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RPG Writing Forum 2015-09-15T08:39:26-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/feed.php?f=63 2015-09-15T08:39:26-04:00 2015-09-15T08:39:26-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=209&p=3102#p3102 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Re: Patvice Galrust]]>
I'm going to step away from ASOG at this point due to general busy-ness of life. It's been a blast and I wish you all the best.

Aaron (Vice)

Statistics: Posted by BanksAT — Tue Sep 15, 2015 8:39 am

]]> 2015-07-22T02:48:07-04:00 2015-07-22T02:48:07-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=295&p=2985#p2985 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Bio Luke Helios]]>

Name: Luke Helios
Rank: none
Homeworld: Corellia
Age: 27
Eyes: Blue
Hair: Brown
Height: 1.71 meters
Weight: 62 kg’s
Favourite weapon: DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol
Languages: Basic
Family: Father - Serves in the Empire, location unknown
Other Family: Deceased


Early Life
Born in Coronet into a wealthy Corellian family grown rich with trade. “Helios&Co.†was a widely known and respectable trading company, founded and lead by Luke’s father, Banquo Helios. Luke grew up on Correlia during the aftermath of the Clone Wars.

Corellia had had a rough time, as did the rest of the galaxy. That his father was able to found such a successful trading company during the economical crisis of that period was nothing short of a miracle. Rumour had it that Banquo had mastered the Jedi mind trick somehow, which enabled him to get everything he needed for founding his company. Whether this rumour is true no one knows.

The pure-blooded human status of the family which had no ties with the Jedi at all ensured their relative safety from the Emperor reign of terror directed at non-humans and Jedi’s. As a result Luke grew up untroubled by anything. His parents kept him well shielded from the atrocities committed everywhere by the Empire.

Darkening Tides
Unfortunately all good things come to an end. The Stormtroopers came and made his father an offer he couldn’t refuse. He was given the choice of joining the Imperial Navy or see his entire family killed. Seeing no other alternative, Banquo joined the Navy.

The family was left to look after itself, but without Banquo to lead the company, it quickly fell into disarray and not long after it went bankrupt. Pushed into poverty, Luke’s mother, Linny, tried to make do with whatever came their way. They had lost all contact with Banquo. The Star Destroyer was his prison. One day, Linny confessed to Luke that they had once aided a small Rebel group whom they smuggled safely out of the Correlian system, and that this was their punishment for it.

It wasn’t long before the situation became so bad that Luke was forced to go out and steal food and meds for his mother, who had fallen terribly ill. On one of his outings he was caught. As punishment he received fifty lashes on his back, which would be heavily scarred forever. As if that wasn’t enough he was drafted into the military. If he refused, his family would be killed. So, following the same fate as his father he too, was forced into service. He would never see his ailing mother and three older brothers again.

Imperial Training Record
During his Imperial Training he turned out to be a superb starfighter pilot. He was highly commended and his future within the Imperial Navy looked promising. Despite his success, his heart was never with the Empire. The Empire had ruined his family and stood for all that was evil to him. On a training mission he tried to escape. He flew his TIE-fighter towards a nearby moon under the pretence he was checking out some strange readings. The moon had no atmosphere, he hid his TIE-fighter in the dark side of a large crater.

He stayed there for a day without food or water, fearing that if he left the Empire would be on top of him immediately. Forced by thirst and hunger, he powered up his systems and flew away. The Empire was nowhere to be seen. His ship didn’t have lightspeed, so in short he was stranded. That part of the escape plan he hadn’t figured out yet. He just flew into a random direction, thinking that death was better than a lifetime of service to the Empire.

A New Hope
Two days later the Rebellion Cruiser Hope found his TIE-fighter adrift. They had picked up his signal and upon wondering what a lone short range TIE-fighter was doing alone in space had peeked their interest. They tractored the TIE-fighter into their hangar bay. Inside they found Luke Helios, unconscious, dehydrated and near death. He was treated and put under guard.

He explained his situation to the Captain, who was willing to believe his story, but thought it too early to trust him. He therefore remained locked in a cell for a couple days. Luke accepted this fate. He figured they had no reason to trust him. Seeing that he wasn’t giving any trouble, the Captain, named Rye Dresden, had him relocated to guest quarters, though he wasn’t to leave the room. The Captain also told him of their mission. To seek and destroy a Star Destroyer used to train new recruits, to deprive the Empire of new recruits, making it more difficult for them to replenish their ranks. The Captain thought their target might very well be the one Luke had escaped from.

Luke told the Captain he was right, and he was more than willing to help with the mission. He hated everyone on that ship anyway. As proof that he meant it for real, he revealed the Star Destroyer’s most likely location. After careful consideration Captain Dresden sent a reconnaissance flight to verify the information. It turned out to be real. Luke then offered to help in the destruction of the vessel. He could fly back towards the Star Destroyer, get past the defence perimeter and take out its deflector towers. After which it would be an easy an easy task for the Rebellion Cruiser to drop out of hyperspace and fire everything it had at the now vulnerable vessel.

The Captain stood for a difficult decision. If he trusted this man, he risked the failure of the mission, and possibly the lives of his crew. But if he didn’t trust this man, many of his men could die fighting to disable the Star Destroyer themselves.
In the end, they would have to fight the Star Destroyer anyway, so they could best do it using Luke as saboteur.

