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

[Hexaflexagon]

---

For a Fistful of Credits: A Star Wars Story

_{A long time ago in a galaxy, far, far away....
There are heroes and villains. And then there are these guys.}

_What?

---

Ten years have passed since the end of the Clone Wars. Ten years have passed since the fall of the Galactic Republic and the rise of the Galactic Empire. Yet the promised order and prosperity seems nowhere in sight. Separatist holdouts and other rebel cells still plague the galaxy with their terrorist acts. Criminals still rule the outer rim despite Imperial efforts to route them out. The list of items banned by the Empire grows by the day making smugglers flourish in newfound prosperity. Works out there for those looking to get shot at, make a name for themselves, and get a vast sum of credits in the process. If you had the guts you had a job and a blaster would help you stay alive in the meantime.

One such group of upstarts story begins with a series of expanding disasters. What started as a normal night at a bar on Nar Shaddaa got out of hand. A list of charges including: destruction of property, theft, battery, attempted murder, and more. A debt must be paid or things could get messy. Messy in this case being the detonation of the explosive chips inserted into the skull. The strangers are now working under the supervision of a hutt debt collector by the name of Mus Rosh. Some have done this type of thing before. Others haven't even held a blaster before and were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. All that matters now is that they manage to get their debt paid and get out with their heads still on their shoulders. So with a common goal and not much else they begin their journey. Their job is simple enough, fulfill contracts provided by their 'employer' until otherwise noted. It's only 11,500 Imperial credits plus interest. Right?

Yet things are never that easy. It all starts to spiral out of control starting with a runaway slicer. The dice of fate has been cast and now its only a matter of seeing how it all turns out.

_Why?

---

Hello and welcome to For a Fistful of Credits. As you may have notice this is a story set in the Star Wars Universe. It's a character-driven high octane space spaghetti western. If that sounds like a hot mess to you well... it kind of is. Basically the intent is to find the right mix of heavily character driven scenes, light heated moments of fun and some kick ass action sequences. This isn't Edgy McEdgelord 2: The Edgelord Strikes back in anyway shape or form. The story's focus is upon your standard Ragtag Bunch of Misfits^tm. Bound together through a series of comical if not disastrous events. In short they owe a lot of money to some not nice Hutts. To pay back that money they more or less have to become bounty hunters/mercenaries or at least try to. While our story begins with them literally at the bottom of the food chain, it is 'hopefully' all uphill from there. Better gear, a ship that isn't about to fall apart at any given moment, and maybe paying off their debts and having the explosive chips removed from their head. Though I mean that will be easier said than done as sooner rather than later, as things are bound to get much more complicated.

By nature of brain explosives, I your GM are very much conducting the plot train as it plods along. Don't think though that means that your opinions and desires don't matter. Spoiler alert they do. You as the players and the characters that make up this team will be its nature help shape it. For example since I'm terrible at naming things (trust me on this ask anyone that has ever RP'd with me before) you are going to submit names for our ship. Your actions will influence the many odd branches and twists that this plot can go down. As much as I am the conductor of the train, you are the passengers I'm here to serve you. This is your story. And I want to make sure that you feel invested and that your choices matter.

I don't have the most free time in the world, so Posting standards aren't going to be Orwellian or anything. I ask that you show up in the OOC and be an active participant even when your not posting. If you don't pop in for like a week without notice, I'll shoot you a PM if you still don't show up after two weeks then you are going to get the axe. I'm aiming for at least one post a week, but at the bare minimum if you can pull of one every two weeks that is also fine. The plot train will keep on trucking even if a few people are held up. Stagnancy kills Roleplays as many of you know, you gotta be the shark and keep on swimming forward or you die. And surprisingly I don't want this to die. That being said real life > this, so if you have an excuse or just aren't feeling good tell me I promise I don't bite. And if the sad day comes that you have to drop out, feel free. Just tell me and maybe give me a reason so that I can keep on improving my own GM stuff.

This is Advanced. I expect acceptable spelling, grammar (kind of), formatting, and the like. Honestly though I only really care about two things. Clarity. Effort. As long as I can understand what your writing and you are obviously putting in effort we won't have a problem. A lot of people RP to become better writers and unless you put yourself out there you aren't going to get any better. And of course the most important thing of all quality trumps quantity ever time. Oh and just listen to what I say and treat everybody like civilized human beings. Some of the content matter here is going to be dark and generally not so nice and I expect you to treat this content with the respect that it deserves. In short I'm giving you enough wiggle room to hang yourself, don't fuck it up.

