Character you wish to play: Ardam 'Leopard' Pardalis
Race: Human
Faction: The Imperial Remnant, Nominally
Background: Ardam's history is a common one. He was born in a small village, on the Agri World of Sagma, to a mother and father who were not ready to accept the constantly rising taxes of a government lightyears away. He watched his parents rebel, along with uncountable thousands of others, and watched them have the honor of being cut down by the brilliant blue blades of the 'defenders of peace and justice'. Orphaned, he fled from consoling family members and struck out on his own, beset by grief and rage made only more burning by his utter impotence. He fled into the city, taking shelter in the poor and destitute parts of the sprawl, begging and eventually stealing to feed himself. Like countless homeless children, he was inducted into a gang, and cut his teeth learning to fight for territory and trust his fellow members, and to always follow orders.
He grew quickly, forced to mature through a life of danger without the protection of family or the law. He learned to shoot and stab and hide. He came to love the thrill, the changeable and chaotic world of those who live on the edges of society. He came to love technology, weapons of all kinds. He pestered the illegal gunsmiths to teach him, and learned quickly. He stole books from libraries and magazines from stands to fuel his fascination, and by his fifteenth birthday became not only a valuable soldier for his boss but an indispensable weapon-smith.
His seventeenth birthday marked the start of another common story. It couldn't have been predicted: one theft too far, from one person too powerful, and the next day soldiers of the Republic, with a saber-wielding human at their front, come to take back what was stolen and enforce their peace. No-one will ever know who fired the first shot, but Ardam fired the last. The corpses of his friends around him, the less loyal fled, an old slugthrower in his hand. He got lucky, he knows that now: how the Jedi didn't see it coming is beyond him, but for all it's power the force didn't stop that one bullet.
Ardam fled, of course. Took what gear he could and left. Years of scraping by on the edge of the galaxy, taking whatever jobs came his way, selling his deadly services for money, the taken saber always on him, never used. Five years later, he found himself on a Star Destroyer. Showing the lightsaber, proof of his kill, earned him a command and a steady wage, and after all these years a purpose beyond survival. He was going to Coruscant.
Character Class: Soldier
Items: A pair of old slugthrowers, with revolving cylinders and large calibers. Flamethrowers, stun nets, carbonite throwers, landmines and poison gas. Sniper rifles, blaster shotguns, and vibroblades.
Character Personality: Ruthless. Efficient, abstemious and frugal. Ardam loves danger and hates idleness. He dislikes authority and hates taking orders, but does anyways. He tries to stay one step ahead of everyone he meets, and craves knowledge like an alcoholic craves whiskey. He enjoys authority, values intelligence and determination, and hates conceit. He is not prideful, and strives to know himself. He craves freedom, and sees his work as a means to that particular end. He appreciates innovation and dislikes dogma, but thinks poorly of those who ignore proven successes to appear clever and creative. He is quick to become the friend of people, but truly cares for few anymore. To Ardam, all things are fungible, and ends justify means, depending on the benefit of the end and the sacrifice of the means.
Character Alignment (Choose one): Light Side
Do you know how to post pictures on the RPG Boards: Yes, but I prefer not to. Ardam is tall, with a medium build. His angular face is topped with a mop of messy blonde hair, and has upon it a pair of accusatory eyes and a constant smirk. He is rarely outside his bulky powered armor, bought from a trader who didn't recognize its mandalorian origins but still charged him an exorbitant price. His skin is pale and marked with evidence of his life in squalor and violence. His hands are dexterous, his gait light, and his bearing straight and attentive. He is not prone to unnecessary movements, and does not fidget. His armor is marked tan and black, his form spattered with usually full holsters, each bearing a different and unusual weapon, each always in pristine condition, matching the attire.
Sample Post: It was a dream he'd had more than once. He was in the familiar workshop, with the familiar smell of the blood of dead friends. A familiar Jedi stood across from his adult, fully ready form, brilliant beam of light held at the ready. The exchange went the same way each time.
"Who are you?" The jedi intoned, the young head topping his muscular form furrowed in anger and confusion.
Ardam inched one hand to the weapon slung at his chest. "The one who got away, Jedi.". He spat the last word, his anger briefly piercing through the air of lazy contempt he maintained.