So it happened. The Cruiser dropped out of hyperspace a few hours’ distance sublight travel. Luke took off in his TIE-fighter. When he arrived he made some excuse about engines difficulties and radio-issues. Before they realised that a TIE-fighter couldn’t have flown all the way to their current position on its own it was already too late. He flew in fast and destroyed the deflector this and disabled their engines. Because of his piloting skills he managed to avoid turbolasers and was already on his return flight when the fighters started to pour out of the hangars.
The Rebellion Cruiser dropped out of hyperspace and fired every battery on the ship and launched all its fighters. The battle was over in less than a minute.

Rebel Alliance
After Luke was brought in as a hero and was accepted into the Alliance He immediately made for arrangements to get his family out of Corellia, but he was too late. The Empire had murdered all… His mother and brothers dead, his father lost to the Empire, the Rebellion was the only home left to him. He vowed he wouldn’t rest until he had found the one who had killed his family. About his father, no one knew where he was, or what he was doing. The Rebellion was his family now.

The events concerning his escape from the Empire and joining the Rebellion took place some time before the destruction of Alderaan. Captain Dresden came to him with an offer. A group of ‘privateers’ was being assembled, and they were in need of several skilled people. Their mission was to draw the Empire’s attention away from Alliance activities while it was building up its force, giving it a better chance to consolidate itself. Luke considered this and quickly came to the conclusion that the larger freedoms he would have as a privateer would greatly increase his chances of finding his family’s killer.

Personality

Luke can be very harsh on people, but he means well. Because of this he has a reputation of an unpleasant, angry man. People who know him better know that he worries too much for his own good. More often than not this worrying has kept his Squadron alive. It is difficult for him to talk about his past for he has no idea where his father is, whether he is still alive or not. He feels guilty, for by joining the Alliance he might just as well have signed a death sentence for his mother and siblings…

Statistics: Posted by lucasausems — Wed Jul 22, 2015 2:48 am

]]> 2014-07-22T14:17:21-04:00 2014-07-22T14:17:21-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=197&p=1154#p1154 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Re: Caleb Dexon]]>
The fat man padded his oily brow with a silk handkerchief, and waved the silver plated protocol droid over. The droid waddled slowly over, carrying a gilded tray carrying a variety of drinks in a variety of glasses. His pudgy fingers dickered over them for a moment. He licked his lips as though he was tasting each one before moving to the next. His final selection was a tall and elegant glass of a startling bright sapphire wine, an Alderaani vintage.

“Would you care for a tipple to take the bite off of the evening’s economic recesses?†he asked, sipping his wine with a childish slurp. Caleb blinked slowly, his hand slowly moving of its own will to the offered tray, eerily finding a glass of Corellian whisky. He took a long pull of it, the Wyren’s Reserve aged perfectly, and tapped the glass down harshly on the desk.

“I would prefer that you tell me why these…these priceless antiquities are-?â€

“Worthless?†the man smiled thinly, and indicated the four items left on his lavish desk “I admit they do look genuine. The pottery is exactly the same as sort that would have been around during the reign of Prince Pinyik, the colouring too. But it the vividness of the colouration, the supreme lack of any disturbed marks or blemishes. The Pinyik line was renowned for using a single clan of potters throughout their thousand year rule, and that clan prided in providing imperfects in perfect works. This is unblemished work, without a single wrinkle to mark its authenticity. It is a fake, a marvellously detailed fake, but still not genuine.â€

The fat man smiled, taking another noisy sip of his wine before continuing: “Might I enquire how much it cost to…acquire these items? To sate my own curiosity.â€

In response, the well-dressed businessman with the glass of whisky finished off the glass. He was dressed in the fashion of a man unaccustomed to wealth: the suit was new, but not tailored to fit. The jewellery and pins he wore were shiny, new, but had that glint of the pass produced that spoke of someone used to buying ‘off the rack’. It was the sort of thing that someone who wanted to make the right impression to a particular level of society.

But a crook was always a crook, regardless of how fancily he dresses. And the fat man knew that, and always enjoyed these little interludes in the antique business: treasure hunters, tomb raiders and…enterprising finders of lost items. He smiled, putting the wine glass down, and waved a hand over the small clay items laid out before him.

“Look I don’t usually do this but, judging by your long face there was considerable effort put into find these items. Its not unusual for the right people who own items to place well intentions fake in their places, whilst the originals sit pretty vault. Helps to save from accidents like a faulty cleaning droid or excited younglings.†He compressed his lips, eyeing the items, and then the man who had come to him with big dreams “I can offer you….something for them. A small compensation for their unique value as close replicas. Perhaps, as a generous soul that I am, a finders fee of three thousand Imperials credits?â€

“Each?†Caleb asked hopefully.

“I’m afraid that is the price I’m willing to pay for the lot. Were they original Pinyik era pieces, from the royal palace no less, their price tag would be tenfold a piece. Indeed you would be able to command the price yourself. But as fakes there is, as you no doubt know, a market for these things. Even if it is a market that does not share the same buoyancy as its factual counterparts.†The fat smile leaned back in his chair, his pudgy fingers groping for his blue wine “If you like you could try another fence in the city. Nal Hutta is not without its wealth of dealers in the aged and unique, but I assure you my price for these will be more generous and forgiving than many.â€

He slurp his wine.

“Do we have a deal?â€

+++

Caleb Dexon waited for the air speeder to rise from the pedestrian parking area and rise into the steady arterial flow of traffic that wormed through Nall Hutta’s urban sprawl. The smugglers moon that orbited the Hutt home world was a gamblers paradise and a smugglers bolt hole, fit to fleece the rich and outfit the providers of black market goods with profit. Dexon kept his face dejected until he was far enough away from the antique dealer’s apartment to be sure he was out of sight, and then smiled.

