CreeXLR — Roleplayer Guild

Name: Jacques “Uncle Jack” DeLorano
Age: 52
Sex: Male
Race: Human
Appearance: 

Personality: A “free soul” if you will, Jacques is easy-going and light-hearted. His legendary drinking habits are only matched by the infamy of his sense of humor. Having spent the last nearly four decades travelling every manner of land imaginable made him very open minded and accepting of others. However as many a would-be mugger found out when their blades broke on his chain shirt – the old soldier is not to be trifled with.

Biography: The older brother to Leon and Fiona, Jacques was at one time set to become the next Patriarch of the House Delorano. However the life stuck inside the city walls was suffocating to the young man, and at the age of 17 he instead chose to defy his father and join the military, handing the position of heir to his beloved younger brother Leon. Old man Delorano was furious and disinherited Jacques outright, leaving him with nothing. But little did he know about how few damns the kid had to give. 

Since then he spent the last thirty-five years serving the Venaran military as their infiltrator. If ever there was a destination that Venaran ships pointed their bows at – you can be sure Jacques was there months in advance; spying, sabotaging and supporting the forces from the ground. He has long since lost count of all the lands, cultures, wines and, ahem, women he sampled in his endless travels.  From exotic foods, sands and silks of Abbadar  to the damp cobblestone walls of the Greayscale Peak’s dungeons – he’s seen it all.

Speaking of the dungeons of Greyscale Peak , it was there that Jacques met his long time brother –in-arms Fiore. The nine foot tall Talossian had an outstanding propensity for punching things until they exploded, which honestly was at times more useful than any dagger. Not keen on being executed the two have orchestrated a prison break, set the castle on fire and fled the country together, traveling side by side ever since.  

That was some… eight years ago? Since then, side by side, the two have journeyed through a dozen lands, earning a fair bit of coin and gathering a sturdy entourage of good hardy men to have their backs. 
Truly a life worth a thousand tales; Jacques has never once regretted his decision to leave Venara. That is until the day that an unusual letter arrived from Leon. The two brothers kept in touch throughout the years so it wasn’t out of the norm to get letters, but this one was… heavy. Delivered by hand with urgency and sealed with a blood seal it did not bode well. His beloved brother and the house Delorano itself were in peril, and he was urged to return as soon as humanly possible. Not willing to waste a moment Jacques and Fiore gathered their men, solicited the nearest merchant vessel and set off towards the great city of Venara. For the first time in over ten years…

Position In House Delorano: Drunk uncle. Admiral.
Equipment: 
Chain shirt under clothes (always)
Ornate saber
Two daggers
Two pistols
Flask of Whiskey (always)

Skills: 
Human: +1 to Athleticism
Gifted: Brawling, Reputation
Above Average: Gunnery, Skulduggery, Dueling
Deficient: Archery, Soldiery

Marked Ability: Unknown Dragon Mark. Jacques has never found out what ability his mark gave him, or even where exactly it was on his body (he just assumed it was in some unpleasant area he was not flexible enough to look into). And although his numerous close calls with death made him wonder whether it was luck, skill or magic that made him pull through, frankly, he never cared enough to find out for sure. 

  The two Jedi ignited their sabers and slowly backed away as Garrern strode into the hall. The few conscious guards scampered for their blasters, but before they could get off even a single shot the Sith waved his hand and sent the lot of them crashing into the wall in a tangled mass of limbs. 
	“Go! Help the others get out! We’ll hold him back!” the younger jedi shouted, glancing at the few soldiers that remained standing on the opposite side of the hall. He looked unsettled, afraid even; must be barely out of his padawan robes, to be wearing his emotions on his sleeve like that. 
Garrern looked over the other one: much older, with short grey beard and a calm expression, his stance was the same that the kid had assumed but far more refined; must be his master then. 

