Star Wars: The Living Force

[Kento Waffles]

Star Wars

The Living Force

And suddenly... There was a reckoning within the Force, as if for the first time in history, all was correct and truly at peace.

Some knew what it meant. Others did not. But all felt it. With the deaths of Darth Sidious and Darth Vader, the Jedi and Sith of old had at last both found extinction. In one single moment, the Force suddenly became balanced for the first time since living creatures began to manifest it.

In the end, Anakin Skywalker really was the Chosen One.

And as the last vestiges of the war between the Rebels and the now dying Empire draw to a close, suddenly... Many who were merely force sensitive are now also able to begin to tap into the wondrous powers of the Force.

---

The premise is a basic Star Wars free RP. Use the forum's NPC template to design it. Our stats will be divided up with 160 points, 50 points maximum in any stat. There are three classes (3 being weakest 1 being strongest), but they don't yet come into play in this first thread. The stats are Strength, Speed, Force Power, Senses/Instinct, Strategic Planning and Combat Skill. Very self explanatory, really. 15 is average for a stat. Keep in mind that in regards to Force Power, 'average' is very weak.

No Jedi/Sith. No FORMER Jedi/Sith. No experienced force users, only complete amateurs. And anyone who is force sensitive cannot have been a bounty hunter or mandalorian, nor can they be Gary Stus from some super force world like Korriban or Mortis. At this time note that there are ZERO truly experienced force users in the galaxy. Luke Skywalker, barely Jedi Knight level, is the strongest force user in the galaxy.

You are also not required to be force sensitive. You can straight up be a very high level Storm Trooper or Rebel, or you can be some smuggler or bounty hunter or whatever. Weapons are up to you, but make sure the weapons make sense to the character. Honor system is in place for this.

The premise of the thread is each person posts a basic character sheet with the forum's NPC template, and I then grade. When four characters plus my own have been accepted, each person posts an intro of their character doing whatever they were doing when the Emperor died.

From there, we'll start kind of an adventure for a few pages and see what happens.

[Kyomei Kuchiki]

Name: [Vrardru]

Statistics:

Strength: 40

Speed: 30

Force Power: 0

Senses/Instinct: 30

Strategic Planning: 20

Combat Skill: 40

Basic Appearance:

Standing at almost exactly eight feet tall, Vrardru is of average height for his kind, the Wookiee. His long fur is nearly black and is carefully groomed daily. Scars are present over most of his body, the most prominent of which extends from his chin, through his lip, and ends just below his right eye. His left shoulder is branded with an ugly mark of exile from Kashyyk and his right arm is completely missing and replaced with a metal droid-like limb. The right shoulder is scarred and burnt to the point where no fur will grow on it any more. Vrardru's signature hairstyle is fairly odd for a Wookiee. The fur on his head and most of the fur around his face is pulled back into a long black ponytail.

Basic Personality: [Insert Here]

Bestial is the adjective that best fits Vrardru. He is aggressive, intimidating, and direct. He knows what he wants and he demands just that. He is quick to take offense, quick to lash out, but also quick to form a close-knit pack of equals. There is no "alpha dog" in Vrardru's circle. There are just those whom he allows in and those who don't belong. Those who are allowed into his circle of respect will find that he would put himself in the path of a blaster for them and rip someone limb from limb for getting in their way. Those who don't belong with him will find him to be rude, arrogant, and a pain to deal with.

Weapons Overview:

Like many great bounty hunters before him, Vrardru wears a half mask over the lower portion of his face, obscuring his mouth and nose. This wraps around his head like a bandanna and has a simple respirator, basic gas mask, and a speaker.

Vrardru's signature weaponry relies heavily on his mechanical augmentations. His right arm which is mechanical from the shoulder down contains his hand made bowcaster. The limbs of the bowcaster fold outwards from his forearm as his hand folds back to reveal the inner workings of the powerful Wookiee weapon. Without a Wookie's level of strength this weapon is very difficult to fire properly due to the massive recoil.

The upper right arm contains no weapons, rather contains a rather simple keypad. Through there Vrardru can type and project messages in Basic through the speaker in his mask.

