deegee

Floating.

roleplayerguild.com/topics/192923-flo…

RP is here!

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/192911-floating/ooc#post-5540896

Original Interest Check...

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Fel

Name: Galdaart Fel
True Name / Alias: Galdaart Kindell
Faction: Faction? What Faction?
Rank: Only when he's offworld, avoiding the 'fresher for too long...
Species: Human (Taris)
Age: 28, Sex: Male
Height: 5'5”, Eyes: Blue
Physique: Gaunt / a little malnourished / wiry, but don't underestimate him or assume that his slight build denotes weakness.
Hair: tangled / dreadlocked
Skin: pale, needs some vitamin D – common for outlanders / offworlders
Force Sensitive: Not that he's aware of...

NPC: R2P47, aka 'Wrench,' Fel's rugged, battered astromech and conscience.

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:

Supremely skilled pilot. Whatever else Galdaart may be (and much of it is far less flattering and troubled than he'd care to admit) he is, first and foremost, a Pilot. Capital P. And in this regard, there are few beings in the 'verse that can match him. Whether it's a garbage scow, a speeder bike, or a snubfighter, Fel is the best there is. He served in the military, rose to the rank of wing commander / squadron leader, earned the respect of the pilots under his command, and was a decorated flight officer.

Honourable Man. He doesn't like most people, and certainly doesn't trust many. But if he gives his word, he will keep it. He also lives by his own code of ethics, which are constantly in a state of flux. Sound like a cop-out?

Loner. The first long while of any smugglers' life is not easy, and to that end Galdaart has barely existed for two years, just scraping by. There is never food in the galley or fuel in the tank, but somehow Galdaart and Wrench survive. In the process, Galdaart has gained several important contacts, seen the universe, developed the code by which he lives and further refined his view of the galaxy and those who play powerful roles in it. At the same time, he takes low-key jobs, flying off the radar, avoiding any Imperial / FO business or the watchful eye of the authorities. Currently, he is 'content' to spend weeks on end communicating with nobody other than his droid, eking out an existence that borders on feral.

Disrespect for Authority / Troublemaker. As much of an asset as he may be behind the controls of a ship, Fel never feels at home when he's 'on the ground.' He is often edgy and loud-mouthed, which can (and does) get him into trouble. He dislikes authority, and often goes out of his way to harrass, confound and anger 'the law' around him. Trouble also tends to find him, whether he likes it or not.

APPEARANCE:

Galdaart is an adult human male of non-specific descent, an average-looking man. Galdaart's biggest defining physical feature are two scars: one, the result of a knife-fight gone wrong on Dantooine, which travels across both cheeks from the corners of his mouth, perpetually pulling his mouth into a kind of sneer / smile, and the other a massive burn scar covering most of his left arm and his back, the result of a crash many years ago (he doesn't discuss it.) His eyes perpetually squint, as if he is looking 1000 yards away for the next target. (he is.) Fel has several tattoos, acquired all over the galaxy. The oldest of them all is his Imperial service bar-code on his right forearm. Galdaart suffers from an incurable inner-ear condition which deep-core spacers refer to as 'land-sickness.' The phenomena is attributable to too many hours spent off-world in zero-grav conditions, and is most common amongst long-haul, human cargo crews. The effects are only noticeable in-atmo, and consist mainly of a telltale 'off-kilter' gait, like the subject is slightly dizzy. Nausea is uncommon, but possible.

BIOGRAPHY:

Galdaart Fel is, whether he likes it or not, one of the most infamous smugglers in the known galaxy. He has pulled off seemingly impossible jobs in the Outer Rim, steering clear of the Core. Fel has been a loner, a reticent privateer who never used four syllables, when three would do. Nobody who hired Galdaart could say much about him, except that he got the job done. Galdaart is what acquaintences would call "A no good, lying poodoo... but a cunning warrior, a highly skilled pilot, and a loyal friend." Galdaart has the look of a man who has spent too much time off-world: thin, wiry, and a little malnourished, he walks with the gait of one who is both hunter and hunted.