From there, the dream played differently each time. This version of the Jedi threw a hand forward, and a sledgehammer caught Ardam in the chest, flinging him back inexorably. Microrockets in his greaves responded to his thoughts, letting him keep his stability as he flew back with the current of Force, bringing the weapon to his shoulder, a reticule appearing on his visor. He squeezed the trigger, and a cone of plasma flew out, like the breath of an Arkanian, scorching everything in its path. The Jedi, no doubt readying himself to block a single bolt, rolled away from the danger, propelling himself with the force. Ardam cursed, and realizing he wouldn't get another chance, dropped the deck-clearer, unsheathing the vibroblade and catching the lunge of the lightsaber in one smooth movement.
The Jedi had the advantage of speed, but his armor gave him the upper hand in strength. He wrestled with the jedi with his free hand, parrying the saber with the vibroblade. The scream of energy on energy filled the room, hurting Ardam's ears even through the helmet. He saw the Jedi wince with each hit. Ardam began to get the upper hand in the grapple, but the jedi flicked the saber off, the line of hellfire retreating back into the hilt. Ardam's blade swung towards the robed figure, but before he could connect he was forced to jet away, the blade extending again, pointed directly at his heart. He could feel the heat of the smoldering metal and ceramic: if it wasn't for his armor, he'd most likely be dead. He reached the other edge of the room, and let the jedi catch his breath. Ardam removed two pistols from their holsters: one thick and black, the other thin and silver, one in each hand. He knew a pistol in both hands was awful, but it was necessary for now.
He fired the black blaster pistol several times, and the Jedi parried each red bolt with ease, sending three of the five blasts directly back at him, only two of which he dodged. The Jedi smirked, and called out defiantly
"Your friends thought that would work, criminal scum! It didn't!"
Ardam fired the other weapon. A cacophonous bang filled the room as a tiny metal cone, 11 milimeters wide, sprinted across the room, well over ten times faster than a blaster bolt, and invisible to the naked eye. If the Jedi was a master, he might have stopped it quick enough. If the jedi hadn't gotten into the rhythm of deflecting Ardam's blaster bolts, he might have done something. He didn't. In a tiny fraction of a second, the cone of metal powdered the Jedi's skull, and mushrooming out within his brain cavity, rendered him dead almost instantly.
"That did."
He holstered his revolver, and awoke in his familiar bed aboard the Gravitas, a smile wide on his face.
Race: Human
Faction: The Imperial Remnant, Nominally
Background: Ardam's history is a common one. He was born in a small village, on the Agri World of Sagma, to a mother and father who were not ready to accept the constantly rising taxes of a government lightyears away. He watched his parents rebel, along with uncountable thousands of others, and watched them have the honor of being cut down by the brilliant blue blades of the 'defenders of peace and justice'. Orphaned, he fled from consoling family members and struck out on his own, beset by grief and rage made only more burning by his utter impotence. He fled into the city, taking shelter in the poor and destitute parts of the sprawl, begging and eventually stealing to feed himself. Like countless homeless children, he was inducted into a gang, and cut his teeth learning to fight for territory and trust his fellow members, and to always follow orders.
He grew quickly, forced to mature through a life of danger without the protection of family or the law. He learned to shoot and stab and hide. He came to love the thrill, the changeable and chaotic world of those who live on the edges of society. He came to love technology, weapons of all kinds. He pestered the illegal gunsmiths to teach him, and learned quickly. He stole books from libraries and magazines from stands to fuel his fascination, and by his fifteenth birthday became not only a valuable soldier for his boss but an indispensable weapon-smith.
His seventeenth birthday marked the start of another common story. It couldn't have been predicted: one theft too far, from one person too powerful, and the next day soldiers of the Republic, with a saber-wielding human at their front, come to take back what was stolen and enforce their peace. No-one will ever know who fired the first shot, but Ardam fired the last. The corpses of his friends around him, the less loyal fled, an old slugthrower in his hand. He got lucky, he knows that now: how the Jedi didn't see it coming is beyond him, but for all it's power the force didn't stop that one bullet.
Ardam fled, of course. Took what gear he could and left. Years of scraping by on the edge of the galaxy, taking whatever jobs came his way, selling his deadly services for money, the taken saber always on him, never used. Five years later, he found himself on a Star Destroyer. Showing the lightsaber, proof of his kill, earned him a command and a steady wage, and after all these years a purpose beyond survival. He was going to Coruscant.
Character Class: Soldier
Items: A pair of old slugthrowers, with revolving cylinders and large calibers. Flamethrowers, stun nets, carbonite throwers, landmines and poison gas. Sniper rifles, blaster shotguns, and vibroblades.