He reached over and tapped the bench seat cushion across from him, allowing the storage compartment to pop open…revealing three other sets of nearly identical and perfectly pristine ‘Pinyik era master pieces’ to appear. The cost of the lot job had been just over a thousand credits for the lot, paid to a Gand who enjoyed his work and had a spice addiction to pay off: the Gand had made the clay cups, and then had gotten so high he’d gone into hyperspace before Caleb had left his apartment.

He reached past the perfect fakes and pulled out the small money pouch, already heavy with coins and credit chits from the last two dealers who had been sorry to tell him his priceless treasures were indeed priceless tourist chic. Those last two had paid more for the chance to fence the fakes off to the newly moneyed than the fat man had, but Caleb had three more meetings tonight to add to his funds.

The antique dealers got fakes they could sell, and the good karma of helping a thief who had ‘stolen the golden egg plant’ and found it not solid gold but rotten to the core. The moral high ground was there’s.

Who was he to disrupt karma by telling them their perfect fakes would begin to fall apart within a day or so? After all Gands were an insect species, and you’d be hard pressed to tell clay pots from hardened pre-digested plant enzymes without thoroughly checking them over with a medical scanner. For now the fat man was happy, and so was Caleb.

After all, he’d just sold vomit to a moneyed duke of antiques: it was a good night to be Caleb Dexon.

Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Tue Jul 22, 2014 2:17 pm

]]> 2014-07-22T13:31:28-04:00 2014-07-22T13:31:28-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=198&p=1151#p1151 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Re: Kendle Thrace]]>
"Price is never an object," the Sullustan responded in stilted Basic, seemingly unconcerned with their surroundings, or the more than interested parties creeping closer as they spoke. "It is, in fact, a currency." He tipped his head sideways as though measuring her up. Despite her casual posture, she could move and draw her weapon as well as use the table beneath her feet as a makeshift shield. Planning ahead, and meticulous thought processes... far too simple to exploit. Shifting his weight as his tiny legs could not reach the ground, he leaned over to lift the substantial briefcase. It dwarfed his hands and he struggled as he placed it before him on the table.

"Soooo, that would be a 'no', then," she said sourly, sucking her teeth as though something had gotten stuck between them. "Always a pleasure when the potential client tries to out smart ass the smart ass." One eyebrow went up and she took her feet off the table, placing both of them flat on the floor beneath her. This little guy's movements were causing the locals to get more interested. Any interest was unwanted, but the type he was causing with talking currency and briefcases... well, that was just asking for trouble. She thought a moment. He was sitting across from a driver who had a tendency to play with explosives for a job that had yet to be defined. He was just asking for more trouble.

"Look," she said and he cut her off with a wave of his hand. Her face drained of emotion and she gave him a stare all of his own. Employers got to have some leaway, but no currency had changed hands yet. This little guy was looking for some danger of larger proportions. She imagined what he might look like with his little legs splayed in the air, concussive blast lifting him from his seat as the air heated up in the bar. She could see the metal table melt with the concoction she had, inert, in her boot, just for such occasions: if a job went south, or if she had a hankering to eliminate some smart ass. Both were equally viable reasons. And a few others she didn't even need an excuse for.

"You need to drive." The Sullustan handed her a data crystal and the box it came in. He knew better than to give her a closed box. He might end up as wall paper in this horrible place, and there were more urgent needs to be met elsewhere that required all of his internal organs remaining internal. "I give the place, you take the giggle. And money, even defined as currency, will no longer be a concern."

"The gig."

"I beg pardon?" The Sullustan tapped his translator and shook it. "Gig?"

"Yes, not 'giggle'," Kendle said and slotted the data crystal into her reader. Boy, this was going to be a load of giggles, wasn't it? It looked like a simple enough job, and that's what got her back up. Nothing was ever simple, and certainly not with a guy in a bar in some backwater low orbit shit for brains place who couldn't even invest enough extra credits to get the vernacular upgrade on his translation unit. It tasted wrong, like the air itself; a tang of deception with some unwanted felons in the mix. She stood and some of them slinked backwards, others crawling back into the holes they'd crawled out of. "Everybody got that?" she asked, voice raised. The musical underscore slid off its track and there was silence. She half expected to hear something rolling along the floor behind her. Which was lucky, because she was already on the move when it did.

Leaping over the table, rolling with the little guy, his case still in his hand, she put the substantial table between it and the unknown object which exploded with an understated thud, leaving a picturesque shard embossment in its surface. Where it had come from, she couldn't rightly tell, but it seemed that she had already made her choice in the matter. Saving the guy's life was instinct, and perhaps she should consider curbing that in future. But, he had been potentially about to give her a distinctly large amount of money, and that thought smoothed her ruffled morality. Pulling out her blaster, she peeked over the table and scanned the place. Apparently, that little incident had cleared the bar. "Fucking chickens," she muttered, and watched for movement before standing up, hauling the little guy to his feet. She didn't often tower over humans, but a majority of aliens, she had no problem with.

"Looks like you and me are working together," Kendle said, tugging at her gloves before smoothing her hands over her suit and adjusting her collar. "That I saved your life, you add that to the bottom line in the form of an extra zero." Her smile was beatific, but her eyes were a little askew. Even in the calmness between, there was no time to completely relax. Not in her line of business.