Vrardru is also equipped with a single thermal detonator that has been manipulated on the black market to respond to a single fingerprint. This has been set to respond to Vrardru's print.

Necessary Backstory:

Vrardru is an exile from Kashyyyk. He has been branded with an ugly mark and never allowed to return. At just 100 years old, generations and generations could go by and the Wookiee would still never be allowed back into the Wookiee society. He would be killed at first sight. The brand is more than just physical. The leader of his home village had been born Force Sensitive, a rarity among the Wookiee but not unheard of. Kyyrrsierl was a wise leader and upon seeing that Vrardru had killed one of his own people for an Imperial Bounty in a fit of Force fueled rage she robbed him of his right arm. She branded him with the Force so that all who were Force Sensitive would feel her sorrow when they touched it. That sort of brand does not fade with time.

Cast out from his home with only a single arm, Vrardru was forced to go to a droid manufacturer so that he could work even in menial labor. For years he worked as a pack mule and hired muscle until he found himself in the company of bounty hunters in need of a strong arm. With his modified bowcaster he provided excellent firepower and support which earned him a spot in their crew, travelling the galaxy in hunt of work. If it weren't for events that shook the entire structure of the galaxy, the Rebellion may have been born and died without Vrardru caring one way or the other...

Current Story Status: [Among the company of Bounty Hunters entering a New Age for the Galaxy...]

[Senshi Odayakama (Crimson.)]

Name: Teries

Statistics:

Strength:30

Speed:20

Force Power:50

Senses/Instinct:20

Strategic Planning:20

Combat Skill:20

Basic Appearance: Teries is a female Amaranian from the planet Amaran. She is akin to what is known as a fox humanoid. She stands shorter than most species at a height of five foot two. She is a twenty-one year old and has a muscled but agile figure. Teries is often known to wear a mechanics outfit with several tools on her mechanics belt. This includes a fusion cutter, various computer chips, wrenches, and screwdrivers. She has emerald eyes and is covered in grey fur with red streaks. She also wears aviator goggles, a leather set of mechanics clothing or jumpsuit, and wears black boots. Her muzzle is peach white and an abnormally long fang is visible on the left side of her mouth. She looks rather neutral but at times is seen to be a rather intimidating due to her long fang. Her tail is around three feet long and is firmly secured in her pantleg as to prevent it to being exposed to others. On top of her jumpsuit is a cloak to protect her from the elements.

Basic Personality: Teries is a woman of serious work and reward. She doesn't enjoy goofing off and is seen as a bit of a cynic by those who speak to her. She doesn't like many people in the galaxy and is seen to be a very straightforward person. She doesn't bother to beat around the bush about things and will explain very clearly what she wants to get across. Teries by far isn't a woman of violence as she is rather someone who wouldn't want to lead something to hostillity. She is seen as a hard worker and one that gets the job done right the first time. A determined, honest, and calm individual. She enjoys complicated things such as puzzles, machinery, and droids. Yes, she especially enjoys droids. She enjoys the wonders of modern technology and that includes weaponry. She if disliking anything dislikes ignorance or those with superiority complexes.


Weapons Overview: Teries carries with herself a relic from the days of the clone war eras, the DC-17 hand blaster pistol. This weapon has a capacity of fifty bolt shots before needing to be reloaded and is often kept on the left side of her belt in a holster. This weapon of course comes along with a stun mode which is effective for both droids and organic beings. She keeps four extra magazines for this weapon within her jumpsuit pockets.

The second weapon she carries with her is a vibroblade around four feet long alongside her right side dressed in a sheath. The sheath is a bright red in purple and has a long slash mark drawn through the center of it.

One may not consider a fusion cutter as a weapon, but is most certainly one if used against vehicles and or a useful tool to repair droids and vehicles the same. She wears this along her mechanics belt as part of her career.




Necessary Backstory: Teries is an Amaran living on her home planet of Amaran. This planet is a luscious green planet with a rich culture and decent militarial force. The planet itself is indeed a republic democracy. Amaran is most well known for it's acrobatic performers and beast tamers. Many wild and dangerous creatures are born in the wilds of this planet such as Acklay and large carnivorous cats known as Elsan Pracklers. Teries however is a droid repairer and a developer of technology. Teries had been an oddball never wanting to live life like her many fellow Amarans. She had found peace and enjoyment in technology ever since childhood.

