Name: Gavon TreVayne

Species: Human

Age: 38

Occupation: Bodyguard / Enforcer (Prev. Employed with Imperial Security Bureau)

Appearance: 6’0, 210lb lean muscle, olive skin, neatly combed dark hair with streaks of gray

Faction: Contract work for Task Force Rancor

Equipment: Reinforced leather jacket with durasteel & cortosis armor plates sewn into the lining, dual blasters, modified light blaster rifle, vibroknife, & chewing gum...for those moments :)

Skills:
Hand-to-hand / close quarter combat experience
Proficient with small fire arms
Intermediate level slicing
Investigations & Security-systems specialist

Weaknesses:
Slowed over time: (physical) While he’s generally a fit person, Gavon is unable to keep up a fast steady pace for long due to a mechanical left leg from an accident years prior.

Addicted to Painkillers: This can be a good or bad thing. Due to his leg injury, the pain can become unbearable and Gavon doesn’t hesitate to inject a good dose of painkillers to keep himself in the game. However, several years of the same routine has caused him to develop a habit and if he is unable to acquire any, his actions could become extreme until he gets his fix.


A little history...

“You know the rules, lmperial dog. If you want to eat, you fight!”

The large Fight Master, whose species was unknown, fully charged electro-staff in hand, continued to poke and prod the blood and sweat-soaked combatant, shouting profanities in aurabesh, and spitting vile yellow-green saliva which poured from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. The resounding death chants of the crowd pulsating throughout the small makeshift arena had become deafening as the battle continued.

“That's ‘ex-Imperial’, genius…” The human retorted in between heavy breaths.

“If you want to die...well...you’ll have to die somewhere else!” The creature's lips parted forming a wry smile that revealed rows of jagged, displaced yellow stained teeth. “And I’d hate for something as succulent-looking as you to waste away so soon”

The combatant stood up slowly, holding firmly onto his right arm where his opponent, a dark reddish-hair Gundark who smelled of week old urine, carved a good sized gash that went deep, rendering any muscle movement in the arm useless at that moment. The human shot the wretched Fight Master a cold stare, his sore and tired green eyes ignited with the will to push on.

“You know I used to like you...about thirty seconds ago, but now I just want to kick you in your face. The problem is, I can't tell where your face starts and your ass ends you slimy piece of- ”

The human’s gaze suddenly switched over to the charging beast, fifty meters ahead and closing in fast.

A frantic look replaced the Fight Master's earlier smug expression as he let out a harsh squeal and something exclamatory in his native language. “Gru’dah! Time to take my place behind the gate! Good luck meatbag human!…”

The Fight Master, chuckling to himself, started toward the outer gate, while the human’s arm quickly reached out and grabbed the electrostaff mid-handle. “Not so fast worm, I need to finish this...”

The human male, tall, lean, and muscular in physique, held tight to the staff, shifted his weight to his leading foot and spun around with the grace of a wild Cathar, ripping the weapon free from the Fight Master's greasy hands. As he was virtually meters from the huge beasts open jaws and massive claws, the human gladiator launched the electrified end of the staff straight out in front of him and the weapon hit its mark with near precision.

The crowd roared with intense excitement. Blood is what they wanted to see, no matter whose it was.

“Move!” He shouted toward the slug-like Fight Master as he dove and rolled sideways out of the overly-pissed creatures path of destruction. The energy cell powering the staff overloaded causing the beasts insides to burn at an accelerated rate. It writhed out of control for a few moments longer until the dust settled and the beast’s shrieks and thrashing fell silent.

“Now I eat…” The human said behind clenched teeth. “And you’ll not say another word...”

The fight master, shaking off the anxiety, stared at the creatures half-burnt corpse in disbelief and then back at the dust-covered, bloodied, and bruised humanoid and nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ehh, right...so what do I call you off-worlder?” The fightmaster asked, as he motioned over to the clean-up crew.

The man grabbed the edge of the Fight Masters tattered cloak and wiped the sweat, dust, blood, and whatever else was stuck to his face.

“Call me whatever you want slime, just pay me what I'm owed and I'll go on my way.”

