[CHAR] For a Fistful of Credits: A Star Wars Story

[Hexaflexagon]

---

Character Database

_{Important Things}

---

<sub>_ This CS is how I'm going to judge your dedication and commitment. It is important.
_ People have flaws your characters should have flaws as well.
_ The closest you will get to being a Jedi or Sith is that your force sensitive: so you get bad feelings from time to time, can feel when the latest genocide occurred. Without training it's not that great and just makes you have a bigger target on your back from certain parts of the Empire.
_ You are allowed and encouraged to create characters, groups, or whatever for your characters background as long as they don't mess up the already messy Star Wars Timeline. These faces may show up at some point.
_ Every time somebody doesn't follow the CS format I die a little on the inside.
_ Please post your Character Sheets to the OOC for approval.

CS Template</sub>

---

_{Pic goes here}

_{Name
∇ Age ∇ ♂/♀/? ∇ Height ∇ Force Sensitivity Y/N}

_{Δ Appearance}

What does your character look like? Their general bearing and the way they hold themselves. Typical clothing and the like. This should give us a good picture of them in our heads. The picture should supplement this and not the other way around.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Creed and Ideology. How they get through life day by day. What drives them forward and what holds them back? Their outlook upon life. It's a little more than just a straight personality. It should reflect their history and vice versa. As a general rule of thumb complex individuals are better than a walking stereotype.

_{Δ History}

How they got from Point A to Point B. A detailed history of your characters lives. This is arguably the most important part of the character sheet. The more detail you put into it the better you and everyone else understands your character.

_{Δ Equipment}

Weapons, Armor and all the other stuff that is hopefully going to keep you alive. Most it will probably be scrabbled together from hand-me downs and whatever was cheap at the time given your characters general lack of experience.

_{Δ Skills}

What are they good at? Remember skills are reflective of experience and history.

_{Δ General Notes}

Other stuff. Favorite color, awesome theme song idk.

_{For easy copy and pasting}

---

copy and paste

[center][img]Image url goes here[/img][/center]
[center][sub][color=]Name[/color]
[color=]∇[/color] Age [color=]∇[/color] ♂/♀/? [color=]∇[/color] Height [color=]∇[/color] Force Sensitivity Y/N
[/sub][/center]

[sub][color=][b]Δ Appearance[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]What does your character look like? Their general bearing and the way they hold themselves. Typical clothing and the like. This should give us a good picture of them in our heads. The picture should supplement this and not the other way around. [/indent]

[sub][color=][b]Δ Weltanschauung[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Creed and Ideology. How they get through life day by day. What drives them forward and what holds them back? Their outlook upon life. It's a little more than just a straight personality. It should reflect their history and vice versa. As a general rule of thumb complex individuals are better than a walking stereotype. [/indent]

[sub][color=][b]Δ History[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]How they got from Point A to Point B. A detailed history of your characters lives. This is arguably the most important part of the character sheet. The more detail you put into it the better you and everyone else understands your character.[/indent]

[sub][color=][b]Δ Equipment[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Weapons, Armor and all the other stuff that is hopefully going to keep you alive. Most it will probably be scrabbled together from hand-me downs and whatever was cheap at the time given your characters general lack of experience.[/indent]

[sub][color=][b]Δ Skills[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]What are they good at? Remember skills are reflective of experience and history.[/indent]

[sub][color=][b]Δ General Notes[/b][/color][/sub]
[indent]Other stuff. Favorite color, awesome theme song idk.[/indent]

_{The Roster}

---

[Hexaflexagon]

_{Mus Rosh
∇ 33 ∇ ♀ ∇ 1.8m ∇ N}

_{Δ Appearance}

Mus looks much like your standard Zabrak standing with a manner of self-assured confidence that either reflected skill or urge for death. Red skin reminiscent dying sun stands in contrast to her hair. Long and black as tar, it is kept immaculately clean and never seen outside of a long loose ponytail. Hair curves gently around three rows of horns that line the top of her head. Unlike some of her people Mus keeps them trimmed and proper rising neatly into fine points. Her facial tattoos stand out simply out of simplicity. A single line across the bridge of the nose having left for greener pastures before the rest could be applied.

Physically she stands lean and powerful. A body forged out of rigid discipline and work. Hands are rough and heavily calloused from constant use and strain. Bare skin is a patchwork of healed and healing wounds and scars each with its own story that Mus can recall. Always a lean child due to the active metabolism she thanklessly gained from her father. Over the years the leanness has faded away to a solid musculature that she maintains almost religiously wither she is upon land or in space. The simple fact of putting the work in now so that she doesn't regret it later. Her gait is eased and relaxed head held high, orange eyes glinting with a predatory shine to them.

Her clothing is a simple affair. Common leathers with light armor weave built into them to help deal with a blaster shot or two. Despite whatever washing has been done to them they still reek of the blastpowder smell of her scattergun.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Mus used to be a good person. Problem is good people don't work for slavers and crime lords. Good people don't put value on a human life based upon credits. Good people still cared. There was a time that she did care; a time when she was disgusted - no disappointed of the face that looked back at her. Now? Now she's blind to it all. The only thing that matters are the credits and the thrill. If damnation is what is coming for you, you might as well get the job done.

Mus is always on. A rumbling mass of machinery that if stopped will never start up again. Always moving on to the next thing, always jumping at the next problem. Running. Running from what exactly? Her past? Herself? Nobody really knows for certain an she isn't one to kiss and tell. This constant motion leads her to think with her gut more than her head most of the time. Prone to decisions based upon instinct and gut feelings rather than well thought out plans. First to charge into the fight and probably the last to walk out of it. Rage keeps the fires burning and those fires run hot.

Despite a remarkable level of self-loathing she's something of a gregarious creature. Quick to strike up a conversation, tell a joke, or just generally get into a ruckus. A generous flirt not afraid to use her sexuality to all its advantages. Though nothing ever series comes from these dalliances as she's well aware of her own track record. Where some have in her field have an air of business and professionalism about them Mus is not one of those people. Life's too short for her to not have fun while she's still breathing. This gregarious air acts as a wall, a defensive perimeter that keeps everyone at a comfortable arms length.

The heat of battle is where Mus really comes alive. An adrenaline junkie at heart always looking for that next hit. Some people hate violence but Mus thrives in it. It dampens whatever else she is feeling, allows her to forget about everything, allows her to live. The challenge is almost intoxicating her. The kick of a slugthrower or crack of bone against her fists are better than any pay day or fuck. She comes from the school of blunt force repetition. If you throw yourself against the brick wall enough times either the wall is going to break or you are. This competitive confrontational streak leads to her always being on something of a hair-trigger three seconds away from exploding. She's childish to that degree with a temper and a capacity to hold some very long grudges. Basically if you can't shoot the problem dead, Mus doesn't think you are trying hard enough.

_{Δ History}

Mus was born to wealthy merchants on Raxus. Her father was a Spice Merchant one of the few luckily or influential enough to get a permit by the Republic to trade in the mind-altering substances. As a result he himself was a man of wealth and power. As a result Mus spent much of her young life between two homes of sorts one on Raxus and the other upon Coruscant. Because her father work kept him rather busy, her mother took care of her most of the time. Sadly though her mother fell ill when Mus was around eight years of age. Bacta would not heal the dieases and the doctors could not discover its origin. After two painful months she passed in her sleep.

Mus' father remarried soon afterwards to a human from Coruscant. Mus never did get along with her step-mother or her step-siblings. She became distant and troublesome no longer listing to her instructors and tutors. At the ends of his limits, Mus' father had no choice but to send his daughter away to a Republic Military School on Corellia by the time she was twelve. She would never return home after this with communication with her father soon ending completely. The harsh discipline and rigid structure worked in some areas especially the mock military lessons, yet she still got into fights more often than not.

Things further escalated when she met Vraguo. Another Zabrak of a similar temperament two years older than her. Together the two of them were both a bubbling reaction of bad news. The two of them slowly pushing each other towards destruction or something else. They cut class, the poured graffiti over the academy walls, they smuggled drugs in and the like. A classic whirlwind romance slowing spiraling towards destruction. Soon after Vraguo was about to age out of the academy and be shipped off to join the military the two of them broke away. No plan and no idea how to move forward things stalled. They would end up bumming around Cornet City, to live they ended up getting into debt with those that they shouldn't of. This would perpetuate a cycle of continual debt and favors to be own, until finally when Mus was nineteen where they able to undo their ties of bondage and hitch a ride going out towards the outer rim.

After spending years living in the slums of Cornet City the pair had become sick of big cities and towering buildings. So they found there way to Dantooine with its sparse population, open sky and wide open fields. Finding a plot of land was easy enough and soon they had a small homestead and farm operating. Ideas of children on the future and a happy life together. Mus felt happy for the first time in a long while.

Out on Dantooine news of the greater galaxy didn't come that quickly. What came did so through the word and mouth of traders in the area coming to the system. As a result not many even realized the secession crisis had begun until battle droids began landing on the planet to fortify the nearby Muunilinst. Despite the increased military presence, since the planet held no real strategic value to the Separatist beside begin a staging point, they left the locals alone for the most part. Even helping in some cases with battle droids keeping away the local hostile fauna from attacking their animals.

Soon though the Clone Wars began as blood stained the sands of Geonosis. Republic forces made moves to destroy the droid production facilities on Muunilinist and in the process war came to Dantooine. The Republic would characterize it as a great victory with Jedi Master Mace Windu fearlessly leading the charge. Yet during the battle, Vraguo was killed by a republic airstrike to deal with a high value Separatist target. Her lover's senseless death would drive Mus towards the Separatist cause. She returned to her home world of Raxus now the capital of the growing movement and joined the fight for independence.

Mus using the skills she learned in the academy would spend the rest of her time as an operative in the Separatist Military. She smuggled information to high value targets, lead guerrilla strikes on republic targets, and generally caused mayhem wherever she went. Bitter and disillusioned, the fire that had always raged inside of her was turned her into an efficient machine of war, like the droids around her. The fighting would take her across the galaxy and would help sharpen the skills she would use for the rest of her life Despite her own efforts and passion for the cause the Clone wars would end three years later. The Separatists were broken and the armies scattered. Like many Mus went to ground blending back into the civilian population fearing the wrath of the newly formed Empire, its vengeance against the former Separatists swift and without mercy crushing all those that did not conform immediately.

