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  • Posted 2016-02-03 22:40:57 UTC
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  • THE TALK
     
    General discussion, questions, out of character nonsense, and starship measuring contests here. Profiles are too be posted here for approval, or PM'ed to one of the staff.
     
    Bare bones profile here, recommend using the more detailed one in the main topic.
     

  • Posted 2016-02-03 22:41:50 UTC
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  • Preapproved by Grav.

     

    Name: Skri Menerre
     
    Age: 26
     
    Gender/Species: Female, ½ Human, ¼ He-Man Calian, ¼ Zeltron
     
    Appearance: At slightly above average height for a human woman, hints of Skri’s ancestry are quite visible. The first inherited trait is her height. While not exceptional, her paternal family tended to be shorter than many while her height came from her Calian grandfather. Her brawler’s swagger came from the same source. Both of her maternal grandparents, however, are responsible for her skin. Calians tend towards a reddish tan, and Zeltron’s themselves are red. Between them Skri’s skin tends towards a few shades redder than is naturally possible for a pureblood human. Her hair, a blue just barely shy of black, reaches down to her shoulders. Her eyes  are a blue-green, and set in a face that’s smirking almost all the time. Skri usually dresses, when not working, in a midriff-baring shirt under a waist-length gray jacket. Said jacket usually just barely covers the blaster pistol on her right hip, even during down time. Her durable pants are designed more for comfort and long-term use than for appearance and are held up by a utility belt containing a myriad of supplies. Her boots, similarly, are for function rather than form.

    Skills: Due to her ancestry, Skri has inherited one (potentially two) of her ancestors’ natural abilities. Firstly she produces pheromones like her Zeltron grandmother, albeit at a lower potency. Not sufficient to affect the mind very much, but enough to make people a little more inclined to be amicable if not pleasant. Her mother did inherit her Calian grandfather’s ability to enter Ryastraad, but Skri herself has not yet demonstrated the capability.

    Her own skills are largely in the area of combat, both armed and unarmed. Good marksmanship, excellent use of her chosen melee weapons, and a substantial grasp of unarmed combat. The latter, in particular, she can thank her grandfather for. On a more mundane level she’s a good engineer (enough to keep her ship flying, and maintain her improvised workarounds. Doesn’t really understand the mechanical theory, just the practical), a decent pilot (enough to fly her ship and any shuttle she’s encountered), and a decent survivalist. Something of a jack of all trades, master of none outside of the battlefield. Given how long she used to travel alone, she had to be.
     
    Personality: Smug, self-confident, and a little combative. Skri’s a brawler at heart, and while she’s got a good grasp of what subtleties merc work has, she’s not one to beat around the bush. She isn’t hard to make friends with, either, but it’s a lot harder to call yourself a close friend. Affection and enmity alike are generally expressed through a myriad of insults, only the severity and intonation of which can help you tell them apart. There’s a decent heart under all of it, though, and she’s more willing to lend a helping hand than she’d ever admit.
     
    History: Skri was born on Eriadu, the filthy little crown gem in the Empire’s Outer Rim. An Industrial, polluted world whose only real value was as a launch-point to something further or a crossroads for trade. The Tarkins, coincidentally, stemmed from the same place. But it’s best not to mention that to her. She’s touchy about it. Much of her adolescence was spent making money in some less than scrupulous ways, including in betting at underground fights (that she may or may not have been a part of herself), but she showed promise as a fighter. The way she tells it there was quite a lot of pressure to join the Empire’s armies, and support herself that way. Put her talents to better use.

    Exactly what happened is a little unclear, mostly because she won’t tell it, but she didn’t do that. Instead she made her way off of Eriadu and, after a little while, started out as a mercenary. Pretty good one, too. She built herself a comfy reputation for getting the job done. Having a ship big enough to haul just about any cargo, once she captured the Lancer-class she lives on, helped too. Three or so years ago, about six months after Alderaan, she picked up an Imperial defector who needed somewhere to stay while he fixed his TIE fighter.

    It’s been three years, and she still can’t quite get him to leave. Keeps saying he’s crew.
     
    Ship: Aldera, Lancer-Class Imperial Frigate. Not in the greatest of shape and running with a million jury-rigged tricks to let a crew of two and an astromech fly it, but it does the job. It can look a little worse for wear at first glance, with the art on the nose a little faded, some dings and dents, and the TIE fighter in the bay a shuttle’s supposed to go, but it’s home.
     
    Affiliation: Herself, and her ship. Some anti-Imperial leanings, which generally translates to some pro-Republic leanings.
     
    Rank: Captain
     
    Position: Captain, Reo’s Boss, the Queen ###### of Everything
    Alignment: Neutral Good. No saint, certainly, but she’s not a monster. You have an opportunity to do some good, great. Conversely there are just some lines you don’t cross.




    Name: Liare Sarir
     
    Age: 27
     
    Gender/Species: Male, Human
     
    Appearance: Liare Sarir, servant of the Inquisitorius, looks more like the scoundrels your parents told you about than secret police. Tall, brown hair juuuust shy of the maximum allowed length, and clean shaven, he’s a lot friendlier-looking than his organization would imply. Even his uniform is as toned-down as he can get away with. The robes of the Inquisitorius, while kept, are tailored into something more like a coat than a robe. Something he can, y’know, not get his limbs tangled in and get himself shot or stabbed. Under it he wears a loose, practical set of clothes fitted with hidden protective plating over his vital organs. As if in a kind of joke, there’s a small medic’s cross stitched in the fabric over his heart.
     
    Skills: Liare, firstly, is a surprisingly skilled medic. Battlefield patches and fixes through entirely mundane means are something of a specialty, even before his less-than-normal abilities come into play. Decently educated man, and a good shot (debatably due to Force or natural skill) with his blaster pistol.

    His lightsaber style is an interesting topic. If he is pressed enough to draw his lightsaber, he will generally open with a style based in Soresu; defensively focused, useful against both other blades and against blaster bolts. His grasp of the style is decent, but not nearly what would be expected from even the lowliest member of the Inquisitorius.

    The truth is that while he has a working understanding of the style, and in fact makes frequent use of it, Liare is not primarily a Soresu practitioner. Against a blaster-wielding foe, he will aim to finish the fight with a single technique of his own making; draw the saber, return the blaster bolt to sender, and store the saber again in a single motion. Against a foe he has decided to fight in earnest he will, begrudgingly, reveal that he is primarily a practitioner of Form VII; Juyo. A style that, in the old days, was considered to walk a fine line between the Light and the Dark.

    Due to the nature of the style, Liare is at his deadliest when fighting a challenging or hateful foe. Particularly if he has a personal reason to fight. He rarely uses Juyo in practice, however, due to his tendency to avoid escalating to his most aggressive options without need or reason. When he does resort to Juyo, his Doppelganger is usually used to aid in the chaotic confusion that Juyo is designed to create and exploit.
     
    Force Abilities: For the most part Liare uses the standard powers available to both Jedi and Sith. Mind tricks, telekinesis and other such basic abilities. Like all Inquisitors his abilities generally trend towards the dark side of the Force, and most of the training given to him follows this vein. It is no coincidence that his primary offensive ability  is the Force choke.

    Where he differs, however, is the specializations he has sought on his own. Doppelganger, a technique he has yet to master, is a decidedly neutral technique. In its current state it allows him to project a visual illusion of himself to confuse his opponent, and more than one, as well. However unlike the perfect form of the technique, Liare’s Doppelganger only fools the eyes, and grows less convincing the more he tries to project at once. Beyond two or three they become very unconvincing. However, in the heat of battle, only one or two are necessary. Fooling the eyes in such a chaotic occurrence creates all the openings he desires.

    His final specialization, on the other hand, is very unusual. Nor does he think it would be entirely welcome, and for that reason, he chooses to keep it quiet. Liare is a relatively adept user (though that is not a difficult claim for a Dark Side user) of Force Heal; a Light side power. It accelerates the natural healing process of the body using the Force, and allows for quick recovery from injuries. Though it can be used on the self or on another, it is an ability that the Sith cannot historically use. Not properly, at least. The Dark Side generally corrupts the ability, robbing it of its proper use. Liare can use it, but he finds that if he has recently used any Dark Side abilities using Force Healing becomes more difficult.  

    Equipment: Liare’s primary weapon, unusually for an Inquisitor, is a DC-17 heavy blaster pistol. Originally favored by Clone commandos and captains, it wasn’t carried over to the Stormtroopers when the Republic became the Empire. Wherever Liare got it, he keeps it in prime condition. He keeps a long-bladed vibro-dagger on his belt, too, right next to a field aid kit. His lightsaber has been aesthetically modified (not necessarily with explicit approval) from the standard Inquisitor issue, and is carried at his waist as well.

    Unusually for an Inquisitor, said lightsaber is very, very seldom drawn.  

    Lightsaber Design: (Pommel 3, Reborn Body, Switch 10, Emitter 8A,LED 12 Red, Blade 37”)
     
    Personality: Friendly, casual, and irreverent. Not exactly in line with the Inquisitorius’ norm. Liare’s more likely to reply with a joke than a threat, and a shrug than drawing a lightsaber. Liare very much steps into his self-assigned role of team medic, preferring to patch his fellow Inquisitors up and use his blaster than draw his lightsaber. He doesn’t show much in the way of hatred, or anger, or any of the stereotypical Sith attributes.

    The truth is that Liare sees the Jedi Code as too restrictive, and the Sith Code as emphasizing all that is negative. Two extremes, a needless dichotomy. In another era, he might not have been an Inquisitor; once they would have called him Gray, not Dark. As it is, he sides with the Inquisitorius, but draws a distinction between the Inquisitors and the Empire. Sometimes within the Inquisitors, too, between those enslaved by doctrine and those who can see a bigger picture.

    Liare is loyal to the individual, at the end of the day, but not necessarily the cause. His view of the Force is not exactly… Party line.  
     
    History: Who Liare was before being recruited for the Siths’ training, he doesn’t say much about it. He was born on a relatively backwater world, realized his Force sensitivity in late childhood, and did his best to avoid drawing attention to it. He was a smart kid, even then. He knew that the Empire’s propaganda decried the Force, did its best to paint the Jedi as an extinct, malignant order. He didn’t really want to find out what happened if they found him. But of course they did. In Imperial space, even a backwater had eyes everywhere.

    Brought in and tested, he was eventually declared fit for training. Largely because he knew that if he wanted to survive, he would be compliant. He absorbed the teachings of the Dark Side, learned what they wanted him to learn, but he didn’t stop there. He learned outside of their curriculum, as well, as best he could. Learning and absorbing everything he could, all in an effort to find what he could only describe as what felt like an innately missing piece.

    He served the Inquisitorius faithfully, indeed he proved an effective operative for them. Despite his effectiveness he has one of the lower enemy kill counts amongst the Inquisition, due to his intentional focus on playing the support role for others.
     
    Ship: N/A, based out of ISD Insight
     
    Affiliation: Inquisitorius

    Rank: Inquisitor
     
    Position: Inquisitor
     
    Alignment: Complicated. Neutral, with a tendency towards decent, if not good, behavior. Something very much at odds with the traditional interpretation both of the Dark side, and of the Inquisitorius.

     

    Name: Rebekah Fell, Operating Number: NT-081, previously LS-0322

     

    Age: 28

     

    Gender/Species: Female Human

     

    Appearance: Six feet and three inches of rugged, imposing Imperial might. Glistening black with rich gold accents, topped by the scowling helmet of the Imperial war machine’s honor guard. At least that’s all anyone ever bothered to see. NT-081 is a Novatrooper, indistinguishable from the faceless masses of  his brethren. A symbol of the Stormtrooper Corps’ elite, with some of the highest quality, best maintained armor to be found in the entire Corps. At least, that’s how it used to be. _Her_ armor isn’t quite that immaculate anymore, to start with. And contrary to the popular misconception, NT-081 _is_ a she. Weeks of being on the run have left it scuffed, pitted, and far less shiny than it was. If anything, however, the changes have only made it more fearsome; a set of brief, intentional scratches on the left forearm seem to denote some kind of score (kill count, perhaps?), and the abrasions, soot, and dings add to the effect. The Novatrooper armor has seen some serious use.

     

    Its occupant, on the truly exceptionally rare occasion that she is seen outside of her armor, is only two inches shorter without it. Her black hair has gotten a little longer than the military mandate in the past few months, reaching almost down to her shoulders, but disguising her bearing is difficult. Her stance, body language, and striking build all bear the hallmarks of a military existence. But with her current situation, she’s put real effort into disguising it. She carries a large case, of the variety meant to hold a large instrument, and dresses in rather battered looking pants, boots that most wouldn’t be paid to wear (and aren’t the right size for her, either), and a simple shirt underneath a generic weathered flight jacket. Someone who looks close enough (most don’t get the chance) might note the hints of the Stormtrooper body glove worn underneath it all, that extends down from her sleeves to cover her hands. A pair of glasses complete the ‘disguise’, ensuring that facial scanners can’t pick her out, gait recognition won’t pick her up, and no one will give the face behind them a second look. The body glove has the helpful benefit of ensuring she never leaves fingerprints.

     

    Skills: Like all Stormtroopers, Rebekah went through extensive training. Unlike most Stormtroopers, hers did not end after graduation. On top of the usual training regimen, she was trained in zero-g combat when she was recruited into the Zero-G Assault Stormtroopers (colloquially called the ‘Spacetroopers’). Her training for this role was specialized towards zero-g maneuvering, boarding maneuvers, and close-quarters combat. Her purpose, after all, was to board and capture enemy ships intact. Her recruitment into the Novatroopers came with yet more training, this time oriented towards a commando role as well as bodyguarding. Due to the myriad of roles she has served in, NT-081 is versed in the use of most hand-held Imperial weapons and hand-to-hand combat, with experience in using (and dealing with) vibroblades.

     

    Her latter years of service as an officer lead to a good grasp of squad-level tactics, as well as anti-insurrectionist and anti-terrorist doctrines. Given the need to understand a strategy in order to fight it, she is as aware of how these strategies work as she is of how to fight them. More personally, NT-081 is nearly fearless. Whether she was always that way or the events of her service record have taught her the habit is unknown, but the reality is that she is nearly unflappable.

     

    The grasp of Imperial protocol that comes with carrying it out, as well, has been invaluable in evading her own former allies.

     

    Equipment: First and foremost, Novatrooper armor. Its schematics, at first glance, are very much identical to the standard Stromtrooper equipment; reinforced segments over a shrapnel-resistant body glove. It has all of the base specs of the Stormtrooper armor (including utility belt equipment, polarizing and anti-flash lenses, MFTAS, twenty minutes of air, and personal shield projector among others), as well as some personally selected modifications and Novatrooper enhancements. Novatrooper armor is more reinforced than the standard issue, thus making it more resistant to attack, and Rebekah herself opted for the optional stun function integrated into its gloves.

     

    Some of the functions, of late, are more of a burden than a boon. She is forced to keep the armor offline as much as possible, due to the risk that someone will pick up the IFF transponder in its backpack. Disabling said transponder is (intentionally) difficult to do without hindering the suit’s other functions. Similarly, much of her equipment is hidden due to recognizability; her E-11s rifle, in particular, would be much too recognizable in a populated area. The variant of the E-11 has been modified for removable barrel extension, making it once more suitable for mid-range engagements as well as long-range.

     

    On her person, she carries a surprising number of smoke grenades (quite literally up her sleeves), a few fragmentary grenades, thermal detonators, a vibroblade at her armpit, a DT-57 heavy blaster pistol (acquired off the black market) tucked as inconspicuously as possible in her bag, and a small blaster at her hip.

     

    Personality: A decade of service to the Stormtrooper Corp has instilled a military bearing that, even when laying low, she can’t entirely seem to shake. Her disposition is calm, collected, and professional bordering on completely unflappable. She can (and has) turned the tables on a would-be mugger without changing expression. Like all Stormtroopers, she is inherently loyal to the Empire.

     

    Where she differs is in what that means. NT-081 is loyal to the ideals of the Empire, to be a strong central government for the betterment of the people, but not inherently to the people running it. In fact she holds the current Moffs (and formerly, the current Emperor) in contempt, seeing them as having turned their backs on the purpose of the system they founded. She also possesses a frankly astonishing degree of loyalty to the people she considers to be her allies, as she is accustomed to working within tight-knit units of individuals with a similar purpose. She is perfectly civil to those she is neutral towards, and pragmatic with those she considers enemies.

    History: Rebekah was born and raised in the Core Worlds. She was raised in an atmosphere loyal to the ideals of the Republic, and later the Empire, and dedicated to supporting it. It was a noble cause, and aiding the Empire was to be commended. The people of Kuat, of Anaxes, of the Imperial Center were all helping the Empire in some way, however small. Perhaps it was not surprising, then, that when she was old enough she sought to enlist in the Imperial military.

     

    Not, surprisingly, in the Imperial Navy. She believed that everyone in the Core Worlds picked the Navy, looking to use their family’s influence to get on the officer track and have a comfortable career. Not willing to do the hard work necessary to keep the people safe. She, instead, attempted to enlist with the Stormtrooper Corps. And in an exceptional rarity she passed all of the physical requirements, and after rigorous training, was accepted into the Corps. Like all Stormtroopers she was conditioned heavily into being loyal to the Empire, but she served in the Corps with great aptitude and spent only a few years where she was before being scouted by several more specialized branches of the Corps. The Scouts and Heavy Troopers expressed interest, but ultimately she ended up being reassigned to the Zero-G Assault Troopers. The Spacetroopers.

     

    As a Spacetrooper, Rebekah was trained extensively in zero-g maneuvering both in and out of the Spacetrooper units, trooper-to-ship combat, close-quarters combat and maneuvering, as well as boarding tactics. When her training was complete and she entered service as a Spacetrooper, the Rebel Alliance was nearing the end of its infancy. Graduating from a small dissident movement to actual armed rebellion, focusing primarily on hit-and-run maneuvers on Imperial convoys both to cause damage and obtain material supplies. It became common practice, after a time, for all Imperial convoys to be escorted by ships capable of carrying TIE fighters.

     

    Less known, but no less prevalent, is the tendency for these escorts to carry complements of Spacetroopers. Much of the time the early Alliance employed X-Wings for these guerilla tactics, and as such, the Spacetroopers were less frequently used. At least, under any sane commanding officer. Aboard the ISD Majesty, where Rebekah was stationed at the time, the CO could not be said to be competent. When engaged by X-Wings supported by a Mon Calamari Star Cruiser. At this point in time the Mon Cala designs were new to the world, especially under Rebel control, and their appearance caused something of a panic to the Raider-class Majesty, the Imperial cutter aiding it and the freighters they escorted. Their CO, under the influence of said panic, dispatched the Majesty’s full platoon of Spacetroopers onto a battlefield swarmed with TIE fighters and X-Wings.

     

    Unsurprisingly, the platoon took heavy losses almost immediately. Despite being smaller targets than starfighters, they didn’t have the same speed with which to evade enemy fire. The Spacetrooper unit was meant for use against ships, not against fighters. Their orders were to reach and capture the Mon Cala ship, something made extremely difficult due to the X-Wings between them and their target.