“Hah, bold words, meatbag. You'll get your pay, less the cost of that electrostaff you destroyed, of course. But I need a name as well before you see anything.”

“Fine. Gavon..call me Gavon”



Odd jobs...it had been like this since the collapse of the Empire, its many holdings and investments dried up, stolen, or destroyed by enemies and competitors, or any entitled rogue group considering themselves valiant heroes of the war. Many corporations throughout the galaxy whose vested interests were embedded in the mega-structure of the Empire, abandoned planets, or negotiated new contracts with private businesses, Republic officials, or anyone willing to keep them employed. Inhabitants of the galaxy needed work and did what they could to hold on to it.

Gavon had no real love for the Empire, it’s Imperial army of drones and losers, and especially not the deified Sith, whose ego knew no bounds, or so he heard. Fortunately, he never actually met a Sith Lord, or any “force sensitive” during his employment, and even if he had, Gavon [jokingly] assumed they would be easy to spot. Did a Jedi or a Sith glow with the force? Was there a secret handshake that would be their tell?

However, all things considered, his dislike for the Empire only went so deep as they did provide a steady stream of work, enough it seemed considering the amount of enemies in and out of Imperial controlled territories.

At the time the Empire was at the height of their power, Gavon had been conscripted and trained at a young age under a relatively new branch of the Imperial Security Bureau (ISB) as an Enforcer Agent. The ISB had many branches and agents that kept their fingers busy shuffling through everyone else's business, and the Enforcers were there to ensure they survived when things went awry. They were considered, for all practical purposes, a bodyguard. Training as an Enforcer was quite strict, and long hours were spent in physical as well as mental exercises, learning to extract a team member (and themselves) out of any given situation. Weapons training was one of the last exercises, and a number of blasters, rifles, and an assortment of melee weapons were given to each Enforcer agent to use as needed. But above all things, they were protectors to the agents, and each life lost was a scar on their reputation that would be carried forever. A scar that Gavon wore with much shame.

Kaliza.

Her bloodied face and frightened expression haunted him each night and continued to remain at the forefront of his mind. It was supposed to be an easy covert Op for her, in and out, but the ambush came quickly and the false intel Imperial Intelligence had been fed positioned Gavon and his crew at the wrong extraction point. Even among the opposition of the higher-ups and some of her peers, she had been the first non-human to be accepted in Imperial Intelligence and her career was over before it started.

Protectors. Who are we protecting now, but the undeserving?

After the seat of the Empire had diminished, and the Imperial military no longer working in any official capacity, Gavon found himself at the unemployment crossroads, and sometimes even at a dead end. The galaxy was trying it’s best to pick up the pieces left by the last war, and most corporations and small business had hiring freezes that lasted months. Relief work wasn’t hard to find, and while it paid very little, the benefits had been well worth the time spent for the ex-Enforcer. During a demo and clean up job on Coruscant, the undercity had been overrun with refugees who once lived on the surface, crime and violence was at an extreme high, even for the likes of the underground world beneath the shining city. Gavon, having taken residence on one of the housing levels, came across a girl, no more than six or seven years of age, who had been hiding away in the closet of a unit he rented. The frightened Togruta child, who he later found out was one of the many war orphans, quickly warmed up to Gavon, and strangely he to her, for it wasn’t until moments after their meeting that he realized the little girl had an unbelievable resemblance to Kaliza.

Weeks turned into months, and both Gavon and his charge, Uriah, left Coruscant and headed toward Nar Shadaa, to meet a potential employer, Madam Z’noshe, a wealthy art collector who was in need of a full time and local bodyguard. She also had concerns of several pieces of artifacts she claimed were being stolen by pirates and gangs looking to sell them back to her, but had no hard evidence, or a location to start. Gavon knew this job wasn't going to be as black and white as he hoped.

In the long run though, Gavon hoped after some time, his new employer would be able to provide a good home and education for the Togruta orphan Uriah in exchange for half his agreed amount of pay. Even half was enough for him to live comfortably and Gavon knew the little girl needed a life away from all the chaos…



The momentary pinging sound from the communicator console next to his bed startled him from a deep sleep.