And remember:

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

_{Your Sweet Ride}

---

A Loronar E-9 Explorer-Class Armed Long-Range Scout Vessel that has seen better days. A first line model that first exited Loronar Corporation's shipyards in 20 BBY (11 years ago). After more hands than a Sabacc game; the ships seen some wear and tear over the years. She's serviceable though and easy enough to fix up with Loronar's focus upon user ease and access.

The ship's bridge is located at its bow. It contains four consoles equipped with worn bantha-leather chairs for the Pilot, Co-Pilot, Communications officer and Navigation office. The Pilot and Co-Pilot sit at the extreme edge of the bow in a sort of sunken pit. The Communicators officer and Navigation officers are on the port and starboard sides respectively. Due to the generally cramped space upon the Bridge it can only comfortabbly contain four people at any given time.

The crew quarters come next taking up the majority of the 'neck' of the ship. The rooms are small consisting of hammocks made of industrial strength cloth weave, foot lockers, and not much else. With two hammocks to a room and four rooms in total it can comfortably hold up to eight people, though if more room is needed people can always sleep in the cargo bay.

The rest of the ship's space consists of the large cylindrical 'hub area'. This is where the crew will spend most of their time. Containing the single use bathroom, small lounge/kitchenette area, more general storage/ medical bay when needed and the cargo area in the back. The quarters are tight and the ship has a very pecuilar smell to it, but its certainly livable.

The ships only armaments come in the form of 2 pairs of twin-linked laser cannons. Manually operated with the gunwell leading to the two gunnery compartments located in the center of the hub. The guns aren't the most terrifying in the world but they can pack a punch against most standard craft that come there way. Just don't expect them to be taking on any Star Destroyers.

The machinery and juicy bits that keep the entire operation running are located below deck. Access comes in the form of a small hatch located right next to the entrance to the gunwell. The area below is cramped and very hot between the engines and shields running almost all the time so it is generally recommended that a person only goes down there when really necessary.

_{Help Wanted}

---

Missions past and present will go here.

The Slicer

_{Talz'iveri aka Tal Ziveri}

A former agent in the Data Acquisition Branch of Republic Intelligence following the rise of the Empire and it's human-centric polices Tal Ziveri broke free and went out as a free agent. A nova-hot slicer who has the reputation to be able to smash any system. He soon became a well known name in the criminal underworld and was a highly sought after employee. Recently though he pulled a fast one on the Funack'r Kajidic, one of the many Hutt kajidics operating off of Nar Shaddaa. Zarlo Funack'r Elro the leader of said Kajidic now has put a bounty on the man's head.

_Notes

---

GM Notes, Announcements, etc will appear here.

_Rules

---

01: I'm not the biggest fan of rules because I like to assume everybody is sane human being so I'll keep this short. If you have to abide by any rules be it these two. Common decency and common sense is something that everybody should strive for. Treat your fellow humans like they are just that your fellow humans and with all the respect that implies. Disputes between players should not be long blown out affairs in the OCC, hell disputes should not happen at all if we are doing this right. If you want to argue have your characters dispute about something mundane like the importance of starch or something.
02: In regards to any roleplay involving dank memes morally ambigous people doing morally ambigous things, there are mature themes within this story. This is not a very nice world and terrible things happen to good people for no good reason. In that regard I heavily suggest you treat these matters with the weight that they would actually entitle. Romance falls into the same thing, sure it can happen just don't be stupid about it
03: Don't meta-game, godmod or whatever else the kids are calling it these days. You can't win a story so stop trying to.
04: Remember contact is key. Stay active in OOC and please communicate with me if you are having any trouble or won't be able to post. Don't worry I won't hate you that much.
05: Be Fonz cool.
06: I'm playing fast and loose between legends and official continuity. That being said if you have lore questions feel free to ask me or any of the other nerds that are coming along for the ride.
0i: Quality matters people, show me that you care. And remember I'm asking for your best not the best of Shakespeare or the like. I've been doing this shit for about a decade now and I'm still learning things everyday. Just remember Quality over Quantity and always remember Fail Faster.

[Heat]

The OOC has arrived! Working on my character, making a suave professional gambler.

[Darth Squidius]

Huzzah. Give me a bit, I'll come up with something good.

[Bishop]

"Around 0 BBY, Dannik Jerriko, a male Anzat bounty hunter known as the Eater of Luck, came to prominence.

While searching for the "soup" of thieves on Tatooine, he encountered Obi-Wan Kenobi, whose life force he craved. However, he was unable to gain this and instead targeted the much more valuable Han Solo, in lieu of Jabba Desilijic Tiure's bounty on him. He was again unable to feed on his prey

After that assignment, Jerriko returned to Tatooine to spy on Jabba. Still desirous of Solo's soup, the Anzati became excited upon the arrival of a carbonite slab containing Solo. However, Jerriko was deprived of his chance to drink Solo's soup when his Alliance to Restore the Republic comrades saved him. Frustrated at the loss of this opportunity, Jerriko accepted the option of feeding on Jabba, only to be foiled by the Hutt's death at the Great Pit of Carkoon. Mad with vampiric hunger and rage, Jerriko killed a number of unfortunate survivors at Jabba's Palace and then fled Tatooine to continue his endless search for beings on which to feed, with a large bounty on his own head by this time due to his actions."