Having outsmarted the beasts of the world, she had explored and had found the relics of ages past. The battle droids of the old separatist armies. The planet Amaran was once sided with the Republic of the galaxy and had requested aid when the planet had been under siege by the CIS forces. Having found many of these droids and wreckage of vehicles, she had rummaged them for parts and tools which she used to fix not so badly damaged droids and to reprogram them to sell as servants or other purposes. She runs a buisness on the northern side of Amaran and is working on repairing a small spacecraft she had found which had little damage in comparison to the rest. Her goal is to sail off into the galaxy and leave her planet as she dislikes the ways of her fellow peoples.



Current Story Status: [Living on the planet Amaran with a small business in Droid repair. Repairing a space craft for travel.]

[Kento Waffles]

Name: [Nadar Hon]

Statistics:

Strength: 45

Speed: 25

Force Power: 50

Senses/Instinct: 20

Strategic Planning: 0

Combat Skill: 20

Basic Appearance: [Nadar Hon is an enormous, muscular Zabrak with nine curved, three inch horns forming what appears to be a crown of horns around the top of his bald head. His face and body are sheet white, but covered in the black markings and tattoos of the Nightbrothers from the world of Dathomir, the planet which once hailed the legendary Sith warrior named Maul. As is customary for that planet, Hon has an extremely intense, hateful gaze hidden within yellow orange mix eyes, as if his gaze contains fire itself. He has thin lips to add to this feature, and looks all the more menacing as a result. Unlike most Zabrak, Nadar seems to have focused less on speed and more on raw, brute power.

This makes sense for his body. He is one of the tallest Zabrak ever to live, certainly the tallest from his village on Dathomir. Standing a full 6'9 and possessing a body of ungodly muscularity and athletic toning. A common thing said of Nadar is, "They say that he's as tall as Darth Vader..." But that isn't the case. Vader was 6'8, meaning that Hon is even taller than Vader was, packing huge arms, broad shoulders, and stiffly muscled legs. Nadar Hon is certainly one of the most intimidating figures to come across in the galaxy, possessing well trained muscle in every single area of his body. To achieve this must have required an immense appetite and training.]

Basic Personality:

[Surprisingly, Nadar Hon is not very aggressive except in combat. In combat, he loses himself to rage and becomes a machine of death. But outside of combat, he is quiet, hardly speaking, and speaks in a very low pitched, authoritative voice. He also does not relish in what he deems "petty dominance activities, like mere animals." This means he does not enjoy torturing, rape, or other acts of this kind. His enjoyment comes solely from brutalizing his opponents and breaking them on every physical and spiritual level with his power. Nadar Hon, as of discovering the might of the force, has become quite obsessed with his own power.

Yet he also has a distaste for bullying. His primary objective is to seek out those whom he deems to be "bullies" and destroy them. They pick on those weaker than them, so Nadar Hon gives them a taste of their own medicine by picking on them. He has killed a multitude of these adversaries in this way, having traveled throughout several different planets in order to slaughter "bullies." He had previously been a bounty hunter, but now works instead as a self proclaimed agent of justice. Fueled by his rage and anger against those whom he decries as bullies, and spurred by hate of the system, Nadar Hon seeks to find like minded others to aid him.]

Powers Overview: [Insert Below]

Nadar's combat experience is noteworthy as being just above average. With average level characteristics, he can easily hold his own in a common street fight. That's about it. But, because of his body and his above average speed combined with the long strides of a tall form, Nadar is able to move at what appears to be a blurring speed. His huge body also gives him immense durability, and his physical strength lets him completely overpower his adversaries in most situations. Nadar Hon's above average combat experience as well as his raw abilities have given him quite the edge on Dathomir against his Zabrak brethren. However, that is not the only cause of his power.