“What the...how long was I out? Geez, I didn’t even hear it ring the first time” Gavon rubbed his eyes, and turned on the holoscreen to view the message:

MESSAGE PENDING:
From: Enara Z’noshe
0200 : Centaxday
[[ URGENT ]]

A miniaturized translucent version of Madam Z’noshe materialized on the small holopad.

“Mr. TreVayne, my apologies for the disturbance at this late hour, but your attention is of the utmost importance. Please contact me as soon as you can on my private channel, pass phase: ‘drunk Dug with a gambling problem’. Enara out.”
Gavon arched an eyebrow, mumbling to himself. “Must be important. She addressed me as ‘Mister’ “

Name: Sol'id Fist

Species: Mandalorian

Age: 36

Appearance:
Sol'id Fist is an imposing figure of a man. Broad and tall, if he stood motionless in his armor he would seem reminiscent of a Mandalorian statue of old. Approximately, his height is a looming 1.93 meters. If it wasn't for the helmet that couldn't fit a snout, some might think him a Trandoshan from the scaled armor (though a bit on the short side). His cable-like muscles are covered in scarred and ruddy skin, and without his armor on, his bulk is a hefty 112 Kilograms. Even among his clan, he was always large, and it gained him an edge of his fellows when it came to close combat, and the amount of gear he could carry. Ever since he was young, he was larger and stronger than most of his other clanmates, so he moves with an inexorable confidence, further enhanced by his Mando'o fearlessness. He moves with a surety that every step of his big feet while take him closer to whatever goal he has in mind.

You'd be hard pressed to see him without his armor and durasteel helmet on, preferring to remain weighted with his combat gear. He learned as a child that taking comfort in being unprepared is the recipe for disaster. Of course, wearing it nonstop is impossible, but he tends to keep it on when performing business, and he is hardly not performing business. Though if it were to be taken off, one would hardly ever see his face in extreme emotion. It's his body that speaks more than his face. His stance is relaxed but strong, reminiscent of a hunting cat on the prowl. His large hands often flex when he's under stress, or is eager for a challenge. Though his hints are subtle, they'll often speak far more than the emotions seen on his visage. To see him laugh is an odd sight, for he'll go into an almost dramatic head toss. The rare times he lets loose with his emotions, he often doesn't hold back.

Underneath he's not an unhandsome figure, though far too severe and weathered to be considered easy on the eyes. With a strong jaw, piercing grey eyes, and cropped black hair, he'd look very much a soldier if he donned a different set of armor on. The lines on his face and the intelligence in his eyes are written in experience, not age.

Faction: Freelance (Paid by the Hutts atm)

Equipment:

• Adverse Environment Gear
• Rebreather Mask
• Holodisk
• Utility Belt
• 10 Stimpaks
• Jet Pack

Weapons -

• Vibro Axe - 8 pounds
• Custom Mandalorian Design Blaster - 4 pounds
• Wrist Mounted Rocket - 2 pounds.
• 14 inch Vibroblade - 1 pound
• Durasteel Combat Armor - 25 pounds.

Personal starship - The Hammer

Skills:

• Sol'id is a steady Shot.
• Excellent, efficient, and brutal hand to hand/melee combatant.
• Very strong and tough
• Can run for long periods of time without getting winded
• Strategic thinker
• Extremely determined and dependable.
• Not the best in the galaxy, but a fair pilot.
• Knows how to operate many types of basic and exotic weapons from all of his jobs.
• Can speak multiple languages.

Weaknesses:

• Tends not to suffer fools. If you're being a liability or incompetent around him, he might not kill you immediately, but your days are numbered. Makes him a bad teammate.
• Has an intense battle lust. Will become angered if someone deprives him of a fight/a good hunt.
• Isn't verbally tactful in the slightest.
• While a good shot, he has no true long ranged equipment.
• You have to earn his respect. He will not respect you, and doesn't take well to being disrespected in turn.
• A bit heavy for long flights in his jetpack.
• Tends to stand out in a crowd (not that he cares).