Having become almost addicted to battle and the war, Mus turned to becoming a mercenary. She applied her trade across the outer rim taking on whatever jobs came here way. It was in this process that she would first become acquainted with the many Hutt clans. Offered a decent sum of credits to deal with their various problems when called upon, Mus moved to Nar Shaddaa working as one of the many of the Hutts fast sum of hired help. It was through this that she became in charge of a motley crew of idiots falling deep into debt. Hired by her employers to keep watch over them and make sure they didn't try anything stupid. It may be her hardest job yet.

_{Δ Equipment}

Mus possess relatively little in the terms of equipment. A lovingly used slugthrower-based scattergun, looked down upon in most circles for being seen as brutish. Having carried the gun with her since Dantooine where it was used to defend her homestead and livestock from predators. She also keeps with her a simple hold-out blaster and a vibro-knife tucked into her left boot. While those are the general equipment she changes things up depending on what the situation calls for.

_{Δ Skills}

Killing things, piloting, intimidation, sabotage, some other stuff.

_{Δ General Notes}

Hello!

[Sep]

Grida Cairnu
∇ 35 ∇ ♂ ∇ 5'11 ∇ Force Sensitivity N

_{Δ Appearance}

Grida is a dark green skinned Rodian standing at around 5'11 (Just above average height for his species). Like most of his species he's thin with not much substance, giving him a weak look compared to other species who tend to show off lots of muscle mass. His eyes are a very dark blue, with light blue speks inhabiting them giving him the starry eyed look that most of his species possesses.

One thing that his dark skin hides is that he's never truly clean. He could have stayed in a five star hotel in Coruscant for a week but still have a layer of dirt on him one way or another, he's used to skulking in dark caverns and through ruins. He's not terribly clean. His body is lean, as mentioned above, but at the same time it isn't frail. It's obvious that he's an active individual, though in group situations his body language conveys someone who is trying not to get bogged down. Someone anxious and worried, even if he shirks it off.

He typically wears the same dark clothes, and even if he does change he never gives up on wearing his hat.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

As described in his history, Grida is a thief through and through. He see's what other people have, and wants it for himself. Though it's more than petty greed. While Grida is greedy there's also an element of thrill to it. Anyone can kill to take something that isn't theirs, but it takes skill to take something without violence. Having (previously) earned enough money to live on he began to do it purely for the thrill.

He carries a blaster and a knife, but he's not terribly skilled with them (Though he is a quick draw), but tends to prefer using his wit and charisma to get out of difficult situations. People would class him as a 'coward', though he tends to avoid killing as he realises it brings in itself more complications. The authorities take a killing more seriously than something being stolen, as do the actual victims. They're less willing to spend money on a bounty after having items stolen than if someone is killed.

Though he is quick at his trade that doesn't mean he'll rush a job. Sure he can be a pickpocket, though he tends to case out a job for weeks or even months and planning it to perfection before executing his move. That said, he has a nasty habit that if he is foiled that he will tweak the plan but then return until he gets what he wants.

_{Δ History}

Grida was a street rat on the industrial shipyards of Kuat. He wasn't quite sure what his parents were, if they had been travellers or workers on the station who couldn't afford a child. He had grown up in an orphanage within the giant rings orbitting the planet that housed millions of workers for the shipyards. From a young age he had a knack for getting into trouble, for as soon as he was old enough to act sneaky he started to steal. He didn't see the problem with it, as far as he saw it if the person truly cared about the item they'd care for it enough that it wouldn't get stolen. This got him into trouble on more than one occasion.

Until eventually, when he was old enough, he was sent away to a juvenille correctional facility on the planets surface in order to set him straight. In defence of the program it worked for a period of time, though while he spent some time working legit as a small time contractor for Kuat Drive Yards, life lacked the excitement of the steal. The casing out of a target, and the acquisition of the item. Why should he work long hard hours for nothing when he could get so much more by taking it? Granted he didn't want to get caught, especially as war now coursed through the Galaxy. Stealing from a shipwright during a time of war was an especially bad idea. So he worked on improving his craft.

He spent time perfecting his art, picking up just enough skill to help him get by. Though he learnt his lesson, and wouldn't stick around after pulling a particularly large job. His first big job was stealing an old ship from the Kuat Drive Yards, finally leaving the ring that had kept him trapped for his whole life behind. He drifted through the war for a while, war time was excellent for rogues of all trades. He lapped up the opportunity during wartime, and the transitional period between the Republic and the Empire.

Obviously with the Empire he struggled more, the Imperials had a more proactive stance on 'security'. They had garrisons on planets, patrols of cruisers and even Star Destroyers. His job became harder unless he went beyond the mid-rim. The issue then was that there wasn't as much to steal. His most recent job took him to Polus where he attempted to steal one of the Pyn'ganis carbonite guns that he had heard so much about, recognising the value of a gun that could literally freeze everything. Though the Pyn'gani saw right through him, and while he managed to steal the gun it was damaged beyond his capabilities to repair it. After this he heard tale of a Hutt on Nar Shadda who had attracted the Empire by a caché of 'Artifacts'. Unable to stop himself from seizing the opportunity Grida journeyed to Nar Shadda.

That said Grida arrived at Nar Shadda and almost immediately got dragged into a barfight. He lost everything to the Hutts after that, including his freedom. Now he's forced to work with a crew till he gets his freedom back.

_{Δ Equipment}

A DC-15s Sidearm, DH-17 Blaster Rifle, datapad.

_{Δ Skills}

He can slice through most security systems, he's patient and a planner. Through his travels he's broken into many different structures and into several ships. As such while he's not an assassin he can get himself into places just as easily. He knows how to fire his weapons, though he's no good against someone with actual training/practice. He's obviously rather accomplished at sleight of hand, picking physical locks and picking pockets.

_{Δ General Notes}

Grida has a small network of informants, more or less just people who typically fence his stolen goods and let him know when there is something worth stealing.

_{Δ Relations}

Mus Rosh - His person of interest. She's the one sent in by the Hutts, that means she must have the control to the explosives. He'll be watching her carefully, all he needs to do is find the trigger and steal it. By the time the Hutts find out he'll have had someone remove it. Then he can pay of his debt his way without risking his life.

Mokra Tem - Nothing of excessive value that's worth interest, though he does have a knack for getting into computer systems which may come in handy down the road.

Relloc Provnor - Someone who can potentially fix his carbonite gun.

Rytthik Darhask - From what little Grida knows, Rytthik could be a good fence to keep in mind for another day.

Xymone - Like a lot in the criminal underworld she seems to underestimate him. That's fine with him, he's not going to discourage her 'mothering' of him as it will probably come in use sooner or later. Especially with her combat skills. He may hate it, but for appearances he'll go along with it. The pay off will be worth it.

Rymi Ketres - From what little he's managed to gather on the pilot so far is that she's impulsive. That's not something Grida likes very much, he'll need to keep a close eye on her to ensure she doesn't get him killed.

[Gunther]

_{Mokra Tem
∇ 30 ∇ ♂ ∇ 75" (6'3"/190.5cm) ∇ Force Sensitivity Y}

_{Δ Appearance}

Mo, as he is known by his closest associates has a dark peach complexion and black eyes with silver irises. Mokra's nose falls short of becoming a beak with a gaping hole that descends into his mouth, a toothless chasm with drooping fleshy strands. In place of teeth, Mokra has an upper and lower hard palate. Framing his head are extrasensory organs, which terminate in small black tusks next to his chin. As a Kel Dorian, Mokra wears an antiox breath mask and protective goggles. He cannot breathe oxygen, carbon dioxide or nitrogen, which are all fatal to him. He must breathe Helium and a gas unique to Dorin, his home planet. The mask also amplifies his voice when out of Dorin atmosphere. Due to the extrasensory organs in his head, Mokra has heightened reflexes. As a racial trait, Mokra is considered quick and wise, but of a weaker constitution. Mokra can communicate with other Kel Dorians by using his mind in a form of telepathy.

Mo wears molded body armor of a grayish blue hue with gray shoulder spaulders and ornate light gray gauntlets with fingerless black gloves, attached. He wears dark gray canvas britches with high black leather boots. Around his waist, is a black pistol belt and holster for his sidearm. The holster is hung low on his left hip to accommodate his dominant left hand. He has a coarse brown hooded cloak he occasionally wears. It is not always present, left on his hammock or in a closet.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Mokra Tem is a polite, respectful and positive Kal Doran. He genuinely cares for others and works well in a team atmosphere. He may become enraged when he perceives harm done to others especially those who are closest to him, but he is generally calm, and cool. He works well with positive encouragement and fumbles when he feels he is overly criticized. The probability he will get something wrong increases when he makes mistakes. He is overly critical of his own actions; detrimentally affected more so than when others criticize him. Although, the words of others do have an effect on his behavior, he is actually quite confident. But even the most confident of people have doubts. Encouragement promotes good deeds.

Mo has an adventurous spirit, willing to take risks to overcome an obstacle or secure an objective. He can act impulsively if his confidence is up and he truly believes he is physically capable and mentally prepared to burst into action. His adventurous spirit has gotten him and accomplices into trouble from time to time, but his victories outweigh his failures.

His Kal Doran warrior spirit, tactically evaluates each scenario he encounters. He is constantly thinking of how he would attack or defend any structure. In the vastness of space, he imagines the potential outcomes of various scenarios based on all available information. He is constantly aware of his surroundings, ready to react if needed.

Mo is motivated by desire, both for his team and for his personal needs. If he is committed to a group, he is all in and prepared to help the group in any way possible. In his mind, if the group succeeds, Mokra Tem succeeds. He is not greedy, requiring excess, just enough to improve or be slightly comfortable.