"Not me," said the Sullustan and turned on his heel, leaving the briefcase in the corner. "I am only a cog." He too straightened himself before striding purposefully for the door. "As are you, Kendle Thrace." He chuckled, his voice leaving a trail behind it like crumbs. "I'd get on that job sooner rather than later, my dear, since this place will soon be a crater in this tiny moon." Slapping the data crystal into its housing, she sighed audibly and easily caught up to him as he was exiting the bar. "There's more on that crystal than what you're required to do, of course," he said. "It documents certain... incidents in various systems that have a few common threads." Opening the door, he strode out onto the platform of the hovering bar. The sky was overcast, air thick with smog and black-streaked rain clouds, lines of grey making their way to the surfaces beneath. It smelled like oil and would mark her clothing like spray paint. He swirled a large cloak around him. "The price is commensurate with exactly how much truth is listed upon it."

"That's blackmail," she said, her voice holding a dark tone.

"Yes," he said with great humour and stepped off the edge of the platform. Leaning over, she noticed him lifting in the air on an air speeder as he continued to speak. "Be there, and certain details will not be released to the local authorities." A bomb. In a bar where she was seen recently, and probably holo recorded as well, knowing these paranoid types. Even assholes could find a way to sink to lower depths and wrap her inside of their shit. So,she was being set up to take the fall. Or take the job.

"Well, since you're being so magnanimous..." Let his translator chip chew on that word, the little sneaky fuck. But she knew, like he did with his self-satisfied shit eating grin, that she was over that proverbial barrel. "I'll see you there."

He flew off as the pelting began and her features were dotted with the black inky crap that passed for liquid. Hopping on her hover cycle, she took a closer look at the box and its contents, shielding it from the elements in a cocoon of her jacket and body. 'Was that a... well fuck me sideways,' she thought crudely. An insignia that, like Christian fish of old, had been scribbled on doorways and under bridges, and even marked the bodies of the people who had died for its cause. Because it was building momentum, much to the chagrin of the Empire, and that would have made her smile had she not just been tricked into working for them. For a shitload of cash. The Rebellion.

Whether Boomer liked it or not, with that little sneaky Sullustan, her talents had just become resources for the underground. Behind her as she drove to the spaceport below, the bar blossomed into a fiery plume, debris raining down amidst the dark rain. Sighing, she closed her eyes for a moment before making her final decision. 'Welcome to the spy game, you explosive, driver bitch.'

Statistics: Posted by KendleRJ — Tue Jul 22, 2014 1:31 pm

]]> 2014-07-22T12:08:02-04:00 2014-07-22T12:08:02-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=207&p=1147#p1147 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Shadow Stalker-Just Another Payday..]]> Makaran Sector
Galactic Empire Outer Reaches.

He ran gasping for breath as the pursuer closed in. He couldn't believe how damn fast she was! He'd gotten ahold of a hoverbike in order to put some distance between him and this hellish bitch, but she had somehow managed to keep up. He flew over some raised hills looking for the ship he had stashed. If he could get aboard...

A sudden flash caught his eyes as a landspeeder appeared! Before he could move, the driver leaped from it, spinning in the air! Two green laser lights flashed from her hands. Dark cloak, dark hair with white streaks, and black gloves were all he saw as he tried to escape!

_Jedi?? How??_ he tried to swerve, but she was on him, balancing on the back of the bike!. One of the deadly laser swords flashed across his belt severing his blaster from it's holster. Simultaneously, the other cut downward slicing into the engine of the hoverbike immediately disabling it! It came to a crashing halt, sending him tumbling into the sand, as she rolled clear and came up on her feet.

"Galk Nor.." she lithely jumped clear of the wreck. "You're coming with me.."

He smirked. He wasn't down yet. Turning quickly, the smuggler pulled a hidden blaster and fired at her several times.

He dropped his mouth open as the dark cloaked female blocked every shot, then flashed her light sabers, and relieved him of his weapon; giving him a nice souvenir across the face, all without killing him.

"Try that again, and I will bury you here." her voice promised coldly. "Turn around.."

He grit his teeth as the electro-cuffs were put on his hands. "Arresting me Jedi? I thought the Empire killed you all!

"Who said I was a Jedi?" She pulled him to his feet and pointed.."Over to the speeder. Your friends are waiting for you. Once I get paid, I don't care if they turn you into gundark poodoo. Not my problem."

"Bounty hunter?" he roared in anger.

"Sort of. Enough to bring your sorry ass down. Now..into the speeder." She put him in and secured him so he couldn't move. "Tell your buddies that Shadow Stalker never misses her mark."

He swore in several languages..

"Yeah..I like you too." She laughed and headed back to the spaceport.

An hour later, she had her payday and went to the local bar. Her weapons hidden under her dark cloak, Shadow Stalker perused the adds looking for guns for hire. She stopped seeing one that seemed rather..unusual.

A short talk later and a drink with a local star pilot, she had booked passage and was off again. Just another job..another payday coming soon..

[Segue into whatever Mission post is planned]

Statistics: Posted by Melissa Richards — Tue Jul 22, 2014 12:08 pm

]]> 2014-07-21T16:27:31-04:00 2014-07-21T16:27:31-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=209&p=1132#p1132 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Patvice Galrust]]> Code name/Alias: "Call me Vice"
Allegiance: Rebel

Age: 17
Place of Birth: Coruscant, but not the pretty part

Physical:
Species: Human
Gender: Male
Height: 5’3â€
Eyes: Brown
Distinguishing features: small and slight with evidence of malnutrition; numerous scars on hands, arms, and face
Manner of dress: Oversized coveralls over a wife-beater. Always bland and neutral in color -- don't wanna accidentally flash some colors and get on the wrong side of a situation
Weapon of choice: vibroknife and holdout blaster.