History:
Sol'id was born on the Twi'Lek homeworld Ryloth, being raised among the nomadic Fist clan who'd made their home in the equitorial jungle. The clan had just recently landed when he was born, fighting their way through harsh temperatures and wild beasts. They tried to make a foothold among the terrible conditions and built forts, beginning to train young Mandalorians through spartan conditions and intense sessions of survival, combat, and work outs. His elders broke him as they broke all of their young ones, to thrive through difficulty, and to see it as a challenge to overcome.

Clashes with the local Twi'leks were not particularly common, but they were by no means rare either. Sol'id and his fellow young clan mates were taught to kill by fighting Twi'lek raiders. It was their fighting patterns and weaponry he first become accustomed to. Much of it was illegal weaponry, as the Hutts had claimed the planet for trade long ago, buying slave girls and mercenaries from its people.

By age 13, Sol'id and his peers were sent into the wilderness, and were told to survive together and travel through 200 miles of wilderness. Out of 87 young Mandalorians, only 14 survived, Sol'id included. He had scars across his jawline, skin parched of moisture, and a shield made of a Gutkurr carapace. Indeed the boys had not killed the beast alone, but it was Sol'id who held it off and finished it. The other children had helped him carve the shield, and followed his lead from then on out.

Clan Fist were Neo crusaders, trying to rebuild their population to spew forth from Ryloth and conquer worlds as they had years ago. But it seemed the population of their small clan was too small to shatter worlds and cause the Galaxy to tremble. However, a few hundred Mandalorians were still enough to raid, and raid they did. Sol'id and his fellows attacked Imperial military facilities and bases, sacking outposts and ransacking outer rim cargo shipments.

Eventually they were approached by one called Virdan, a dark acolyte who offered them prime targets fighting Imperial troops. Sol'id had carried out a successful maneuver raiding a military Imperial vessel off of Antar 4, saving his brothers during the raid. They'd elected him leader after the previous leader Zolden Khan was killed, and Sol'id accepted the acolytes proposal.

He felt an intense pride and camraderie with them, having fought and led his fellows into battle, sometimes surviving off nothing but scraps, or salvaged materials, for sometimes no matter what money they had, being behind enemy lines meant they needed to remain hidden often enough. He would have it no other way. Their love of combat was second only to the honor they showed one another, and worthy foes.

The Acolyte paid well, and gave them good information. That is, until their last job. It seemed he was done with them, for he had guided them into a trap on Corellia, fighting an overwhelming force of Commandos and artillery. The Sith employer having used the failed attempt at raiding to garner attention away from smuggling various Nightsisters past the planet and into the mid-rim.

Sol'id was the only survivor, and he was imprisoned. Though two months later he would escape the facility, killing 3 guards with his bare hands.

His clan mates dead, with the law after him, he found himself without a purpose, and traveled back to Rhyloth to contact an old friend who helped him get in communication with the Hutts, giving him bounties to go after. If he was to continue living, he would do it the Mandalorian way. For 4 years, he hunted bounties for the Hutts.

So'lid found himself under the employ of one Jabba the Hutt, doing difficult bounties no one else would touch and gaining a reputation as a dependable and ruthless hunter. He gained his custom Zabrak Blaster Rifle after pursuing a martial master of combat on Iridonia. Said incident involved a Zabrak named Relar-mur, an accomplished combat instructor located in the Iridonian Capital City. He'd only been an instructor the past few years. Beforehand, he'd been a notable mercenary who had cheated Vishnu out of a lot of credits in order to set up a home life back on Iridonia and teach his trade. It took Sol'id a few months to find him, and a week on-world to capture him. The old Merc was wiley and knew the city well, and when they came to blows, it took all of Sol'ids skill to beat him and bag him.