Nadar does not use strategy, only brute power. He gives into his anger and his hate to fight. Because of this, when Nadar first began to discover his powers in the force, he was quick to discover that rage and hate are more powerful than tranquility and the "Jedi Way." He is an agent that has embraced the dark side. Nadar is incapable of Jedi mind tricks, and is occasionally capable of attempting mental domination. His dominations, however, often fail due to lack of finesse, resulting in his obliterating the mind of his victim. When he uses the force, he has very little power control, and usually exerts an explosive blast of power when he pushes or pulls, releasing enough to destroy what is in front of him.

Because of this lack of control, he often has trouble recalling weapons to his hand because they will fly too far. He also cannot use some of the more versatile uses of the force, and is only capable of guarding and destroying with it. He is capable of using a force choke, and because of his lack of control, this becomes his best weapon with the force because of the pain it puts others in. It is enough to suffocate someone to death very quickly. As an agent of the dark side, he is more than capable of blasting away many of the light's attacks from equally experienced or inferior force wielders. Still, his lack of control is a huge problem, and Nadar currently seeks dark side training.

He has multiple weapons on his person, and also wears a light armor covering his forearms and his chest. This armor is resistant to average blasters, and can guard against vibroblades or similar weapons. His weapons are a vibroblade on his back, a blaster at his side, and on his other side... what appears to be a lightsaber. Indeed, Nadar Hon constructed one of his very own after years of research and getting the materials. But, he is no expert. The lightsaber is an extremely pathetic, flawed product. Using synthetic crystals, the blade turned out red. The hilt is also a bit too long compared to average, which is fine because of his huge hands.

But, because of this, the blade comes out as a flat surface, and a huge one at that. It resembles a large buster sword with a blade a meter and a half long and a quarter meter wide. It hums powerfully, emitting more noise than normal. Its size allows it to pack quite the punch and ferocity. However, it sometimes takes more than one try to ignite, and sometimes shuts off randomly. This wannabe lightsaber is not a match for the real thing. Nadar Hon also possesses a goal of seeking out some sort of instructor who can teach him how to make a real one. Or else obtain a real one of his own somehow. Only time will tell if he will be able to do this or not.

Necessary Backstory: [Insert Below]

When Dathomir was invaded by the Separatist Army during the Clone Wars and the Nightsisters were killed, their system of dominance over the males, the Nightbrothers, was ended. What women remained on the planet were individuals, random and unorganized. The men, seeing their opportunity, were quick to subjugate what women remained to prevent the rise of more Nightsisters. These women became slaves and were brutally tormented, subjugated, and raped. Nadar Hon's mother was one of these. The planet Dathomir suffered from the emergence of an oppressive patriarchal society after the passing of the Nightsisters. Beyond patriarchal, it was also barbaric, for the males had relied too long on the rule of the females.

The males, uncertain of how to structure a proper society, simply created one where strength, being a warrior, and bullying were the keys to survival. Nadar Hon was honed on this world of greed and hate. What little witch magic remained helped make him and many of the males stronger. And when he discovered the force, it was yet another advantage for him. Still, he despised this planet, and wanted nothing more than to one day leave. Yet, they lacked the resources for building a ship to leave. Then, one day, on a telescreen, Nadar saw the work of his idol. Footage of the might of Darth Vader played that day, and he saw a Sith Lord wipe out a hundred rebels in seconds.

Nadar Hon thought it too good to be true that such a being existed. From then on, he wanted to be more like Darth Vader. When the Emperor died and Vader with him, the force balanced, and Hon suddenly found his force powers drastically increased. Using this power, he slaughtered his entire village minus the women and children, and he fed on their hate to make himself even stronger. He stole what he could from them all and spent days building his ship out of the remnants of an old one, until at last he was able to leave Dathomir. The first planet he arrived on was Coruscant, where Nadar Hon now makes himself a home in the lower levels, biding his time and waiting...

Current Story Status: [Former bounty hunter presently living on Coruscant]

[Jorge Ramon Salazar]

Name: [Nibook Sul]

Statistics:

Strength: 15

Speed: 25

Force Power: 25

Senses/Instinct: 30

Strategic Planning: 35

Combat Skill: 30

Basic Appearance: With a knife holstered to one side and blaster to the other, Nibook Sul is a slender, dark skinned man of 5'6. Currently in his late twenties, he only two defining characteristics he possesses are a lack of hair on his head and a
thin scar from the lower half of his right eyelid to right cheek due a to skirimish in his days as an imperial officer. His eyes are a dull gray color, hidden by the sunglasses he possesses.