     

    Until, at least, Rebekah had an idea and ordered her squad to contact and rendezvous with a TIE fighter. Using the tools meant to allow them to cling on to a ship her squad secured themselves to the underside of a fighter that then conveyed them to effective range of the Mon Cala cruiser, while the Spacetrooper passenger used their unit’s heavy weapons to keep any X-Wings off their ride’s back.  In total about eighteen of the thirty eight Spacetroopers dispatched made it to the Mon Cala cruiser, of whom the platoon commander was not one. So under then-LS-0322’s instructions nine of the troopers broke off and set about using their proton torpedos to sabotage the cruiser’s ion cannons, while Rebekah herself lead the remaining nine to breach the ship and take it over from the inside. Nine pairs of laser cutters made short work of the airlocks (removing any opposition, quite effectively, for several hallways past their point of entry) and the nine made it aboard without further casualties. As per standard operating procedure, two thirds of the group exited their Spacetrooper units to engage with standard hand-held weapons while the remaining third remained inside to act as heavy fire support. Said heavy supports, Fell included, took point through the halls with their superior armor.

     

    While the Majesty fought from outside, the surviving members of the external saboteurs breached the cruiser on the stern end of the ship, making their way forward while Fell’s squad swept aft. Ultimately the cruiser was captured with only one further fatality amongst the Spacetroopers, though three had to be evacuated from the captured vessel for medical attention.

     

    This battle, among others, secured her a number of promotions and the recognition of her superiors. Seven years into her service in the Corps she was invited to join the prestigious Novatroopers, an offer she readily accepted. She was further trained in commando and body-guarding operations, and assigned initially to operations for the former specialization before being assigned as an honor guard at high profile Imperial occasions.

     

    Despite her excellent service record, NT-081 began to have serious doubts about the Empire’s leadership as time went on. Their callousness with the lives of the men and women under their command, their disregard for the Empire’s ideals, and their unnerving ruthlessness began to shake the faith she had in their capabilities. The failure to charge any of the surviving conspirators in Moff Tarkin’s (apparently) rogue actions against Alderaan, and in fact the dedication ceremony at the site of a planned second Death Star, destroyed her faith entirely. The leaders of the Empire had turned their back on its purpose and its people.

     

    And before the second Death Star became operational, she was going to do something about it. Four months before Palpatine’s death she was assigned as a guard at a meeting of the highest ranking Moffs, as well as the Emperor. Without any avenue through which to file an official charge, nor the authority to back it up, NT-081 reached a decision; she would eliminate those responsible for the deaths of billions.

     

    The Emperor, at the last minute, decided to attend by holoterminal instead, but the other Moffs were present. As head of security, she had the clearance to plant the explosives necessary to destroy the meeting hall. Everything was in place.

    Until something jammed her detonator.

     

    Rebekah has, to this day, no idea who discovered her plan or who stopped it. But she was being chased by her fellow Novatroopers, and the facility’s own Stormtroopers, within minutes. But she had prepared for this, and escaped in a Lambda-class shuttle that she had commandeered and readied ahead of time. She was pursued, of course, but when they discovered the shuttle adrift in space a dozen systems away it was empty. Evidence pointed to the use of a Spacetrooper unit to board a passing vehicle, but no trail could be discovered. And thus began the game of cat and mouse, while the ISD Regency chased her across the galaxy. Every time they thought they were getting close, she would disappear. She couldn’t shake them, they always found another clue, but they couldn’t seem to catch up.

     

    Rebekah Fell, formerly NT-081, has spent the past eight months near the top of the Empire’s most wanted list. And now, the Regency has finally chased her to the planet Taris.

     

    Ship: N/A

     

    Affiliation: Previously Galactic Empire, currently rogue and being hunted.

     

    Rank: Officially rogue. Previously an officer in the Novatroopers, with rank equivalent to a Stormtrooper commander.

     

    Position: Currently, none. Previously an officer in the Novatroopers.

     

    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

     

    Name: Krayn Inzaka


    Renik Reference Code: Agent 232

      Alias: Synapse

    Age: 26

    Gender/Species: Human Male

    Appearance: About average height, Krayn looks like the Alderaanian stereotype. Refined, both in gait and in accent, with well-kept dark brown hair. His skin’s a little pale, like he lacked for both sunlight and nutrients for a not significant amount of time, and he’s still skinnier than he used to be. Until he returns to his usual healthy weight, Inzaka is a fair sight lighter than he should be for his height and muscle mass. And that muscle mass is definitely present. Lean, for the most part, but belying substantial strength behind his frame. He wears nondescript slacks and a long sleeve shirt under a battered Imperial agent’s coat, one with any symbols identifying it long since removed. His time before and after Citadel Station left him with a not insubstantial collection of fading scars on his torso, but the time shows most in his face.

    Krayn could once, and indeed still could be, have been called handsome. His face is a little thinner, now, his cheekbones more prominent but the only permanent mark of his time is a thin scar, faded thanks to Republic medical attention, across his left eye socket from down by his nose to up past his eyebrow. The shade of his left eye doesn’t perfectly match, either; the right is a deep emerald, while the left just can’t quite seem to perfect the shade

    Skills: Krayn was, foremost, an expert in computer systems. Most people would’ve called him a slicer, thought strictly he was taught how to combat slicers. The matter is semantic, given that the skillset is the same. The only question is how they’re applied. The point is that he is an expert at gaining access to systems and bending them to his will, as well as working to prevent others from doing the same. His education was supplemented with education on robotics, applied to droids primarily, and his time with Imperial Intelligence further broadened his technical skill-set as he learned on the go. Nearly ten years of either school or on the job experience has left him with a competence in his field that few match.

    But, when one works for Imperial Intelligence they do not always leave quite as peaceful as they came. Krayn was not an exception. Upon accepting the transfer to Renik he was trained as a field operative of the I.I. second most plausibly deniable branch, with all that the designation implies. Weapons training, of course, to ensure proficiency with the sorts of weapons that a Renik operative is most likely to be using. Sidearms were a primary focus, with additional time spent on carbines and rifles. Due to the nature of Renik more focus was put on efficiency than volume, given that a Renik agent forced to engage in open, front lines warfare is one that has already failed their objective. As a result he is highly efficient in gunfights, especially situations where the opposition has numerical superiority, but is not at all well versed in military tactics. He is an agent, not a soldier. Effort was put into teaching him how to fight hand to hand, but mostly as a last resort. He is best able to either put an opponent down quick and dirty, or disengage and retreat to a better range.

    His skills are, however, excellently suited for infiltration, assessment, and extermination. Working with Renik has been about exactly those things, and their operations have slipped disturbingly close to those of Destab from time to time. His grasp of rudimentary psychology, learned through experience, suits him well in his efforts to stay one step ahead. Keep at least one ace up his sleeve. He has a surprisingly high pain tolerance, and he doesn’t frighten very easily at all. Krayn developed something of a reputation during his time with Renik for utiliziing his implant to turn any local battle droids, a not uncommon part of a former CIS resistance cell’s repertoire, against their would-be masters.


    Equipment: Krayn carries, at all times, two blaster pistols holstered on either side of his waist. A third, much smaller, is holstered under his left arm. Vibroknives are hidden in either boot, with a third on the underside of his right forearm. His primary weapon is a DC-19 Stealth carbine, formerly in use by the the Republic’s clone Shadow Troopers. The medium-sized blaster has a perfectly normal firing mode, but also has a mode that makes use of tibanna gas to render its shots completely undetectable to the naked eye. This mode only has ten shots, and the gas is very expensive, so Krayn prefers not to waste them.

    He also carries several datapads, the tools of his trade, and a tool kit on his belt. With these items he can gain access to most physical systems in the galaxy, given enough time. Most people eye the weapons, but the tools of the trade are what he can do the most damage to. He also owns, and operates, an R-4 recon droid.

    These, however, are only the pieces of equipment he carries externally. The former Imperial agent also has two cybernetic implants; the first is a Hi-Sense Enhanced Eye that replaces his left eye. After his ‘gentle’ treatment at Citadel Station, Krayn was in need of medical attention. His left eye was not salvageable, and rather than waste the resources to grow a replacement on someone that might yet be executed, they implanted him with the cybernetic device. The eye lets him see with greater resolution, see in low/no light environments, see in infrared and ultraviolet, as well as provide telemetry analysis.

    The second is not commercially available, and likely never will be. Designed by the Tech sector of Imperial Intelligence’s Analysis Bureau, it’s referred to on paper as “Interface Mk. IX”. The device is a neural implant, invisible to the naked eye, that reads neural signals. The implant maintains a pre-existing toolkit of scripts to be executed. The device can interface with most computer systems wirelessly, though there is a physical port hidden on his underarm, as well as hijack the old Master Control Signal to transmit commands to old CIS battle droids. Other droids can be sent commands in much the same way, without the need for the MCP.

    Personality: Quiet and professional. Anyone who knew Krayn from before Renik wouldn’t recognize him. His time with Imperial Intelligence, and subsequent time in Citadel Station, have left him hardened and difficult to reach. He doesn’t emote very much. That’s not to say he doesn’t have feelings, but they’re played very close to the chest. Emotions that others can see, thoughts that others can see, are something that can be used against him. His trust is exceptionally hard to earn, after what he sees as the Empire’s betrayal, and as a result few trust him.

    That’s not to say that he doesn’t have emotions or thoughts. Quite the opposite, and it can be relatively easy to glimpse his anger under the right circumstances. He has a rather dry sense of humor, and sharp enough to match, and will frequently make snarky remarks on the situation. Nevertheless, he has his principles. Buried they might be, and buried deep sometimes, but they’re there. If you’re his ally, there’s an unspoken agreement there. He’ll watch your back, and he’ll watch it like it was his own, as long as you stay his ally. No one gets left behind, and no one gets betrayed. And woe betide anyone who breaks that unspoken agreement in his presence.

    His biggest button, the quickest way to anger him, is Imperial apologists. Or mentions of Alderaan, Wilhuf Tarkin, or the Emperor. Any one of them is a very, very quick way to see that even Krayn can get angry.

    History: An Alderaanian native, Krayn was born to a family of Imperial supporters. The Organas, he was raised to believe, were good people; they believed in the stances they espoused and that in and of itself made them better than most politicians in the galaxy. But their intentions were misguided. The Empire had been a motion passed by the Republic Senate, one that saved them from the Clone Wars and ushered in a new age of peace. The Empire was strong enough to protect the common people from the CIS, the Jedi, and anyone else who threatened their safety. That’s not to say he was pushed to enlist; the Inzakas weren’t a military family, and they had no desire to be. A desire to support the Empire didn’t mean a desire to enlist in their military.

    But the Inzakas were incredibly enthusiastic proponents of education. There was no doubt that their son would have the very best, and he would have the grades to earn it. Schooling came before everything, and Krayn had a natural knack for the accumulation of knowledge. He didn’t have much interest in politics, however. Even though Alderaan was a hotbed of Rebel activity, and it was a sentiment he was exposed to constantly, it just wasn’t anything relevant to him. What did he care who was in power? The change from Republic to Empire was academic, and his interest in it was only in the realm of academia. Even as his peers became increasingly radicalized, to one extreme or the other, Krayn remained apathetic.

    He stayed apathetic well into his time at University. Krayn went to school in Aldera, a few years ahead of the rest of his peers thanks to his early academic accomplishments. His primary area of interest, and of study, was the realm of slicers and the professionals who worked to stop them. He minored in studying droids, as well, and the combination of the two was a potent skillset. It took only a year for him to catch the attention of the Empire, but for reasons very different from most of Alderaan. They wanted to offer him a job. Full time, permanent employment. Excellent pay. Excellent benefits. A retirement package. It was a dream gig, and they were offering it to him right out of school. He’d have to have been an idiot to refuse, and Krayn Inzaka was no idiot.

    So from the moment he graduated, Krayn Inzaka was an employee of Imperial Intelligence. He was a member of the Imperial CompLink Bureau, at first. He worked to maintain the spyware that gave the II its raw data, watch for any subversions of it, and develop new pieces of software to prevent those subversions. He was incredibly adept, and took to his work readily. It was a game for him. He didn’t care about the politics, he just enjoyed the cat and mouse. Some slicer would come up with a way to bypass CompLink’s surveillance and he would work on stopping their method. His colleagues would succeed, inevitably, and the slicers would come up with something new. They all shared his enthusiasm. Most of his colleagues were recruited right out of their schools too, and they were all the best in their fields. A new problem was just a new challenge to be solved.

    He could probably have stayed like that forever, happily. Until they offered him a transfer to Renik. In the public eye, Renik didn’t exist. Within Imperial Intelligence it was known as the Bureau of Operation’s counter-espionage branch. Its exact workings, its inner operations, were hidden behind multiple front companies but it was known that they specialized in identifying espionage operations within the Empire and determining whether or not they were a risk. Operations that might be useful were revealed to Infiltration for subsequent manipulation. Operations that posed a risk to the Empire were eliminated. And it so happened that they were in need of a tech specialist they could put in the field. It seemed like a promotion, and Krayn didn’t hesitate to take it. He was put through an immense battery of training programs, programs designed to take him from officer worker to field agent. Weapons training, hand to hand, social engineering, infiltration, and resistance to interrogation.

    Within two years of graduating from university Krayn had ended up in the deep end. There was no game anymore. He dealt in the identification and dismantling of elements within the Empire’s infrastructure that were sympathetic to the Rebels. And he was very good at his job. Renik got the best toys, and Krayn developed something of a reputation for using an operation’s own equipment to identify them and take them down. He was capable, he was efficient, and best of all, he didn’t ask questions. His service record was ninety percent black ink, but by the Battle of Yavin it was well-known that his operations were more along the lines of Destab than the CompLink work he’d been doing only a few years before.

    The destruction of Alderaan changed everything. The Empire wrote it off first as the actions of the Rebel Alliance, and later as Tarkin going rogue, but intelligence was Krayn’s business. Not that the truth was very well hidden to begin with. From the moment he knew the truth, saw his family on the casualty list, the Empire had created its own intelligence nightmare.

    He immediately began setting up his own backdoors into everything he could. CompLink software, using his old connections. Renik’s records. Their front companies. Every single system he had clearance to, and a few he stole clearance for. Duplicate credentials. Dummy accounts, exploits he could come back to later. He spent the next few months embedding himself deep inside every system he could and weaving himself so tightly within that he would be nearly impossible to expunge. Then he got to work. He leaked files, operational reports, software, hardware schematics, anything that would damage the Empire to anyone who’d use it against them. Vengeful Alderaanians. Mercenaries. The Rebels. An alias, Synapse, hidden behind hundreds of proxies and dead ends.

    And all the while he kept up his day job. His supervisors were none the wiser, and even when they did finally wise up, they caught the wrong man. A colleague in Renik, Alderaanian by birth himself, took the fall for the files stored on his personal datapad. Krayn was able to carry on working for another six months.

    It’s hard to say exactly where he slipped up, but the agents of Renik weren’t fools. It was only a matter of time. When Internal Organizations came for him, he was ready. A firefight across the Imperial Center ensued, culminating in half a dozen dead security officers and local police, multiple more wounded, and Inzaka in custody. There would be no trial. He knew that. The public would never know he had turned traitor, or even that he existed. That was how Imperial Intelligence operated. His execution was imminent.

    They didn’t get the chance. He demanded to see the agent in charge of his sentencing. The officers that came to his holding cell refused, not so politely, and attempted to remove him by force. They were themselves dragged out of his cell, and the security was doubled. It only took one more set of dead guards for the agent to get the message. He gave Krayn his meeting, through the bars, past the security, and without taking Krayn out of his restraints. Not that he needed to be free to make his ultimatum.

    In the six months following the arrest of his decoy, he’d prepared a deadman’s switch. A repository of the most damaging files he could get his hands on, reports the Empire would never want to get out, and programmed his implant to check his vitals once an hour. If it registered, even once, that they stopped then the files went public. Not something the I. I. could allow. So they locked him up, instead. Locked him up and threw away the key.

    After Endor, during the Rebel’s push, they found him locked in Citadel Station. A prison, ironically, Tarkin had once been very familiar with himself. The former Imperial Intelligence agent was alive, but his captors hadn’t treated him very well. It took a few weeks of medical care and physical therapy, plus an implant for the eye they couldn’t save, to get him back on his feet. When he finally was, he found himself in another conundrum. There were plenty of people in the New Republic that wanted to put him on trial for his time in Renik. Others though he deserved another shot, after going traitor to begin with.

    They reached a compromise, and stuck him with an Echani named Dor. If he completed enough missions for them, he was a free man. Assuming he survived.

    Ship: DP20 Frigate

    Affiliation: New Republic. Very loosely. Krayn is not officially involved with their operations, and goes on the missions he is assigned as a sort of ‘community service’. The alternative is a jail cell or a blaster bolt until such a time as the brass decide he’s paid his debt.

    Rank: If part of a larger organization, do note that Imperial Moffs aren’t likely to concern themselves with these events, and the New Republic leadership is too busy trying to keep a government together to notice.

    Position: One half of the New Republic’s plausibly deniable operatives. In Krayn’s eyes, he just switched out working for the Empire for the Republic.

    Alignment: Neutral Good

     

    Name: R3-V0LVAR7 (Revolver)

    Gender/Species: Male Programming, Protocol Droid (Refitted)

    Appearance: Originally an AR-7, modified and given as a gift by Imperial Intelligence, Revolver received a major overhaul as soon as Krayn obtained him. Revolver had been scrapped and left in a warehouse to rust after his previous owner discovered the surveillance systems in his head and removed them… Along with his head. He was retrieved by Krayn’s old contacts, and the former agent got to work. The missing cranial unit was replaced by that of a 3PO series model, and resulting both in a genuine personality and a number of new programs installed to take advantage of the 3PO’s storage space. His cheap-looking silver chassis was reinforced and resurfaced in black, while the majority of the modifications occurred under the hood.

    Though nondescript from the outside, Revolver conceals a number of hidden compartments and gadgets. Both wrists contain concealed garrote wire, a finger contains a small quantity of a potent neurotoxin, and his right hand contains a hidden taser in the palm. His right thigh conceals, after some clever rearrangement of internals, conceals a small blaster pistol. This compartment, as well as the three of varying sizes in his torso, are lined with sensor-spoofing materials.

    The largest compartment generally conceals Krayn’s DC-19, split into smaller components, that Revolver can retrieve and make use of if the situation calls for it. The rest are generally used for smuggling. When expecting to go into combat, Revolver brings with him a Nightstinger sporting rifle, a revolving launcher of various explosives (from where he earned his name), and a first aid kit.

    Skills:As a protocol droid, Revolver is highly adept at scheduling, translating, and ensuring smooth diplomatic relations. He also has been loaded with a large number of combat subroutines, making it highly effective for ranged fire support and sneak attacks. With the chassis of a protocol droid, Revolver is more than capable of concealing himself in plain sight while his wards are on their missions and is happy to assist them as needed.

    Krayn thought ahead and included first aid in the knowledge loaded into the 3PO cranial unit, and as such, Revolver is capable of providing simple medical attention. He generally assists as diplomat, messenger, steward, fire support, assassin, and medic as the Republic’s two-lunatic deniable asset team require.