His latest hunt was a hard one as well. He was meant to track down another dark acolyte warrior, a Twi'Lek force user called Kyto Tan on the toxic planet of Haruun Kal. It was a contract sent by an anonymous benefactor, relayed through Vishnu with a promise he would get a cut of the reward credits. The acolyte had traveled there to assassinate a Korunnai clan leader who had been organizing his force sensitive warriors to aid the republic. Sol'id arrived not a week after Kyto had landed, and nearly caught Kyto by surprise with his wrist mounted rocket, only for it to be deflected. He'd charged in via his jet back just after however, and fought the acolyte through the jungle. The acolyte escaped, but Sol'id had tracked his ship and destroyed it, marooning him upon the planet most likely. The next time he found Kyto, he chased him into the toxic lowlands, the acolyte using his powers of the force to survive while Sol'id relied on his rebreather. He lay in wait along the rocky crags of a valley that led back into habitable air, and eventually his patience proved the greater as he saw Kyto fleeing back up the valley. He took him by surprise with his rocket this time, effectively dispatching the acolyte and ending the hunt.

When he arrived back to Jabba, the Hutt had been killed and he found a new employer who sought to test him, having received word of a drunk dug with a gambling problem. He told Sol'id to collect him, and the Mandalorian did, knowing it was just something to keep him busy while he was waiting for another real job. The following year, the Empire collapsed, and he was given all the jobs he needed.

Faction Logo:
Faction Name:Imperial Remnant - Ultmara Sector
Faction Classification:Imperial Warlord
Faction Leader:Jacsen Orro
Faction Members(Players): N/a
Important NPCs:




Faction Assets: 2 Imperial Class star destroyers ISD-Adamant which is also Orro's flagship, ISD Basilisk, 3 Victory Class Star Destoyers, ISD-Pride of Kuat, ISD-Inferno, ISD-Krayt, 1 Venerator Star Destroyer (Gently Used they promised.), 6 Acclamator class ships, 2 dreadnought heavy cruisers, 4 tartan cruisers, 8 Arquietens class light cruisers, and 2 CR-90 Blockade runners.

Ground Assets: 175,000 Imperial conscripts both alien and human, 20,000 imperial storm troopers, 1,000 scout troopers, 60,000 other personnel (pilots, AT-AT operators, and tank men.), 2,000 mercenaries and bounty hunters, 32 AT-AT's, multitudes of tanks and other vehicles.

Other Assets:175 million Imperial Credits, and various imperial weaponry.
Faction History:The Ultmara sector when placed under Orro was quite the cesspit, just like another slice of hutt space a moff could make a lot of money skimming from the crime syndicates. But Orro was not a normal moff, he didn't take their bribes of credits he took their information whatever intelligence he could get on the hutts. Which one liked what, which one needed a new harem of slaves, which one wanted a new speeder, how many weapons could mysteriously disappear from his shipment into hutt hands, and many other things. This bought him quite a bit of leeway with the hutts in the system and frankly he was on first name basis with a lot of them.

With the fall of the emperor and the death of Jabba, well things got shaken up his network collapsed and he found he needed to go to other sources as well as try to out maneuver the fledgling new republic who were now trying to encroach on his territory. So he went through the proper channels and sent out a call for any nearby imperial personnel to join him in his fight to keep his little slice of hutt space alive so he could restore the empire.

Species: Human

Age: 24

Faction: Imperial Remnant - Ultmara Sector. She works for the special operations sector within the Remnant, having earned respect and power within the faction.

Equipment: Talina uses a wide varity of equipment depending on the mission. She typically carries a Model 434 blaster pistol at all times, normally tucked into a holster along with a compact vibrodagger. She has an E-11s sniper rifle but often just leaves it locked up in her apartment, there if she needs it. She also carries several thermal detonators, binoculars, a comlink and a wrist mounted grappling hook launcher. When in casual situations she tends to wear comfortable clothes which she can move quickly in, while for infiltration missions she switches to a more sleek jumpsuit better suited for that task.