Galdaart was until recently a solitary adventurer. He is slow to trust, and often prideful without cause. He lives by his own code of smugglers' ethics, and rarely stays in one place for long. He would say "live free or die," if he were prone to speeches (he is not.) Galdaart lives for the thrum of engines in his ears, and open space through the cockpit canopy. Freedom is highly prized and protected. Galdaart would tell you that he "doesn't ever remember calling any world home," and that would be mostly true. Since the age of twelve, he has stowed away, crewed, or captained a vast number of ships, all of which were more home to him than the Taris underworld, where he was born into squalor and poverty, ever was. Right now, home is his ancient YG4210 light freighter, the 'Unfair Advantage.'

Little is known about Galdaart Fel's early life: it is known that he was born in the slums of the Tarisian underworld to a young woman named Irella. Fel never knew his father, and never knew his lineage. Irella left him to fend for himself at the age of seven. Her whereabouts are unknown. Though he is notoriously close-lipped about his past, it is known that the young Galdaart fell in with a teenage swoop gang in order to scratch out an existence in the underworld, where he became a feared pilot and capable (if lazy) mechanic. What is known beyond any doubt is the date Galdaart entered Imperial military service: the 362nd day of the year 12 BBY. Galdaart (now going by the name Fel) was fifteen years old.

'Floating' (Star Wars 2 BBY)

Howdy. This here is the home base... the ship, and the home, the planning thread (to use an ugly Meta term) for a group of smugglers making their way in the 'Verse... a long time distant from us, and a pretty fair ways away from us, too. (see what I did there?) As I said in another thread somewhere, over there-ish (points to the interest check) the ship is ancient. The jobs aren't that lucrative. And what's more, I don't plan to accomplish them all without getting in some scrapes. But as someone wiser than meself once said, getting a ship, keeping her flying, staying one step ahead of them that would shut you down... it's not much, but it's enough. I subscribe to that way of thinking. But truth be told, if we was face-to-face, I'd likely not share my thoughts with you so easily. Kind of a man of few words.

Let me introduce myself. Name's Fel. (No, not that one.) This here ship and me have seen one side of the 'verse to t'other for as many years as you'd care to imagine. Carried just about every type of cargo there is, to just about every destination. Most of which you'd rather stay away from, if'n you had the smarts to know better. On the lookout for a crew. The jobs, I got. But it's easier to watch your back, when you got a second, or a third pair of eyes doing it for you.

**I know this is the OOC thread... but let's get way OOC. OOC of OOC. I wrote this character, or a version of him, for close to ten years on a site called Jedi Vs. Sith. Wrote a bunch of jobs, with a group of fantastic writers, for close to 2000 IC posts. But then life got in the way, and we let it go. I thought for a long while that maybe I had that out of my system. That maybe I had said everything I needed to say with Star Wars. Not so, it seems. This character is so much a part of me, it seems I just can't let it go.**

Something else I should mention. Y'all have seen 'the Mandalorian,' I assume. It would seem that Dave Filoni took some cues from our writing... (I'm not that vain, to think anything of the sort. But the parallels are important.) Everyone who's anyone knows, the bread & butter of the 'Verse is the average Joe. Not the Jedi. Or the Sith, for that matter. Average folk, going about their business, while the Jedi play with their laser swords and magic. I'm pretty serious about this. Force-users are supposed to be a fraction of a percent of the entire population of the Universe. Rare as hen's teeth. Yet almost every story in the Star Wars universe features them, strongly. Revolves around them.

Not this story. Jedi need not apply.

Don't get me wrong... I love a good myth / legend as much as the next guy. When I was small, my daddy certainly told me bedtime stories about creatures - both good and bad - that were out there, somewhere. That's what the movies are. They're the bedtime stories about legendary figures. This ain't that Star Wars. The average person would likely go their entire lives without ever seeing a Jedi. If they're lucky.

Get a ship. (Got one.) Get a crew. (Working on it.) Keep flying. (We'll see...)

-Dee / Fel

Floating.

Whew. Thank goodness. We’ll need a good one. The ship is ancient, and held together with baling twine and bad language.

Floating.

Well, this was just the “I’m fishing” interest thread. Let me put up the RP, and I’ll upload my own character sheet… Check back tomorrow, and I will link the RP in this thread. What were you thinking of for your character? Part of the crew? Passenger?

Floating.

Oh, hell yeah! Just the sort of Star Wars Roleplay I'm down with. Is this still open?