_{Δ History}

39 BBY - Born on Dorin during a time of peace, Mokra's parents welcomed the young Force Sensitive infant into their lives. They knew as a toddler, he was strong with the force and would join the Baran Do Masters at the Kel Dor Enclave shortly after his fifth birthday as a Youngling student. His parents knew they would lose their son to the Jedi Order, but were confident he would serve Dorin and the Republic well, bringing great pride upon their family and people.

Mokra Tem never made it to the Baran Do Masters. Soon after he turned five years old, his parents died in an off-world accident. Mokra Tem was by their side to witness their tragic demise. He was taken in by an elderly couple and raised as their son with no intention of ever turning the youngling over to the Jedi Masters of the Kel Dor Enclave. Jun and Ro Tem named their adopted son Mokra, meaning "gift from the heavens" and raised them as a Tem. He slowly lost all memory of his biological parents while adapting to his new living conditions.

The Tems cared for their new son as their own, cherishing their time with him. They taught him how to survive in a dangerous universe. He was instructed in the ways of the martial art form of the Dorin people. He even studied the use of bladed weapons as well as how to use a blaster. He found the blaster amusing, but preferred training and fighting with fists or with a blade than with the crudeness of a blaster.

When Mokra Tem was seven years old he knocked over a vase in his parent's house. It was a cherished artifact of some sentimental value. His mother, Ro Tem heard the vase break and yelled Mokra's name. Out of fear for being caught doing something wrong, Mokra wished himself invisible. The panic of the desperate moment coupled with a desire to be invisible, and his back to a wall, he successfully photo-kinetically bent light and sound waves around him, making himself invisible to his mother. She stood over him looking left and right; everywhere but at him. Mokra did not realize at first, she could not see him. He was simply frightened, saying nothing for several seconds. As Ro Tem gave up looking for him, Mokra revealed himself to her. The boy did not know she could not see him. He relaxed and his cloak disappeared. She then learned he was standing in front of her the whole time. Both parent and child were shocked. They stood, staring at one another for at least a full minute.

"How did you do that, Mokra!?" Ro exclaimed as she dropped to one knee grabbing him by both shoulders.

The boy shook his head in anxious fear. He sobbed and shuddered, "I do not know, mother." He was frightened by both what happened to him and the unknown punishment his mother would certainly dole out.

Ro Tem observed the boy was frightened and honestly did not know what happened. Forgetting about the broken vase, she pulled Mokra close and gave him a warm loving embrace. She reassured her young son, that his well-being was more important than her husband's vase.

It is a racial trait of the Kel Dorians to communicate telepathically. Often, communication in the Tem household was silent. Mokra grew up accustomed to the silent communication of the Kel Doran people in his own home. Often when out in public, they would use voice communications. Mokra is quite comfortable and accustomed to telepathy amongst his own kind.

Once when he was 19 years of age, he was with a human friend on the planet, Coruscant. The pair of young men were imbibing alcohol at a local establishment and got into a fight with a pair of seedy Balosars. The local constabulary pursued Mokra and his friend across several city blocks. During a high stress moment, Mokra shouted to his friend telepathically. The human did not realize it was telepathic communication, but responded appropriately to Mokra's instruction. It wasn't until after they lost their pursuers they realized what happened. Mokra has not been able to repeat this ability since that rare moment. He has never forgotten that event.

As a young man, Mokra Tem learned everything there is to know about computers. He studied them daily and became quite proficient in several programming languages as well as how to bypass encryption codes and hack into secure servers. This skill has served him quite well in his adult life. He received formal training in computers as a teenager in school on the planet, Dorin.

After Mokra became an adult, he pursued a career as a pilot. He traveled to Coruscant to learn to fly. He trained on several different aircraft and space traveling vessels. He was eventually certified in most light and medium sized freighters as well as lighter single-seat aircraft. Although, he prefers to the smaller more agile vessel, he plies his skills as a pilot aboard freighters as a means to earn a living.

For the past decade, Mokra Tem has been travelling the known universe working for ship captains serving either as pilot, navigator or deck hand aboard various ships. He is currently serving Captain Mus Rosh, a Zabrak who owns an old Explorer-Class Armed Long-Range Scout Vessel. Occasionally, he serves as pilot, or as navigator, or helping to move cargo from point A to point B. As a result of some bad decisions, Mokra and his comrades are in trouble. Like the rest, he has a massive quantity of debt over his head. The Hutt overlord on Nar Shaddaa has inserted an explosive chip into Mo's head. If Mokra Tem and his mates do not pay off their debt, do not listen to the words of their Captain, Mus Rosh or step out of line in anyway, the chip can be command detonated. Mokra Tem has some concerns that the detonation device might be accidentally discharged.

_{Δ Equipment}

Mokra Tem does wear armor, tailor fitted to him and paid for by his family. His father Jun Tem also gave his son a DL-18 Blaster Pistol as well as four replacement power packs. The boy acquired a curved finely folded steel sword with wood/leather scabbard while training in his teen years. The distinctive curved, slender, single-edged blade is 26" in length with a circular or squared guard and long grip to accommodate two hands. A few pouches are fastened along his gun belt to hold the power packs and other trinkets he has picked up along the way. His coarse brown hooded cloak he wears on planets with cold climates. Naturally, as someone so adept at using computers, Mo has a datapad as well as an interface tool in order to link in with closed systems.

_{Δ Skills}

- Computers. Mokra understands several programming languages and coding. He can hack into servers protected by encryption codes. He has formal training in a school of computers on Dorin.
- Martial Arts. Mokra is proficient in the use of the Dorin unarmed combat style as well as the use of bladed weapons in personal combat.
- Force Cloak. Mo has an innate ability to use Force Cloak, but does not fully understand how to use it. With training from a Jedi, he might be able to put this ability to good use. For now, it is a nuisance that comes and goes, but is never available when he needs it.
- Telepathy. This is a racial trait to communicate with other Kal Dorians. He once spoke unintentionally to a human friend telepathically. This ability is another that could be refined with time and training with the help of an experienced Jedi Master.
- Pilot. Mokra can fly most medium and smaller space travelling vessels, but prefers smaller more agile craft to large cumbersome vessels.
- Blaster use. He has some experience with the use of a blaster. He can hit the broad side of a barn at a hundred paces, but has never fired one in anger nor has one been discharged in his general direction.
- Heightened reflexes. As a racial trait, Mokra is considered quick and wise, but of a weaker constitution. He may appear muscular, but is slightly weaker than a comparable human counterpart.

_{Δ General Notes}

Due to his genetic disposition for breathing Helium and a gas indigenous to his homeplanet, Mokra must wear a breathing apparatus when existing with other creatures who breath Oxygen and Nitrogen. This limitation only becomes hazardous/fatal when the mask is removed in an Oxygen/Nitrogen environment. If Mokra Tem's mask is knocked off and he is unable to retrieve it in several minutes, he will pass out. If someone else does not fit it to his face within several additional minutes, he will die.

Mokra has an additional racial/genetic disposition; over sensitivity to light and the harmful effects produced by stars and suns. Mokra wears dark goggles in order to shield these harmful effects. Without the goggles, Mokra would need to keep his eyes closed until the goggles can be returned to their proper position, during which time he would be completely blind. If his force sensitivity could be harnessed and trained properly, he might be able to use Force sense. But that is an ability for another place and time.

_{Δ Relationships}

Grida Cairnu - Mokra Tem has a bad feeling about Grida. The Rodian rubs Mo the wrong way. He has not been able to place his finger on in yet, but there is something suspicious about the little green scoundrel.

Mus Rosh - Mokra is not sure what to make of their ship's Captain. She seems like she might be a strong leader, but she works directly for the Hutt. He views her as a spy for the Hutt because she didn't get the explosive implanted under her flesh like the rest of the crew. His opinion of his immediate supervisor remains incomplete. He will give her time.

Relloc Provnor - Mokra Tem learned a long time ago, it is good to make friends with Mechanics and Medics. They will bail your ass out faster than a smuggler or a bounty hunter. Mo approves of the Corellian; they have the right chemistry. He enjoyed his story about repairing the hyperdrive by throwing a spanner wrench at it, just in the nick of time.

Rytthik Darhask - Unsure what to make of him, Mokra attempts to keep Rytthik close. The man makes him curious, but doesn't care for the stand-offish behavior. Mo hasn't pummeled him with questions. That would be inappropriate. He simply observes him, just like he watches everyone else on the crew. The jury is still out on Rytthik Darhask.

Xymone - Xymone's infectious personality has rubbed Mokra Tem the right way. He is intrigued by her and respects her talents as a fighter. Her training and experience in unarmed combat and grappling combined with a muscular physique has morphed into a respected warrior; someone who should be held in the highest regard when a blaster is no longer practical. Mo enjoys hearing about Xymone's stories in Krat. He himself would love to have a go at it sometime. But not now. Her bubbly, friendly personality has won this Kal Dorian Pilot/Computer hacker over to her side. He even finds her attractive. The one aspect of Xymone's personality that Mo appreciates the most is her willingness to be a team player. It is a value they share, scoffing at those who would put their own needs ahead of the greater good. Although Mokra Tem is no fan of the Empire, he does what needs to be done in order to survive. The idea and prospect of a rebellion, growing to large enough a scale is unfathomable to Mo Tem. But Mo does get into his conversations with Xymone about the Empire, the possibility of a rebellion as well as the Jedi order and the Sith Lords. Personally, he views the Jedi has a whacky religious group that was obviously too weak to defend themselves against the overwhelming Galactic Empire.

Rymi Ketres - Mokra Tem is just meeting Rymi Ketres for the first time and has not formed an opinion of her yet. He is aware of her piloting skills and understands that the two may switch off duties in that department in order for either to get some rest from time to time. Mo does not assume anything. Experience dictates that even small creatures can exert dominance and possess skills one can only imagine.