Current Occupation: scrounger, gofer, volunteer
Previous Occupation(s): shorty

Psychological:
Loyalty. Robert E. Lee famously wrote, “Duty is the most sublime word in the English languageâ€. Vice wouldn’t know who the f#$k Lee was, what this “English†s*$t you’re talking about is, and he’d never use a word like “sublimeâ€, but he’d dig the essence of the statement. Your gang keeps you alive when the whole world’s out to take it. The Alliance saved him and his allegiance has transferred to it. If you cross them, may god have mercy on you ‘cause Vice won’t. ‘Course his idea of right and wrong might be a little off from the ideals of the Alliance.

Personal History:
Underneath a mop of unkempt brown hair, two nondescript brown eyes glare at you. “Why do you want to know?†he asks. You’d only asked about his life. “Ain’t nothin’ to you.â€
You assure him your only motive is to fit him into a job where he can help the most. Earning your keep is a concept clear to Vice.
“Oh, I see,†he says. “I done a bit of everything. You gotta help out or why feed ya, right? When I was little, I begged a bit, picked a pocket or two, slung some drugs. Never worked as a bum boy – too little and not pretty enough for any but the most twisted.†Seeing the look on your face, he hurried to clarify, “I ain’t judgin’, mind you. Honest work, just not something I’ve done. You know life in the Underbelly.â€
Without waiting to see if you do, in fact, know life in the Underbelly, he presses on. “Ain't nothing new. Nothing what works. Just other folks’ trash. I’ve been – clever, Bil called it, he taught me how things work, how to fix 'em – clever with my hands. If it used to work and ain’t as complex as some of the new shit, I can prolly make it work again. For what it was built for or somethin’ useful. I’m little, so I got turned to housebreaking early. I can get in where others can’t. I’m slick with a knife. Ain’t afraid to kill a man if it needs doin’.â€
He looks you in the eye. “Why? What you need done?â€

Statistics: Posted by BanksAT — Mon Jul 21, 2014 4:27 pm

]]> 2014-07-20T18:02:16-04:00 2014-07-20T18:02:16-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=195&p=1120#p1120 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Re: Jarion Tass]]> SNAP! Jarion spun around just in time to catch a piece of jagged metal in the abdomen.

Funny, it didn't hurt nearly as much as Jarion would have thought. That was because the shrapnel didn't slice into his soft, vulnerable flesh, it embedded itself a good centimetre into his stealth field generator. The wound was fatal. Jarion shimmered into full view of the hangar's rebel occupants.

"Aw crap."


It was a nice cell. One of the most comfortable he'd ever stayed in. Of course his equipment was confiscated and his implants shut down. The worst part was that made it hard to see and hear. He had grown accustomed to the enhancements his cybernetics provided. Of course, escape was inevitable. Preferably in a manner that recovered his pistols. It had taken years to get them just right.

He was only in the cell for a few hours before the guards escorted him to a small interrogation room and chained him to a chair. Then he waited some more before the real fun began. A pair of Bothans finally came to see him. This piqued Jarion's interest. Didn't the Bothan's run the rebel spy network.

They sat and wasted no further time. The first to speak was a squirrely looking individual with a briefcase, which he didn't open. Damn bureaucrats.

"You were apprehended attempting to sneak into a highly classified installation."

"Out." Jarion corrected.

"Excuse me?"

"I was apprehended sneaking out of a highly classified installation."

"I assure you, your attempts to increase your apparent importance with these fabrications will fall on deaf ears."

Jarion shrugged. Whether this petty functionary believed him or not didn't really matter.

"You are clearly guilty of trespassing, espionage, and theft. The penalties..."

"Oh give me a break. You're rebels. The convicts in the imperial stockade have more legal standing than you do. Since you haven't killed me already I can only assume you've got a job that you need a professional for. I want my guns and my implants back. And I want a new hat. A good one."

"You presume far too..."

The second Bothan silenced the first with a raised hand.

"Get him his gear and tell him when and where to report."

Jarion put his feet up on the table and smiled.

Statistics: Posted by T-Prime — Sun Jul 20, 2014 6:02 pm

]]> 2014-07-17T21:28:15-04:00 2014-07-17T21:28:15-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=207&p=1080#p1080 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Sayana O'raka aka 'Shadow Stalker']]> Code name/Alias: Shadow Stalker
Allegiance: Herself/Possibly Rebel

Age:26

Place of Birth:Corellia

Physical:

Species: Corellian
Gender: Female
Height: 5'9"
Eyes: Deep sea blue
Distinguishing features: Scar on left arm, and right leg from past experience.
Long dark hair with white streaks in it. Fair skinned.

Manner of dress: Black leather type suit with special pockets for open or hidden storage. Black boots.

Weapon of choice:Two Light Sabers/Blaster/Grenades

Current Occupation:Mercenary/Job for Hire.

Previous Occupation: None. Doing this since Jedi were wiped out and she had to run to survive.

Psychological: Wary of anything authority-wise. Doesn't trust easily due to her survival as a young child from the Jedi Temple massacre. Has a tendency to watch and be careful before striking.