Skills:

• Talina is a highly skilled combatant, years of Imperial training has made her an elite shot with blasters. She is also formidable when unarmed, knowing several forms of martial arts and close quarters combat maneuvers.
• She's highly knowledgeable in the art of espionage, knowing for example, the best locations to break into buildings, how to acquire information and slip away without being easily found. She can blend into a crowd, just becoming another nameless nobody.
• She's capable with computers, able to hack and slice her way into systems with relative ease. Talina is then able to hide her 'digital footprints', making it harder for her hacking to be discovered.
• Talina is as athletic as they come, her body molded by rigorous training and physically demanding work. She's a talented parkourist, who is blazing fast on her feet.
• Talina is a skilled liar, able to convincingly sell a lie and make someone really believe it. She can also figure out the telltale signs of if someone is lying. Overall she is a charismatic individual, able to falsify emotions and persuade others pretty well.

Weaknesses:

• She is quite arrogant, failure is not something she is taught to ever accept. She thinks she is as close to perfect an Imperial agent as there can be.
• Talina has practically been indoctrinated by the Empire, she sees no wrong in anything they have done and genuinely believes they are the best for the the galaxy. She does not take disrespect for the Empire and the (now deceased) Emperor well. It is incredibly difficult to get her to accept viewpoints which conflict with the Empire's.
• She's racist against non-humans, looking down upon them and not liking to associate with them unless it advances her duties with the Empire. She does not often speak this racism, but it will occupy her thoughts when dealing with non-humans.
• Talina has loner tendencies, a lone wolf outlook which causes her to prefer to work with, and most often spend time no one except herself. She will work with others if it is advantageous, but is not exactly looking for buddies.
• While she is a fearsome close quarters combatant, brute strength is not her way to fight. Someone who is significantly stronger than her would be able to beat her if they were to get their hands on her.

History: Born into a backwater world that she has little true memory of, Talina Eriston's youth was spent under indoctrination by the Galactic Empire. Her family was poor, and she has not talked to them since they willingly gave her away to the Empire for a bagful of credits. She became part of a radical Imperial program, being fist fed propaganda all with the intent of one day becoming an elite agent in service of the Empire. She was taken offworld, to a remote location far from her homeworld. There were others in the program, all young children like her. She'd learn years later that was the best way to properly brainwash them all. A child learns like no other, with no other viewpoints given they will believe entirely in the one most forced upon them. Every single one of the individuals in the program were made to believe the Empire was all powerful and should never be questioned. That indoctrination would resonate with Talina for the rest of her life. The program would later be discontinued after an accident resulted in the deaths of multiple children, years after she had been finished with it though.

The young Talina practically grew up within the Empire, she was given an Imperial approved education which taught her a wide variety of subjects. She would go through testing when not in class under the program, sometimes tasked with brawling or outsmarting the other students, other times these tests resembled actual missions. None of them were life threatening while the children were still that, too young for actual combat or real operations of serious risk. Of course none of them knew that, any failure would be met with harsh discipline. Sometimes it was to be harshly reprimanded and yelled at, this was considered an 'easy way out'. For more severe failures beatings might occur, or being made to repeat the test over and over until an acceptable outcome occurred. No matter how tired they got. Talina made it a habit to avoid failure as often as she could.

As she reached adulthood Talina would 'graduate' from the program, entering full service under the Empire. She was formally made an Imperial agent, her talents and unquestionable loyalty to the Empire making her a natural fit for such a demanding role within the Empire. She would be sent to Hutt Space several years before the destruction of the second Death Star and the death of the beloved Emperor. Talina was tasked with disrupting any Rebel doings within the sector. She was the part of a small group of loyal Imperialists, each a key cog in the covert military and political operations in the sector. Talina assumed a variety of roles, information gathering being one of her most common jobs. A particularly strange mission involved her having to acquire intel from a drunk Dug with a gambling problem. She's also been notably involved with assassinations and political dealings within Hutt space. A particularly fond memory of hers being her assassination of the disgusting Yaimdrag the Hutt via explosives. The poor slug never even knew what hit him when his palace came crashing down on top of him along with dozens of other victims.

Recent times have not been easy for Talina. The death of the Emperor and the fierce Lord Vader have left her shaken but still undying in her loyalty to the Empire. She still remembers crying the day she heard the news of the great Emperor's demise, it was like she had lost a close family member. Even if she never knew the man personally, she wished she could have met him. Despite all this, Talina knows the Empire can carry on, it has always been more than one person. The so called New Republic does not scare her.