Nibook's choices in clothing are but a faded beige jacket, a blue undershirt to help cloak his wiry but solid build along with jet black pants and boots. In his right pocket is a small cloth he uses to clean the glasses of the bar he works at with a small bottle of water on his left.


Basic Personality: Nibook is, for a lack of a better term, an lowlife. Spending most of his days listening to blubber from patrons just as bored as he the only greeting from him unless paid is a simple scoff. The only exception to this are but two simple things: someone willing to pay a little extra for a simple, no-questions-asked transport or a beautiful woman needing an open ear-martial status be damned! Needless to say, this swarmy, sneaky and otherwise unpleasant bartender is far from a boring experience on an otherwise backwater planet. But when not interacting with others or spending time at the job, Nibook does enjoy the silence and not-so-blisteringly hot Tatooine evening.


Weapons Overview:

The only two weapons in Nibook's possession are a simple treppon-2 vibroblade and a blaster pistol. While generally kept in its sheath, the former is a weapon colored a dull crimson and used primarily for intimidation purposes should any customer be a little too randy in their approach. This blade was a reward for his services and his generally kept at his right side at all times. When unsheathed, there have been those who noted the scratches on said weapon, which are superficial at worst.

His second, and by far preferred weapon is a simple blaster pistol Nibook christened "Wookie-Killer", holstered by theleft side of his hip. Having been bought out of pocket, Nibook has had this pistol personally loaded with several modifications designated to maximize stopping power and lethality. Unfortunately, as a side effect to said modifications, Nibook's pistol has a smaller energy capacity.


Necessary Backstory: The son of two refugees from Coruscant, all Nibook really remembers from them are wistful whispers and bemoaned curses of broken promises and shattered dreams. His old man while bitter was still a particularly harworking if gruff and simplistic man who almost fell asleep the moment he entered his home. The matriarch of the household also tried her damndest to bring food to the table, even if some nights were messier than others. Perhaps the one of, if not the most enjoyable part of his days as a child was pretending to be a marksman with a defunct blaster pistol.


Sadly, as time passed and Nibook grew older, the three of them drifted apart. While not abusive by any means of the word, Nibook's old man became so withdrawn and lost he even refused to aid his wife, whose health took a turn for the worse. Sadly, the night she passed on Nibook merely had enough and left for the academy, though not without a discussion with the old man which involved spit and an black eye. Sadly not even THAT would bring him much, given that his career shifted from soldier to bartender. This turn in occupations occurred only after a wild night in which the child of one of the imperial army's highest-ranking officers ended up with a bolt to the head.

Now having been forced to hide on the very planet he chose to leave so long ago, all he hopes now is that he can make a little more money while stuck in his home planet.


Current Story Status: (Trying to make an early bonus at the job.)

[Kento Waffles]

On numerous planets all around the galaxy, mysterious spacecraft began to land. For Vradru, he and his company of bounty hunters would find themselves on Kashyyyk, his very own home planet. It was here that he would discover, not just through news, but through sight itself, what had become of this world during the age of the Empire. It had been known years earlier, when the Empire was new, that Darth Vader himself had led an attack against Kashyyyk, which at the time had tried to mount resistance while also harboring fugitive Jedi. Over twenty years later, the planet still had not recovered. What many grasslands had once been green were now barren desert.

What lush forests which had once flourished were now nothing but dead stumps which littered the planet. And the wookies were nowhere in sight. No, after so many years, they were gone. They had been taken and enslaved by the Empire during its years, their forced labor creating the basic building blocks for the terrible space weapon known as the Death Star. And so Vradu and his bounty hunters, brought here to drop off some package with unknown contents to someone that had contracted them, would be there when a strange glowing golden orb, the size of an average X-wing, would touch down on the ground. It looked more like magic than a ship, despite the sounds and how it acted.

