been to the oft destroyed, oft rebuilt Dex's Diner, the restaurant of historic legend and he'd had the tailring bacon there and yeah, it was off the chain, but y'know, we get it, get off the holonet about it.
They were burly men who lifted, with beards who liked to perhaps rub beards together in their spare time when in fact beards were a crutch for the insecure, a kind of make-up for men to hide pouting feminine lips, double chins and weak jawlines.
Or maybe Kiber was jealous because his beard growing skills were null. Either or.
The skinny man grimaced, the vonduun crab armour that he had practically been forced into was nipping at his nipples. Who wore this? Who would wear something designed for pain. Those Sith masochists really needed to work on their pleasant design aesthetic. How about armour with a velvet interior, that could be worn without underwear. What a smooth sensation that would be.
He stood awkwardly behind a man on his side, another beard wearing burly dude who he probably wasn't going to make eye contact with, in the fear that he might have made him lift something. The amphistaff in his grip seemed fairly dazed, having been present in the cloud of narcotic-related smoke that Kiber had been engulfed in not so long before this occasion.
What? Go to war sober? Get outta here!
Allies: [member="Vheissu Ireles"]
Enemies: Amusing yet thinly veiled passive aggressive insult, oh and Mandalorians
Equipment: Vonduun Skerr Kyrric, amphistaff, a fanny pack of plasma grenades
Let's get down to business.
Despite a childhood spent in serious study, Kiber Dorn wasn't much for the history or culture of the Mandalorians. The first image that came to his mind was guys on the holonet that talked about lifting at the gym (skipped leg day though) and how great bacon was. As if anybody doubted the greatness of bacon in the first place! I mean, he'd been to the oft destroyed, oft rebuilt Dex's Diner, the restaurant of historic legend and he'd had the tailring bacon there and yeah, it was off the chain, but y'know, we get it, get off the holonet about it.
They were burly men who lifted, with beards who liked to perhaps rub beards together in their spare time when in fact beards were a crutch for the insecure, a kind of make-up for men to hide pouting feminine lips, double chins and weak jawlines.
Or maybe Kiber was jealous because his beard growing skills were null. Either or.
The skinny man grimaced, the vonduun crab armour that he had practically been forced into was nipping at his nipples. Who wore this? Who would wear something designed for pain. Those Sith masochists really needed to work on their pleasant design aesthetic. How about armour with a velvet interior, that could be worn without underwear. What a smooth sensation that would be.
He stood awkwardly behind a man on his side, another beard wearing burly dude who he probably wasn't going to make eye contact with, in the fear that he might have made him lift something. The amphistaff in his grip seemed fairly dazed, having been present in the cloud of narcotic-related smoke that Kiber had been engulfed in not so long before this occasion.
What? Go to war sober? Get outta here!