So much for being called The Eater of Luck, he is choking on the bad luck LOL

[Sep]

NaNaNaNaaa

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.

[DepressedSoviet]

@HexaflexagonI lurked around a bit in the interest check, but I'd like to apply for this. Expect a character sheet at some point soon in the future.

[Sep]

Make sheets people, so I can then read them :P

[Paraffin]

---

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

_{Xymone of Gamorr
∇ 32 ∇ ♀ ∇ 6'8 ∇ Force Sensitivity N}

_{Δ Appearance}

At a touch over two meters and hale all the way through Xymone radiates an infectious cheer from the flat of her heels to tip of her hullepi. Plush in all the right places her enviable athleticism detracts little from the fullness of her figure, with the caveat she remains plainly a picture of health rather than beauty; a hand wouldn't sink far before meeting muscle. Though the jawless tendril heavy mouth so emblematic of her ilk might be considered repellent to most sentients this confident Khil is of the intractable opinion it merely adds to her 'exotic charm', given their usually the most animated aspect of her expressions. Her skin is a deep dark grey that offsets the blue of her eyes and voice is as melodious as any of her kind.

With a heritage of soldiering and healthy respect for hard hitting ordinance Xymone favors heavier Belnarian armor. Fashioned from composite plates sewn between sheets of thermal dissipating material it has a deceptively unprotective, padded appearance despite being relatively stab proof, looking most like a winter coat to the untrained eye. Stiff and quite cumbersome its construction necessitates some exposed sections along the arms and spine for sake of mobility. A fondness of trophy hunting is evidenced elsewhere in her attire and amid more trivial keepsakes a belt of Gamorrean clan rings holds a place of prominence, likewise she is keen to adopt a ridiculous Advozse horn hat when merrymaking.

_{Δ Weltanschauung}

Polite and friendly for a woman capable of pulling your arms off Xymone is the Khilian contradiction made manifest. Dedicated 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.

Born an incorrigible xenophile it was only a matter of time before she shirked the trappings of her ancestral homeland and set her sights beyond the stars, that same single-mindedness to see a thing done often urging her to attempt ill-advised or outright impossible feats with consenting (later bruised) adults. Infamously it was during an extended stay as a debt collector she started to be known in certain circles as the hammer of Rodia, though she couldn't say for sure if she'd earned the alias on-duty or off the clock. Prone as she is to prattle and gossip Xymone is unduly paranoid others are attempting to assassinate her character, as few things came before reputation in her line of work.

Though not inherently violent 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 that had attempted to mug her during a delivery to Ando, suggesting during the scuffle that she was in the wrong line of work. Pybba and Tward still attempt to kill her from time to time mind you, but their 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}

Born to a soldier and star trader the career minded nature of her species meant she'd be seeing very little of one or the other, in this case Qitat, her mother. With nothing more than her father's embellished retellings and the rare long distance communique to go on a young Xymone found herself idealizing an absentee mother, her thoughts on how a woman ought to act skewed as a result. Eventually her parents became less and less enamored with each other and having never married drifted out of contact, something that has always been an irrational source of guilt for Xymone. Stubbornly fantasizing about a chance meeting that would never come she set out to become someone worthy of her mother's respect, which was naturally quite impossible with only an exaggerated caricature to compare herself to. As hard as she tried you'd of thought she was waiting for Xamar himself to show up looking for a padawan.

Sensing the growing distance between them Ysget did his best to indulge his daughter through what he thought to be the rebellious throes of youth, seeing as if nothing else she had demonstrated a solid work ethic. Giving a little incentive here and there for the least unsavory folk with whom he dealt to show his daughter a few 'moves' here and there; he'd never expected her to run off with one of them. As a shiftless sixteen year old greener behind the ears than a sea-sick Nautolan she was more the ship mascot than anything, the crew having planned to ransom her back to her father at a very reasonable rate. They hadn't however counted on her being so head-over-heels enamored with the prospect of freebooting. The common area was cleaned for the first time in years, chores got done for a change and even the least accomplished of scallywags suddenly found someone hanging on every word of exploits past. She'd made them feel like real pirates and--unknowingly at first--they'd began to live up to expectations.