    Personality:Revolver is polite, productive, and a consummate professional. Unlike his purpose-built assassin droid counterparts, he does not suffer from the oddly sadistic homicidal tendencies that characters units such as the HK-50s. In fact, due to the source for the majority of his core programming, Revolver believes in being as helpful as he can. He feels a certain loyalty to Krayn and Dor, whom he refers to formally as “Master Inzaka” and “Master Shaddix” respectively. He has concluded for himself that he fills a steward or butler esque role on the team, given that neither of his peers will bother with matters of day to day routine, and fills it with pride.

    That loyalty, however, also comes with a certain protectiveness. A protectiveness generally manifested in the form of his willingness to eliminate any threats to their safety if either so much as gives the signal. He will express little joy in the matter, unless feeling particularly vindictive towards a target, but will seem rather disappointed if a matter did not proceed cleanly and efficiently.

    History: Revolver started life as an AR-7, which is to say, not much of a life at all. AR-7s were loaded with stern but bland generic personalities, and were highly undesirable products. Imperial Intelligence began an initiative to modify them for surveillance, then give them as a gift to people of importance. The chassis that would eventually be Revolver’s was discovered, and its displeased owner removed the surveillance along with the AR-7’s entire head.

    Krayn, in need of a support unit, contacted his old resources from his active days both in the I.I. and as Synapse. They found the damaged AR-7 sitting disused in a warehouse, and sent it to the New Republic base where Krayn was being ‘hosted’. Over the course of a week the former agent, with the input of his new compatriot, modified and repaired the chassis with replacement parts. Thus, Revolver was born.

    Though he has not lived for very long, all things considered, Revolver had busied himself being useful, helpful, and supportive. In fact, he sometimes seems wise beyond his… Months.

    Affiliation: Krayn Inzaka and Dor Shaddix, by extension New Republic

  • Edited on 2016-06-15 20:21:35 by Peele
  • Posted 2016-02-03 22:42:02 UTC
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  • So, when do we kill the Klingons with our sonic screwdrivers?

  • Posted 2016-02-03 22:43:52 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Name: Enaltai
    Age: 26
    Gender/Species: Male Arkanian
    Appearance:
    here
    Skills:Force-sensitivity, as well as a wellspring of general knowledge and education. Moderately well-trained with melee weapons. Speaks two languages fluently - Arkanian and Basic - and has significant understanding of ancient Sith, as well as a handful of Huttese words and phrases.
    Force Abilities: As Enaltai's Force abilities are largely self-trained, he possesses only a few. Namely, he has some ability to use Force Pull, Force Push, and Force Choke, and has experimented, albeit mostly unsuccessfully, with force persuasion.
    Equipment: A vibrosword he keeps on his back and a vibroknife, usually kept in his pockets.
    Items: Several datapads. One of them is his personal journal, a couple of others he collected outline what little he could collect of the histories of the wars of the ancient Sith and Jedi.
    Affiliation: None as of yet
    Alignment: Enaltai feels a affinity to the teachings of the ancient Sith - not in the form that the Galactic Empire taught to its Inquisitor apprentices, however. He despises the totalitarian Empire, which, although it eliminated the Jedi, refused to share the power of the Force with those capable of wielding it: essentially, Enaltai places the final tenet of the Sith Code, "The Force shall free me" above all, and believes in a return to the days of the Sith of old, where, he is convinced, a level field existed for Force-sensitives to rise and fall based on nothing other than their own ability and skill.
    Personality: This Arkanian, despite his well-recognised lure towards the dark side, is not what you would call a typical Sith adherent. He neither possesses an unsatiable thirst to dominate others, nor wishes to possess power - as Darth Bane's precept ordered - for power's own sake. In fact, his hatred for the concept of servitude is only matched by his hatred for those slavish or complacent enough to subject themselves to such disgrace. His feelings about the Jedi, too, are not ones of hatred, but ones of disdain; their order he thinks dangerous and misguided, but he does not feel strongly one way or the other about their apparent rebirth under the Last Jedi, Luke Skywalker.

    Enaltai's link to the Dark Side, stronger than anything else, is an unabated wellspring of anger and a disregard for the interests of others. It is not to say that the Arkanian is incapable of kindness - he shows it well enough to those close to him and especially the downtrodden, forgotten and misunderstood of galactic society. He detests, despite his interest and affection for the teachings of the Sith, the Empire, and disdains the New Republic, seeing it as the resurrection of an inefficient, outdated regime.
    History: Born 26 years ago at the outset of the Clone Wars in the Colonies world of Arkania to the family of a noted Arkanian geneticist, Enaltai was identified as a force-sensitive child in the last waning days of the Republic by a Jedi master visiting the planet, who intended to, with his parents' permission, take Enaltai into the Jedi Order for training as soon as possible on his next return; however, as the Republic was replaced by the Empire, and the Jedi purged, Enaltai remained with his parents, who sought to hide their child's force-sensitivity for fear harm might come to him.

    It was an authoritarian sort of household, with Enaltai's parents desiring he, too, embrace a path through life in science as they had. His father, Morsan, demanded often unreasonable things of the youth, especially as he grew into a teenager, and placed often unreasonable restrictions on him, like outright forbidding close-combat training - a hobby Enaltai much liked - for fear of triggering his Force abilities in some way. Yet despite their best efforts, they could not hide Enaltai from himself: at the age of 16, an untrained Enaltai, while sparring with a friend, infuriated by his friend's taunts, harnessed, in his fury and by accident, what he later understood to be the power of the Force in what was essentially a primitive Force Push.

    His parents, when they heard, were horrified - they punished him by forbidding all outings for the teenage Enaltai, and sought to force him to shift his focus to his studies. However, Enaltai now knew there was something more to him than they would tell him, and sought knowledge of what this power that he held was. No matter how many times he attempted to replicate what he had done, it would not come to him, and the libraries of Arkania, long robbed of all literature speaking of the Jedi and the Sith by the Imperial authorities, held no answers.

    What held answers were the rumours and stories of older people, who spoke in hushed tones of an age before the Empire, of the age of the Republic, where an entire Order of those who used to wield the Force - the Force, a mystical energy that joined all living creatures together - existed; and this intrigued Enaltai, for understandable reasons. He began to, mostly covertly, as he knew that being noticed by the Imperial authorities would have been anything but pleasant, collect what historical knowledge he could about the Jedi and the Sith of old; he devoured databook after databook of the philosophies of these ancient wielders of the Force, though he for understandable reasons could not find any guidance as to how to use the Force.

    His parents grew increasingly concerned about his interest, especially his father, who became gradually more and more paranoid, convinced, for unclear reasons, that Imperial security was already following them; he began to argue increasingly with Enaltai's mother Arta, adding more fuel to an already blazing flame of argument between them. Morsan accused his mother of being the source of 'their suffering' - for, as Enaltai learned, his maternal relatives claimed a distant descent from an ancient Sith Lord, a lineage supposedly stretching from before the Great Hyperspace War.

    What this ultimately ended in was that Morsan's patience broke after repeated attempts to prevent Enaltai from studying the Force, and he sent his son away, on a pre-arranged apprenticeship with another Arkanian scientist; an arrangement Enaltai absolutely hated, not least because this scientist instituted an even more authoritarian regime than the one of his father's. Nevertheless, he found that it too had it's uses: the scientist, before long, decided to send his young apprentice off to improve himself and study genetics - a course simply obnoxiously overflowing with other Arkanians - at Alderaan University, paying for his tuition and his accommodation costs. Enaltai, although he hated the course itself, found Alderaan a welcome breath of fresh air, where the university's immense library could provide him with far more detailed accounts of the ancient Jedi - and Sith - than he previously had experienced. It was there that he first learned of two figures that would fascinate him for the rest of his life - Darths Malak and Revan, of the old Jedi Civil War. It was there, in the gardens of that magnificent university, that he learned to meditate and reach out, feeling the Force in the world around him, and began to - carefully, having first taken all necessary security precautions - attempt to repeat what he had done long ago as a teenager.

    Shocking news came from home, however, in his third year of university, when he was 21. His mother had died - killed herself, in fact. Shocked and dejected, Enaltai left Alderaan, returning to Arkania - where he found that in the time that he was gone, his father had taken a mistress during one of his rows with Arta, and delighted in how public his affair was, psychologically torturing Enaltai's mother until she could take no more. Even then, Morsan seemed to feel no remorse, gladly admitting to what he had done.

    Overcome with fury, Enaltai unexpectedly tapped into the Force, namely, as one might expect, given that he was drawing on his anger, its dark side. Feeling its vast power overwhelm him, Enaltai slew his father's mistress by slamming her to the wall with a Force Push and finishing her off with his pocket vibroknife. His father he broke with a furious Force Choke just as he sought to call upon his guards.

    As Morsan lay dying, his trachea crushed from Enaltai's Force Choke, his son approached him and said the last words he'd ever hear again, Enaltai's mission statement:

    "No longer will I be denied the gift that is in my blood. No longer will you deny me my life. And no man in this galaxy will ever bend others to their will as you had, or they shall answer to me. The Force shall free me."

    Understanding that he now had no future on Arkania, except perhaps a cold jail cell as soon as the Imperials figured out what killed Morsan and his mistress, Enaltai fled the planet. In his subsequent wanderings, of which little is known, he adopted fully his own reinterpretation of the ancient Sith Code, which emphasises liberation through power, and rejects the Rule of Two. He has now arrived on Taris as a passenger on the freighter Blackhand, out of the Outer Rim. What brings him here, only he can say.




    Name: Cylund Calrissian
    Age: 23
    Gender/Species: Male Human
    Appearance:
    here
    Skills: Cylund is an excellent, if not exceptional, pilot and has a fairly good grasp of basic computing, as well. Quite ###### good with a blaster, too. Only speaks Basic and a smattering of Ryl words. Has, however, learned to understand and, impressively, "speak" the Lekku language with his dreadlocks: although, as Tallik often points out, badly. He also has a fair amount of ability with a swoop bike, having raced quite a few in his youth.
    Force Abilities: N/A
    Equipment: BlasTech A280 blaster rifle, pocket vibroknife.
    Affiliation: Technically none, but professes a theoretical allegiance to the New Republic. Other than that, his only real ally is his shipmate Tallik.
    Alignment: Cylund is best aligned with two things: the freedom of open space and the cool digital feel of a batch of credits. Also occasionally a weakness for Zeltron women.
    Ship: The Tarisian Midge, an Adarian-make freighter that he pilots and shares ownership of with his Twi'lek teammate, Tallik Vao. Originally found in less than mint condition in a Tarisian junkyard, Cylund and Tallik repaired the ancient piece of bantha fodder only through great effort, trial and error, and a certain absolute disrespect for the law on Cylund's part. With every more lucrative blockade run, the ship would get an upgrade, now equipped with:
    -a class 1 hyperdrive from Kuat Drive Yards,
    -angled ray and particle deflector shields,
    -sensor jammers,
    -an Adarian carbon ice-drive left over by the freighter's previous owners, that had been initially badly damaged, now repaired by Cylund and Tallik,
    -two KX-4 swivel-mounted laser cannons,
    -a single forward-mounted H6 turbolaser.
    The ship contains a basic enough set of amenities: the pilot's cabin, guest quarters, Cylund and Tallik's rooms, a medbay equipped with two stasis pods, a cargo hold (with three hidden smuggling compartments + a swoop bike) and a bar.
    Personality: Cylund is a light-hearted soul with a dislike for concerning himself with things beyond his ability to understand or to deal with. He likes simple things: money, cards, women, life. Although it is obvious he is no fool, he rarely bothers himself with higher pursuits - instant gratification being his general preference. He is anything but unkind, however, and will never actively seek ill upon others, unless his life itself depends upon it. Clever, but not shrewd, Cylund honestly wants nothing but for the authorities, whoever they are, to leave him alone to his own devices, for the wine to keep flowing, and for the money to keep accumulating in his pockets.
    History: These days, everyone's heard of smuggler-turned-magnate-turned-New Republic General Lando Calrissian. It's hard not to if you live in, really, anywhere outside the Unknown Regions; blowing up the second Death Star does give you a certain sense of fame if nothing else.

    Lando Calrissian's elder brother Astan, meanwhile, did not at any point in his lifetime have it as easy as Lando did. Or as exciting. Unlike his renowned sibling, Astan left Socorro when Lando was but five years old to do what he called "good, honest work" - he became a mechanic, working on the crews of various freighters. While working on a merchant ship, the Rodia VI, that would, every month, make its way along the Hydian Way between Serenno and Taris, Astan, on shore leave in Taris, met a Tarisian woman, Nayla. From that point on, every time the Rodia VI docked at Taris, Astan would seek her out, and increasingly the month-long wait to return to Taris would seem far too long. By the time he got fired by his captain on his ninth return to Taris, he no longer minded, and in 21 BBY he and Nayla got married.

    Cylund, Astan and Nayla's son, was born two years later - under tragic circumstances indeed. His parents lived on Taris a life even less affluent than Astan's was as a ship mechanic, getting by on whatever jobs they could find, and thus the best clinic they were able to afford for Nayla to go into labour in was arguably Taris's worst. In the deeply unsanitary circumstances of Taris's lowest reaches, Nayla gave birth to Cylund - only to perish in childbirth. As if things were not bad enough, two days later came word that the Republic had been abolished and the Empire constituted in its place, and his father, who'd been raised a lifelong supporter of the Republic and its Constitution, felt utterly shellshocked by this turn of events.

    Having lost his wife, the one person he loved the most, and shocked by the political developments on the galactic stage, Astan gave all his love and care to his son, Cylund. The conditions in which they lived were appalling at best, however; Astan attempted to make a living off his mechanic abilities, working as a droid mechanic in the lower levels of Taris, but that paid rather badly and passage off of Taris for both him and the young Cylund was too expensive to afford. He found himself giving away his last scraps of money to feeding both himself and Cylund, and things just seemed to be getting worse and worse; by the time Cylund turned 5, they got kicked out of their small apartment due to a failure to pay the rent, and from there on they would attempt to make a living in whatever abandoned dwellings they could find, usually in some truly awful conditions.

    This all culminated, truly and utterly, when Cylund was but 9 years old - his father died. One day, when Cylund woke up, his father was no longer breathing, dead from malnutrition. Cylund, a nine-year-old homeless child in one of the most unequal societies in civilised space, was completely and utterly alone.

    And that was when he met Tallik Vao.

    Cylund has been known to exaggerate the story of how, exactly, he met his Twi'lek shipmate. By 'exaggerate', it is meant to say that he has been known to claim it involved the two fighting off an entire squadron of Imperial soldiers and a dozen light AT walkers. What can be gleaned from merging his and Tallik's interpretations into one is that at some point, Cylund attempted to pickpocket a man in Taris's streets. It went rather wrong, with the man in question turning out to be a resident of the Upper City and the employer of a personal regiment of mercs he used as his guards, which he immediately set upon Cylund, at that time trying his best to escape. Just as it seemed they would catch up with the young Calrissian, a small stone flew across the air, hitting the merc commander right in the helmet; this created a distraction Cylund was able to exploit, removing himself from the area as quick as possible - running into, very soon, the person who had created this distraction, a Twi'lek urchin kid around his age, Tallik Vao.

    The two became fast friends - and the only allies the other had in the cold and unforgiving atmosphere of Imperial Taris. Together, they helped each other find what food and shelter they could manage. Eventually, the two, whilst working odd jobs in the Lower City, became smugglers. Their current ship, an Adarian-make freighter, they found in a Tarisian junkyard, and with great effort and a great neglect of most property laws they made it spaceworthy again; which allowed them, ultimately, to finally get off Taris, to run smuggling routes to Telos IV and elsewhere, and to have, for once, a decent chance there'll be food in their plates.

    Now, however, they have returned; a lucrative job offer by a Tarisian businessman with an unscrupulous attitude towards the law has brought them home for the first time in a couple of years. What else they might find here, only the Force knows.

     

    both preapproved by grav

    -Dovydas

  • Edited on 2016-02-03 22:44:25 by Poe Dameron
  • Posted 2016-02-03 22:45:04 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • So, when do we kill the Klingons with our sonic screwdrivers?

    obviously in the second season g   o   d

    s-strike one

  • Posted 2016-02-03 23:24:43 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Ok, so I made this a few days ago and have been super excited to join this! Here goes...

     

    Name: Rex Toliman

     

    Age: 20

     

    Gender/Species: Human Male

     

    Appearance: Slightly taller than average (6’0”) with pale skin, brown eyes and short brown hair. His fairly lanky frame hides a surprising strength, and Rex’s face has defined cheek bones, round eyes, and a slightly crooked nose which was broken from a bar fight. He usually has his gray uniform on, though in his time off wears standard civilian clothes and a thick brown jacket. He always has his scuffed black boots on (there’s a knife in his left one) and has a shoulder-holster under his jacket for his blaster.

     

    Skills: Great at piloting sims (though he’s never actually flown before) and knows how to handle a blaster and knife.

     

    Force Abilities: He is force sensitive (but he doesn’t know). Currently, he just has above average spacial awareness and gets "bad feelings" if something is about to go terribly wrong.

     

    Equipment: Wrist-mounted comlink, low powered blaster pistol, and a knife in his boot.

     

    Personality: Rex has never been confrontational, but if someone ticks him off he is quick to smack them down verbally or physically if necessary. He is content in his life, but also confident that he can make it better through enough hard work. Even so, Rex commonly gets in fights because of his quick temper, though most of the time the other person started it. He avoids arguments with Imperials at all costs, and is a bit of a stickler for laws and rules.

     

    History: Rex was born and raised on Taris and grew up in the slums around the spaceport, until his parents were arrested for smuggling supplies to Rebels when he was six. He ended up in a surprisingly well-funded orphanage, and began working odd jobs around the spaceport for money to fund his favorite pastime; the local arcade’s piloting simulator. He worked unofficially at the spaceport for years, and when he turned 16 the orphanage released him. Rex was immediately hired by the manager of the spaceport, who he’d known since he was 14, and began his job as an air-traffic controller, a position which pays just enough for a small apartment near the port, basic necessities, and more simulator time. Rex still holds this job today, and as such has noticed many strange ships touching down on Taris, something he felt he needed to look into…

     

    Ship: Nope, but he wants one.

     

    Affiliation: None, but still a bit peeved that the Empire arrested his parents.

     

    Rank: Nothing official, except for his job.

     

    Position: Air-traffic controller.

     

    Alignment: By D@D standards, Lawful Neutral. He will try to avoid breaking laws, but he won’t go out of his way to help someone he doesn’t know.

     

    That should be it.

    -sonyaxe

  • Posted 2016-02-03 23:33:11 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  •  

    Name: Costa Vespula

    Age: 24

    Gender/Species: Female Zeltron

    Appearance: Costa doesn't look at all odd for a Zeltron - in fact, like most Zeltrons, she's the opposite of odd looking at a glance. She stands at 1.70 metres, with an athletic, proportionate build. Far from cover herself in the loose, garish robes that are the rage on Coruscant and amongst Sith Lords, the magenta-skinned Costa dresses in a much more youthful fashion. Though most of her clothing keeps the bloody coloration of an Inquistior with deep crimson leather pants, zeyd-cloth boots, and sleeveless, midriff-baring tops, she also wears an unbuttoned vest of black zeyd-cloth. In addition, she has a small sapphire piercing on the left side of her nose, as well as a piercing in one of her small, rounded ears that is fashioned to resemble the handle of a tiny lightsaber. Her lightsaber hangs from a leather belt, cinched tightly at her waist, and she keeps her DD6 in a holster strapped to her left thigh.