The area Teries worked in would be deserted at the time. After all, it was only two short weeks previously that the second Death Star had been destroyed by the rebels. With it had come the deaths of both Darth Vader and the Emperor. The Empire, now weaker than ever, was on the retreat. People were stuck indoors, glued to their holonets, anxious to discover the fate of the galaxy now that an entire Empire was in full retreat. Already, the occupied planet of Amaran had been vacated by Imperial forces. Yet no lawlessness had ensued. On this planet as well as thousands of others, too many were stunned by what was unfolding. Too shocked by the end of an era.

Even still, posters existed everywhere wielding the face of Vader, his black gloved hand extended outward, beckoning an advertisement to entice people to join the ranks of the Storm Troopers and the Empire. To some Vader was a symbol of security and of hope, a hero. To others, he was a sign of oppression to be feared and despised. And either way, he and even the Emperor were both gone. It would be on a day of zero business, with no one in the streets, and no one besides Teries even working, that a large, strange, glowing silver orb descended before her and touched down on the ground. What might she do while seeing this touch down?

Jorge would find himself on Coruscant, with a crowd around. Near him, the most noticeable figure of them, was a Zabrak in a black cloak. Said Zabrak stood out due to height and muscular definition, as his were unusual for one of his species. Coruscant had been the most shocked by what looked like the end of the Empire. The Imperial Palace was still swarmed by the Emperor's Imperial Guard, and citizens of the planet held their breath, not willing to believe the Empire was waning despite the news. Even Vader's personal residence remained quiet, an unlit black colossus of the skyline, as it had always been. For Coruscant, despite what was on the news, things seemed normal. This was why the citizens held their breath.

Indeed, And at that time, Jorge would be there at night due to the rotations of Coruscant and its sun, at the time when the bar that he didn't even own and barely made a livable wage at was most crowded. Yet now, with a bronze glowing orb descending from the sky outside, all guests had clamored out to see what was happening. A crowd of dozens as it touched down. What could be happening? Imperial guards began gathering around, trying to discern just what this orb was. Some murmured that the rebels were here to take Coruscant. That the war was about to end. Just what was this that was happening on so many worlds at once?

And from every single orb, there emerged the same thing. The orbs would fold themselves in, revealing that they had been ships fitted with special lights for dramatic effect and for attention. These ships, on all of the worlds, opened up, revealing a person coming out. For the wookie, it was a young twi'lek woman. For the fox humanoid, it was an older human gentleman. For those on Coruscant, a young man. And all of them had the same message. "Don't be afraid, those of you around! We are here to give you a message, and ask of you to spread the word. A majority of Imperial Forces have been pushed back to the Outer Rim. The War is coming to a close now. The rebels have won. The Empire is no more."

On Coruscant alone, random Imperials unholstered their weapons and aimed them at the newcomer. But on Kashyyyk and Amaran, silence as people began to walk out of huts or homes in shock, disbelief, and crowd around the rebel visitors.

[MrDoctorDo]

SPOILER: Click to show

{Cleese’s Details}

Name
Cleese

Statistics
Strength - 20

Speed - 30

Force Sensitivity - 0

Senses/Instincts - 40

Strategic Planning - 30

Combat Ability - 40

Total - 160

Appearance
Cleese is a standard human. Looking to be in his late teens. Though he is mature for his age. I mean, he's had a job since he was 5. Standing at the average of 156 cm in height, making him below the galactic average. Something he is happy about, given the usefulness of small size in space freighters. Weighing in at 63 kg, he is only a little chubby. Cleese likes to compliment his exceptional taste in food for this. His skin is pale from a long career spent traversing the trade route between core worlds. Blemished with many scars and healed burns. The tread marks of a successful piloting career. Though often covered by a welding mask or helmet visor, Cleese actually does have some pretty, amber eyes. In the right light they look almost gold. ”...just like my heart. Can I buy any of you ladies a drink?” As for his hair, it is naturally very dark. However, Cleese keeps it buzzed very short for convenience. So it appears lighter when contrasted by his pale, showing scalp.