	“This is a place of teaching and peace, dark one. Leave and we will not pursue you!”  - The older jedi’s voice resolute. Almost… too resolute. Garrern could feel that his connection to the force was strong, there was no way he didn’t grasp the difference in strength between them. So why such resolve to stand his ground? Why not flee with the others - aid their escape? Something about this mission continued to feel odd to Garrern, as if a silent voice was screaming in the back of his mind, louder with every second. But there’ll be time to ponder later, after his foes were vanquished.
With that thought Garrern pushed all feelings of unease out of his mind and took his stance.
	“A dead man’s bargain,” – He rasped – “have some dignity, Jedi.” 
	“It’s two against one! You stand no chance!” – The youngling shouted, foolish in his age.
Garrern chuckled grimly. 
	“No matter how many rats band together, they are no match for a Rancor. Both of you will die today.”

The youngster apparently did not take to being compared to a rodent, and immediately lunged at Garrern, saber whirring through the air in a fast overhead swing. 

	“Miltaar no! Get back!” – The old master shouted, a moment too late. 
The difference in physical ability was apparent; Garrern raised his saber and stopped the blow completely with a single hand. A quick step in with the right foot to apply extra pressure and his much lighter opponent was thrown off balance.  Next, keeping the sabers locked he forced it upwards, exposing Miltaar’s midriff and delivered a tremendously powerful kick to his side. The hall echoed with the meaty sound of crunching bones, as the young Jedi’s ribs were shattered by the toe of Garrern’s steel boot, sending the kid tumbling half-way across the hall. 

The sith slowly straightened up, locked eyes with the master jedi and this time assumed a proper two handed stance of Shien, waiting for his opponent’s move. The situation was clear to both warriors; with his apprentice alive but too injured to move and too brash to flee, the master had no choice but to fight. Even if it meant attacking an opponent in counter stance. 
Raising his saber the old jedi exhaled and steeled his hand. 
	“My name is Com’hiru, Jedi of the Light and Master of this temple, and I accept your challenge, Dark one.” 
With those words the Jedi launched himself at Garrern with much the same overhead swing as his apprentice. Garrern blocked, of course, but instead of letting the blow get stopped Com’hiru relaxed his grip and thrust downwards, letting his saber slide effortlessly down the guard and then struck out from below it, aiming to pierce the Sith’s throat. 

 Time seemed to slow as Garrern’s focus grew sharper. Taking a half-step back he released his left hand, switching back to a one-handed grip and with a twist of the wrist swatted the jedi’s thrust aside, while force pushing his away with his freed up left. The deliberately weak push did not send the old man flying, but gave him pause and threw off his balance, allowing Garrern to step back in and throw a lightning fast slash at the man’s neck, aiming to take his head. 

 However at the very last moment instead of resisting the push, Com’hiru submitted to it and added to it a push of his own, flinging himself out of the deadly strike’s reach. The air filled with the stench of burning hair, as the tip of Garrern’s saber singed a groove into the old Jedi’s beard. The split second exchange was over, and both warriors faced each other once more.
 	“Do not disappoint me, master Jedi.” – Garrern rasped in acknowledgement of his opponent. 
Recognizing the respect given to him Com’hiru nodded in return, steadied his blade, and with a deep breath lunged at the Sith once more. 

 

“Shit shit shit SHIT!” – Rodecay cursed indiscriminately as he swung the Ravensbeak around, dodging out of the way of an incoming X-wing. – “Where in the blazes did these guys come from?!” 
The ship creaked under tension as yet another taxing manoeuvre put massive stress on its metal. Ravensbeak was slightly larger and better equipped than an average raider-class corvette, but it was still not designed for high speed dogfights in-atmosphere – the X-wings ran circles around it. 

	“Starboard deflectors at fifty percent!” – One of the co-pilots, a blond woman in her early thirties turned to Rodey. – “They’re too fast, turrets aren’t keeping up at close range! We NEED to get some distance between us!”