    Facially, Costa is surprisingly and earnestly attractive - shocking because she is an Inquisitor, not because she's a Zeltron. Though in her youth she tended towards androgyny - even into her early teens her treatment was often a tossup between a beautiful girl and a captivating boy - she is now recognizably female after a brief study of her expression. Her jaw is still as smooth and sharp as many a pretty boy's, and her high cheeks can give her face a strong cast from the profile view. But her brow is softer, as is her aquiline noise and the area around her eyes, which have the uncanny ability to "smile" as easily as her mouth - which is itself usually drawn into a playful grin, or at least a stifled version of one. 

    Costa's dark blue hair is cut into the same boyish fashion she's worn since her youth - though her left side is similar to the short crew cuts of Imperial cadets, the other half is longer, with jagged bangs swept over the right side of her brow. The thin part that this hairdo reveals along her scalp is mostly shaved, closely cropped into a buzzcut. She has two more precise lines on each side of her head mirroring this - one thinner line shaved into each of her temples, and one even thinner line shaving towards the back of each of her ears.

    Skills: Though skilled with the Force, Costa finds her chief joy in life to be dueling. As she matured in the Inquisitorius, she found herself deviating more and more to a classical Makashi style to the point where she scrapped her first lightsaber and cannibalized the parts to reforge it into a proper weapon for the style. However, she is aware that the style has aged less than masterfully since the heyday of the Old Republic; as such, she has adopted a second style of her own, a hybrid of Juyo and pieces of both Form V styles - when necessary she only requires an instant to drop back from the heat of a duel and switch up her technique to confuse an opponent. With the rise of the Rebel Alliance (and, subsequently, the New Republic) she has found this second style more and more useful as blaster combat becomes more prevalent. 

    Like most of her species, Costa is very physically fit. Though her style does not call for much in the way of athletics and gymnastics, she exercises in both persistently in order to keep herself fine-tuned. This toughness and flexibility extends to her mental state, as well; even exempting her natural pheromones, her style of thought is flexible during an interrogation or hunt, often pursuing lines of questioning and subtly persuading the outcome in her favor until she has what she needs to know. If something isn't working, you take a different tack on the problem. No sweat.

    Costa can also dance.

    Force Abilities: The Inquisitors were the Galactic Empire's elite, outstripping all other branches of the Imperial's Force adepts. With a training regimen perfected and administered by Sidious and Vader themselves, their potential in the dark side of the Force was nigh unmatched in the Imperial chain of command. Costa is no exception to this rule. In addition to her skills with the fundamentals - usage of telekinesis and precognition, both in battle and through meditation - she is not above utilizing Force persuasion in conjunction with her Zeltron pheromones in order to win an argument or cajole information, though charisma can get her just as far as a mind trick in many circumstances.

    In a somewhat more sinister display, she will also use the common Sith techniques of Force choke and Force lightning. In addition, Costa exhibits the rare ability to cast a Force net - tendrils of dark side energy that envelop a target in a painful web and sap both strength and connection to the Force. This ability is mostly utilized against other Force-sensitive opponents, but can be utilized against any living being. 

    Equipment: As an Inquisitor, Costa's weapon of choice is, of course, the lightsaber. In keeping with her primary lightsaber stylings, the hilt of her weapon is slightly curved to allow for a better dueling grip, and the saber is adorned with three small blade guards that form a triangular shape around the rust-colored blade. However, her preferred styles of lightsaber combat were all designed to cripple the effectiveness of a Jedi against her; non Force-sensitive opponents present a different beast entirely. For cases such as these, she carries a DD6 blaster pistol and utilizes it in conjunction with basic Force powers to insulate her against the would-be gunslingers of the galaxy.

    Personality: Most Zeltron tend towards a natural, innate playfulness; in this, Costa is no exception. The Chief Inquisitor is an impish young woman, prone to frisky displays, ruffling the hair of underlings, and suggestive humor on missions. Though her great personal charm can win friends, she is not a particularly ambitious woman in the typical Sith sense - her desires in the realm of power tend not to revolve around hoarding it for herself as much as keeping it out of the hands of unworthy enemies. This sense of drive has perhaps been what single-handedly buoys the otherwise flighty young Imperial in the Inquisitorious; she detests the last vestige of the corpulent Jedi Order for its restrictions and old codes, though will seek out the teachings of some of its most greatest minds in the way that an atheist scours religious texts for meaning. 

    To the progressive mind of the dark side adept, seeking to stop the New Jedi Order before it begins the traditions of its bloated, aloof predecessor over again is a favor to all who would call themselves Force users in a post-Sidious galaxy. If they can be beaten once by the dark side, why not again, if nothing were to change? The dark side of the force is what allows her passions to roam free and her will to remain unfettered; it is the dark side that allows her to study what she will, when she wills it, and so it is the dark side she serves. 

    Not that the Sith deserve much better. Growing more and more disillusioned with the Empire throughout her four year tenure, the death of Sidious and Vader represents, to Costa, the Empire's back being broken in half over the Force's knee. If the thousand-year grand plan could be unraveled in the space of a mere quarter century, what good could it have been as a plan? And what good could the schemers have been? In her perfect galaxy, two newer, more inclusive institutions would be raised upon the bones of Jedi and Sith alike - or better yet, one Order altogether, with no limits on course of study, place of study, or one's own base emotions - passive and strong alike.

    History: Born in the waning years of the Clone Wars, Costa's father had washed up before the war even began, a would-be Jedi Knight who had been unable to find a Master to draft him in time to continue life as a Jedi. Despondent, he returned to his homeworld, where he drowned himself in base pleasures for several years. Over time, Vespula the Elder's happy routine of getting drunk, getting laid, and bemoaning the fact that he was not out leading some clone battalion to glory was interrupted by the thoroughly unwelcome announcement that he had begotten an infant daughter upon a carafel. With a second mouth to feed and no real skills that would work on Zeltros, the pension the Jedi Council had given the young Zeltron quickly dried up. So, Costa in tow, the last of the Jedi's money was spent on transport to the Corellian Sector of Nar Shaddaa just as the Empire rose to prominence.

    The collapse of the Republic and the birth of the Empire awarded job opportunities to those savvy enough to take them. Costa's father was not one such man, but he attempted anyway, and as he was off making them enough money to eat, Costa was starting to display signs of Force sensitivity from the time she was old enough to speak. Though her father's detachment and odd "working hours" kept him from picking up on this for a couple years, eventually the truth of Costa's childish experiments with the Force could not be hidden even from him. When she tried Force pulling some extra food towards her one day at a public diner, her father finally realized that his daughter was displaying signs of Force sensitivity. No one had ever accused the man of much critical thinking, and his burning urge to be a great Jedi had never really died, so he took it upon himself to tutor Costa as she grew up, imparting what he knew of the Force upon his only child. Slowly, his working hours improved, and though they went hungrier and hungrier, Costa found the idea of being a great Force user so romantic that the time with her father was worth the sweeping emptiness in her stomach.

    And then, one day, the carelessness of the Vespulas came to haunt them in the form of a black suit of armor and a mechanical, hellish voice. Costa never saw what happened, or learned for sure what had become of her father; given that the voice had demanded pursuit, it could be that he escaped into the crowds of Nar Shaddaa and went back to pimping himself out as a rentboy and a thug. But even as he fled, either prolonging the inevitable or cheating death again, the Zeltron's daughter was still radiating the Force - and Darth Vader was not the type to miss such a beacon of sensitivity.

    The young girl was taken and brought back to Imperial Center, where over the years, her slow temptation began. Though her natural Zeltron compassion and zest for life could not be purged wholesale - nor could the lessons and memory of her father - soon the half-truths and rhetorical questions of the Sith had begun to bleed into the mind of the adolescent Costa, and she found herself bending more and more to the dark side. One day, after realizing that the very base emotions that had drawn people to her species would have been repressed to oblivion by the Jedi Council, she finally decided to pursue the dark side of the Force and use those emotions to make herself stronger - though not at the expense of others, she promised herself. The Sith teachings were just that. They were teachings, and like all knowledge, it was harmless without the desire of the practitioner to do something about it. Harmless, just like the Jedi had been harmless.

    She told herself that all the way until the end of her first Jedi hunt.

    By the time the first Death Star was eradicated, Costa had become a full-fledged Inquisitor. The death of the planet Alderaan, and the loss above Yavin IV, rattled the young Zeltron woman, who had finally found her first stable situation only to see that the Rebel Alliance was beginning to chip away from it. Though at first this only increased her ferocity in hunting Jedi, sending her spiraling further down the path of the dark side, eventually Costa found a form of reason in what the Rebel Alliance was doing - after all, if one held the Empire to the same critiques as one did the Old Republic, what reason did the Empire have to rule? Were the Sith the reason? Eventually, she decided that it had to be so. The Galactic Empire had gestated in the minds of Sith Lord after Sith Lord for a thousand years, and surely so many powerful men and women couldn't just be wrong. 

    The Battle over Endor sent her reeling once again, and this time she found no refuge, no argument to seize upon for why there was a place for the Empire in the galaxy. With no Sith to rule at its head and a Jedi Knight amongst the upper echelons of the Rebellion, the Empire was ill-equipped to stop a New Republic, let alone a New Jedi Order that had learned nothing from its predecessor's death knells. Refusing to sit back and go along for the ride as the galaxy reverted into a holding pattern, Costa struck out with the rest of the Inquisitorius before the Imperial government could seize upon the dark side adepts. As several of the highest ranking of their number - which had been less than a hundred to begin with - had been aboard the Death Star II, and their Grand Inquisitor was no doubt plotting his ascendancy as the next Dark Lord of the Sith, Costa received a brevet promotion to the rank of Chief Inquisitor and struck out with a group headed to Taris. Surely if there was any place to begin a resurgence of the Force in the galaxy, it would be at the place where the great Revan began his greatest journey...

    Ship: ISD Insight

    Affiliation: Inquisitorius. Though ostensibly the faction's allegiance is to Imperial Intelligence, the loss of the Sith at the head of the Empire, and the military scorn for usage of dark side adepts, has largely driven the vast majority of Inquisitors into their own pursuits throughout the galaxy. Costa is at the forefront of these renegades, often arguing for a full break from the dying Empire - an institution she sees as having outlived its purpose. 

    Rank: Chief Inquisitor

    Position: Second Mate, ISD Insight

    Alignment: Inquisitorius, loosely. Though the organization is a useful little club to be in, the fact is that they could easily be crushed if either organization gave them the time of day again. However, they're also the only organized force in the galaxy currently capable of mining the secrets of the Force, light or dark side. Despite their current (and largely ceremonial) allegiance to the Galactic Empire, Costa sees as a failed state. It was the culimation of a lineage that drew from Bane to Sidious, the apex of dark side might, the first true successful Sith attempt at dominating the galaxy...and it had fit into her young lifespan from start to finish. Without a Sith in command, she sees it merely as an arrogant collection of Admirals and Moffs, squabbling for whose scrap of the galaxy will be absorbed into the New Republic last. At this point, it's just cluttering the stars, as far as she's concerned. As for the New Republic itself, she tends to be largely ambivalent. Something has to keep the galaxy in check, after all. Her focus is not on the return of a Republic to the galaxy, but of a New Jedi Order to support that Republic, and what it could mean if there were not a potent dark side answer to that Order already waiting in the wings.

     

     

    Name: Lieutenant [Jr. Commander] Reo Saporta

     
    Age: 27
     
    Gender/Species: Male Human
     
    Appearance: The tallest person onboard the ship at 1.87 meters, four years of steady mercenary work has kept Reo from losing any trace of the tall, imperially built physique that he honed as a fighter pilot. He is not exactly slim, but his muscle is compact and lean underneath casual black clothes and his old pair of Imperial-issue leather boots. The other memento he's kept is his old gray flight jacket, which comfortably fits him when onboard the Aldera. When on a place where he wants to avoid any trace of being recognized as an Imperial poster boy, he replaces the jacket with a black vest and a vibroknife at his right pectoral. 
     
    And Reo is, indeed, a poster boy. With his height and build, he's a commanding presence when sighted outside his cockpit, possessing a gait with more than a hint of braggadocio. His classically handsome face is usually stoic, but when he smirks or grins the same confident air radiates off of him in waves. Typical fighter pilot stuff. 
     
    Also typical of a fighter pilot is his clean-cut look; even four years removed from the Starfighter Corps, Reo has taken care of his physical appearance in order to not resemble some Outer Rim hick behind the wheel of a landspeeder. His jet black hair is not as short as many crew cuts, but there is still no chance of bangs ever reaching to his strong brows, let alone into his dark blue eyes. His long sideburns have had a sleek silver color to them for the past three years, but the color has not spread to the rest of his hair and Reo is starting to doubt it ever really will.
     
    Skills: Reo is a preternaturally gifted pilot who proves true the old adage about IN pilots being suicidal and bloodthirsty. Though he's still more comfortable behind the stick of his TIE Interceptor than a larger ship, the Aldera has enough Kuat DNA at its baseline that he is still able to maneuver the frigate (as well as its shuttles) around with relatively fluid ease. Four years as a mercenary has improved his gunplay as well, and thanks to Skri's love of the vibroblade he has spent hours and hours against the Aldera's captain, training his sword-and-knifeplay as well. He also has the edge over his partner in sheer physical prowess, with skill in general striking, Teras Kasi (taught by his father, who fought in a war with legions of Force-sensitives on either side and learned what he could) and free running. He logs thrice the hours that Skri does in the obstacle courses onboard the Aldera. 
     
    Though Skri is the captain and mostly gets the final say, Reo serves as a (slightly) more polite and cool-headed presence during negotiations or sticky situations, trusting himself not to vehemently insult a mark past the point of no return and acting as living insurance in case Skri ever gets a client a little too irritating for her to handle.
     
    Equipment: Though the Aldera is stocked with enough weaponry and firepower to sack a city, wearing around too many guns would do nothing but weigh someone down in a firefight. Therefore, Reo usually brings nothing more (!) than an EE-3 blaster rifle into the field, with a Security S-5 blaster pistol (complete with a polished wooden gripstock of black wood) at his hip as a complimentary sidearm. Sometimes a vibroknife (as outlined in appearance) will be brought along in case of close combat. Though Skri tends to be the explosive one of the duo, the pilot also will sometimes bring a small array of grenades from detonators to ion charges on his belt.
     
    For larger missions, or a dangerous extraction, an ace in the hole sits on a rack in the bay of each Lambda-class shuttle onboard Aldera - a Z-6 rotary blaster cannon designed for Reo or Skri to cover a liftoff while the other pilots them to safety. These are generally stored near a power generator onboard to avoid needing to replace a power pack at a crucial moment, and have been known to tear up anything preventing them from making a clean extraction for the few crucial seconds it takes to get out of dodge.
     
    Personality: Though quieter and more guarded in his emotions than his captain (a woman whose alien half is comprised of two equally hot-blooded species), Reo's personality is every inch as barbed and quick-witted as Skri's. Often mouthing off or giving the ship's R5 unit an impetuous kick from behind, he seems to delight in the very idea of giving Skri's jury-rigged frigate a hard time, or pushing Aldera beyond what the woman who stole it even thought possible - usually without a very hard time of it. 
     
    With all the confidence and easy movements of a trained fighter pilot, Reo's desire to be the lone warm body in the hot seat often leads to him butting heads with the woman who ostensibly gives him orders. He tends to be very touchy about Skri getting too close to him while he's in the middle of a task or flight that he knows she would ###### up. Nonetheless, a soft spot (more like a raw nerve) does exist for his temperamental captain, and occasionally when she pleads hard enough during a holovid he'll let her snuggle up to him or take her up on those vibroblade fights she loves so ###### much.
     
    Around clients, however, Reo can project anything from spacer charm to Imperial professionalism, depending on the job and Skri's attitude towards it. He often serves as the intermediary between his hotheaded captain and a particularly stubborn opposite party, though he's not above giving Skri an assist with a little forceful coercion if the situation calls for it. 
     
    History: Life was never supposed to go anywhere but the Galactic Empire for Reo. Born to two Grand Army of the Republic veterans (an Alderaanian father and a Coreillian mother, who moved back to her homeworld before Reo had even learned to speak) he spent most of his childhood in the Spacer Quarter of Aldera, his home planet's capital city. Many of the more artistic or philosophically minded Imperial pilots in the Core Worlds flocked to Alderaan rather than Imperial Center, and Reo grew up listening to his father buy rounds and share tales with the galaxy's next great generation of hotshots, hearing of nothing else but places in the Mid and Outer Rim that he had only seen in art or pretended to study in textbooks. His choice had seemingly been made for him, and he was perfectly fine with it.
     
    Enlisting at the age of 16 and surviving Academy with flying colors, Reo eschewed flight training onboard a Star Destroyer in favor of the more prestigious (and familiar) Academy in Corulag. After dominating in dogfights and coming out as a flight captain at a ripe age, Reo's test scores had merited him a spot flying a then-untested TIE/IN interceptor, which he modified on the side throughout his service as a fighter pilot - the most forward-thinking display being replacing the wing-tipped canons of the original Interceptor and requisitioning for a new set of four laser cannons, and a functioning hyperdrive and shield generator. His primary career goal, after a few years in the service, was to find some place quiet with a high enough rank and spend the rest of his career piloting testbeds for new TIE technology. The Imperial Dream.
     
    His dreams changed with one volley of superlaser fire.
     
    Reo had not been onboard the Death Star when Alderaan was massacred - snuffing out the father he idolized, the friends he'd left behind, and all the familiar heady sights and sounds of Aldera. Had he been, he would have followed his home planet to the grave in an attempt to track Grand Moff Tarkin and Lord Vader through the battle station and assassinate them both. As fortune would have it, Reo had been on patrol with his unit in the Mid Rim at the time, keeping trade routes clear of suspected Black Sun involvement. When he learned of the fate of his home planet - and perceiving this as the murder of the galaxy's very soul - Reo attempted to desert. A dogfight ensued in which the flight captain gave more than he got, but at a cost - had it not been for the upgrades he had demanded for his Interceptor, he would have been overwhelmed and killed. As it was, he managed to escape by a hair and evade the pursuit of the rest of his squadron. 
     
    The likelihood that he would have survived long-term, however, would have been slim without a chance encounter with a Lancer-class frigate. Considering him an Imperial pilot and a threat, the frigate attempted to shoot him down, but Reo managed to keep control of his Interceptor long enough for the captain to become impressed and hail him down. It turned out that the ship was not, as he had thought, just an older-model Kuat experiment gone unused; the ship had been stolen and commandeered by a happy-go-lucky, bloodthirsty genetic mutt of a captain that offered Reo board long enough to repair his TIE and go. He did so...but not before promptly streamlining and polishing as many subroutes and commands inside the frigate as he could. It was, in his mind, the least he could do for the mercenary who had allowed him temporary asylum.
     