Personality
When it comes to Cleese’s usual behavior, he tries to be carefree. What usually ends up happening is optimism...drenched in sarcasm. There will be attempts at jokes. Snarky retorts. That is only the surface. Cleese actually does have a golden heart down below. Going out of his way to help others when he knows he can. Throwing himself into suicide situations is good example of times he knows he can’t help. Such moments take more than his kind nature to get him involved. As for motivations, Cleese is driven best by one ideal. Money. Raised by merchants. Inspired by mercenaries. Cleese knows that money and resources far exceed any other force in the galaxy. It is a certainty to him. As a result, even when the risks are high, a hefty profit will always grab Cleese’s attention. As for hobbies and interest, the boy enjoys puzzles and strategy games. They aren’t as important s financial security, but damn will he waste his excess revenues on them. ”Wait. Are you guys playing Sabacc? Can I get in on this?" "Cool the exhaust, kid." "Come on, deal me in! Is there a buy in? I’m good for it!” Legend has it he's officially ranked in the western quandrant.

Combat Style
Power and Distance. When it comes to fighting, Cleese is well aware of his strengths and limitations. What suits him best; be as far from the danger as he can...when the biggest gun he can find. Distance helps Cleese feel safe and secure. Being removed from the fray not only keeps him from harm, but also allows him to plan in peace. When it comes to dealing with threats, size and power matter most. A hefty rifle with a galvanizer dialed past maximum is the only answer. If something needs to be killed, there doesn’t need to be doubt if the weapon can do it. Nor should it take time or multiple shots. Quick. Efficient. Noisy, of need be. Doesn’t matter as long as the targets are obliterated. As a result of these preferences; Cleese is both a flawless Sniper and an excellent Pilot.

-Weapons and Tools
The DLT-19X, ”Thunderc*nt”. One of the largest, mass produced focus rifles in the galaxy. Significantly more powerful that the automatic rifles issued to both the Imperial and Rebel forces. This weapon is designed to use the full capacitor supply with each shot. Delivering a single, brutal shot before the rifle overheats and requires cooling. A terrible weapon for close quarters or prolonged combat. The end-all, be-all tool of ranged assassination. ”Also, the sheer energy of the shot creates a vacuum thunderclap when it tears ass through atmo. Sounds like I’m laying down the judgement of the gods.”

-Squad Based Combat
When fighting with a unit, something Cleese finds very agreeable, he plays the supporting role. Scout. Lookout. Anything that keeps him off the front line and out of the breech. When forced to fight in close quarters with others, Cleese will do his best to just stay out of the way. Only going into dangerous places with people he trusts. Happy to rely on them for his protection when out of his element. When he is in his element, his friends may reap the benefits of his hotline service. ”1-8-Billion-BlastEm”, with which they can use a radio to call in dizzyingly accurate headshots when needed*.

*Additional fees may apply.

-Solo Combat
Cleese has very little experience with “honorable combat”. All of his training and experience come from group based efforts. Defending freighters with the crew. Subduing bounties with the squad. Cleese will panic when thrown into trouble by himself. Usually prioritizing getting distance or outright escape over armed engagement. If forced into a corner he will go full on, ”My thermal detonator sense is tingling. *arming sound* It says I’m free to leave.” Negotiations are easier than fisticuffs.

-Pilot Extraordinaire
The only thing that merchants and mercs have in common, besides the love of money, are good pilots. It is a necessity for both lines of work. Cleese learned to avoid detection and danger dodging pirates. Then he learned how to detect and bring danger as a bounty hunter. The end result is an especially potent straighter. Cleese’s biggest flaw as a pilot is his inability to fly dogfighters. From X-wings to TIE fighters, Cleese is terrible with them all. His comfort zone is limited to mid-sized freighters.