What makes your character tick?: Sayana is a cautious person. She learned early on that,it's difficult to trust anyone but yourself, especially authority or government. She hates the empire with a passion. But, she also has no love for the past Jedi Council as, she blames them for the fact they were too weak to know what was coming and allowed all the younglings to be killed...with the exception of herself and a couple who managed to escape.

Personal History: Sayana was chosen when she was four years old to be a Jedi and taken to the Jedi Temple. She was raised and trained by her teachers there, until the great massacre. Using what limited skills she had, the young girl managed to escape with two others, a boy and a girl. But, weeks later, due to inexperience and mistakes, they were caught. The boy and the other girl were executed. In fear of her life, and feeling the rage from it, Sayana went mad with fury! She used her light saber to disable the Imperial troops who murdered her friends, then stole away on a ship and got off Corresscant.

She arrived on Corellia, and faded into the woodwork searching for her former family whom the Jedi had taken her from. Only to learn, both her parents had been murdered by drug runners. In a fit of more anger, she hunted the runners down and killed the ones she could, but her skills weren't enough to finish the job. The young girl escaped the drug runners revenge, but she was now hunted and alone by both the Empire as a former padawan, and the runners. Being a former padawan learner she tried to keep what she learned from the Jedi current, but her skills were never fully developed. She managed through remotes and killing targets for jobs she hired herself out for to greatly improve her light saber skills. But, her skills to influence others were never fully developed, and she could only use the Force to a limited extent. The only other skill she managed to improve was her physical, able to jump a little higher then a normal person.

Working with other mercenaries from time to time, she learned how to be semi-skillful with a blaster and how to use proton-grenades and limited explosive devices.


Having finished her last job, she is now open for hire for whoever hears of 'Shadow Stalker'

Statistics: Posted by Melissa Richards — Thu Jul 17, 2014 9:28 pm

]]> 2014-07-16T20:57:45-04:00 2014-07-16T20:57:45-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=200&p=1047#p1047 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Tavlia K'Van (Heizz)]]> Code Name/Alias: none - Nickname: Tav
Allegiance: Neutral with Imperial tendencies due to her affiliation with Boodra Heizz
Age: 20
Place of Birth: Ryloth

Physical:

Species: Twi’lek
Skin Color: Cobalt Blue
Gender: female
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 155 lbs.
Eyes: Light blue
Manner of Dress: Ostentatious - likes jewelry and usually is wearing at least two bracelets and a necklace
Weapon of Choice: poison or vibrodagger - prefers to rely on her feminine charms to assist her in doing a job

Current Occupation: Spy, Infiltrator, and Networker (and Slave)
Previous Occupation(s): Slave (Chauffer, consort, maid, cook, personal assistant, nurse, nanny)

Psychological:

Tavlia accepts most things in life and attempts to merely weather her conditions. She's very loyal to her owner and his family, with the possible exception of Analia. Generally, she's pleasant until anyone attacks her family, owner's family, or any of their politics. At that point she can become a she-devil and will stop at nothing to eradicate such negativity from the universe. Of course, in her current role as spy, she has learned to choke down such insolence.

Tavlia is not terribly ambitious but she does hope that Boodra will permit her to find a mate so she can have a family of her own within the Heizz family and she will stop at little to obtain that goal.

Tavlia also has gotten very used to her owner's family's wealth and has forgotten to an extent the days of poverty that she had on her home planet. As such, she usually will be highly decorated in jewelry and other trimmings to highlight her beauty. For now, she uses such decorations as a ruse, claiming that she either took what she "owned" or stole the items from her house and sells same to support herself on the run.

Personal History:

Family:
Father: Mota K'Van
Mother: Dalia K'Van
Siblings: N'Rak K'Van (older brother), Trelaka K'Van (older sister), Sik K'Van (younger brother)

Owner/Master's Family:
Master: Boodra Heizz
Master's Wife: Analia Heizz
Children: Madra Heizz, Por Heizz, Meika Heizz

Distinguishing features: Number 399 tatooed on her right ankle in pink

Tavlia was born to on Ryloth. Unfortunately, although her family was well off enough to not have to sell every item that they owned for basic survival, they could not maintain all of the family above the poverty level if all remained on Ryloth. Therefore, after some discussion, the family decided that Tavlia would be sold into slavery. Tavlia was not pleased with this decision; however, she was not unhappy with it either. She knew that this was a common problem with her species and she accepted her fate neutrally. She only hoped that the lifestyle would be a bit more interesting than that of which she knew and her employment at the mill.

The highest bidder on Tavlia was a man from Iseno named Boodra Heizz. He paid top dollar for Tavlia, which gladdened her because it meant the remainder of her family would survive and at a fairly decent level of living. Boodra Heizz turned out to be from a rather wealthy family on Iseno. Tavlia had never seen such conspicuous consumption of wealth. She figured that she could get used to it, like any other condition. Upon arrival, she was given a pink tatoo number 399. The pink for his wife's Analia's house color and 399 for the number slave she was in the family history.

Tavlia was 16 at this time and Boodra was 36. Boodra loved his wife Analia but he could not help but be in awe of Tavlia's grace and beauty. Like so many other non-Twi'lek's, he fell under her spell and it sometimes became difficult to tell who was master and who was slave. Tavlia quickly rose in rank and in privilege amongst all of the slaves. She quickly went from the kitchen to chauffer to maid and nurse. It was when Tavlia became nurse and maid that Boodra finally made Tavlia his consort as well. Tavlia did not resist. All storms were made to be weathered and this was not an unpleasant storm to say the least. Boodra was kind to Tavlia and she returned it in kind. While Tavlia did not love Boodra romantically, she did respect him greatly as an owner and his generosity.