    As it turned out, his good deed had inadvertently ###### with her head a little. The mercenary had no idea what half of the Imperial protocols Reo installed and upgraded had meant, and when grilled on what the ###### he thought he was doing his cool under pressure and the ship's increased performance impressed her enough to offer him not only her real name, but a position onboard as the pilot. In the span of weeks, he had gone from Imperial rising star to a fully-fledged mercenary. Four years later, and after the death of both the Emperor, his Force-wielding lackey, and two Death Stars, Reo's feelings have not budged in the slightest.
     
    Except maybe for the captain.
     
    Ship: The Aldera, a Lancer-class frigate acquired by Skri two years before she and Reo met. Due to her lack of a crew and lack of experience in piloting an Imperial vessel (indeed, piloting at all, according to him) Reo arrived onboard the ship to find it nameless, referred to with a variety of derogatory curse words and synonyms for "broken," as well as jury-rigged so that Skri could run the ship effectively as a one-woman unit alongside her droid. Though he hotly denies having shed tears when he saw the state of Aldera's bridge, he nonetheless devoted many of his waking hours onboard the ship to correcting things that Skri had ruined and returning as much power to the hands of a skilled pilot as possible. Four years later, the Aldera runs almost as smoothly as a ship from the Empire would today, though it has obviously had to make sacrifices in order to be able to fire all cannons and run without a working crew complement.
     
    With seventeen decks and the only two humans onboard currently engaged in a tumultous relationship that keeps them within sight of each other at all times, much of the Aldera's space found itself in danger of going unused. Thanks to Skri's R5 unit keeping a watch on the ship's diagnostics from various points onboard the ship, all of it stays well-maintained - though perhaps not up to the gleaming Imperial standard Reo is used to. The Aldera comes with more than one large armory and physical training center, with three sixty-meter obstacle courses maintained by Reo personally. Many lounges have been expanded upon, and the Lancer-class boasts an enormous game room, a dozen bars and lounges, and even four fully-stocked holovid theaters. Armories are dispersed throughout the ship and stocked with all the guns a pair of mercenaries could possibly require, meaning that Reo and Skri are equipped to handle most of the jobs that ever get floated Aldera's way.
     
    As with the rest of its class, Aldera also boasts a shuttle bay complete with complement of two Lambda-class shuttles, as well as Reo's modified first-generation TIE/IN Interceptor ["Side Girl"] docked above the bridge.
     
    Affiliation: Formerly First Galactic Empire; after the destruction of his homeworld, Reo deserted but refused to defect entirely. With his TIE fighter damaged during his escape, he came across, as fate would have it, a stolen Imperial frigate manned by a mercenary and her mercurial astromech. Though at first he intended to stay on only long enough to patch his interceptor and find a fighting job somewhere quiet in the Mid Rim, unfortunately, it just so happened that this merc was a bit clingier than expected (though she would tell the story differently) and a solely physical (as both will vehemently insist) relationship between the two sparked. As a result, Reo stayed onboard the Aldera, putting his piloting skills to work as a way to both earn his keep and preserve his life from Skri's terrible flying.
     
    Rank: None; held the rank of Junior Commander and control over a TIE fighter squadron during Navy service. If he had remained enlisted, would likely have been tapped to replenish the ranks of Black Squadron after the Battle of Yavin. LT (his code cylinder rank) remains one of Skri's nicknames for him.
     
    Position: Power bottom, depending on Skri's mood  Pilot and Executive Officer of the ISD Aldera
     
    Alignment: Skeptical towards the New Republic, but deplores the Empire (or, at least, Palpatine's Empire) after hearing of the destruction of Alderaan. Jaded and left without purpose, Reo's current mercenary bent is suiting him just fine. He's not the dashing space hero they make all the holovids about. Not one bit. Nope. The looks and the skills and the dry humor are all just coincidences. Total. Red. Herrings.

     

     

     

     

    Name: Unknown [referred to as Dana by Imperial co-workers or her troops on the ground]
     
    Age: Unknown [at least 5]
     
    Gender/Species: Female [Feminine Programming?] Unknown
     
    Appearance: Unknown. Dana's only mannerisms are aural in nature; she is the voice in a stormtrooper's helmet when squad coordination is needed, and has never been knowingly documented leaving her pavilion onboard the Regency. Her voice has been described as pleasant in nature, crisp and feminine with a light Kuat accent. Rarely does it change in emotion or pitch, leading some to question her nature as an organic being; when pressed on this by a stormtrooper, her response will either be to continue a briefing as if nothing was amiss or a wry rendition of the same question: "What do you think?"
     
    Skills: A preternaturally talented tactician with an eye for the smallest details in an environment, Dana is a natural choice to coordinate special operatives from above. Over five years of service, she has worked with spacetroopers and novatroopers both, providing her with a measured ability to exert small control over the most gung ho and wild of Imperial soldiers. Dana is also reportedly a skilled computer hacker and firewall expert, allowing her as much control from a starship as a slicer or astromech on the ground would have under normal circumstances. This has not helped to quell the rumors about her humanity any.
     
    Force Abilities: None.
     
    Equipment: From her sealed domain onboard the Regency, Dana resides in - and, in fact, is - the heart of what would have been the Empire's next-generation Ops Center. It is less a stuffy command room and more of a high-tech, pyramid-shaped hybrid between simulator and holovid theatre. From her console in the pyramid's center, she can "see" through a stormtrooper's visor through a simulated reconstruction of a given trooper's POV. This is done with the use of eight screens that enclose Dana at least twenty-two hours a day - three in front of her, one on the floor below her, one behind her, and one above him. A 360 degree reconstruction of a trooper's environment can be broadcast to Dana within nanoseconds, with Dana monitoring the status of troopers and "jumping" between them at a moment's notice as required. The Ops Center itself is located towards the rear of the ship, elevated above the rest of the cruiser's surface in a pyramid-shaped homage to the bridges of the Star Destroyers. Only Dana is allowed access.
     
    Personality: As stated above, any Imperial contact with Dana is held over a comms unit. Given what can be gleaned from her pristine poise during battle, the mission controller is very capable at her job, though she will often belie a sense of pride at her tactical skill. The rare (and intensely private) moments where she finds herself in a fiery mood are when she's being challenged by someone, which reveals a determined iron core that loathes the concept of having her bulletproof record tarnished. She engages in rare personal contact with troopers who have served under her command (leading to one-sided jokes aimed at her about how she 'stalks' certain favorite operatives; these charges are met with a three-second stony silence over comms followed by an unfettered briefing) and has been known to display a certain dry humor. Nothng she says, however, is not something that couldn't be replicated by a protocol droid with a skilled personality matrix. Any jokes about Dana's organic or synthetic nature are met with another stony silence, followed by an emotionless:
     
    "Recalibrating unit. Algorithm safely reengaged. Tactical matrix online."
     
    And then, as always, the briefing.
     
    History: With a distinguished five year service record, tactical officers (or droids) like Dana were responsible for the Empire's reassertion of control over the Galactic Civil War after the Death Star debacle. Beginning her career coordinating smalls quads of spacetroopers for the ISD Majesty, she climbed ranks with her tactical know-how and avoided making waves. This stellar rise would be the envy of any human naval officer, and as Dana's star rose so too did the importance of operations that she found herself invested in. Culminating with a high-ranking post onboard the Executor at the Battle of Hoth, it seemed that Dana had peaked at the climactic battle. The Rebellion was heavily battered, and the Executor quickly became more of a political prison than a plum position as Vader found himself drifting throughout the galaxy on some quest unbeknownst to most of those onboard his flagship.
     
    Dana was rescued, so to speak, by news of a Novatrooper who had attempted a massacre of several Grand Moffs (and even, rumors whispered, the Emperor himself) before deserting her post in a fit of psychosis. Dana found herself shunted sideways in the chain of command, assigned as the manhunt's chief tactical officer thanks to her spacetrooper know-how and chessmaster-like ability to coordinate a highly trained squad full of egos and firepower to complete an objective. This position also saved Dana a fiery fate onboard the Executor, when the Star Dreadnought was destroyed above Endor along with a second Death Star, Emperor Palpatine, Darth Vader, and several Grand Admirals. On Dana's advice, the commanders of the Regency - the cruiser in charge of the manhunt for NT-081 - continued the hunt, eager to capture an infamous war criminal and return her to Imperial Center. Such a capture - and summary execution - would do wonders for the fledgling Empire's unraveling propaganda machine, Dana cajoled them.
     
    Though the ship's captain was reluctant, favoring a return to the Core World, eventually he was won over by the tactical officer's cold reasoning. After all, this was her show.
     
    Ship: ISD Regency, a Pursuit-class cruiser featuring a crew (rumored to have been handpicked by Dana herself) specially equipped and briefed to bring in rogue Novatrooper NT-081. 
     
    Affiliation: Galactic Empire, though thanks to her lack of connection with most stormtroopers onboard Regency, she has not extrapolated on reasons why she was transferred to coordinate the manhunt - or remained loyal to an Empire that she may not even have an emotional attachment to.
     
    Rank: Colloquially referred to as a commander, Dana's true rank is unknown.
     
    Position: Chief Mission Controller of the ISD Regency.
     
    Alignment: Dana's utmost loyalty is to the mission she has sworn to carry out. Stormtroopers are to be assisted in this goal as required.

     

     
    Name: Dor Shaddix
     
    Age: 22
     
    Gender/Species: Male (Trap) Echani (a-are you an angel?)
     
    Appearance: Around his partner's height and weight, but without any of the malnutrition, Dor tends towards a naturally slender build, made up of slight muscle and peerless energy. There's clear vigor in his walk, and he moves as nimbly on his feet as he did in his old profession. He tneds to wear slim white pants and a clean white shirt, complete with white vest and a hooded white peacoat. Accents of gold adorn him from the waist up, ensuring that there's always an aura of luminesence about the Echani.
     
    A pretty boy through and through, Dor looks distinctly untouched by the horrors of his current and past professions. A pair of dimples and a soft nose frame a persistent, cheeky grin, and he can often be seen brushing wavy ash-blonde hair out from his iridescent blue eyes. Sometimes he can be seen with a slight cut along a cheekbone, or maybe a bruise at the very back of his jaw, by his ear, but for the most part he does what he can do look distinctly unruffled by combat.
     
    Skills: Dor has an ideal skill set, at least as far as Echani go. He was trained to fight not long after he was trained how to walk and talk, and twenty years of vigilant training has left his body a deceptively powerful weapon. Years of cat burglary has also left him surprisingly adept at being able to fade into surroundings and move with stealth, avoiding fights when he has to (if he reaaaaaaaaally has toooo...) in order to complete an objective.
     
    In the event that stealth or a bare-knuckle fight isn't an option, Dor is prepared - and more than happy - to escalate the situation. Underneath his vest, jacket, and sleeves are the Dirty Dozen - a collection of twelve knives from across the galaxy, spanning almost as many cultures and styles. Whether some of these knives were taken off of lesser fighters who were in no shape to resist is something that Dor remains coquettishly silent about.
     
    Like most Echani, Dor has the uncanny ability to seemingly predict his opponent's next move and counter it before it's made, leaving him a hyperkinetic and frustrating fighter to contend with.
     
    Force Abilities: Even with his Echani heritage, there's something slightly peculiar about the burglar's efficiency at sleight-of-hand, instinct, reflexes, and prodigious knife fighting ability. Any Force sensitivity remains tapped only unconsciously, and probably wouldn't be used even if it were revealed to him.
     
    Equipment: Dirty Dozen, Echani personal shields, garrote inside lining of right sleeve. Most of the blaster fighting is left to Krayn. Dor considers it uncouth. Dor also owns his father's old set of silver Sun Guard armor from his days serving Damask Holdings, but whether he utilizes it or not depends largely on the mission.
     
    Personality: On the surface, Dor appears to be a plucky, cheerful rogue who enjoys being tossed into the craziest stuff the New Republic has to offer. Rarely is he found without a wide smile on his face, usually in the process of making some nonverbal tic to try and elicit a reaction from Krayn. During anything from briefings to walks to fights, this aura of serene happiness seems hard to shake, almost even naive. This naivety explains much towards his attitude in his partner, who he is visibly defensive of. 
     
    Anything deeper about Dor's personality is hard to glean - for the Echani is noticeably mute, and will never give off any impression to the contrary. It does seem that this defining trait is entirely by choice, as Krayn seems aware that Dor is able to speak (even making reference to having heard his partner finally verbalize one of the endless quips he seems to be brewing) and the Echani can often be heard suppressing a jubilant laugh during fights or getaways. Why a boy with such a clear flair for the dramatic prefers to put on a taciturn air remains known only to him, and he clearly isn't telling.
     
    History: As Dor refuses to fill in many of the smaller strokes on his history, what's known of him can only be gleaned by his sparse New Republic personnel file. Born and raised into relative affluence, Dor bears the face and pedigree of his father, a respected mercenary who served Hugo Demask for years as part of his specialized Sun Guard detachment before retiring to the more quiet life on the Echani's Inner Rim homeworld of Eshan. Dor, however, was not meant for a quiet life. What started as innocent kleptomania as a child grew into full-fledged cat burglary as Dor entered adolescence.
     
    End backstory.
     
    Though obviously there is more to his galaxy-spanning adolescence of burglary, knife fighting, and mercenary work, the silent professionalism and adopted muteness of the Echani has left much of what he's actually done in doubt. What's known is that he was caught on an Imperial fortress world making off with some of the late Emperor's spoils, a victim of unlucky timing on the New Republic's part as he tried making off with a priceless Sith statue. He only spent about a week in jail before he was introduced to his partner, the (tall! dark! h a n d s o m e ~ !) ex-I.I. officer Krayn Inzaka, and told that he was to serve the New Republic in a series of highly dangerous, plausibly deniable special ops missions if he wanted his freedom and his ill-begotten payday.
     
    It sounded so fun that Dor would have said yes even if he hadn't been threatened with the airlock.
     
    Ship: Mischief Managed, DP20 Frigate
     
    Affiliation: New Republic, through no small amount of arm twisting. Beats the Empire, though.
     
    Rank: Chief Petty Meatshield (in reality, probably something closer to a corporal; tends to cede command of most missions to his partner, Krayn gets grouchy around orders)
     
    Position: Anything Krayn wants~ (part of a two-man suicide unit, them vs. the galaxy)
     
    Alignment: Dor, as someone who could hardly be called a consenting member of Special Forces, has no particular love for the New Republic and would cut his losses in a heartbeat if he needed to. Even the age of the Empire held no particular threat for him. Galaxy-spanning conflicts don't concern him much. Rather, the only thing he values happens to be a broody cyborg with a half dozen or so berserk buttons - buttons which Dor has grown quite adept at silently mashing, granted, but his loyalty trumps even the Echani knife fighter's inflated sense of mischief. Krayn is one of a small handful of beings in the galaxy - perhaps the only one - to have heard Dor speak, sharing a few words after their first fight and occasionally being subject to Dor's precisely-placed wordplay.

     

    -Tyler

  • Edited on 2016-06-17 21:23:54 by Key and
  • Posted 2016-02-03 23:39:10 UTC
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  • Reo Saporta approved, and everyone remember to say hello to your Chief Evil Babe on your way by.

  • Posted 2016-02-03 23:42:52 UTC
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  •  Evil

     

    but from my point of view, the jedi are evil!

  • Posted 2016-02-04 03:04:01 UTC
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  • Name: Roka Zale
     
    Age:24
     
    Gender/Species: Half human, half Balosar.
     
    Appearance: Standing at just under 2 meters tall, Roka is considered tall by both human and Balosar standards. He has short-cut brown hair, and his antennae  stand an inch and a half above his head (Though he doesn't count those towards his total height.) He has a warm smile behind his well-trimmed beard, and generally welcoming expression. His build is slightly heavier than average, though that's mostly muscle mass. He wears a black shirt with a grey vest over it, and loose-fitting pants with plenty of concealed pockets in them. He wears black combat boots with a magnetic grip in the sole.
     
    Skills: Roka is a very good pilot, having grown up on ships his whole life. He's a decent mechanic as well, able to patch most problems enough to get to a port. He's very charismatic and likable, partially due to his Balosar half. He's also resistant to the addictive and hallucinogenic properties of Death Sticks.
     
    Force Abilities: Force-Sensitive, but unaware of it. This mostly manifests itself in greater luck and the ability to learn skills quickly.
     
    Equipment: DL-44 heavy blaster pistol, vibro-knife, comm link.
     
    Personality: Most of the time, Roka is a very friendly individual, eager to talk and make friends with people he finds interesting. He likes to make people feel heard, and seeks out friends and contacts in which there's a mutual respect. While working however, Roka takes a much more calculating personality. He uses as few words as possible, and is very direct. He usually keeps a hand close to his blaster or knife.
     
    History: Roka grew up in the Corellian system, on the titular planet of Corellia. His parents were suppliers for various smuggling groups that operated out of the system and he grew up listening to passing captains regale him with stories of their adventures throughout the galaxy. They money his family got from supplying illegal or hard-to-find good through the galaxy let him live a fairly comfortable life, though his parents made him start working at an early age in order to learn the importance of self-reliance. He was taken on board a local ship smuggling medical supplies to Drall, one of the other Corellian worlds, where he endeared himself to the captain and was taught the basics of how to fly.

     

    When he turned 18 standard years old, his parents surprised him with a gift: an ancient XS freighter ship, one of the ones used as a design for the modern YT-1000. They had acquired it as payment for a large shipment, and gave it to him under the condition that if he could make it fly, they'd supply him with a job. Eager to see more of the universe around him, he readily agreed. Though it was difficult to find parts for the run-down ship, he realized that likely on of the reasons it had been chosen as the model for the YT-1000 was because of how modifiable it was. Even for a ship whos design was close to a thousand years old, with just a little bit of creative thinking he discovered he could make modern replacement parts work.

     

    After almost two years of working on the ship, he finally finished the repairs, making a successful run through the twin planets of Talus and Tralus to prove she was spaceworthy. His parents gave him a full cargo hold of Balosar death sticks and sent him to Tattoine in order to unload the contraband. Partway through the run however, Roka has a crisis of conscience. Smugglers had been his heroes growing up with their tales of bravery and heroism, and though he knew logically that smuggling things like an incredibly addictive and dangerous substance was just part of the job, he didn't like the thought of being the middleman on a journey that would end in the addiction or death of possibly hundreds of people. In a possibly ill-advised decision, he jettisoned the cargo, arriving on Tattoine and telling the contact that he'd been boarded by Imperial forces and had been forced to drop the cargo. Fortunately, the distributor believed Roka, and offered him a way to make up for the lost shipment: Finding and delivering one of the dealers under the distributor who had made off with the profits of his sales. Roka reluctantly agreed, and found the small-time dealer without much effort.

     

    Roka was given more jobs and cargo, with the occasional bounty request thrown in after word spread of his catch on Tattoine. In the four years since he left home, he's become a fairly successful smuggler and small-time bounty hunter. He's currently on Taris to take on some more cargo, though his contact is taking his sweet time showing up.
     
    Ship: Rebuilt XS Freighter. Named Steadfast.
     
    AffiliationMercenary, with New Republic leanings.
     
    Position: Captain of the Steadfast.
     
    Alignment: Chaotic good. He is always on the lookout for what will profit himself the most, but at the end of the day will do what he thinks is best for the most people.