Necessary Backstory
There are many throughout the stars that do not have a homeworld. Countless individuals born among the stars, during the long travels of ships. Cleese was on such soul. Born to a couple that met on a long haul. Parents who never married. Nothing more significant than his conception between them. The result was being sold into slavery before he was even born. The outer systems willing to pay handsomely for a untarnished slave. One that can be raised from the very beginning to fulfill a desired role. So, Cleese never met his parents. His name came from the star system to which he was sold. Growing up as a slave is not really as bad as it is described. Property is often treated very well in the outer rim. Being owned actually gave his life more value than the horde of vagrants that went to the edge of the galaxy freely. Added fortune came in the form of Cleese’s assigned career. He was to be a mechanic, assigned to trade barges. His youth would be spent putting his small stature to great use in the tiny, utility ducts of various hauler ships. Cleese got to see and work with so many different ships. The outer worlds bring in people and designs from all of the galaxy. By the time core world students came of age and attend starship academies, Cleese was a career veteran. Trained by experience and deadlines instead of holograms and curriculum. What made this all so fortunate, was Cleese deep appreciation and interest in spacefaring. It was his slave duty, and his passion. Truly, his was a fortunate fate.

And it only got better with age.

Most slaves get an opportunity or two to earn their freedom. For most it is required that they save enough of their earnings to buy their contract. Others who receive no earnings have to hope someone else will purchase it for them. What was Cleese’s story? Heh, it was both. Not only was Cleese provided bonuses for excellence in his work, but early in his career he made friends with the holder of his contract. A hutt be the name of Ziwalla. Cleese had been in the right place at the right time to perform repairs on Ziwalla’s Illium 7-series, “Slipstream” Starcruiser. A luxury ship undoubtedly stolen and hawked in the rim; while it was still hot. Not the easiest thing to fix on the far end of civilized space. Yet, Cleese had proven capable of doing so. At a time of greatest need. The ship having broke down while Ziwalla was fleeing from failed negotiations with a fellow hutt crimelord. After surviving a raid on the ship by the rival’s boys. In which Cleese claimed he popped a few dozen heads...where he hid himself throughout the entire conflict. It was a good thing none of Ziwalla’s actual enforcers had survived the firefight. When it was all said and done, all the stars fell into place. Combining his labor pay with the bounties Ziwalla owed him for killing the rival thugs, Cleese freedom was paid. Ziwalla was more than happy to finance the young human’s release. Put in a good mood by his repaired yacht and saved life….made the hutt quite charitable. The only fine print Cleese had to deal with was the accepting of a new, generous job. Hired killer for Ziwalla the Hutt. An offer that he couldn’t refuse.

Thus began his career as outer rim bounty hunter. A half decade long process which revealed that Cleese did have more callings than mere ship repair. Seems all those years spent behind the defensive turrets made Cleese an acceptable shot. Especially when looking through the scope of an oversized focus rifle. ”You wouldn’t believe how easy it is to shoot someone who doesn’t know it’s coming. They just stand there. Waiting for it.” A few successful bounties and he’d expanded his reputation. Pretty soon Cleese exchanged rubbing elbows with traders to rubbing elbows with hunters...and killers. Finding his good nature didn’t mesh as well with the new crowd. Making what friendships he did make really stick out. One in particular to a one armed wookie named Vrardru. The two of them grew quite close despite the outward differences, and personal differences. It became commonplace for the two to run jobs together. Developing a lethal synergy with each others personal styles over the years. Working a lot throughout the duration of the Rebel uprising. Having many successes. All which lead to more jobs and more money. Up until the day the accepted a most peculiar job offer. Unlike anything they did before...

Current Story Status
Cleese is currently on a “Good-Faith” contract with a crew of bounty hunters. He won’t get his money until the job is done. The only reason Cleese took the work, without upfront pay, was a favor to a friend.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far away…

*DADUN*

It as always, a time of uncertainty in the galaxy. The empire, which was the only viable system of governance in place, was disenfranchised. With the simultaneous death of the Emperor and destruction of the second -multiquintillion credit- space ball. By the same group of angsty teenagers who did it the first time....and some teddybears. Mathematically, there is no amount of party rhetoric that can help bounce the Imperialists back from this one. So now there is a power vacuum, since the Empire didn’t have a contingency plan for death by teddys. While most civilized star systems wonder who will threaten them into playing nicely with each other, the rebels have declared themselves the uncontested winners.
Hoping no one and nothing will come along to challenge their fledgling claim.

Which is exactly what is going to happen.

(OoC: Replying to the weird, ass rebel radio ship. WIP)