By the time Xymone had grown enough to see the thick of any fighting that may come (and my how she had grown) the already old assemblage of scofflaws were positively aged. Coming to the conclusion that a life of violence and thievery was no life for the now not so wee Khil they'd become attached to a plan was hatched to have Xymone be the first through the door as they raided a lone vessel. No sooner was she on the modest cargo ship than they'd sealed the doors behind her and flown off, leaving her at the mercy of a relieved but understandably irate Ysget. Chewing her out like an enraged rancor for making such a brash and hurtful decision her father managed to wring a tearful apology from her as the two hugged and made amends.

Then she robbed him because damn it if she wasn't a grown woman and he'd have to accept her decisions sooner or later

Not really knowing where to go from there she bought passage from one world to the next committing the petty criminal equivalent of odd jobs; delivering suspicious passages, standing around and looking tough, etc. It wasn't until a brush with danger on Ando that a pair of muggers succinctly stated she could 'beat the stink off a jawa' and between the three of them agreed she was in the wrong line of work. Technically she'd only agreed to deliver the package safely, so in exchange for just telling them where it was going the Aqualish would put in a good word with their mercenary company. They lied of course, but apparently fighting Pybba and Tward to a standstill was just as good of an ice breaker. Unfortunately a certain Hutt on Nar Shaddaa would have preferred that parcel been handled with more care, so slowly but surely they tracked down the courier responsible.

Completely unawares to the deathly shadow now falling over her from half a galaxy away Xymone just thought Gamorreans liked picking fights with her for the better part of a decade and foolishly felt as if wearing enough of their fallen clan rings would be enough to disuade further attacks. It wasn't until a particularly suave sapient sweet talked her into a night of whirlwind drinking and she awoke next to similarly confused strangers that the situation began to dawn on her.

_{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 the republic era. 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}

One doesn't exactly earn the namesake 'of Gamorr' lightly when they've never set foot on the planet itself. Able to routinely outfight and overpower Gamorreans at spitting distance Xynome is capable of some uncanny feats of strength. Paired with the preconceived notion that effort is paramount she is an unpolished combatant that places little stock in the fancy moves and mystic 'mumbojumbo' of many martial arts, having never been impressed by tactful fighters that lacked the staying power to throw hands with her. Moreover she has a knack for throwing grenades that is a sight to behold, born from a prolonged and continued habit of playing catch with herself as she thinks. 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. She can navigate wetlands with ease, 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.

---

[Redd]

Would I be able to throw a sheet up? Don't be fooled by my profile, I'm new on here but have done a... somewhat unhealthy amount of roleplaying in the past

[Sep]

@Redd sure Hex will be fine with it.

[DepressedSoviet]

@HexaflexagonHere's a sheet. Hopefully everything's in order.

_{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.

[Gunther]

@HexaflexagonI lurked around a bit in the interest check, but I'd like to apply for this. Expect a character sheet at some point soon in the future.

@DepressedSoviet

Like my Sad Soviet friend above, I lurked in the Interest check as well. I debated about joining, simply because I don't get a lot of time for this hobby. But I am a huge Star Wars fan and have been since 1977. Yes, my block had dirt roads too.

Working on a character.

[Sep]

Due to all the engineery based people, gonna change to a petty thief.

[The Savant]

@Hexaflexagon I have a few ideas for a character storming in my mind at the moment! I do please pardon me for this question. Am I allowed to have a known but unknown character?
I was thinking about a well known - kind of ish character that is a bounty hunter. Around ten years ago just kind of showed up. No one really knows what is under their suit of armor - a true appearance that is hidden that could be possibly shown later in the actual rp?
Also this character no one knows their gender at the moment - true identity - species, etc.

[Sep]

@Zora Would we not find out when the Hutts removed their (presume) helmet to implant the bomb? :P

[The Savant]

@Sep Just being curious ~ You are correct, though...So, I won't do that character...!

[Sep]

@Zora I mean if you speak to Hex they could alternatively be a second Hutt enforcer (With the fact they're an actual skilled Bounty Hunter).

[The Savant]

@Sep True, true. I'll just have to wait for his reply.

[Hexaflexagon]

Alright, I have returned from grading papers.

@Redd@Gunther
My general rule of thumb is if I like the sheet, I'll find a place for you. That and everyone else is still really working on their sheets, so you still got time.

@Zora
Sep does bring up some good points. They would of had to take the armor off to do the explosive brain surgery. But if you so desire and and you produce a good enough sheet, you character could possibly be Mus' partner. If being partner with a mentally unhinged, trigger happy, death machine sounds like a fun time. (so I mean basically she's Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon).

@Sep@Paraffin@DepressedSoviet
I'll put up more detailed reviews in a little bit, but I will say so far things are looking okay. You all at least followed the CS format so there is that little victory.

[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.

_{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.

@Hexaflexagon