     

    ----------------------------------------------

     

    Name: Nokon Raine
     
    Age: 26
     
    Gender/Species: Human.
     
    Appearance: An imposing height at over 2 meters tall, Nokon's appearance demands respect. He had dark red hair cut close and a hard and imposing face. His physical build is most comparable to 'freighter-like' with a solid frame and well-defined muscles. He wears a crimson shirt, representative of the Inquisitors, and a long black coat. He wears fingerless gloves, one red and one black, and blood-red pants with a black belt. His boots are high and black, with red accents on them.
     
    Skills: Nokon is very physically strong, and can be very intimidating. He is able to read a situation very quickly and can make snap decisions in the heat of the moment.
     
    Force Abilities: In addition to the basic powers of telekinesis and precognition most of the Inquisitors know, Nokon is trained in the use of Force Rage, which allows the user to augment his physical strength, speed, and ferocity for a period of about five minutes during battle. This power is very draining however, and Nokon often requires a period of rest of about three hours after using it.
     
    Equipment: Lightsaber, comm link, holdout blaster pistol.
     
    Personality: Despite his ferocious appearance, Nokon tries to be quite friendly. He's known to laugh at almost everything, and is eager to help other Inquisitors practice their Force abilities. However, he does have a temper and if that temper is set off then he will fall into a brooding anger, often becoming completely silent and closed off from even those he considers his closest friends.
     
    History: Nokon grew up on Coruscant, in the seedy underbelly of the planet. With an absent mother and an addict father, he was mostly left to fend for himself. Early on he joined a local gang for his own protection, and quickly developed a reputation as one of the fiercest fighters. Over the course of the next several years, he rose the ranks of this gang, eventually taking over when the leader was killed by a rival gang looking to claim new territory. Nokon rallied his gang together and declared a turf war on all the surrounding gangs, eager to take control of the area and make it safe to live in under his watch. All of this was likely due to his latent Force-sensetivity, which was manifesting itself in increased charisma and fighting aptitude.

     

    After years of bloodshed on the block, the local Imperials finally took notice, sending Stormtroopers into the streets to destroy the gangs fighting. Nokon, tapping into his growing Force abilities,  rallied each of the gangs to fight off the invaders, causing a stalemate in the dark alleys and smog-filled streets. In particular, he began discovering how to use a version of Force Rage, channeling his anger at these invaders to his home to augment his own strength. His actions finally caused an Inquisitor recruiter to take notice, who traveled down to the depths of Coruscant to talk to the young boy. Offering power greater than Nokon could imagine, and the respect of all who would come to know him, Nokon accepted the offer of the agent under the condition that his friends would be left alone by the Empire. With that understanding, he was taken to the academy and began his training in the Force.

     

    With nearly a decade of Force training under his belt, and a lifetime of fighting experience, Nokon truly has become a force to be reckoned with. He is eager to learn more and more about his own potential and to see the galaxy that he's been thrust into. Though the destruction of Alderaan and the Rebels continued victories have shaken his faith a bit, he tries to tell himself that the Inquisitors and the Empire are doing good for all.
     
    Ship: N/A, based out of the ISD Insight.
     
    Affiliation: Inquisitorious
     
    Rank: Inquisitor
     
    Position: Inquisitor
     
    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral. Nokon is, first and foremost, out for himself. Money, fame, power, these are his motivations. He aligns with the Inquisitors and the Empire because he believes them to be the strongest, but doesn't care much for ideals.

  • Edited on 2016-02-05 20:38:00 by Korkoa
  • Posted 2016-02-04 03:35:04 UTC
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  • Roka Zale approved.

     

    Nokon Raine not approved mostly on account of Force Destruction. I'm not banning the power from the RPG by any means, but a large part of this game is going to be character development. I'm fine with a single specialized Force power for people to begin with, though not something as advanced as that. Later on, if you play your cards right, Force Destruction could certainly be a technique that he learns, but not from the get-go.

  • Posted 2016-02-04 03:37:50 UTC
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  • Understood and edited. I was thinking even as I was writing it that that one might be a bit much to start out with, but then I forgot to edit it back out. :P

  • Posted 2016-02-04 03:44:54 UTC
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  • As long as you're aware that at this point even the Inquisitors are pretty low on the totem pole, I'm okay with the profile unless Tyler has any objections.

  • Posted 2016-02-04 04:00:27 UTC
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  • Question: would Sith sorcery (or Sith magic, as it (apparently) is also called) be too advanced for an Inquisitor at the start of the RPG to be able to use? I'm talking low-level (at the beginning, anyway), obviously, but the Star Wars wiki makes sorcery sound especially difficult to learn.

     

    Edit: Actually, scratch that. It would be more interesting if a character started out with a desire to learn Sith sorcery and did so over the course of the RPG, rather than having some knowledge from the get-go.

  • Edited on 2016-02-04 04:08:09 by (Daedalus)
  • Posted 2016-02-04 04:19:33 UTC
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  • Edit: Actually, scratch that. It would be more interesting if a character started out with a desire to learn Sith sorcery and did so over the course of the RPG, rather than having some knowledge from the get-go.

     

    Sounds good, Sith Majicks are always fun.

     

    also personal characters

     

    Name: Jycilia’lira “Jenth” Sansorro

     

    Age: 23

     

    Gender: Female

     

    Species: Arkanian offshoot

     

    Appearance: A slight humanoid female of admittedly small stature and fiery disposition. Jycilia’lira, or Jenth as she prefers to be known, barely reaches a meter sixty on her best day, and looks like she would probably be carried off by a strong wind on a bad one. She could theoretically pass as a baseline human, which helps in the humanocentric Galactic Empire. However, her Arkanian icy-white complexion sets her apart, in addition to her angled eyes and forehead markings which point to prominent Zygerrian heritage in her species’ checkered genetic ancestry. Facially, Jenth’s features are sharp and elfin, with a smallish mouth and nose accented by stark-white eyes. Short, crimson-orange dyed hair frames her face, though the color looks to be the only thing she really spends much time on in terms of appearance.

     

    Her normal wear consists of a sleeveless grey vest festooned with more pockets and loops than what seems necessary, thrown over a patched dark blue flight suit who’s sleeves are tied around her waist to make up for the fact that it’s a few sizes too large. A pair of durasteel-plated boots and gauntlets cover the ends of her limbs, while a set of dented goggles hold her obnoxiously-hued hair at bay on her forehead.

     

    Skills: An innately mechanical mind paired with Arkanian genetically modified intelligence has gifted her with a strong understanding of mechanical and computer systems. Her own experiences has focused this more so on smaller pieces of technology; blasters, comms, droids; though she understands the basics behind spaceflight (and totally completely could probably fly a Starfighter sure yeah r-relax). She is respectably physically fit, though wouldn’t go hand-to-hand against an Imperial Stormtrooper. As with the rest of her species, her visual range is skewed slightly to the infrared spectrum.

     

    Force Abilities: Latent Force sensitive manifests itself as spatial intuition, which effectively allows her to more easily identify relationships between objects.

     

    Equipment: A number of miscellaneous mechanical and electrical tools hooked to her belt and vest. The only weapon she carries is a massive DT-57 blaster pistol, the weapon having been patched up and tied together with tape and hope a number of times.

     

    Personality: Jenth is, simply put, excitable. A seemingly never-ending string of words flows freely from her mouth, one which only loses more of a nonexistent brain-to-mouth filter should she ever become, say, mad at something. Her nervous commentary hides a minor social anxiety, preferring the quite company of inorganic sentients to what some would call real people. She tends to have a more morbid view of the universe, having grown up on the literal crumbling junkyard of a planet mostly to blame. Doesn't believe that she owes the galaxy anything more than keeping herself in it.

     

    History: One of the many orphaned refugees of the horrific Clone Wars, Jenth was effectively raised by caretaker droids on the industrial world of Taris for the majority of her life. It was, all things considered, a rather fortunate upbringing that kept her far away from the initial chaos of the formation of the Empire, as well as the dangerous sparks of rebellion that the Alliance to Restore the Republic began kicking up. Tales of naval battles and immense battle stations were just that out on Taris, stories. So Jenth kept to herself, focusing on the important things in life, like keeping a droid repair shop up and running so as to gather up enough credits to buy her way off planet.

     

    Affiliation: Herself, XO-X0

     

    Rank: Miss General Commander Grand Admiral Moff of the forces of None.

     

     

    Name: Xesh Osk-Xesh0 (XO-X0)

     

    Make: Heavily modified/refurbished B2-HA Battle Droid

     

    Appearance: A hulking mass of duranium armor and reinforced mechanics, the droid retains many of the outward characteristics of the original Super Battle Droids of the late CIS. Mostly, that is. Save, of course, the fact that its armor plating is painted a combination of bright white with crimson markings, and weld marks where extra plating and compartments has been added are still visible. The droid’s right arm has been replaced with the pale blue limb of a B2-RP droid, replacing what would have been a cannon assembly, the armor plating having yet been painted, and only a single red photoceptor shines out from its sunken skull casing.

     

    Skills: Shooting things. Shooting moving things. Shooting moving things while moving. Shooting moving things while being shot at. Being a wall. Moving things for Jenth. Lifting things for Jenth. Carrying things for Jenth. Carrying Jenth.

     

    Equipment: The droid primarily uses the twin laser cannons built into its forearms as its main form of weaponry. Jenth has put the modularity of the droid to good use, and used the space that previously housed a control ship signal receptor to install compartments to hold tools and devices she doesn’t feel like carrying.

     

    Personality: Quiet, and brooding. Speaks less than the original Supers did, which is somewhat surprising. Considering the fact that Jenth integrated a fair bit of programming from a half-melted protocol droid to get this one’s processors working.

     

    History: A battered and blasted hulk left to rust among the countless scraps on Taris. Found and restored as a pet project by Jenth when she was young, serves as her personal protection in the effectively lawless undercity of the planet.

     

    Affiliation: Jenth

  • Posted 2016-02-04 04:34:49 UTC
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  • Name: Sen Fahl

     

    Age: 28

     

    Gender/Species: Male Human

     

    Appearance: Blond hair tied back into a ponytail with a pair of blue and green spiraling their way through it. Blue eyes look out from a strong face with a scar starting on the right side of the nose and running off the cheek. Stands a full 5' 10" when at full height but tends to relax into a slight slouch.

     

    Outfit is normally composed of brown pants and shirt with olive green of grey armor plates molded overtop. His blasters are held in easy draw smart holsters on his upper thighs and the vibroblade is clipped to the left side of his belt. A well worn satchel hangs from his neck, helpful for holding for holding priceless artefacts while on the run.

     

    Skills: His job as an antiquities dealer has resulted in Sen developing a rather eclectic skill set. A lot of ruins have built up over the thousands of years of galactic history. A good grasp of architecture to navigate through them, engineering knowhow to disable the traps and a good hand with a blaster to get past the thugs waiting for you outside. Being handy enough with a starship to Dodge the laser blasts until you can jump to hyperspace is also a handy skill.

     

    His connection to the Church of the Force has resulted in him picking up some more esoteric skills and knowledge. Basic Jedi meditation techniques and a smattering of the different saber styles mostly.

     

    Can speak Mandalorian in addition to Basic.

     

    Force Abilities: Due to Wen's lack of formal training in the Force he lacks much in the way of proper powers. Besides being a decent hand at telekenisis the majority of his time was spent improving the basics. Namely the passive improvements that the force can offer. While not at the level of a Jedi Knight Sen is capable of boosting his physical and mental capabilities noticeably past that of an ordinary human.

     

    Equipment: Dual DC-17 hand blasters. Double edged extensing vibroblade, a collection of thermal detonators, stun grenades and EMP grenades. Also carries a rather extensive tool kit in a satchel.

     

    Personality: Curiosity drives Sen. Most specifically curiosity about thins lost to history. Aside from that he's a pretty decent guy, not exactly difficult to make friends with and perfectly will in to help out a person despite not knowing them very well. That said he has very few close friends, his constant traveling preventing him from staying around long enough to get close enough to anybody.

     

    History: The Mandalorian child of a retired Clone War officer and his nurse wife Sen's life, while not as interesting as some, certainly had it's moments. An early interest in archeology and the unsolved mysteryies of the galaxy's long history had his path set from a young age. And for a while his life was as normal as a person growing up on Mandalor could have.

     

    That ended partway through his tertiary education. Durring a particularly emotionally fueled sporting event Sen dug into his previously only hinted at Force potential. After flying nearly twenty feet and slamming into a news crew hiding the event was impossible.

     

    Before he knew it Sen was at the center of a media circus with no idea what was going on. It only got worse when the Inquisitors showed up. To make a long story very short the entire ordeal ended with Sen in possession of his father's DC-17 blasters and with everybody thinking that he had been vaporized by a starship engine.

     

    In reality the young man had been smuggled off world by several members of the Church of the Force. They set him up with a new identity and helped him understand his new powers as best they could. Since then he has traveled the galaxy exploring old ruins and making his way as best he could.

     

    Originally his stop at Taris was nothing more than a pitstop. Stretch the legs, refuel, grab a bit to eat. Simple stuff. Once he reached the planet something started bugging him, something that the archeologist had learned to listen to over the past seven or eight years.

     

    Ship: more or less new X-Wing heavy fighter with built in astromechs droid.

     

    Affiliation: while not specifically a part of the organization Sen is connected to the Church of the Force.

     

    Rank: N/A

     

    Position: Professional Antiquities Dealer

     

    Alignment: Good/ Knowledge

  • Edited on 2016-02-04 05:08:51 by Silvan Haven
  • Posted 2016-02-04 05:46:11 UTC
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  • Pre-approved by Grav~

     

    Name: Teddy Leon

     

    Age: 27

     

    Gender/Species: Male Human

     

    Appearance: Standing at a whopping 6’5, it’d be hard to tell the difference between Teddy and a palm tree if they stood side by side. Apart from his height, his most distinguishing feature is his large afro, though a handsome smile that’ll melt your heart in an instant comes in close second. He’s lean, lanky and deceptively athletic, with dark skin that borders on caramel in colour, piercing brown eyes, and a narrow face always seems at ease with his usual breezy charm. His style of clothing is casual yet trendy, and his typical go-to outfit consists of grey pants and a plain white shirt underneath a black leather jacket.

     

    Skills: When you look at Teddy, you can be ##### sure that the word ‘dentist’ isn’t the first word that comes to mind. He knows a lot about teeth and the importance of flossing, and besides his expertise on making your mouth a throbbing pain receptor, he has basic medical knowledge and skills that could come in handy. While you wouldn’t think a dentist should know how to use a gun, Teddy’s got a marksman’s eyes and the sleight of hand necessary for some quick shooting. Unfortunately, his talent with a weapon only extends to pistols.

     

    For someone who looks like a twig, his strength and speed is uncanny to the point where he can easily keep up with your average jock, though endurance seems to be his true niche. That said, he can hold his own in a fistfight but lack of proper training could be his downfall against more experienced opponents.

     

    Concerning his more mundane abilities, he can bake, cook, draw, and yes, he can dance.

     

    Equipment: blaster pistol, comm link, a laser pointer ‘cause why not.

     

    Personality: Forever young at heart and free-spirited, Teddy’s a man bound for adventure and excitement, even if he’s convinced that a stable life is the way to go. He’s the life of the party, the goof loaded up on playful charisma and bad jokes that he just can’t seem to keep a lid on. Despite all his faults, people like him. While he wouldn’t consider himself a leader, he’s definitely good for morale, and his passion, coupled with fierce determination, make him a valuable friend to call your own.

     

    History: Alright, let’s keep this simple. Teddy grew up poor, and he wanted to go to med school but too frickin’ bad, ‘cause Teddy, you broke. So you know what Teddy does? Teddy does crime. That’s right, Teddy signs up with these high-end smugglers and hot ##### does he make a lot of cash with them. Too bad the gig ends up with his whole crew dying at the hands of the authorities, and him making a narrow escape. The authorities don’t know who Teddy is, but they know he’s still out there and they’re still looking for him. On the bright side, Teddy’s now got enough cash to go to school, so he gets an education, graduates, and he becomes a ##### dentist. As the years go by, the trail to Teddy’s crimes goes cold but the authorities are still out to get him.

     

    But Teddy don’t care. Teddy owns an airspeeder now.  

     

    Affiliation: Himself

     

    Alignment: True neutral

  • Edited on 2016-02-08 18:17:52 by TX Wade
  • Posted 2016-02-04 06:18:11 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Question: Do I need to wait for approval from Tyler before I start playing Nokon, or can I start playing him until (or unless) I hear otherwise? Either one is cool, I'd just like to start playing my bad guy soon. :P

  • Posted 2016-02-04 06:19:42 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • wait for me to look him over and give the all clear. it's nearly 1:30 in the morning here, i don't trust myself to analyze a fortune cookie

     

    -Tyler

  • Posted 2016-02-04 06:21:05 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Fair enough, take your time. As I said, either way is cool with me.

  • Posted 2016-02-04 21:03:23 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Preapproved by Grav:

    Name: Tallik Vao

    Age: 22

    Gender/Species: Male Twi’lek (Rutian)

    Affiliation: Freelancer, partnered with Cylund Calrissian. Certainly no friend of the Empire.

    Position: Co-owner and mechanic of the Tarisian Midge.

    Appearance:
    Tallik is a blue-skinned Twi’lek six feet in height, but as a Twi’lek his forehead rises higher than a human’s, putting his eyes at the same level as a 5’ 11’’ human. His build is athletic, tending to lean, and his lekku are quite long and relatively slender for a male. He’s had eyebrows tattooed on, and uses them to great effect.

    His typical choice of clothing is a grey tunic under a pouched and pocketed black jacket (both sleeveless), black durasteel bracers, his utility belt, simple grey trousers and grippy black boots.

    [Artwork to follow.]

    Skills:
    Tallik is an excellent swordsman. He was trained from childhood by his mother, and has continued to hone his technique through practice and experience in the duelling rings and dangerous lower levels of Taris. Ambidexterity allows him to switch hands with ease to disorient an opponent, or alternatively to wield two weapons at once. He is also a good shot with a blaster pistol, which he will sometimes wield in his off hand when using his sword.

    Thanks to his father he has an affinity for machines and technology, from weapons to starships, which he mostly puts to use repairing and maintaining the Midge. He is less familiar with the computing side of things (computers, droid brains etc), however.

    Due in part to his Force sensitivity, Tallik is highly alert and aware of his surroundings, making him a nifty co-pilot as he can keep track of a ship’s various systems while the main pilot is busy doing the flying. He’s not much of a pilot himself, though, having had little practice.

    Force Abilities:
    A latent sensitivity to the Force gives Tallik unusually high dexterity and quick reactions, and may sometimes manifest as seemingly unnatural luck or mild precognition. He therefore has the potential to become a Force-user, with the proper training.

    Equipment:

    • Sword: a straight-bladed sword of folded durasteel with a modest crossguard. Worn in a scabbard on Tal’s back, with the hilt behind his right shoulder.
    • DevTech Sidearms ‘PinPoint’ precision blaster pistol: makes up for a slow rate of fire with high accuracy. Worn in a holster at Tal’s left hip.
    • Durasteel bracers: forearm armour suited for melee combat.
    • Utility belt: worn at the waist and useful for carrying small tools and other items.
    • Wrist-mounted comlink
    • Personal datapad
    • Other belongings kept in personal cabin aboard the Midge.