 The ship trembled as yet another volley found its mark, prompting yet another barrage of curses from the pilot. A mere dozen ships were giving them this much trouble and it was driving the cyborg positively crazy. If only he wasn’t stuck piloting this giant ass of a ship and had something nimbler the fighters would’ve been ancient history by now. How did the bastards even know they were coming?! Their stealth was immaculate dammit! 

 Continuing to utter curses under his breath Rodecay slammed the seatbelts alarm, gave the crew five seconds to strap in and then sent the Ravensbeak into a barrel roll. Paltry as far as dogfighting moves went, but it worked well enough. One of the x-wings did not adjust his speed in time and ended up flying out on front of the corvette, allowing Rodey to shred it with forward cannons. 
	“Black Spear to Ravensbeak, Black Spear to Ravensbeak, do you copy?” – The radio came alive just as the cyborg levelled the ship out. 
	“Bit busy now! The hell do you want?!” – Rodey yelled back into the headset as yet another volley crashed into the rear deflectors.
	“AA Emplacement secured sir! Ready to provide support!” – The trooper’s response was music to the pilot’s ears.
	“Alright alright alright! Everybody hold on to your pantaloons! We’re get some speed up on these bastards, let the ground guns shred them!” – Rodey yelled and brought the Ravensbeak around, setting a straight line course back towards the temple. Going in a straight line was a gambit, but he wagered the rear shields would hold long enough. As the ship gained speed the x-wings fell in line behind it, peppering the rear deflectors with a near constant barrage of blaster fire.

Good, Rodey thought to himself, let the bastards get all nice and clumped together behind them, the anti-air will blast them into yesterday! The trembling was incessant but the improved shields were holding and as soon as Ravensbeak reached the temple, the pilot’s gamble paid off. The light AA emplacement, originally designed specifically to take down fighters tore into the unsuspecting pack, ripping half of them out of the sky in moments. Only five x-wings remained and they broke the pursuit and scattered, fleeing the ground fire. 

Rodey whistled and leaned back in his chair.
	“Okay everyone, we’re clear! Once we break atmosphere the rest of ‘em are-“ – His triumphant speech was interrupted by the violent tremor of blaster fire. “The hell?! Maggie, what in the blazes?!”
	“One of the fighters did not break pursuit! He’s right on our tail! Rear deflectors at seven percent!” – The co-pilot responded with worry in her voice. – “Rodey, you need to swing us around, if we take any more hits-“
	“I know! But if we break speed the rest will catch up and we’re dead anyway!” – Rodecay barked back and set the ship into an aileron roll, in hopes of making it harder to hit. If they could just hold out for a few more seconds and break the atmosphere, the Ravensbeak, unburdened by air resistance, would be nimble enough to take that fighter out. If only the real shields hold that long they’ll- 

 His train of thought was interrupted by the radio buzzing back to life with the distorted sound of what seemed like… music?
“….pleased to…you, hope you guessed *bzzt* -ame! *bzzzt*..puzzling yo, is the nature o…*bzzzzt*.. Hey there you half-metal bastard!” – the very familiar ‘voice’ broke through the music, causing Rodey’s face to sink.
	“Oh no…”

Meanwhile on the outside of the Ravensbeak a service port opened, and out of it slowly rose a familiar figure. With a boombox player under one arm blasting music and a heavy rocket launcher on the shoulder, KD-50 stepped onto the corvette’s black surface, magnetic boots clamping down tight.
“You fleshbags can’t do anything without me!” – One could swear the droid was smiling as he said that out loud, trained his aim on the X-Wing and pulled the trigger. – “BOOM SHAKALAKA!”

 Leaving the burning fireball of the X-wing far behind them, Rodey took the ship out of orbit swung it around. With a short command the gunners trained the long range weapons and blew the rest of the x-wings out of the temples airspace. As the co-pilots celebrated Rodey leaned back into his chair with a sour look on his face and rubbed his eyes.
	“I…. REALLY hate that droid…”

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