@Archazen

Does a hobby-bantha have a wooden leg? You betcha. 😁

Ghosts of Highlake

AOK by me!

Floating.

Heyo, I'm Dee. If I've written with you before, nice to see you. If you and I are new to writing together, and you're just checking out this 1X1 because of the snazzy title, welcome. (and HA. Sucker.) I wrote Star Wars fic for years, over on Jedi vs. Sith (if you know, you know. If you don't, don't bother checking it out... it's really not very inclusive. I essentially left years ago.) Thing is, I feel the void left by not writing Star Wars fic anymore. I would like to again, in perhaps a small group.

Anyone who's anyone knows the real interest in the Star Wars universe isn't the Jedi, or the Sith. Force-Users are boring. I knew this years before the Mandalorian made it cool. Smugglers are the life-blood of Star Wars. I've watched some of the new Star Wars stuff. Haven't watched other bits. I like some. I dislike other bits. **shrug** that's the life of a Star Wars fan, these days.

To borrow a phrase (poorly paraphrased, I'm sure...) "get a ship, keep it in the air, keep flying. Barely. It ain't much, but it's enough." -attributed to Malcolm Reynolds.

I'm looking for a crew to pull some jobs. I don't intend to pull them off very cleanly. I don't intend to come out unscathed. I don't even intend to make a whole lot of credits. I may not be a good Captain, but that's the role I fell into.

Who else thinks Star Wars can keep its laser swords, and wants to go do some crimes?

-dee

Ghosts of Highlake

'Smith'

Name: "folks call me 'Smith.' "
True Name / Alias: *cocks the hammer* "who wants ta know?"
Allegiances: What allegiance?
Rank: not terribly fond of the bath, no...
Age: unknown, appears to be in his 30's Sex: Male
Height: 'bout 5'9”, Eyes: Blue
Physique: a little malnourished / 'trail lean.' He's wiry and scrappy, like a mangy dog.
Hair: long, black, a little greasy.
Skin: pale, needs some vitamin D – uncommon for outlanders...

STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES:

Gunfighter. Don't much matter what kinda firearm he's got in his hands. Smith's always had good luck when it came to killin' folks. Spencer rifle, pistol, Sharps, carbines, shotgun. Don't matter. He may not be the fastest draw or the best aim, but he was always lucky, and steady to a fault -- like there was nothing to fear but his own nerve, and if that held... shoot. Better watch out.

Nothing to Lose. Smith is on a mission, and he's convinced it will end with his demise. But not until them that deserve it, get what's comin' to 'em. A man with truly nothing to lose is a dangerous man indeed.

Stubborn as an Ox. Smith's been dead plenty times. Or close enough to it to know how far a man can push past his limits. He ain't afraid of taking a bullet. Or four. Because he knows his will is damn near enough stronger than a handful of .45-70 Sharps rounds. He won't be stopped, or toppled. Now -- stubborn is also a pain in the tuchus. He don't ask nobody for help, don't trust nobody, don't really make friends easy. Many times bitten. But if he gives his word, he will keep it. He also lives by his own code of ethics, which is about all he's got left.

Loner. His mission will need allies. But Smith figures -- at least at the start of our story, that he don't need none. Moreover, as much as he'd rather not have any scruples at all, he's still concerned enough about 'good' folk that he'd rather not see anyone who were to side with him come to any harm -- and they would. Should anyone take a shine to him, he'll do his damndest to push them off. He's lost too much, and seen too many die, to every want the responsibility of anyone's heart again.

Out for Blood. Make no mistake. Things are going to get ugly. Blood will be spilled. Vengeance has a price, and Smith is willing to pay it. Wrath is an ugly thing, and he has no illusions about his ugliness.

APPEARANCE: Smith is a wiry, ashen-faced, narrow-shouldered man who looks more like prey than predator. His eyes perpetually squint, he is slow to speak, and when he does his voice is barely a croak. His clothes are threadbare (and taken off a dead man a fortnight ago.) Spurs jingle as he walks, his boots worn and re-stitched. Difficult to see what he might be carrying to protect hisself, under that old priest's button-up cassock he wears like a poncho...

BIOGRAPHY: On the Way...