Character Personality: Ruthless. Efficient, abstemious and frugal. Ardam loves danger and hates idleness. He dislikes authority and hates taking orders, but does anyways. He tries to stay one step ahead of everyone he meets, and craves knowledge like an alcoholic craves whiskey. He enjoys authority, values intelligence and determination, and hates conceit. He is not prideful, and strives to know himself. He craves freedom, and sees his work as a means to that particular end. He appreciates innovation and dislikes dogma, but thinks poorly of those who ignore proven successes to appear clever and creative. He is quick to become the friend of people, but truly cares for few anymore. To Ardam, all things are fungible, and ends justify means, depending on the benefit of the end and the sacrifice of the means.
Character Alignment (Choose one): Light Side
Do you know how to post pictures on the RPG Boards: Yes, but I prefer not to. Ardam is tall, with a medium build. His angular face is topped with a mop of messy blonde hair, and has upon it a pair of accusatory eyes and a constant smirk. He is rarely outside his bulky powered armor, bought from a trader who didn't recognize its mandalorian origins but still charged him an exorbitant price. His skin is pale and marked with evidence of his life in squalor and violence. His hands are dexterous, his gait light, and his bearing straight and attentive. He is not prone to unnecessary movements, and does not fidget. His armor is marked tan and black, his form spattered with usually full holsters, each bearing a different and unusual weapon, each always in pristine condition, matching the attire.
Sample Post: It was a dream he'd had more than once. He was in the familiar workshop, with the familiar smell of the blood of dead friends. A familiar Jedi stood across from his adult, fully ready form, brilliant beam of light held at the ready. The exchange went the same way each time.
"Who are you?" The jedi intoned, the young head topping his muscular form furrowed in anger and confusion.
Ardam inched one hand to the weapon slung at his chest. "The one who got away, Jedi.". He spat the last word, his anger briefly piercing through the air of lazy contempt he maintained.
From there, the dream played differently each time. This version of the Jedi threw a hand forward, and a sledgehammer caught Ardam in the chest, flinging him back inexorably. Microrockets in his greaves responded to his thoughts, letting him keep his stability as he flew back with the current of Force, bringing the weapon to his shoulder, a reticule appearing on his visor. He squeezed the trigger, and a cone of plasma flew out, like the breath of an Arkanian, scorching everything in its path. The Jedi, no doubt readying himself to block a single bolt, rolled away from the danger, propelling himself with the force. Ardam cursed, and realizing he wouldn't get another chance, dropped the deck-clearer, unsheathing the vibroblade and catching the lunge of the lightsaber in one smooth movement.
The Jedi had the advantage of speed, but his armor gave him the upper hand in strength. He wrestled with the jedi with his free hand, parrying the saber with the vibroblade. The scream of energy on energy filled the room, hurting Ardam's ears even through the helmet. He saw the Jedi wince with each hit. Ardam began to get the upper hand in the grapple, but the jedi flicked the saber off, the line of hellfire retreating back into the hilt. Ardam's blade swung towards the robed figure, but before he could connect he was forced to jet away, the blade extending again, pointed directly at his heart. He could feel the heat of the smoldering metal and ceramic: if it wasn't for his armor, he'd most likely be dead. He reached the other edge of the room, and let the jedi catch his breath. Ardam removed two pistols from their holsters: one thick and black, the other thin and silver, one in each hand. He knew a pistol in both hands was awful, but it was necessary for now.
He fired the black blaster pistol several times, and the Jedi parried each red bolt with ease, sending three of the five blasts directly back at him, only two of which he dodged. The Jedi smirked, and called out defiantly
"Your friends thought that would work, criminal scum! It didn't!"
Ardam fired the other weapon. A cacophonous bang filled the room as a tiny metal cone, 11 milimeters wide, sprinted across the room, well over ten times faster than a blaster bolt, and invisible to the naked eye. If the Jedi was a master, he might have stopped it quick enough. If the jedi hadn't gotten into the rhythm of deflecting Ardam's blaster bolts, he might have done something. He didn't. In a tiny fraction of a second, the cone of metal powdered the Jedi's skull, and mushrooming out within his brain cavity, rendered him dead almost instantly.
"That did."
He holstered his revolver, and awoke in his familiar bed aboard the Gravitas, a smile wide on his face.