Tavlia was given additional privileges and training as a direct result of this relationship. She started attending political meetings with Boodra, although she was instructed to remain quiet. It appeared that he was a rising star of influence on Iseno and indeed, he was eventually elected to the Imperial Senate, elevating Iseno due to the rather close relationship to Palpatine.

Unfortunately, the kinship and closeness that had developed between Tavlia and Boodra began to upset Analia. As a result, Analia desired Tavlia sold, killed or the relationship between Boodra and Tavlia ended. Boodra would have none of these options. Instead, he decided to use his wife's jealousy to his advantage. He agreed to send Tavlia from the home. He would use Tavlia as his political eyes and ears in places where he could not be and when she reported home, the taste of their reunion would be all the sweeter. Any information that Tavlia would obtain could be used to further Boodra's political career and place in the Senate.

Statistics: Posted by Amanda Rose — Wed Jul 16, 2014 8:57 pm

]]> 2014-07-15T20:13:06-04:00 2014-07-15T20:13:06-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=198&p=1028#p1028 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Kendle Thrace]]> Name: Kendle Thrace
Code name/Alias: Boomer
Allegiance: Highest bidder

Age: 26
Place of Birth: Alderaan

Physical:
Species: Human colouring: Olive
Gender: Female
Height: 5'4" Weight: 120 lbs
Eyes: Aquamarine
Distinguishing features: She wears gloves constantly
Manner of dress: Comfortable and professional. The female equivalent of a suit & tie.
Weapon of choice: Anything that explodes, preferably from a far enough distance

Current Occupation: Between gigs
Previous Occupations:
Demolitions & Structural Engineer - Construction Conglomerate - Cularin
Chauffeur for Hutt VIP on Coruscant

Psychological:
There is a fine line between genius and insanity and Kendle walks it with a certain flair and comfortable gait. She understands what's what, and who's who, and if the price is good enough, she might forget one or the other. If it's REALLY good, then she might even forget both. There's a certain steadiness and flippancy needed when dealing with high-end explosives, and even bold and calculating organisation. She understands bombs and any item that may ignite and then go boom, and although reluctant to disarm them, she has been known to be enticed to do that... again, for the right price.

Kendle is obsessive about keeping her tools of the trade free from contaminants, and wears gloves at all times, even when not handling her rather unique wares.

Personal History:
Oppression was something that was second nature to a kid from Alderaan, and as soon as she was able, Kendle high-tailed it off that rock, and tried to place as much space, literally, between her and the Empire. It took her to Cularin where she soon discovered the value and power of someone who knew their way around explosives. Working for the Construction Conglomerate, she managed to skim from their bountiful hoards in order to do some personal jobs on the side. She began with a tenuous hold on her personal integrity, but, when the money was too good, she took on an air of moral ambiguity and worked for the highest bidder.

When her inventory stores kept ending up short, the Conglomerate took steps to have her arrested for sedition, collusion, thievery, and a laundry list of murders and assassinations tied to a wide variety of explosions, some attributed to gas leaks or overcharged power couplers in various locations in and around the system. Despite the spectacle of a bomb, there were ways to disguise it. Subtle? Sometimes, but not often. Mostly, blowing shit up was fun.

But this forced her to run, and right into the teeth of the beast. Coruscant might be the core of the Empire, but it was so overpopulated, that she could all but disappear. Shifting gears on her career, Kendle became a chauffeur for the local Hutt family and their VIPs. With her former occupation, she soon managed to reconnect with her regular band of unsavoury characters, and had to give up such a lucrative job when her client had an attempt on his life. With a bomb. With a long line of possible enemies, her past affiliations and actual involvement in the plot encouraged her to seek new employment.

Perhaps with her past talents and shady past, there might be some group willing and/or able to meet her price tag and utilise her versatility.

Statistics: Posted by KendleRJ — Tue Jul 15, 2014 8:13 pm

]]> 2014-07-13T16:48:40-04:00 2014-07-13T16:48:40-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=197&p=995#p995 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Caleb Dexon]]> Code name/Alias: Moniker
Allegiance: Rebel Alliance
Age: 29
Place of Birth: Corellia

Physical: Wiry and seemingly loaded with springs, he has an impressive metabolism that might do away with a Hutts feast and yet abandon him to a terrible hangover. His hair has changed colour a dozen times on a dozen worlds, so it’ll be the colour you see when you see him. It might be bright blue, he’s not done that shade yet.

Species: Human
Gender: Male. But there was that one job with the floral bonnet...
Height: Average, if a little on the short side.
Weight: Depends on how full his pockets are.
Eyes: Grey without contacts: with contacts the skies the limit.

Distinguishing features: A Dathomir witchwork tattoo on his left bicep and three knife wounds, one of which is in his back.

Manner of dress: When in polite company he's not trying to work his magic on, he is often seen in a fencers shirt with tailored pants with many a pocket sewn into them from hem to belt line.

Weapon of choice: A fencers vibroblade, a civilised weapon best suited for parting the civilised from their mortal possessions by one means or another. But when civilization is a hyperspace jump in the other direction, he has a pair of small hold out blasters in his boots courtesy of a rigged Sabbac game.