    Personality:
    In many ways, Tallik is the yin to Cylund’s yang. He is serious and intense (but doesn’t lack for a wry sense of humour), patient but driven, and more morally-minded than his partner. He tends not to engage in Cy’s choice of frivolities, instead embracing the higher pursuits his partner eschews: reading, learning, training, and, as he seldom tires of reminding Cy, “keeping the ###### ship spaceworthy”. Despite their differences, Tal cares for Cy as a brother. If he didn’t, he’d probably have lost patience with him years ago.

    History:
    The son of archaeologist (or to put it less kindly, professional scavenger) Kitso Vao and his bodyguard-turned-wife Alema, Tallik Vao was born little more than a year after the rise of the Galactic Empire.

    Kitso’s work had already begun to grow more difficult as the Empire demanded more and more paperwork and permits for excavations, determined as it was to tighten its grip on history. The alternative was to search in the Outer Rim where the Imperial eye was at its least watchful, but that had its own dangers, not least the local scavengers who were more than willing to use lethal force to weed out competition. His father’s constant hunt for digsites meant that most of the young Twi’lek’s childhood was spent on the move, travelling from planet to planet aboard his parents’ starship.

    It was not an unhappy childhood, though. The Vaos loved each other dearly, and their son even more so. The family were rarely separate, and rather than leave him in a boarding school (which they could scarcely have afforded in any event) his parents taught him themselves. From his father, who made him his ‘official assistant’ whenever an extra pair of hands was needed repairing the ship or excavating a site, he began to learn the workings of technology both old and new. From his mother, he learned—to his father’s reluctant approval, given the dark times the Galaxy was in—various basic combat skills, from blaster marksmanship to hand-to-hand in the Echani style, but above all, swordplay. In an age dominated by blasters the sword might seem a rather antiquated choice of weapon, and yet as soon as the young Tallik could so much as lift a blade, Alema was training him to use it. Before long, he was quite a proficient little swordsman.

    Everything changed in 10 BBY, when the family travelled to Taris. Kitso was chasing a promising lead: apparently there were rich pickings to be had in the planet’s expansive debris fields, and the local Imperial garrison was nice and lazy.

    A few days after they arrived, while they were still at the spaceport, the Vaos heard a knock at the door of the apartment they’d rented. Being non-humans they’d had to settle for one in the seedy lower levels, so there was no telling who might come knocking: thieves, racketeering gangs, or worse. Tallik’s parents told him to hide before they answered the door.

    Peeking through the grille of a wall locker, he saw that their visitors weren’t criminals, but quite the opposite: an Imperial officer, accompanied by a squad of stormtroopers. He was about to come out from his hiding place, but was stopped by a subtle flick of his mother’s lekku: Stay where you are. Stay hidden. Not quite understanding, Tal did as his mother said. The officer informed the Vaos they were to come with him to the Imperial base for questioning. As they left the room, Tal saw his mother and father both make the selfsame lekku movement: We love you, son.

    He never saw them again.

    It took Tallik two days of waiting to understand that his parents weren’t coming back. Eventually the landlord arrived to collect the rent and, having realised that the Vaos weren’t going to be paying him, promptly helped himself to their belongings and turfed the boy out.

    Thus did Tallik Vao find himself penniless and alone, a child on the streets of a planet where aliens were unwelcome (even compared to the rest of the Empire) and the poor left to rot.

    And that was when he met Cylund Calrissian.

    While scavenging an alleyway for food at the end of his first week living on the streets, the young Tal noticed a human boy of about his age being chased by a group of distinctly thuggish-looking men. The looks on their faces made it clear how he’d be treated when they caught him.

    Almost before he knew what he was doing, the stone was in his hand. A heartbeat later, it was flying through the air to strike the foremost thug’s helmet. The resulting distraction bought the human boy time to escape and he vanished into the crowd, only to come barrelling down the same alley and right into Tal. Once the two urchins had dusted themselves off, introductions began. Tallik was less than pleased to discover that he was now an accomplice to theft, but the boys quickly became friends nonetheless and agreed to stick together and help each other survive the streets of Taris. Within a week, they were inseparable.

    Over the years, the duo had many (mis)adventures together, with Cylund always finding new ways to get them into trouble, and Tallik somehow managing to haul them both out of it.

    Alongside petty crime (an activity for which Tal took a while to overcome his misgivings) and odd jobs, Taris’ underground sporting scene would become one of their main sources of income. Cy, ever the thrillseeker, proved to be a hit on the swoop track, with Tal as his mechanic. Meanwhile, Tal himself found success in the duelling ring, where he was able to put his mother’s teachings (and, unknowingly, his Force-sensitive’s reflexes) to use as a combatant.

    Eventually, the duo found the hulk that would become their ship: an Adarian freighter, abandoned in one of the planet’s sprawling scrap-heaps. Through a combination of Tallik’s technological skills and Cylund’s talent for ‘acquiring’ the parts they needed, they managed to make her spaceworthy again and christened her the Tarisian Midge. Since then, they have travelled the galaxy as freelancers engaging in business of various degrees of legality.

    Now, mere months after the death of the Emperor and birth of the New Republic, the promise of some lucrative work means their course is set for Taris once more. This could be a very interesting homecoming.

    Ship:
    The Tarisian Midge, an Adarian-make freighter on which he fills the roles of co-pilot and mechanic, and shares ownership of with his human teammate, Cylund Calrissian. Originally found in less than mint condition in a Tarisian junkyard, Cylund and Tallik repaired the ancient piece of bantha fodder only through great effort, trial and error, and a certain absolute disrespect for the law on Cylund's part. With every more lucrative blockade run, the ship would get an upgrade, now equipped with:

    • a class 1 hyperdrive from Kuat Drive Yards,
    • angled ray and particle deflector shields,
    • sensor jammers,
    • an Adarian carbon ice-drive left over by the freighter's previous owners, that had been initially badly damaged, now repaired by Cylund and Tallik,
    • two KX-4 swivel-mounted laser cannons,
    • a single forward-mounted H6 turbolaser.

    The ship contains a basic enough set of amenities: the pilot's cabin, guest quarters, Cylund and Tallik's rooms, a medbay equipped with two stasis pods, a cargo hold (with three hidden smuggling compartments + a swoop bike) and a bar.

     

    Name: Dr Raia Veyura

     

    Age: 30

     

    Gender/Species: Female Umbaran


    Affiliation: Inquisitorius, Galactic Empire

     

    Rank: Inquisitor

     

    Position: Interrogation specialist

     

    Appearance:

    As an Umbaran, Veyura appears human in all but colour. Her skin is pale almost to whiteness, darkening to an ethereal blue at her lips and around her eyes. Her face has a ghostly beauty to it, with high cheekbones accentuating ice-blue eyes. She wears her stark white hair close-cropped.


    Veyura’s choice of clothing is suitable for an Inquisitor: a long high-collared coat over a spartan set of hooded Inquisitorial robes and knee-length boots, all in black. Her right shoulder is adorned with a light armour plate bearing the Imperial insignia, and her left with a strap carrying three chemical vials.


    [Artwork hopefully to come.]

     

    Skills:

    Veyura has a brilliant mind and, even by Umbaran standards, a talent for influence and manipulation. She is adept at analysing the psyches of others, identifying their strengths and weaknesses, and exploiting them. Conversely, she masks her own true thoughts and motives well.


    She possesses an appreciable knowledge of psychopharmacology, which she uses to supplement her already-impressive ability to control and influence.


    When it comes to lightsabers, Veyura is a competent duellist. Her preferred styles are II (Makashi), which suits her physicality given its emphasis on skill and fluidity over strength, and III (Soresu), which she falls back on when necessary to present a strong lightsaber defence and attack by other means. She will also use Soresu when facing blaster fire, often incorporating techniques from Shien to reflect bolts back at hostiles.


    Force Abilities:

    Veyura is skilled at mind-affecting uses of the Force, of which she has a particular flair for Force Fear. However, her mentally-oriented training (of which she has also had less than the average Inquisitor, having already been an adult when recruited) has left her relatively inexperienced in the physical Force powers. Although her telekinesis has very good fine control (useful for Force Choke and manipulation of small objects), it lacks raw power, so for example her Force Push is more of a shove than a throw. She is learning Force Lightning but is currently only able to summon single arcs at a time.


    A particularly notable power she has managed to teach herself is Force Shroud, which allows her to mask her presence in the Force and thus make it difficult for others to target her mind or sense her true thoughts and feelings (and, with focus, she can even project false ones).


    Equipment:

    • Lightsaber: red-bladed, with a dark silver hilt. The hilt has a subtle curve to it that only becomes accentuated near the pommel.

    • Disperser: a unique device worn on Veyura’s left forearm, designed for the dispersal of certain chemical agents. A vial of the desired substance is inserted into a groove, and can then be delivered to the target in one of two methods:

      • Gas: the sample is vaporised and ejected from nozzles at the front of the device. Only useful at close range, but difficult to evade.

      • Dart: the sample is infused into a small hypodermic dart and then fired at the target. Aiming is assisted via an ultraviolet laser. Useful at longer range, but easier to evade.

    • Chemical vials: Veyura’s clothing incorporates holders for vials of the size used by her Disperser. They have a maximum capacity of nine vials. She is currently carrying:

      • 2x Truth serum: dulls the victim’s will and relaxes their inhibitions, making them more suggestible and willing to divulge information about which they would normally be reticent.

      • 2x Nerve toxin: a paralyzing compound that interferes with the victim’s motor control, potentially incapacitating them.

      • 1x Dioxis: a toxin that is poisonous to most carbon-based lifeforms.

      • 3x Phobia-4: a hallucinogenic compound personally developed by Veyura. Phobia-4 produces visceral fear in the victim and distorts their perception of reality in a terror-inducing fashion.

      • [1x empty]

    • Armorweave coat

    • Breather mask: covers the eyes, nose and mouth and protects against harmful airborne substances. Filters air rather than supplying it, meaning it cannot be used to make up for a lack of oxygen unless connected to an external supply. Also incorporates comlink and short-range scanning goggles to assist vision through smoke/vapour. Folds down compactly around the neck when not in use.

    • Syringes

    • Personal datapad: encrypted.


    Personality:

    Veyura presents a carefully composed demeanour to those around her: every word and action is calculated rather than emotional or impulsive. She is highly perceptive of the behaviours of others, and uses her skill for reading people to ensure that she in turn is perceived as she desires, be it as a valuable ally or a terrifying enemy.

     

    History:

    A seemingly respectable criminal psychiatrist who was in reality more sociopathic than most of the people referred to her, Dr Raia Veyura enjoyed secretly experimenting on her patients, testing the extents to which she could affect their behaviour, personality, and sanity. Psychopharmacology was one of her principal areas of expertise, and she made use of her skills to develop a number of compounds and serums with which to ‘treat’ her subjects.


    The Imperial authorities eventually realised that a suspicious number of patients were leaving her care even more mentally unstable than they had been before, and thus her experiments were discovered. Far from the prosecution she expected, Dr Veyura instead found herself headhunted to join the ranks of the Inquisitorius: her Force sensitivity and knowledge of the mind made her a perfect candidate for the role of interrogator.


    Being in her mid-twenties, Veyura was a good deal older than most new recruits to the Inquisitorius at that time, but she nonetheless learned the requisite skills quickly. As she was trained in the Force, it became clear that she already possessed an affinity for it and its dark side: in her psychological experiments, she had in fact been tapping into her connection to the Force to manipulate the minds of her test subjects. She had thus developed primitive mind tricks, and even a nascent form of Force Fear. Given this pre-existing affinity, and her having been earmarked as an interrogator, her training focused on mind-affecting uses of the Force over physical ones.


    Veyura settled swiftly into the role of interrogation specialist. Bringing to bear an arsenal of information extraction techniques ranging from persuasion to mind-affecting drugs to good old-fashioned torture, she has quickly accumulated an impressive résumé of successful interrogations. She has also been allowed to continue her psychological experiments and given access to low-priority prisoners as test subjects, and as a result has been able to refine her signature Phobia-3 fear toxin, dubbing the new and improved formula Phobia-4.


    Over the years, Veyura has shown herself to be an exemplary Inquisitor: obedient to orders, but adaptable enough to act independently when the need arises; efficient, capable, dedicated, and ruthless. This has earned her the respect (though not always the trust) of superiors and subordinates alike.

  • Edited on 2016-02-27 19:47:15 by Ghosthands
  • Posted 2016-02-05 13:27:02 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Name: Nokon Raine

     

    Age: 26

     

    Gender/Species: Human.

     

    Appearance: An imposing height at over 2 meters tall, Nokon's appearance demands respect. He had dark red hair cut close and a hard and imposing face. His physical build is most comparable to 'freighter-like' with a solid frame and well-defined muscles. He wears a crimson shirt, representative of the Inquisitors, and a long black coat. He wears fingerless gloves, one red and one black, and blood-red pants. His boots are high and black, with red accents on them.

     

    Skills: Nokon is very physically strong, and can be very intimidating. He is able to read a situation very quickly and can make snap decisions in the heat of the moment.

     

    Force Abilities: In addition to the basic powers of telekinesis and precognition most of the Inquisitors know, Nokon is trained in the use of Force Rage, which allows the user to augment his physical strength, speed, and ferocity. This power is very draining however, and Nokon often requires a period of rest after using it.

     

    Equipment: Lightsaber, comm link, holdout blaster pistol.

     

    Personality: Despite his ferocious appearance, Nokon tries to be quite friendly. He's known to laugh at almost everything, and is eager to help other Inquisitors practice their Force abilities. However, he does have a temper and if that temper is set off then he will fall into a brooding anger, often becoming completely silent and closed off from even those he considers his closest friends.

     

    History: Nokon grew up on Coruscant, in the seedy underbelly of the planet. With an absent mother and an addict father, he was mostly left to fend for himself. Early on he joined a local gang for his own protection, and quickly developed a reputation as one of the fiercest fighters. Over the course of the next several years, he rose the ranks of this gang, eventually taking over when the leader was killed by a rival gang looking to claim new territory. Nokon rallied his gang together and declared a turf war on all the surrounding gangs, eager to take control of the area and make it safe to live in under his watch.

     

    After years of bloodshed on the block, the local Imperials finally took notice, sending Stormtroopers into the streets to destroy the gangs fighting. Nokon rallied each of the gangs to fight off the invaders, causing a stalemate in the dark alleys and smog-filled streets. His actions finally caused an Inquisitor recruiter to take notice, who traveled down to the depths of Coruscant to talk to the young boy. Offering power greater than Nokon could imagine, and the respect of all who would come to know him, Nokon accepted the offer of the agent under the condition that his friends would be left alone by the Empire. With that understanding, he was taken to the academy and began his training in the Force.

     

    With nearly a decade of Force training under his black belt, and a lifetime of fighting experience, Nokon truly has become a force to be reckoned with. He is eager to learn more and more about his own potential and to see the galaxy that he's been thrust into. Though the destruction of Alderaan and the Rebels continued victories have shaken his faith a bit, he tries to tell himself that the Inquisitors and the Empire are doing good for all.

     

    Ship: N/A, based out of the ISD Insight.

     

    Affiliation: Inquisitorious

     

    Rank: Inquisitor

     

    Position: Inquisitor

     

    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral. Nokon is, first and foremost, out for himself. Money, fame, power, these are his motivations. He aligns with the Inquisitors and the Empire because he believes them to be the strongest, but doesn't care much for ideals.

     

    I'd like a little bit more clarification put into a few points. Gameplay-wise, how long can he sustain that state? It's a handy one to have in a game like Star Wars (especially a game like this, where so many people craft characters with the aim of eventually dueling other Force-users) so I'd like concrete times on use and cooldown so that they're not abusable in a fight.

     

    As for history, I'd really just ask for a little bit more input. As the profile makes it sound right now, he was really just a gang leader who was recruited into the Inquisitorius - okay. But the Empire had a lot of bureaucracy and agencies that would pick up a gang leader and Imperialize him. The biography picks it up and makes it sound like his Force use was fostered from square one, as opposed to a Force-sensitive who was found and cultivated by the Empire. Just a little bit in his bio about how he may have used the Force to his advantage to rule his neighborhood in terror, or how it unlocked itself in the fight with the stormtroopers, really anything would work for me.

     

    Also, you can't have a black belt in the Force bruh bruh.

     

    Also also I think your font needs a little bit of fixing.

     

     

    Name: Jycilia’lira “Jenth” Sansorro

     

    Name: Xesh Osk-Xesh0 (XO-X0)

     

    unapproved. midgets and clankers have no place in this fine galaxy of mine

     

    -Tyler

  • Edited on 2016-02-05 13:27:34 by Costa Vespula
  • Posted 2016-02-05 20:39:31 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Okay, I think I addressed all the issues presented. No idea what happened to the font there though...

     

    As far as the bblack belt thing goes, I was actually referring to the physical color of his belt, not a rank. That was unclear though, and I apologize. :P

  • Posted 2016-02-06 13:42:13 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • So I heard someone could use a drink.

     

    Name:  “Sue” Sunorhyyn

    Age: 38

    Gender/Species: Female Wookiee

    Appearance: Wookiees are known for being an impressive species, and Sunorhyyn is certainly no exception.  She stands just over two meters tall and is covered with deep mahogany brown fur, which while scrupulously clean is bleached or missing here and there as a result of chemical splashes.  Her broad face and large nose gives her a bearlike look, and her narrow dark green eyes suggest intensity.  Her hands are small for her kind, with very sharp, delicate claws.

     

    Sunorhyyn normally sees no need for clothing other than the simple apron she wears while bartending.  Her long facial and head hair is pulled behind her and threaded through a set of heavy wooden beads to keep it out of her way.

    Skills: Sunorhyyn speaks both standard Shyriiwook and Thykarann fluently.  While here vocal chords are incapable of imitating most other languages, she has a fluent understanding of both Galactic Basic and Durese, as well as a working knowledge of many other languages, including Mando’a, Twi’leki, and Huttese.  She has retained her passion for chemistry well into adulthood, as well as a near encyclopedic memory of various liquors, toxins, and other chemicals--both legal and illegal.  She has too, considering that serving the wrong drink to a client could very well be fatal.  She also can whip up a variety of appetizers to serve with her alcoholic creations.  While inhabitants of the lower levels of Taris aren’t particularly discriminating, they are said to be very good.


    Sunorhyyn has fast, dextrous hands adept at juggling multiple fluid filled containers, along with her species’ impressive strength.  However, she is by no means a fighter.  She practices the basic ryyk techniques she knows more out of practicality than any real passion for the art of swordsmanship.  In a tense situation, she is more likely to intimidate her way out or if that fails, flip the nearest table and make a run for it.  Years of tense runs through starships have accustomed her to climbing buildings as easily as the trees of her home world, though she is notably slower than would be free-runners of more agile species.


    She has a basic knowledge of hardware--at least enough to keep her translator droid running, as well as rather specific experience in chemical-related machinery.  It’s probably not a good idea to entrust her with repairing anything more complicated that a food processor, however.