[DepressedSoviet]

_{Relloc Provnor
∇ 32 ∇ ♂ ∇ 6' 2" ∇ Force Sensitivity N}

_{Δ Appearance}

Relloc is your average human by most standards, normal height, decent build, brown hair and eyes. What makes him stand out is how he presents himself. A true grease monkey, Relloc is never found without a layer of grime coating him and everything he owns. His body is covered in scars and burns from mishaps while working with machines, and his head and beard hair is singed at the ends from catching on fire in the past. He often has a hint of alcohol on his breath, though most people don't actually see him drinking, so its assumed he does it during his work. His eyes are usually covered by thick, flash-resistant goggles(the spots covered by the goggles are actually grime-free, showing how much he wears them), his hands garbed in thick synthleather work gloves covered in scorch marks, and his body cloaked in a dirty red jumpsuit, thick with tool and part-filled pouches, several utility belts wrapped around the waist and chest, patched burn and cut holes, and a small blaster in a holster at his hip.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Practically born in the spaceports of Corellia, Relloc has been fixing things since before he could read. Greatly enjoying this work, Relloc grew up a mechanic doing what he loved, fixing ships, speeders, droids, blasters, you name it. His happy life has given him a more optimistic outlook on life, with him seeing most problems as some sort of mechanical issue, saying "You can fix any problem with the right tool, and a bit of elbow grease." No matter how bad the situation gets for him, he swears that there's nowhere to go but up. Always at home in the bowels of a ship, or in a droid workshop, Relloc isn't much of a people person, and this shows. He has issues dealing with real people, often wishing they could be more like his machines. This leads to him treating machines more like people, giving them names, talking to them while fixing them, and yelling at them when they frustrate him.

In combat, Relloc is somewhat of a coward. Hiding behind the biggest, thickest things he can, he wildly fires from around corners or over the tops of things, not caring what he hits. He hates fighting, wishing more people were focused on fixing the problems of the world, instead of adding to them with violence and hatred.

In terms of the criminal underworld, Relloc has no qualms about helping those who commit crimes, as long as he doesn't have to do it himself. He's worked with hutts and crime bosses before, and they generally leave him to his work, so he doesn't have much issue with them.

He doesn't really have much of an opinion on the Empire. They've never restricted his work, and they were often decent paying customers in the spaceports he's worked for. Overall, he just sees them as just another government, one to pass through on his way to the next spaceport.

_{Δ History}

Born and raised on Corellia, Relloc is the latest in a long family line of mechanics and engineers. Learning to take apart and put back together a mouse droid before he could read, and his first book being the droid's instruction manual, Relloc was destined to fix things. Starting work in his father's workshop in his teens, he was soon the co-owner of the business, helping his father with whatever jobs needed doing, and even fixing stuff on his own.

By the time Relloc came to be an adult, he sought a bit more adventure in his life than just whatever came through the door of his father's shop. Taking up a mechanic position on board a cargo freighter, he began a journey of his own, seeing planets across the galaxy, though he never strayed too far from the spaceport the ship was docked at.

Relloc got along well with the crew of the freighter. The captain, a Rodian named Gorth, treated him like family, always checking on him, asking how things were going, and offering to play a game of Sabacc when neither of them were busy. The security of the ship was overseen by a Rattataki named Hutox. The two would often practice physical sparring, though Relloc always came away with far more bruises than Hutox. Lastly, there was Tof, a Mirialan. Tof was the pilot, and often gave Relloc instructions on better ways to maneuver the ship, while talking about their favorite starship modifications. Relloc still keeps in contact with Hutox and Tof, but misfortune had befallen Gorth, leading to him falling out of contact with Relloc.

Relloc and the freighter crew got in all sorts of adventures, both of the legal and irreputable kinds. One that Relloc frequently tells to anyone who is willing to listen, is of their time delivering spice to a Hutt on Tatooine. The job started out simple, pick the shipment up on Nar Shaddaa, get it straight to Tatooine. However, a rival Hutt had different ideas. Relloc and the others found themselves holding off fighter attacks, rushing to get to Tatooine in one piece. Relloc was rushing through the bowels of the ship, trying to keep it to hold together just long enough to make the jump to lightspeed. The hyperdrive was damaged in the attack, and Relloc had to try and fix it while half the ship was on fire around him. Frustrated, Relloc ended up throwing a hydrospanner at the drive, which by a miracle got it working again, allowing Tof to make the jump in time. For the next half a month, Relloc was spending all his time fixing the damage done to the ship. To this day he swears it was a miracle that the thing didn't fall apart during the jump.

When the Clone Wars ended, and the Galactic Republic became the Galactic Empire, Relloc didn't really notice the difference, for the most part. The increased patrols in the mid and inner rim sectors didn't detract from his profession, and when docked at the same time as the Imperials, he often found work fixing up blasters and droids for those stationed aboard their ships.

However, the captain of Relloc's freighter felt otherwise. Signing him and his ship on to a rebellion recruitment list, Relloc soon found himself fixing ships and gear for rebel forces. This brought Relloc to worlds he never would have seen otherwise, and he actually enjoyed the lifestyle of a military mechanic. Eventually the Empire would capture Gorth, causing Relloc to realize just how dangerous working for the rebellion was.

Boarding the first shuttle he could away from the rebellion, Relloc found himself on Nar Shaddaa, running a small repair shop outside one of the spaceports. This was the life Relloc lived up until that faithful day at the bar. Walking in for a drink, Relloc soon found himself in the middle of an intense barfight. Between a mix of his training with Hutox and some cowardice, Relloc managed to stay conscious and relatively unscathed in the fight. Unfortunately, the owner had him included on the list of instigators, and Relloc found himself as a mandatory crewman aboard some freighter, with a Hutt explosive implant jammed into his neck.

_{Δ Equipment}

Most of Relloc's equipment consists of tools for fixing things. He has the tools necessary to fix most any mechanical device, and if he doesn't have the tool, he can usually jury-rig one to take its place. He does have a small holdout blaster for if things get rough, but he is by no means a combatant.

_{Δ Skills}

He's a brilliant mechanic, with a track record well-known in the spaceports of the galaxy. He can fly a ship, but he's by no means a skilled pilot. He has some sparring experience in fistfights, thanks to some practice he did with an old shipmate.

_{Δ General Notes}

Relloc maintains friendly contact with both Hutox and Tof, though recent events may change that.

[Redd]

_{Rytthik Darhask
∇ 31 ∇ ♂ ∇ 1.84m ∇ N}

_{Δ Appearance}

Rytthik ticks every single box to be an average man. Average height, average build, an average face; there's absolutely nothing to make him stand out in a crowd. And that's exactly how he likes it. Standing at the taller end of average height for a human male, he is neither overly skinny nor overly muscular. With dirty blonde hair, dark brown eyes, and no tattoos, scars or piercings, there are no distinguishing features that make
Rytthik an easy mark to spot. The only abnormality is that his nose is bent slightly to the left after it was broken, but on systems where violence is all around, it's hardly a stand-out feature.

Everything about the man is relaxed and casual. His posture is poor; he slouches when he walks and sits, he leans on anything he can when possible, and generally struggles to stand up straight. He walks with his hands in his pockets, looking at the floor, avoiding attention as much as possible. He chooses his clothing carefully; always a jacket, plain shirt, trousers and boots, in neutral colours like black or brown. He makes a conscious effort to not stand out, preferring instead to blend in with the people around him as much as possible. His belt sports several pouches and a holster for his blaster.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Rytthik has always liked to hold an optimistic viewpoint on life and people. Despite his somewhat poor lot in life so far, he recognises that he is to blams for getting himself in that position and still firmly believes that one day it will all work out for him. So far, however, that hasn't quite been the case. Rytthik works primarily as an arms dealer, shifting weapons, sourced through piracy or an inside link, from the Empire, out to Separatist and rebel cells, terrorist groups and various criminal organisations. His line of work often involves smuggling as well, but he finds the credits are usually worth the hassle.

A difficult man to read, Rytthik is a friendly enough person and reasonably easy-going, but is especially hard to get close to or gain the trust of. He is reflective, often caught daydreaming and thinking on his life and his situation. He has it in him to be charismatic and witty, but chooses instead to stay calm and collected, saying little and being straight to the point. Rytthik is shrewd and cunning, good with common sense and street smarts, but is otherwise actually rather unintelligent.

He tries as much as possible to lead a normal life between jobs. He spends a lot of time frequenting bars with friends, gambling for fun with miniscule sums of money, and just generally relaxing. Rytthik knows he's a wanted man, and so does his best to keep a low profile and avoid attention at all times, but also tries to keep his personal life and his work as separate as possible and not let the two interfere with one another. He is far from in love with his line of work, hating himself for getting caught up in the criminal underworld. His main motivation is money, obviously, but more that he hopes to make enough so that he can leave his past behind and start fresh elsewhere rather than gaining as much wealth as possible or becoming some sort of crime boss.

_{Δ History}

Rytthik was born on Coruscant, raised in Sah'c Town in the system's vast undercity. He was the elder of two sons in the family of four. His mother worked part time as a waitress at a nearby bar, earning just enough to supplement their father, who had a factory job making starship parts for Aether Hypernautics.

Initially Rytthik led a normal childhood; both he and his brother were schooled and seemed to be progressing well in their educations, his parents earned enough to live a stable but far from luxurious lifestyle, and everything seemed to be going fine. However, in his early teens, Rytthik began to fall in with the wrong crowd. He became a bully at school, favouring his reputation and popularity over his education. He would bunk off school, began to dabble in the use of narcotic spices, and started shoplifting. By 16 he had fallen in with a petty gang, mainly running smaller jobs for higher ranking members, such as spice deals and muggings.

At the time Rytthik was fond of his lifestyle. He was enjoying himself and making money to boot. It wasn't glorious, and it was often violent, but he rose through the ranks of the small gang until he was one of the higher ranking members, ordering around underlings as they had once done to him. Eventually his parents found out about Rytthik's involvement and threw him out of their home, wanting to keep their other son safe from the dark world that Rytthik had been dragged into. That was and is, to this day, the last time he ever saw his parents. Too deeply involved to get himself out, Rytthik simply moved in with another gang member.