Current Occupation: Brevet Commander, 7th Alliance Special Operations Group. (Basically means he has a rank, but not the pay...score.)
Previous Occupation(s):
Wickstaff Firstson Second Order, Kauti Business Administrator for Imperial HoloCom: wanted for grand larceny and embezzlement of Imperial funds.
Darrick Haloden, Bondlawyer for the Sullustian Twevvek Clan: Suspected abuse of legal standing in service of the Kerggi Hutt Cartel.
Mor Ferdo, Mon Calamari Real Estate Agent: larceny on account of selling beachfront property to Imperial Officials...on a planet completely covered by oceans.
Prince Harrick Do’bara of Alderaan: HoloNet fraud and bank detail mining.

Psychological:
He always has a plan: an exit at the back of the room, a airspeeder in a back alley and a line of half truth that sounds just right. Even in moments of surprises his improvisational skills are something awesome to behold, but one day a quick word and slight of hand will be nothing but sound and motion. You’re never sure if your talking to Caleb, or some character he’s concocted for the conversation. All that is known of him is his fear of water.

Personal History:
Caleb Dexon was, supposedly, born on Corellia. We know this because there are records of a birth, school transcripts, and a list of juvenile crimes that look more like a ‘Scoundrels Life For Dumbies’ manual. The problem is there was a similar wholesome data trail of information for a Wickstaff Firstson Second Order of Kuat, and Darrick Haloden: both of whom were persona used in the commision of crimes. When that old Bothan with the grey whiskers found Caleb and recruited him for ASOG, he did so by uttering two pieces of information.

One was a place, and the other was Calebs real name: and for a con man, like those tales of ancient Jedi Knights, knowing his real name holds a power over him.

So now he’s not just a thief and a false facer, but he is also a counterfeiter, spy, occasional propagandist and one time shadow puppet actor. So why not add Rebel Agitator to the plot line?

Statistics: Posted by Sjet — Sun Jul 13, 2014 4:48 pm

]]> 2014-07-13T13:23:14-04:00 2014-07-13T13:23:14-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=195&p=989#p989 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Jarion Tass]]> Code name/Alias: Eidolon
Allegiance: For Hire

Age: 32
Place of Birth: Kuat

Physical:
Species: Human (Cyborg)
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10" Weight: 176lbs
Eyes: Cybernetic (left) Green (right)
Distinguishing features: Cybernetic implants
Manner of dress: Dark colours and simple style. Likes hats.
Weapon of choice: A pair of custom modified DH-17 blaster pistols, stealth field generator, "taser fingers" (Experimental. Read: Unreliable)

Current Occupation: Spy
Previous Occupation(s): Information Broker

Psychological: Loose cannon. Pathological dislike of authority figures. Gearhead (Always tinkering, even with his own implants).

Personal History: Born on a world where the lower class are considered little better than animals, Jarion couldn't get off world fast enough. Raised mostly by street gangs he learned early that people couldn't kill you if they couldn't find you. After developing a talent for going unseen in dangerous places, he began a modest career as a spy for one gang leader after another. One even footed the bill for the cybernetics to compliment Jarion's natural talents. Eventually Jarion's dream of leaving his home planet came true and he discovered that information was both a valuable comodity and a lethal weapon. Jarion had found his true calling as an information broker; All the secrets in the galaxy could be acquired for the right price.

Statistics: Posted by T-Prime — Sun Jul 13, 2014 1:23 pm

]]> 2014-07-13T01:36:47-04:00 2014-07-13T01:36:47-04:00 http://www.rpgwriting.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=192&p=979#p979 <![CDATA[Character Biographies • Re: Azaria T'Dartha]]>
***************

Azaria laid on the ground next to the charred remains of her one true love, bitter tears spilling silently down her freckled green cheeks, and disappearing into the dirt. She reached a bruised and bloodied arm out towards the corpse, hand wavering a hairsbreadth away, hesitant to touch and feel the cruel cooling, heat and fluids bleeding away into the thirsty ground.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, voice heavy with emotion and hoarse from screaming. "I'm so sorry... oh my Heart!"

Slowly she laid her hand upon the scorched metal, gently brushing away dirty that had settled upon the twisted wreckage after its fiery crash. "You were so good. A good ship."

A racking sob shook her frame, from toes to the tips of her lekku. "I'm so, so sorry. I shouldn't have come here with you, I should've just used that little X-wing..."

The Heart of Oak, her hull cracked open and contents strewn about and smoldering, groaned as gravity tore its weakened welds apart to collapse in the dust. She was dead.

What was Azaria to do now? Her crew had deserted her when she began dealing with the Rebels, and the Rebels... who knows where the main host of them were now, their old hiding spots and safe houses burnt or emptied. The crowd she'd run with were scattered, victims of inattention and the machinations of an Imperial mole. She hissed and thrust herself up to her knees, a vicious urge to find and strangle the life slowly out of whomever had betrayed them... she had her suspicions, but who could tell for certain? They'd been a ragtag band of misfits and deserters, scoundrels and assassins. They'd been the dregs of the Alliance... but deadly effective, and exactly the ppl to do the jobs the Alliance didn't want to admit to having done...

She cursed and spat a mouthful of muddy saliva to the ground.

She would survive. She always survived - Coruscant hadn't been able to beat her down, and slavery hadn't held her either. She would find the Rebels, and then she would find the scum whose treason lead the the destruction of her ship.

Goals set, Azaria whispered a last prayer and a promise to the remains of the Heart of Oak, then turned away and began the march to the distant city she's seen on their descent...

Statistics: Posted by Azaria — Sun Jul 13, 2014 1:36 am

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