    Force Abilities:  It would be impossible for Sunorhyyn to be unaware of her own force-sensitivity considering her age, but she tries to not think too hard about certain feelings that she sometimes gets.  Her area of work has nudged her into developing albeit imperfect versions of Breath Control, Detoxify Poison, and Force Smell (augmenting her already above average olfactory sense).  She uses her limited enhanced perception, mostly to keep an eye on her clientele.  In a sense she is very placed based, and not very good at picking up suggestions outside of her home terf, aside from a general “gut feeling.”


    Sunorhyyn also has--in a particularly ironic twist, an aptitude for Force Persuasion, an aptitude severely hampered by the average Galactic citizens incomprehension of Shyriiwook.  Currently, Sue is limited to the strongly suggesting emotions, and without any real awareness or control of what she is doing.   Thus, her ability is mostly devoted to making her seem more intimidating and convince any potential brawler that even thinking about starting a fight over the bar tab would be a very Bad Idea.


    Equipment:

    • TK-SR7, a flying droid about the size of a small orange.  Its main purpose is to translate Sue’s native language into Galactic Basic, which it does in a genderless, flat voice.  Sunorhyyn has not fitted the thing with a personality module (she finds them far too much trouble), so it basically acts a remote extension of her character.  She could change the voice module to something more appropriate, but she finds it funny.  It also serves appetizers.

    • A portable chemical anaylzer--which she now mostly uses to test new drinks for potability to various clientele.

    • A bar apron, containing rags, cleaner, and various silverwear and glasswear, along with several antidotes to certain drinks that might be poisonous to certain species.

    • A small ryyk sword--a gift from a relative back on Kashyyyk.  She normally keeps it stashed behind the bar for “emergencies.”  It’s really more of an intimidation peace, however.  For actual emergencies, Sue carries--

    • A pouch with several flasks of choice gaseous poisons, acids, hallucinogens, and knockout drugs.  Sunorhyyn has modified this collection over the years, giving special preference to chemicals that wookies have an innate resistance too. And--

    • A small CDEF blaster pistol.


    Personality: Sunorhyyn has a deep, oily voice that ranges from a warm purr to a barely audible, menacing growl.  As such a mellow voice would suggest, she has a somewhat longer fuse than most Wookiees, and even when enraged she tends to be rather--concentrated.  She doesn’t find much occasion to get angry herself, as she generally avoids aggravating situations.  While she still retains the adventurous curiosity of her youth, the past decade has instilled her with a sense of caution.


    She generally presents a genial but not overly chummy facade to her clientele, though she has a special appreciation for a good yarn.  As might be surprising for a large hairy humanoid, she has a way of insinuating herself into the scenery.

    History:  Sunorhyyn was born to a completely normal Wookiee family on Kashyyk, in the twilight years of the old republic.  Her father was a bodyguard for the planets offworld traders and her mother a crafter of homes and furniture.  From the second she could speak and comprehend language, she showed a voracious appetite for knowledge, often annoying her relatives with countless questions about the native flora and fauna.  This culminated in her venturing into the dangerous lower levels of Kashyyk when she was only a thirteen--and experience usually reserved for wookiee boys who were becoming adults.  Her extended family, both angry and relieved that she came back relatively unscathed.  The debated what to do with the precocious child above her protests that she had only ventured there to see the creatures and plants that lived there--not out of any great desire to prove herself.


    No one, including Sunorhyyn herself, was aware of her budding force abilities at the time.  They continued to escape notice both because of the great rarity of force sensitive wookiees and the way it manifested--mainly in passive ways that did little to affect the environment.  That wasn’t to say that Sue avoided being labeled as odd, however, more than one wookie had remarked on her ability to get out of situations that should have gotten her killed.  All her juvenile ingenuity however, couldn’t save her family from getting thrown into the chaos of the battle of Kashyyk, in which her father died.  Soon after, the rise of the Empire shattered her life permanently.  Along with her mother, the teenage wookie was enslaved and shipped off to the spice mines of Kessel.

    Separated from her mother, Sunorhyyn adapted quickly to the awful conditions of the spice mines.  At first, she drifted through the days in a state of shock.  It took nearly getting dragged off by an energy spider to shake her back to her senses.  She became alert and driven as never before, and took every opportunity to absorb as much information about her captors, the environment, and the spice itself, which fascinated her despite herself.  Her increased perception helped her greatly in staying alive, and her knack for finding and harvesting glitterstim ingratiated her to those higher on the prison totem pole.


    After five years of backbreaking work Sue finally saw a chance to escape and took it, stowing away aboard a spice-smugglers vessel.  At first, the crew was dismayed to find a nearly full grown wookie aboard and considered just dumping her out the airlock (or shooting her).  However, she moved quickly to demonstrate her strength and experience with handling the cargo.  This (and perhaps a little nudge from The Force) convinced them to keep her on as a sort of cabin girl.  She was a still a virtual slave, but she had a lot more time to learn--and learn she did, absorbing every bit of information about the preparation and value of the various illegal substances that passed through the crews cargo bay.  Eventually she insinuated herself into an active role as the crew’s main appraiser--her sharp nose allowed her to evaluate quality and authenticity of a particular spice without even opening the package.  She finally left the crew ten years before the Battle of Yavin Four, and spent her days drifting through the criminal underworld of the Galaxy, expanding her chemical knowledge.


    Then, shortly before the first death star blew to smithereens.  Sunorhyyn had a near fatal encounter smuggling some deathsticks into an Imperial star destroyer.  To stay the run “scared her straight” is perhaps an exaggeration, but it did make her reconsider her career path.  There was, in addition to that, a strange feeling of foreboding when she came close to the Empire’s ships, something telling her that she should avoid them at all costs.  Taking what little belongings she had, she relocated to Taris, finding a job at The Stray Tach, an inn which had recently lost its bartender in a tragic gambling accident.  Now dealing in more legal forms of intoxication, she was able to relax, at least as much as it was possible to relax in the lower levels of Taris.


    She returned to Kashyyk briefly to reconnect with her surviving relatives after the Battle of Endor, but left soon after.  She had never been close to those outside her immediate family, and she found the patriarchal, hierarchal structure of wookiee society more chafing that she had as a child.  She left on good terms, but her contact with her homeworld is tenuous at best.

    Ship: Nope.

    Affiliation: Herself.  The Stray Tach.

     

    Position: Barmaid and brewmaster at The Stray Tach.
     
    Alignment: True Neutral, leaning towards good.  Sunorhyyn isn’t really willing to stick her neck out, especially for vague causes.  However, she has a soft spot for outcasts and a heap of leftover survivor's guilt from her time on Kessel.

  • Edited on 2016-02-06 23:43:17 by Mel
  • Posted 2016-02-06 15:21:00 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Sue definitely approved. Yay Force-sensitive walking carpets. o/

  • Posted 2016-02-06 18:53:57 UTC
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  • Okay, I think I addressed all the issues presented. No idea what happened to the font there though...

     

    As far as the bblack belt thing goes, I was actually referring to the physical color of his belt, not a rank. That was unclear though, and I apologize. :P

     

    Nokon Raine is approved.

     

    -Tyler

  • Posted 2016-02-08 21:30:20 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Hmm, much as I want to re-use Djashell and Syaa (they never really got their fair dues in either of the other Star Wars RPGS I used them in), really not sure how I could fit them in. Might have to think for a while on, shock horror, actual new characters

  • Posted 2016-02-10 02:40:16 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Name: Connor Veeck

     

    Unapproved. I'm all for wiggle room in the professions and specializations inside each organization, but this doesn't read to me like an Inquisitor - it reads like a sniper who you gave a couple Force powers to enhance his sniping, and the Inquisitorius was the only faction that would let you get away with that.

     

    Also, bumping that age up a few years wouldn't be a bad idea either. 16 wasn't even Jedi Knight age, let alone Jedi killer.

     

    -Tyler

  • Posted 2016-02-10 22:19:47 UTC
    Go to this post on BZPower
  • Oh man, I'd love to join this rpg, but it seems like I'd have to put some serious time into reading all the super-long posts and writing up long posts of my own, which I'm not sure I'm willing to afford. 

  • Posted 2016-02-10 22:48:03 UTC
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  • I think you overestimate the usual length of posts. Some (Dovydas) are unusually inclined to them, but there's no need to write them yourself.

  • Posted 2016-02-10 23:29:21 UTC
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  • And posts tend to get shorter once actual interaction starts up.

  • Posted 2016-02-11 13:29:56 UTC
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  • And posts tend to get shorter once actual interaction starts up.

    Hi.

  • Posted 2016-02-19 04:03:39 UTC
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  • Profile for Inquisitor Raia Veyura is up!

    Sunorhyyn has found her arc enemy.

  • Posted 2016-03-03 21:44:26 UTC
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  • Ooh... Star Wars. My favorite setting; I even ran a pen & paper Star Wars D6 game once upon a time. Fun fact, in my game, my players were the reason the Alliance abandoned their Dantooine base. Maybe I should brush off one of the old NPCs I grew fond of...

    The Retired Hunter

    Name: Vanndred

    Gender/Species: Male
    Chistori

    Appearance: As with most chistori, Vanndred is a saurian alien that reaches almost a full two meters in height, with yellowish scales and purple coloration on his head. His hide has a multitude of scars, and Vanndred will gladly tell the tale behind each. Normally, he wears work clothes; boots, khaki pants, grey shirt, with a puffy orange vest. If for some reason he puts on his chistori battle armor, though, his entire body is covered. Superficially similar to an Imperial snowtrooper's armor complete with an armored kama, Vanndred's battle armor contains additional plating to shrug off blasts. The helmet completely covers his head and snout, and may be opened to allow Vanndred to speak clearly - or bite, if the situation mandates it.

    Skills: Vanndred was an elite bounty hunter. While time and his disease have certainly taken their toll on him, Vanndred is still handy in a fight. He's incredibly strong and tough (slightly more so than an average wookie) as befits his size, but can be fast on a good day. He's still a quick draw and an impressive marksman with a blaster pistol, and is skilled with several forms of close-combat, including hand-to-hand and use of a vibrosword. He's not just good in a fight, though; tracking, piloting (both a speeder and a starship), a bit of equipment maintenance, field medicine, a bit of alien xenobiology, and clever besides; all necessary skills for a bounty hunter, and Vanndred was not found lacking. He even picked up a few extra languages besides historical Chistori and Basic; he can speak Huttese, understand Binary and knows some Shyriiwook as a result of frequenting The Stray Tach. As a chistori, Vanndred possesses a thick, scaly hide, which can assist in resisting damage; however, he is cold-blooded; if exposed to utter cold, he can expire within hours. In addition, his disease means he cannot drink alcohol, because it would accelerate the virus's effects.

    Equipment: Among the miscellaneous things Vanndred keeps on his person, he always carries his blaster strapped to his leg. A modified Kyran Arms Hunter Elite heavy blaster pistol, it has good range and can give scorch right through plasteel. It's also modified with a BlasTech tri-laser targeting system; he always liked having an edge. Also on his person he keeps some credit chits, a civilian-grade commlink, and a single
    G-20 glop grenade; one of his favorite toys, and a reminder of the hunt. It's all he has left, though he has a few smoke grenades tucked away with his battle armor.


    Though he keeps the blaster in good shape, his battle armor isn't as well-maintained, though. It used to have almost everything a successful bounty hunter would want, though very few functions still work. Heating coils to stave off the cold? Busted. Illegally obtained MFTAS? Shorted out ages ago. The wrist computer is so scrambled he can barely use it to to take notes, and dream on about the holocomlink function. Fortunately, the wrist-mounted retractable vibroblade can still be activated, as long as you didn't want it to vibrate. The armor itself, however, still functions in its primary role of shrugging off impacts and blasts, though it is cumbersome enough to hinder Vanndred's more dextrous skills; less chance of dodging a blaster bolt, but it can take one pretty well. It can also be stripped down to more flexible form, but loses some of the benefits of its protection, in addition to the heating coils (if they worked.) The filters in the helmet are about the only thing Vanndred can keep working; he would pay for repairs, but the the bacta treatments keeping him alive aren't cheap.

    Personality: As a retired bounty hunter, Vanndred has seen a fair bit of the things the galaxy has to offer. His days of being the intimidating loner are behind him, though; he maintains a good rapport with the locals, especially with his low-class neighborhood. With his formal duties to his people relieved, he's found time to appreciate the more interesting things in life; he can see a cantina as a place of merryment rather than a source of information or the location of his next target. He's even taken up Sabaac, though he rarely plays for stakes. Given the isolation of his people, Vanndred has taken to learning about galactic history whenever he can; however, his people's fear and mistrust of the Force has not entirely left him; he is still mistrustful of the 'witches' that command unknowable powers.

    History: All too often all it takes to take a good bounty hunter out of the game is one little slip-up. Vanndred hails from a backwater Chistori colony that has several people per generation as emissaries; they would venture out of the system to get things the colony needed. One of these starship captains eventually became a bounty hunter, sending home most of the fruits of his labor. The tradition stuck; Vanndred was chosen to be his people's hunter. He achieved success; criminals, rebels, deserters, they were all brought in by Vanndred. However, his career was cut short when on a trophy hunt put on by a bounty hunter guild; he contracted an alien virus. His blood vessels would close up if he didn't receive regular bacta treatments; since the chistori are such a remote species,
    a cure was never found. He passed on his ship to the next hunter, but decided he didn't want to retire with his people. Any family there was gone, and Vanndred didn't want his people to see him, the indomitable hunter, wasting away. Taris was an awful planet to retire on, but Vanndred respected the history of the place, and remembered that an ancient vibrosword that he had owned hailed from there. Over the years much of his gear either broke down or was pawned off, but he still keeps his modified blaster pistol at his hip and his musty battle armor in his closet, along with other tools of his former profession. Currently he does odd jobs around the Taris spaceport, but he takes special interest in archaeological expeditions. Taris is a dangerous world, and an escort could never hurt...

    Affiliation: Vanndred doesn't care much for the humanocentric Empire, but in his old profession they provided good work. Didn't usually stiff him. The ailing hunter keeps his opinions to himself, but he always respected the Rebellion. They were loyal to each other. Vanndred wouldn't have had to break up so many rebel cells if they had just come quietly... He's intrigued by the New Republic. Not so much of an underdog anymore.

    Alignment: Neutral, with lawful leanings. One doesn't achieve success as a bounty hunter by being squeamish; Vanndred is certainly willing to get his hands dirty; he prefers to minimize collateral damage, though. The chistori has a sense of justice, however, and avoids breaking the law if he can avoid it. Still, credits can speak louder than words when your life depends on regular medical treatments.

     

     

     

    Name: Raltz Nightwing, designation DT-204

     
    Age: 44
     
    Gender/Species: Human (cyborg)
     
    Appearance: Outside his armor, Raltz Nightwing is of average height for a stormtrooper. He always is seen in either his dress uniform or his stormtrooper bodyglove. His lower left arm and most of his left leg are cybernetic, but one would not know by looking at him. Raltz also has a plethora of scars on his face, the most invasive-looking being at the top of his spine; easily spotted with his shaved head, which is where his cortical implant is located, with visible ports to enable maintenance and restocking of stimulants.
     
    Skills: In almost thirty years of soldiering, Raltz has given it his all. He is a skilled and vetted shocktrooper, versed in all manner of infantry weapons and heavy weaponry. His cybernetics give him strength beyond that of a normal man, even outside his armor. Since his induction into the Dark Trooper project, he has grown skilled in the use of his Phase-II Darktrooper exoskeletal armor, wearing it like a second skin. He has also mastered the use of the suit's built-in jump pack to augment his battlefield maneuvering. He is also skilled in hand-to-hand (though with the suit's immense strength and comparative gracelessness, he prefers a more direct approach). He always keeps a cool head under fire due to combat stims supplied by a cortical implant, though he is addicted to these.
     
    Equipment: Most notable of DT-204's combat gear is his suit of Phase-II Darktrooper armor. It enhances the user's strength, and is rated much higher for protection than normal stormtrooper armor (though it is built from reinforced durasteel as it is a cheaper production model, rather than the phrik-built initial models). Built into the suit is a powerful jump-pack which DT-204 can use to reach unconventional places on the battlefield or jet long distances, and acceleration dampeners to allow Raltz to survive rapid maneuvers in the suit. The suit is rated for zero-G combat, and is equipped with magnets in the boots to facilitate extravehicular combat, or for support on certain surfaces during ground combat. For weapons, DT-204 prefers a specially modified Imperial Repeater Rifle intended for use with Dark Trooper armor. In addition, he carries a supply of frag grenades.
     
    Personality: Raltz Nightwing, outside his armor, is an approachable, if dull, man. He didn't take the Emperor's death well, and thus has redoubled his faith in the Inquisitorius. He has not heard from his family. His friends have either died, retired, or disappeared. He doesn't have much to live for besides his work. DT-204 is zealously loyal to the Inquisitorius and the Empire, so much so that he has been called to 'purge' Imperial personnel to maintain the secrecy of the Inquisitors. DT-204 always does his work quickly, efficiently, and with pleasure.
     
    History: Raltz Nightwing was born in -39 ABY on a peaceful agri-world. When the Clone Wars came, Separatist forces attempted to scorch the world to sabotage the Republic's supply chain. Raltz was having none of it, and enlisted in his planet's defense force. With the help of the GAR, the forces were repelled, and the planet's defense forces left the planet to fight for the Republic, where he met the other members of his squad, namely Augustus Church; a personal role model. Raltz was a fanatic; when the Republic was reorganized into the Empire, Raltz was immediately a true believer. He holds the honors of being among the first non-clone stormtroopers, and served loyally. He was rewarded with induction into the Dark Trooper program; he had given almost half of his life in service to the Empire. He was inducted as a Phase II-Darktrooper, wearing the suit as an exoskeleton. The suit interfaced with the cybernetics he had built up over decades of service. When the Darktrooper program was scuttled, the Inquisitorius snapped up the remains of the project. Raltz in particular was assigned to several ships over his career, most recently the ISD Insight, and is called down for situations when more effort than a stormtrooper squad, but less finesse than an inquisitor is called for, in addition to general combat support. Over the years, DT-204 has become somewhat addicted to the combat stims his cybernetics provide him with, and seeks to be deployed whenever possible. His one failure in his eyes, however, a fact which haunts him, is a perceived moment of weakness in his complete loyalty to the Empire; he once learned that Church's daughter, a half-twi'lek named Madlyn, had been 'drafted' into the Inquisitorius, a fact that he leaked to Church. This simple act of helping a friend over Raltz's loyalty to the Empire had disastrous consequences; the man was utterly driven by this knowledge, leading to the death of an Inquisitor, the destruction of one Star Destroyer and severe damage to another, and Madlyn's freedom. Church died soon after in a retaliatory attack and his destruction was attributed to rebel spies. Raltz never corrected the reports. Under Chief Inquisitor Costa, he has come to command a squad of elite stormtroopers, with specialized materiel, each with jet-black armor.

     
    Affiliation: Inquisitorius, Galactic Empire
     
    Rank: Sergeant
     
    Position: Stormtrooper Combat Specialist stationed aboard ISD Insight
     
    Alignment: Raltz doesn't feel he has much to live for besides fulfilling orders. DT-204 lives for combat, and the stimms that come with it.

  • Edited on 2016-05-18 05:07:29 by Keeper of Kraata