When Rytthik was 21, the Republic fell. By this point his gang had grown somewhat and controlled a moderate portion of Sah'c Town, and Rytthik was in charge of overseeing the spice operations for his gang. However, when the Galactic Empire was declared, Rytthik feared a harsh, no-tolerance crackdown on crime and, fearing he would be caught and arrested, at best. The gang began to fall apart as everyone began to fear the crackdown and, rather than wait to find out if it would come, many, including Rytthik, fled offworld.

Due to his gang involvement Rytthik had never really developed any real-world skills or gotten any qualifications that would allow him to get work, so seeing no other option, decided to stick to what he knew best; crime. Persuaded by a fellow gang member, Rytthik made for the 'Smuggler's Moon', Nar Shaddaa. Shortly after arrival Rytthik found himself involved with the in-decline Bareesh Clan, a small splinter syndicate of the Hutt Cartel. Starting out, Rytthik took work as a low-level street dealer, selling narcotic spice on behalf of the clan.

Rytthik's career, if one could call it that, with the Bareesh Clan started well and within 6 months he had made enough money and gained enough favour to be offered a role as a spicerunner, operating not only from Nar Shaddaa but also from Nal Hutta itself. His job was to move spices from the Outer Rim bases of the clan to their clients on Mid and Inner Rim territories. Smuggling was an exceptionally risky line of work. Every week there would be stories of how this smuggler has been arrested or this one robbed. The danger was compensated for by the reward, but not quite to the extent that Rytthik would have liked.

Rytthik spent roughly a year as a spicerunner for the Bareesh Clan, but for the entire time he was far more interested in the weapons auction run by the Clan on Nal Hutta. In his free time between jobs he would frequent the auctions and attempt to talk to as many of the Clan members working there as possible, building a network of fences and dealers as he went. Weapon dealing was just as risky as smuggling in theory, but in practice safer. An arms dealer would receive a greater level of protection from the clan due to the higher value of the merchandise and, although jobs were less frequent, it was still just as if not better paid.

Eventually one of the market dealers offered Rytthik a job as a gunrunner, effectively a smuggler of illegal arms. His job would be to deal with the pirate gangs that had stolen the weapons, negotiate a price, and then successfully get the weapons back to Nal Hutta to be sold. It was hardly different to his former job as a spicerunner except that the distances were shorter, his cargo more valuable and his clients less friendly. Rytthik was successful in his role but was not content; he did not want to be the one smuggling arms for his superiors and a minor cut of the profits, he wanted to be the one selling them.

Rytthik was 25 when the Hutt Cartel recruited him to be an arms dealer and gunrunner. His line of work cut paying the smuggler, since he was the smuggler. He would pick up the weapons, move them, sell them, and return most of the profits to his boss, which tended to change quite often. His clients were often either private military organisations, separatist or anti-Imperial resistance cells, and in rare cases even terrorist organisations. Dealing with pirate companies like the Blazing Chain and Black Sun, Rytthik was quick to learn where he stood and how to talk in order to survive and make money. He kept this job for four more years, making money for the Hutts, before beginning to falter.

The first incident was a run between Mustafar, retrieving a batch of stolen E-11 blaster rifles from the Black Sun company and escorting them to Tatooine to be sold onto the Black Market. However, his convoy was located and attacked by an Imperial peacekeeping unit. Rytthik barely escaped justice, losing his cargo and four colleagues in the process, and casting doubts upon his reliability. It got worse, for a few months later he went t collect another shipment and instead walked into an Imperial ambush, sensing it just in time to turn his convoy around and escape without any capture, but also without any merchandise, much to his boss' dismay. Ultimately the Cartel decided to end his employment.

Looking to move on quickly, Rytthik resumed his role with a newly revived group known as the Nal Raka Cartel. Gunrunning and arms dealing was not as glorious as it had been for the Hutts; they did not have the same connections and they did not operate on the same scale. However, it was enough to survive. For the last 2 years Rytthik has worked for the Nal Raka Cartel, but has not had the same luck and profit as he did in previous jobs and has recently began questioning his future with them and contemplating moving on to a new organisation.

_{Δ Equipment}

Rytthik carries an inexpensive DL-18 blaster pistol on his person at all times; a common and inexpensive yet effective weapon, yet again stopping himself from being distinguished from any other gun-touting citizen. He carries a commlink on his person at all times. I case his blaster fails, Rytthik does carry a light, 6-inch vibroblade, concealed in his right boot, but it is a last ditch weapon since he has no hand-to-hand combat training. In order to conceal his identity when dealing with clients, he will wear blacked out sunglasses and a plain black bandana to cover the bottom half of his face.

_{Δ Skills}

Talking is definitely one of Rytthik's key skills. He has always found that he has a good chance of talking his way out of trouble, and into more credits. He is good at avoiding situations altogether in most instances, but when he does end up in trouble his charm and quick thinking are bot tremendous assets. On top of that, his experience with various arms has allowed him to become adept at maintaining, repairing and modifying blasters and various other pieces of personal equipment. While no marksman, he is competent enough with a blaster to defend himself at least. Not a bad Dejarik player either.

_{Δ General Notes}

Rytthik has worked with a number of organisations and as such has a reasonably large network of contacts, ranging from bounty hunters to fences to pirates, and even including some of the fighters within anti-Imperial cells due to past dealings. He goes by the alias 'Nexu' when conducting his deals.

_{Δ Relationships}

Mus Rosh - She seems like a nice enough person, but in all honesty Rytthik is tremendously concerned by their captain. Seemingly never stopping to just relax or think, he is scared that, although she may be competent as a captain, her decisions won't be based on reason like he would prefer. Plus the fact that she works for the Hutts, one of Rytthik's former employers, as well as her not having the chip implanted in her head, makes him slightly bitter towards her.

Relloc Provnor - Rytthik holds a healthy amount of respect for Relloc. He achieved what Rytthik wishes he had; he worked hard, found something he liked, and turned his skills into an honest profession making honest money. Sure, not all his clients were honest, but his work was. All Rytthik could do was slip into crime. It is more than respect though; Rytthik genuinely likes the man. His can-do attitude and positive outlook make him a refreshing dose of optimism in an otherwise generally quite grim galaxy.

Mokra Tem - This Kel Doran has so far given Rytthik no cause for like or dislike. He seems friendly enough. Confident, but not cocky. Overall he seems like a reasonable individual, but his frightening stature works nicely with the enormous blade to make him slightly terrifying in Rytthik's eyes. He's just glad they're on the same side, quite frankly.

Grida Cairnu - Grida is a curious creature, and Rytthik hasn't quite got him figured out yet. He has not had a whole lot of time to talk to the Rodian, and knows nothing of his past. He hasn't done anything that might put Rytthik on edge, but it seems there is an air about him that's managed to do that anyway.

Xymone - This woman looks like she could crush Rytthik's skull in the palm of her hand, and he isn't sure whether to take comfort in that or be terrified by it. Sure, they're on the same team, but one misstep, and it's all over. Anyway, up to this point she's been very friendly, almost to the point of being annoying. While Rytthik may not personally be too close with her, he sees it with other crew members. Rytthik likes her, but he's not sure whether it's genuine or just because he's too scared of her to dislike her.

Rymi Ketres - She looks like she's seen better days, that's for sure. The dual scars adorning her face make her look like she's been in a fair few fights, so she's probably capable of holding her own. Her tendency to resort to sarcasm can be annoying, but at the same time amusing when it's not directed at him. As the pilot, she's pretty important, and Rytthik wants to stay on her good side, but for now he harbours no strong feelings either way towards Rymi.

[Paraffin]

---

_{Featured: the only pic of a female Khil I believe to exist}

_{Xymone
∇ 32 ∇ ♀ ∇ 2.07m (6'8") ∇ Force Sensitivity N}

_{Δ Appearance}

At a touch over two meters and hale all the way through Xymone is a picture of health from the flat of her heels to the tip of her hullepi. Built tall and meated to the bone--though a hand wouldn't sink far before meeting muscle she is plush in all the right places--her enviable athleticism doing little to detract from the fullness of her figure. Her voice is a melodic trill thanks to the jawless, tendril heavy mouth so emblematic of her ilk, an aspect oftentimes repellent to other sentients but held in the highest and most intractable esteem by this confident Khil. These sensile breathing tubes easily the most animated facet of her many expressions and seat of her self-assumed 'exotic charm' it is not uncommon to spy a preening hand pass through their ranks to subtly assess if they're presentable. Xymone's skin is a deep dark grey pebbled along the arms, legs and back with the heptagonal hallmarks of an ongoing addiction with 'slappers', an externally applied performance enhancing drug.

Possessed of a pragmatic propensity to place something thick between herself and bone rattling impacts Xymone favors a bulky set of Belnarian armor that was at one time bespoke. Fashioned from composite plates sandwiched between several sheets of insular synthetic material etiolated endorsements form a fragmentary filigree over much of the repurposed raiment she wears. The thing a sectional sportswear skeleton repaired and refitted so heavily as to hardly resemble itself, piecemeal straps and hard padding partially replacing an absentee sleeve. Though this wouldn't seem out of place on someone tailgating the hottest new ultrasport the carbon scoring and deep gouges are, each a point among the running tally of a deadly game she's taken into overtime.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Polite and friendly for a woman so quick to adopt an 'us and them' mentality Xymone is the Khailian contradiction made manifest. Competitive to the core and ambitious yet somehow carefree, a creature of arrogance and compassion that pursues profession and pleasure with an equal and impressive devotion. Always a bit too willing to put herself out there and experience new things she is no stranger to disastrous misadventures, an optimism and cultural belief that anything can be overcome with enough effort often seeing her through. As a direct result however she often breaks down under prolonged stress if progress isn't forthcoming, reaching for a chemical kick-me-up to carry her over the hump and even worse off should it fail her.

A companionable enough person before, after and during the time it takes to know her Xymone is quick to grow possessive of the friends she makes for fear of being abandoned, always reaffirming friendships through horseplay and physical gesture. Over time growing so bold as to eat off the same plate or drink from the same glass as someone she's taken a shine to and sure to have a quickfire quip or unsightly insinuation for those that may take offense or discomfort from such actions. For a sympathetic sort she takes an irritable glee in finishing her companions sentences in exaggerated imitation, often prefaced with 'look at me, I'm so-and-so...'

Nothing if not a compulsive showboater that aches for the shower of accolades she's grown accustomed to Xymone places undue stock in the sentiment and praise of others, this shallow self-assurance of her worth a bitter balm with which she soothes a damaged ego. Though closely guarded the anxiety she harbors has played silent partner to many a brash outburst, needless risk and sudden surge of violence.

Though not inherently cruel she harbors an impressive capacity for devious, vindictive behavior when her loyalty is called into question and has sometimes waited years to avenge relatively minor slights, as a certain blind Bith can attest to. Not being uncharacteristic of her people she sees such behavior as a retaliation rather than overreaction, though would be just as readily appeased by a heart felt apology. Which would be fine if she wasn't such a sore loser at games of chance, quick to feel cheated despite herself.

To this day she remains good friends with a pair of Aqualish she'd made an impromptu alliance with on Ando. Pybba and Tward have drifted into dirtier lines of work since the chance meeting and attempt to kill her from time to time mind you, but they're damned amicable about it all the same. As twins they've an infuriating habit of insisting she can't tell Aqualish apart and an infuriating habit of being exactly right.

_{Δ History}

Eldest offspring to come from the well-planned pairing of Qitat and Ysget (A duo of decorated athletes) excellence was always expected of Xymone. She delivered, and when the public eye expected her to overshadow her parents she did not disappoint. Where other children were pampered she had been prepared and thus groomed for greatness exploded onto the amateur circuit during her debut. Latest in the legacy her parents wished to cement Xymone had been shaped into a superb specimen and all her energies directed at the sport of Lu'Kratan, a 3v3 ball game which incorporates an obstacle course and wrestling. Krat as it's known in the common vernacular was said to have arisen from the rituals and war dances pre-modern Khil used to settle disputes and traditionally the pursuit of women. Though off-leagues for men and a myriad of imigrant species met with only lite resistance the later reformations saw staunch opposition.

One such mouthpiece during the high point of her career playing for Belnar City she went on record saying "Krat's always been more than just a game to me, it's about who we are and where we came from. I never thought I'd have to sit here and appeal on behalf of my heritage." During the above debate proceedings devolved into a shouting match, with Xymone insinuating integration was a slippery slope that would lead to droids replacing players. History remembers her as being on the wrong side of the argument, because not more than a year later she was squaring off against a mixed race team that included Sscusk Tolmz. A self-described full time Trandoshan that had long lobbied for his chance in the lime light Sscusk was a media darling already billing the bout--win or lose--as a triumph. He would come to be vindicated.

The match in question was a spectacular hard fought back and forth that would see Khil dominance in the sport challenged for the first time. By the final quarter it seemed a certainty that despite her best efforts Xymone would be stripped of the championship she'd sacrificed so much for, something she felt she could not allow so desperately at the time. Though a vocal campaigner against doping the waning icon saw no other out; not wanting to disappoint her parents, partners or the true fans she made the biggest mistake of her life.

Had she been more adventurous as a child she'd of known about the intensity of 'slapping' for the first time, had she been a more responsible adult she'd have weighed the risks more carefully. There were a million different ways that next hour could have gone and in the years since Xymone has agonized over them all. It had felt so unreal, she couldn't believe what she'd done even as she was doing it. In the aftermath of the highly illegal takedown that saw speculation as to whether Sscusk would ever walk again, let alone play on a professional level a disgraced Xymone faced criminal charges and a doping scandal. The evidence of performance enhancing drugs in her system called not only her own past achievements into question but those of her parents and teammates.

Stripped of a life's work due to a split second decision the relatively light sentence she received was of little consolation, what wealth she'd had after the settlement frittered away in self-imposed exile from her homeland. Unable to adjust to civilian life, a crushingly depressing job as a taxi driver and resentment that seemed to linger when she was recognized she ended up admiring the skyline from atop a railing one lonely night on Andor. Xymone never did determine one way or the other if the pair of Aqualish that approached her had any idea what they were interrupting, but they certainly made it belligerently clear they knew whom. Somehow they'd enticed her into replacing the suddenly absent third of their trio in an underground Krat match, if nothing more it was a chance for her to say a final farewell to the sport that had divorced itself from her.

She was unprepared for how good it felt to be in the thick of the raw, no-holds-barred bastard child that was waiting for her; the time honored trials and wetlands of the sport boiled down to the basics of six bodies, a ball and some mud. The wash outs arrayed against her couldn't compete on her terms and didn't try to, using every cheap trick in the book to keep her on her toes; it was the most she'd enjoyed herself in years. Pybba and Tward cheated her out of much of the purse naturally, but it was a slight she could swallow to be back in the arena. From that day she dove headlong into the seedier side of the sport, beating her body back into fighting shape and then some--unable to will herself free of the potent rush 'slapping' offered and no longer needing to hide her addiction. She played wherever there was money to bet, slowly growing accustomed to the higher risks, infrequent firefights and looser interpretation of the rules.

Trekking from planet to planet, flophouse to flophouse, alley to ally slowly shaped her into the sort of person best bestowed a generous berth when passing by, her ability to plant boot firmly to ass written over every inch of her. That was about the time she was approached by a man that promised to make her either very wealthy or very dead and in no uncertain terms told her she'd be throwing an upcoming event. She'd decided that particular Twi'lek didn't need both front teeth to tell his Hutt no, and proceeded to make the biggest mistake of her life for the second time.

Gamorreans and the occasional Gank-Killer were par for the course from there, outmatched, outpaced or otherwise eluded at every turn, but always around the next one. If you think you've beaten a Hutt however, you didn't notice that they'd changed the game you've been playing. In the end all it had taken was a winsome smile, a few good jokes and a night of whirlwind-drinking on some backwater rest stop for her to wake up with one hell of a headache surrounded by similarly bewildered strangers.

_{Δ Equipment}

This Khil combatant's arms and armor make a decisive statement: bigger is better. Armed with a Gamorrean vibro-axe acquired off one of her many porcine assailants and preferring to lob explosives over aim a blaster she is anything but subtle in a firefight. Her well worn and carbon scored armor weathered from forgotten frays yet not in disrepair; a Belnarian holdover from her time as a performance athlete. Between points A and B she usually relies on a beat up old repulsorlift that has seen better days. Bought used and then some the Arrow-23 seats five (if it wasn't missing a seat), boasts military grade plating (that should have been replaced years ago) and a spacious cargo hold (that doesn't quite lock anymore). Aside from these and a few sundries Xymone is usually nosing about with her personal secretary.

_{Δ Skills}

Having made a career out of tying other very strong people into knots while waist deep in what equates to a mudhole melee you'd best not put anything you want back in arms reach if her blood is up, extremities included. Though no gymnast Xymone's an efficient climber and can traverse irregular terrain and obstacles even while under great duress--especially wetlands and marshes like those found on her home planet. Sculpted by a lifetime of practice and repetition her throwing arm is a precision cannon and pulling even the most poorly flung projectile out of the air has become involuntary--she had to get in the habit of throwing grenades back because she was already in the habit of catching them. She coordinates well as part of a small group and picks up on non-verbal cues quickly. Xymone is a pretty bad driver all things considered, but doesn't think twice about turning a chase or game of chicken into a destruction derby. A khil so solidly built that it bears mentioning twice. She can carry a tune for a mile and makes very good smoothies.

_{Δ General Notes}

She prefers chipper tunes like Figrin D'an and the Modal Nodes break out single "Mad About Me", can't eat solids and finds herself supporting most of the empire's policies while still being nonplussed with how human-centric things have become.

_{Δ Relationships}

Mus Rosh - Over the narrow window within which they've interacted it has become immediately obvious that--were it not for the cranium cracking consequences to follow--Xymone would have tried to break the crimson criminal over a knee by now. Much of this malice towards Mus manifesting merely from the fact she's standing in for the Hutts as someone to hate, a face to put to her problems. Xymone suspects the Zabrak enjoys lording her dominion over them.

Grida Cairnu - A teeny tiny little thing with a pretty name and impressive hat, it actually took Xymone a bit longer than the rest of the crew to suss out for certain whether the Rodian was male or female. She thinks Grida much frailer than he actually is, often grabbing anything that looks heavy out of his hands and has grown into an annoying habit of rubbing a licked thumb over smudges she notices on his face. She mistakes his caution for compassion, believing the spry thief to be putting on a gruff air to compensate for his small stature. She thinks him adorable, like a messy youngster.

Mokra Tem - Xymone's habit of constantly complimenting others and blunting criticisms with humor made her mesh well with the self-conscious Kel Doran, and seeing as he's the only adequate sparring partner she spends quite a bit of her spare time around him. Though the two are like fire and ice enough similarities exist between them to foster a genuine respect, even if Xymone very vocally asserts 'he thinks too much' and should overcome his weaker constitution by 'getting stronger'. She has a running bet on whether he's handsome under the goggles and respirator and thinks his ceremonial sword silly and archaic. She doesn't believe in the force at all, thinking Jedi and Sith part of a convoluted cyborg conspiracy.

Relloc Provnor - As far as she's concerned a decent layer of dirt is telltale assurance someone's either exceptionally broke or equally hard working; though given the circumstances it's safe to mark Relloc down for both. Sharing his notion that the right tool and enough effort can fix any problem Xymone thinks well enough of the mechanic, which is problematic. Given that she doesn't dislike him Xymone sees no need to afford the man his personal space, her impractical size and genuine if misguided attempts to 'help' having made more than one job take longer than it should. She downplays any annoyance he's shown as being 'gruff' and suggested since he's always talking to the ship it seems to be ignoring him.

Rytthik Darhask - At first assessment a bit boring, like someone constructed him factory standard from pre-packaged parts. As utterly unremarkable a human as she's likely to come across so much as appearances are concerned and seemingly dead set against standing up straight. He can talk circles around her though and tends to rope her into finishing a chore or help him in some questionable enterprise via paper thin excuses. She finds herself wanting to dislike him but so far incapable of doing so for long. She forgets Rytthik's name often and so has resorted to a more memorable nom de guerre derived from it: Thick.

---

[Gowi]

_{Rymi Ketres
∇ 31 ∇ ♀ ∇ 1.6m ∇ N}

_{Δ Appearance}

Once described as a perfect picturesque appearance of a young noble from the streets of Theed, Rymi has become almost unrecognizable in the time since due to her turbulent and strife-filled lifestyle. Still, the visage of a fair Nabooese girl still exists between the cracks as evident from her feminine features and former noteworthy appearance. What was once the home to sharp, bright blonde strands of hair and deep brown eyes has faded in recent years to take upon more of a “dirty” look. Two notable scars rest upon her face; the first running shortly across the top of the bridge of her nose, and the other running underneath her right eye down to her cheek.

Physically speaking there are few who would find Rymi as particularly imposing or intimidating, which in consideration of her height, gender, and build isn’t too surprising. However, just because Rymi is smaller and most certainly a feminine human she doesn’t lack for bruises, definition, or conditioning. Life is difficult on the Outer Rim, and Rymi has had to push herself beyond even the conventional military training she was put through as an adolescent. Rymi has forced herself to be quicker than her enemies and doesn’t lack in strength with her methods, which do show underneath the synthetic cloth that she most often wears.

Rymi’s standard kit accommodates for a very simple appearance of synthetic weaves and materials— a cloak, jacket, tunic, pants, and utility belt. Anything else is circumstantial and largely irrelevant. The lack of weight keeps her light on her feet and able to maneuver through crowds in her affinity for daring escapes.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

“The war molded her, but the Empire changed her.”
- Yarilo Kriant

• Sarcastic
• Impulsive
• Cynical
• Overzealous
• Practical
• Loyal

_{Δ History}

Rymi Ketres was born in the great city of Theed on the planet Naboo some thirty-one or so years ago. Her parents were lesser nobility that were loyal to the elective monarchy that represented the people, though it was only her father who had any prestige at all to his name. Rymi’s father was Draloe Ketres, a fighter pilot and officer of the Royal Naboo Security Force, and was a man that had served with diligence and cunning for the majority of his military career; a fact that was heightened by his noteworthy efforts on keeping the sector safe from pirates and other insurgents, as rare as such incursions were. During Rymi’s early childhood Naboo had entered a time of peace and prosperity, though the possible threat of any enemy never left her father’s mind; as he often said— “It is better to be prepared than be caught with your pants down.” A sentiment that Rymi would later in her life wish that many other Nabooese took to heart.

Just short of the eighth anniversary of her birth, a shadow began to loom over Naboo with the enforcement of the Trade Federation Blockade— a precursor to the Invasion of Naboo and the battles that would take place despite the attempted mediation by the Jedi Council and the Galactic Republic. When Draloe entered his Starfighter it would be the last time anyone saw him alive. As skilled as her father was, ultimately he could not best the automated defense fighters of the Trade Federation; another addition to the many lost against the fight to stop the subjugation of the planet and the people who called it their home. It would be a tragedy that Rymi would never forget.

Following the defeat of the Trade Federation peace returned to Naboo, though it was a fragile sort; but even more fragile was Rymi’s psyche. The bright, optimistic, and hopeful young girl was replaced by one who obsessed over her father’s death and vowed to bring the type of profiteering injustice the federation thrived on to an end— or at least as much of an end she could do in her lifetime. As time went by, Rymi found herself enrolled at a royal academy and following that the Royal Naboo Security Force; following completely in her father’s footsteps. A fact that was remarked on by close family friends and mentors (like Yarilo Kriant) often. But what was also spoken of was Rymi’s inherent talent at starcraft piloting and tactical awareness; it was as if she was possessed by the spirit of her deceased father. This talent would later come to be tested in The Clone Wars.

During The Clone Wars the young pilot was tested often by the Separatist threats to the Republic— though somehow she didn’t perish out of her arrogance or impulsiveness, even when facing down her old nemesis’ in the Trade Federation. The Republic, knowing full well of her impulsiveness and obsession were quick to use her skill to benefit their field of the battle as even if the war was named for their clone army, there were many non-clones who operated; Rymi was one such individual. The war however would end in “murky” territory and when the republic rebranded itself as an empire just prior to the defeat of the Separtists, Rymi’s natural Nabooese spirit began to wonder what exactly was going on. The records are unclear about the brief period between the end of The Clone Wars and the beginning of Rymi Ketres’ freelance career as well as the reasons for it, but a fair assumption is Rymi wasn’t too keen on Moff Panaka’s appointment or the events that began to occur as followed.

As a freelance operator Rymi continued her goal to fight the spirit of The Trade Federation and anything that represented an ethic or belief she was opposed to. She worked as an independent fighter pilot against pirates, worked as protection for a one-time smuggler, operated as a sort-of bounty hunter, and blocked profiteering in several sectors under various aliases. Eventually she ended up being a “ethically-inclined” smuggler-for-hire though she adamantly claimed she didn’t accept any job she was offered. There were standards.

However, Hutt’s don’t like people with standards.

_{Δ Equipment}

Unsurprisingly, the most significant piece of equipment Rymi has continued to use without variation is the sidearm she has the most experience with— the Theed Arms S-5 blaster pistol. The high damage blaster is not only a nostalgic affection of her time within the Royal Naboo Security Forces (and its sub-branch, the Royal Space Fighter Corps) but also the same blaster that her late father, Draloe Ketres, used during the time of his military service before his death when she was a child. Beyond the S-5, Rymi’s equipment is situational with the exception of the utility belt she holds many useful items such as explosives and tools within. One would not be wrong if they assumed she had a vibroknife or hold out blaster somewhere on her person.

_{Δ Skills}

Awareness: Even before the end of The Clone Wars, Rymi was taught to keep her wits sharpened and perceive her surroundings— a fact that has extended into her freelance career where she has relied on being quicker than the people she has occasionally made “appropriately upset”; so it’s safe to assume that her reflexes are quick and that she keeps that in mind when she was outmanned and outgunned outside of a ship.

Firearms: Rymi is not an expert marksman by any definition of the term, especially with her policy of shooting blindly when the situation is drastic— though it could be argued that she is a fine enough shot should she lean back on her military training and actually aim in the first place.

Piloting: Rymi Ketres was seen as a gifted pilot since the moment she enlisted in the Royal Naboo Security Forces. She fought in the tail-end of The Clone Wars, and consistently offered her skills as a freelance pilot and fixer rather than being landlocked following the war. She’s familiar with small fighter starcrafts the best, though she isn’t inexperienced within a light freighter or similar vessels either.

Security: Knowing how to bypass a lock has come into handy when Rymi has found herself outside of her starcraft, though she isn’t a skilled hacker or saboteur by any means. She knows her way around a security spike and when to recognize a door can be forced open, but that’s about it.

_{Δ General Notes}

• Her father, Draloe, is deceased and has been since her sister was two.
• Her younger sister, Rian, is an imperial agent within the newly structured Galactic Empire.

_{Δ Relations & Impressions}

Grida Cairnu -

Mokra Tem -

Mus Rosh -

Relloc Provnor -

Rytthik Darhask -

Xymone -

[jumpadraw]

“Should’ve been a moisture farmer”

_{Terran Solus
∇ 35∇ ♂ ∇ 1.9m ∇ Force Sensitivity N}

_{Δ Appearance}

While Terran is only 35, he looks even younger still. This is made even more surprising by the fact that he lives on Tatooine, where the constant beating of the suns seem to wither people away faster than fire burns through paper. He let his dirty blond hair grow out some time ago, and several years in the sun bleached it to an almost whitish color. Terran also carries a pair of red goggles around with him not only as a fashion choice, but for using his speeder, in case of sandstorms, and just to keep hair out of his eyes.

His kind smile and compassionate eyes give him a trustworthy look, and something about the way he holds himself, the subtle slouch of his shoulders, the slight rings around his eyes, something about him speaks of a man with many secrets and burdens to bare.

He isn’t too imposing or even noteworthy if you aren’t paying attention to him, but years of hard work have refined his physique, and Terran is a very well built and muscular man. He stands taller and stronger than many normal human beings, but he does a good job of staying out of the picture, of keeping to himself and remaining unnoticed.

All this being said about Terran, he is still a man from the savage deserts of Tatooine, and over the years, the twin suns and harshness of the world’s inhabitants have had an affect on him. His skin is rougher, more tough and burnt. He has thick callouses on his palms and heels, and no matter how hard he tries to keep clean, he always finds himself covered in the dirt and grime of a hard day’s work. His nose is crooked, though only just, and it evidently has been broken at least once. He bares a few scars upon himself as well, mainly along his back and arms, and they seem to speak of a time long before he found himself in the harsh desert lands.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

On the business side of things, Terran tries to be as charismatic and alluring as possible. He respects the beliefs and feelings of others, and many years of running his own shop has taught him that the customer is always right (or at least, they should feel as if he thinks they’re right). He knows that there’s no such thing as a fixed rule, and that with a smile, a bit of kindness, and a lot of respect, any decision can be swayed and any heart softened. After all, it was through this understanding that he was able to afford his shop and gain one of his closest friends.

Terran is bitter towards the empire, perhaps overly so, though he doesn’t voice these concerns. To put himself in the spotlight like that would be stupid, and it would affect not just him, but those around him. If anything were to happen to those he loved because of a mistake like that, he would never be able to forgive himself. Besides, Terran isn’t one for talking. Instead, he acts. Sometimes he acts brashly, or ends up hurting himself, but he has found it best to leave others out of it if he can. He keeps his dealings secret, and even when he has done things that are meaningful and life changing for others, he has kept to the shadows.

Terran’s sole purpose for living is his daughter. She is what gives him life, what drives him to be a better man every day. It is through her that he has come to learn so many simple and beautiful truths about the galaxy he lives in, and he will do anything to protect her. Terran may be calm and empathetic on the outside, he may even be willing to accept beating and scorn from others at times, but never, and I mean never, touch his daughter!

A Long Long Time Ago...

_{Δ History}

Terran Solus’ life before the Empire was a sharp contrast to the life he lived afterwards. Before, he was young and naive. He was privileged and blessed far more than he even comprehended. As far as Terran was concerned, the person that he used to be died long ago, name and all. He missed the life at times, but he knew that he could never go back to it, for his sake, and the sake of those he loved.
Born Aaron Lorizan, the human was risen on Coruscant by a wealthy family of government officials. He was given the best of everything. They made sure that he never went without, and because of their position in the government, he had the privilege of seeing the inner workings of the Republic and getting to know many influential figures, some even being the fabled Jedi. Still, as he grew older, he became less fond of the life he had. His parents were constantly squabbling and fighting, often coming home drunk and upset by the direction the Republic was taking. Sometimes they would shout, taking their anger out on things around the house, like the droids, or when they were in the most foul of moods, him.
As he grew older, his parents desired a life on Coruscant where he would follow in their footsteps. Aaron had no desire to do this though, and wished to make an actual difference, to be in a position where he personally could get things done, rather than just talk about it. This led him to join up with the Coruscant Security Force, specifically working in the Underground division. Most officers were droids, but as an adaptable human, he found himself moving up the ranks and becoming more valued. As a cop, he quickly became more hardened. He saw just how expansive crime was throughout his homeworld. With the start of the Clone Wars, the police force was provided with better equipment, and Aaron learned the basics of flying a police gunship. He got pretty good at it too.
The idea of a clone army being forced to follow orders with little questions was horrifying to Aaron. He saw it as immoral to mass produce individuals as if they were droids, to send them into battle with no regard of whether they would live or die. Still, for as awful as this seemed to him, he stayed loyal to the Republic. It had its problems, but the Separatists were only making things worse by waging war.
So life went on, and Lorizan continued to fight against the crime of the lower levels, growing more and more uncertain with the decisions being made by the Republic every day. Crime only seemed to increase, and the people on the surface were oblivious to the scoundrels living beneath them. The tipping point for him was when the Empire crumbled and the Chancellor took upon himself “necessary powers” as the new Emperor. Atop of this, the Jedi were being slaughtered. Apparently, the Clone Wars had been orchestrated by their order, and they had recently tried to kill Palpatine. While some were able to accept this easily, Lorizan had trouble taking this as the truth. True, some Jedi had been known to turn. The Coruscant Underground Security Force had even chased one only just a while ago, a female Togruta who was suspected of committing a few crimes. Still, that was the exception, not the rule. The idea that the entire Jedi order, from padawan to master, had turned seemed almost inconceivable to him. Then again, he had been raised on stories of Jedi valor, so he was a tiny bit biased. Still, not everything was adding up with the Emperor’s new rise to power, and it was weighing heavily on his mind. He still knew he could do a lot of good in the Security Force of Coruscant, but he didn’t know if he could support and participate in the destruction of an entire culture, one that had served the people for millennia.
The decision was not his to make though. Just a few months into the Emperor’s rise to power, the young police officer bit off more than he could chew. He had recently been tracking the activities of one of his fellow officers, Dorma Thane. Aaron had been suspicious of Thane since day one. The Twi’lek was sloppy, arrogant, and always seemed to be hiding something. Aaron could never prove anything though, and his superiors always seemed to cover for him, make strange excuses for his erratic behavior. This time, it was different. This time, he had gathered enough evidence to prove that Thane was providing equipment and information to a few of the gangs of the Underground, and making far more credits off of it every week than a normal cop would make in a year.
Lorizan caught him in the act, and had so much against the Twi’lek that the thug’s ‘friends in high places’ had no choice but to allow the arrest. This was a large blow to several gangs in the area, and Lorizan’s actions brought several more criminals into police custody. However, while the young officer was being celebrated and congratulated for his achievements, Thane was plotting revenge. Thane placed a bounty on Lorizan, one so large that no bounty hunter in the system could ignore it. The weeks dragged by, and Lorizan realized that there was no way to survive on Coruscant anymore. Thane, even in prison, was still rich and powerful. No doubt, the friends of the Twi’lek were already trying to buy the traitor’s way out of jail. They were trying to bring Lorizan in alive, to make him suffer, and he was sure that if he stayed, his parents and friends would all suffer too.
The young officer found himself getting a fake ID and buying his way off the planet, setting course for a planet he had never heard of. Terran Solus, as he was now known, was planning on living a long and happy life on Dantooine. For the first few months, he took up odd jobs, working to make some money and keep in the shadows. He was doing so well too, until he met Shana. At least, that’s what she said her name was, but he suspected that she, like him, wasn’t being entirely honest. Both seemed to have similar pasts, though neither divulged much information on that subject, and the two took a quick liking to one another. She was a young human like, him, possibly a few years older, and she soon became more important to him than anything else. Her views on the galaxy were deep and powerful, and she had a way of looking looking at things differently than anyone he had ever met. Eventually, that bond they had became something more, and the two moved beyond their painful pasts together. For the first time in one and a half years, life was good.
As with all things though, this didn’t last. It happened soon after the birth of their first child, a beautiful and healthy daughter. They were walking through a few of the ruins of Dantooine, enjoying the sights when men of the Empire arrived. Not just any men, but inquisitors. Jedi hunters. Shana instantly snapped into action, running home and gathering her supplies. She was worried, more than that actually. Shana only took time to gather a few items before turning to Terran and telling him that she had to run, that if she stayed, he and all else she loved would be lost, along with her own life. Terran had to leave, run with their baby to a distant planet where the Empire would never be able to find them. Shana promised to find him again one day, and with that, she disappeared from his life.
Terran had always expected her of being a Jedi of some sort. She didn’t seem to live by all of the standards anymore (though Terran only knew of a few). Still, Shana had been different from anyone else he had ever met. In his brief meetings with Jedi in the past, they had radiated a similar feel. This seemed to solidify that suspicion. There were other possibilities, but this one felt right to him.
And so it was that Aaron Lorizan, now known as Terran Solus, found himself flying to Tatooine alone, with a tiny infant girl resting in his arms. Triss, they had called her. To Terran, she was everything, worth more than the entire galaxy. He would do anything for her, even hide on some miserable desert planet on the outer rim. He opened a shop, that he called the Oasis, and bought a small cargo vessel which he named the Shana. Terran made a few friends among the locals, and on his trips to get new and exotic supplies, he left his little girl in their care. She grew up knowing nothing about her mother or her capabilities in the force, and that was the way it needed to be. Occasionally, Terran would check in with a few of his contacts to see if they knew anything about his wife, and while they normally had nothing, he never lost hope.
After nearly a decade though, he heard something from one of his contacts on Dantooine, something that made him leave as quickly as possible. The man had been cryptic, but supposedly he had something, something worth returning to the planet where he had lost his wife. He just hoped he was ready to face that demon...

_{Δ Equipment}

Terran carries a common heavy blaster with him, from the days on the security force of Coruscant. He also has a set of personalized armor from those days, and while it has the same basic structure,it has been worn down over the decades. He has the basic chest and shoulder pieces, but most of it is scraps, replacement parts that are far less protective, but also far less heavy. Still, the old hunk of junk could probably stop a few blaster bolts if it came to it. He doesn’t wear it often, but tends to keep it in his ship during his travels. As a trader, Terran also has picked up a few other things that he has decided to keep, including a few vibroblades. Most of them are old and weathered, but they’re still sharp enough to take a hand off.

_{Δ Skills}

It’s been awhile since Terran’s had to get his hands dirty with combat, but he was trained under the grueling conditions of a cop on Coruscant. He is skilled with hand to hand combat and pretty handy with a heavy blaster. Towards the end of his career, he was also becoming proficient in the piloting of gunships as those were supplied during the clone wars.

On the business side of things, Terran is pretty good at bartering. He’s also able to buy things that no one ever would and turn them into valuable products. He’s fixed his fair share of vibroblades, blasters, and even droids, and has some experience in this stuff, though his friend normally deals with the complicated parts.

Terran is also skilled with the use of speederbikes. Before his daughter came along, he would do some really crazy things with his bike, riding it through the ruins of Dantooine at high speeds. Aside from that, he has knowledge of the basic government in the universe and the normal cultures that can be found. His parents provided him with the best education they could, and he can speak (or at the very least understand) multiple alien dialects.

_{Δ General Notes}

Terran has a soft spot for auburn, like the eyes of his wife. He also enjoys building sand castles and singing. Could put those in skills I guess, but eh...

_{ΔRelationships}

Triss: Terran’s daughter, and the most important thing in the universe to him. He tries to keep her out of trouble, and is willing to do just about anything for her. She’s around nine to ten years old at this point.

Shana:Terran’s wife. While he has no knowledge of where she is, he is willing to search the galaxy for her. He suspects she’s a gray Jedi of sorts, but isn’t quite sure. Still, whether she’s leaving or dead, he needs to find out what happened to her.

Dorma Thane: An alien with a grudge. They were rivals throughout Terran’s entire career as a cop. Last Terran saw of Thane a decade ago, Thane was still in jail, disgraced and humiliated. Thane isn’t one to let things go, and if they ever see eachother again, it isn’t going to end with love and friendship.

Bulg: An old informant of Terran’s and the Toydarian that gave Terran his new identity. He own’s a cantina in the underground of Coruscant (called Bulg’s), and the two are still sort of friends, though they don’t talk much.

The Lorizans: Terran’s parents. Hasn’t seen them in a decade, but last he saw, they were fighting to keep a place in the swiftly changing government.

Kellen Triz:: Terran’s best friend. He watches over Terran’s daughter while he’s away and is the only person trusted with the knowledge of her powers. He helps repair some things in the shop and works at the ship docks. One of the biggest sources of Terran’s customers as he tends to recommend they stop there for a drink.

Korben Triz: Son of Kellen and assistant at the Oasis. Helps out and runs the place when Terran leaves.